by Samuel Fort
Chapter 83: Realities Checked
He spoke a word.
A door appeared in front of him. It was called the “Door of Mansions.” Ben didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. It was the door that led to all realities. He had not known of its existence until he stepped out of it in the cave he and Vedeus and been trapped in.
It had been there the entire time, of course. It was with him at all times and always had been. He had just been unaware of it. It was like a two-way mirror. If you looked at the door directly, it simply reflected your reality, and was thus invisible. But if you looked at it from the right angle, something the Empyrean allowed, you could see through the illusion to the other side. Or, more correctly, “sides,” for there were many.
They weren’t ‘alternate realties.’ That phrase was a misnomer. What was real was real. Realities didn’t pop into existence because of some technological wonder or act of magic. They were so real they were mundane. They were places. They were all just places. The only difference between those mansions, or worlds, and his own, was that his was occupied by minds. The others were not.
They could be, though. They were like Amusement Park rides waiting for passengers. He simply had to step through the door to enjoy the rides.
He could take others with him, too. If he said the right word, others would see the door, and he could walk them through it, and they could enjoy its wonders together. Every imaginable wonder was real. Physical.
Waiting.
What made the reality he was in so special, anyway, he wondered? Aside from the fact that it was populated by sentient beings? Why should he try in vain to save this one when there were an infinite number of far better worlds that were available?
He’d passed through the door on several occasions since returning to Steepleguard, just to look around. It always creeped him out, at first, knowing that the people in those other worlds were real people yet devoid of intelligence. But in time, one could forget such things. Really, what did it matter? How often did he stop to think about the sentience of beings in his home world?
Never, until recently. No one did. All anyone wanted to do was to stay alive and, perhaps, reproduce, and then die. No one cared whether the other rats in the race were conscious beings. What did that matter to one’s survival? To one’s comfort? Did it really matter whether the person selling you your coffee was sentient? What was the difference between buying coffee from a (literally) brain-dead barista and having it dispensed from a vending machine?
He’d decided that the only people he really needed to be sentient were those whom he loved. He wanted his love to be reciprocal. He wanted – needed – to be loved back.
That would only require him to escort a few special people through the door. It would be an easy task. They didn’t even need to know. It would be better if they didn’t. It wouldn’t be an ‘alternate’ reality. It would simply be another one. A better one. Why try in vain to save a sinking ship when there were so many other, better ones available?
He stared at the door. Going through it took no time at all. He could spend a lifetime in the other worlds and come back to this very point with no time at all having passed. No one would even miss him.
Still, he was worried. He’d gone through the door a lot, lately. The other side was addicting. It got harder and harder to come back to this decrepit reality. He wouldn’t, perhaps, if not for the people here he loved.
Unfortunately, remembering what was on the other side was difficult. He returned with few memories of his trip. He simply remembered how wonderful it was. How…heavenly. It was a sense of well-being that he longed for every minute of the day. And it was always there, available to him. It was just as readily available as Lilian’s opium pipe. The one she hid in the Ming vase in the corner of their room. More available, even.
He had but to say a word…
Say it, oh mighty king…
He closed his eyes and the door vanished.
No tonight.
But soon.
