Red

by Ryan Rinsler

  They both laughed, Connor’s more of a cry-laugh.

  “Adi. Adi, that’s what he used to call me. Everyone had that, where their younger sibling couldn’t pronounce their name properly. Well, Adi was his name for me. It never occurred to me at the time to go out and play with him. He probably just wanted a big brother, a friend to be there with him. To throw things at trees with him and just mess about. Instead I just sat there, sulking, playing on my games.”

  He sighed.

  “But on this night we were both together, and although we were both doing our own thing it was quite nice. I think back to that moment and wish I’d taken a photo of it in my mind, so it was clearer when I looked back on it. But, still.

  “Mikey had two figurines, little toy men, no more than ten or so centimeters tall. They had moveable limbs and weird kind of dynamic clothing that wasn’t cloth, but moved like it. One day he called them Mikey and Adi. Looking back at them since then I can see why — one had dark hair, one had light, the one with dark hair a bit bigger than the other. These two little figures were his prized possessions. He would keep them safe at all times, tucking them under his pillow at night, and putting them in his pajama pocket when he came down for breakfast. He’d lock them away in the day time while we were at school. I had no idea where at the time, and it was probably best because I probably would have used them as a weapon to get back at him for something trivial. Brothers and sisters do that, I guess.

  “I didn’t think about it much at the time, but the way he used to play with them, always together, always on the same team, well, looking back it’s obvious to me now that it’s what he must have been yearning for from me. I wasn’t really there, and to be honest, dad, sometimes it feels like I’ve been guilty of that through my whole life.”

  Jacob let out a soft snort as he half-smiled.

  “He was playing with these two while I was on my console, with the sound off, of course. We wouldn’t want to disturb their dinner guests now, would we?” he mocked. “All was fine until Mikey hit my foot with, I dunno, a car or something. It would only have been gentle but brothers being brothers, I kicked him as hard as I could in the chest. He hit the ground hard, banging his head on the remote for the television. The sound his head made when it hit the ground I’ll never forget — a deep, hollow clunk. He wasn’t badly injured from it, I guess, but the impact turned the sound of the T.V. on, which was loud. I was too shocked to move, but Mikey, even though he was still rubbing his head with one of his hands, he was trying to turn off the sound, scrabbling with the remote to do something — to stop the noise. The partying in the other room died down and I could hear my dad, or at least I knew it would be my dad, on his way in. I still didn’t move, or help, I just watched Mikey struggling, hoping he would stop the noise. Even though he was only four he knew the consequences of disturbing Lukas. Mikey started to kind of wail, knowing his time was running out, and when my dad burst in the room he dropped the remote and stared at him. The rage was all over my dad’s face. We knew it so well. He looked at me and then at Mikey. He used to take everything out on Mikey for some reason, and he didn’t need an excuse to this time. He was at him within two steps and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, then lifted him off his feet with one hand. I didn’t see it but he was still clutching his little figurines, and even when dad hit him the first time, he kept hold of them. He hit him twice on the same side of the head, both with the back of his hand. I’ll never forget the sight. After the first one he screamed, but after the second one his head fell backward and he wasn’t screaming anymore. As dad dropped him he saw these figurines fall out of his hand. Dad knew what they meant to Mikey, and he picked them up while Mikey just lay there. Without even looking at the fire he threw them into it. Fake or not, that fire still burned anything you put into it. Mikey saw it and kind of lay there helplessly, reaching at the fire with one hand. As soon as dad left the room I went and grabbed them with my bare hands out of the fire. They were pretty melted, and a bit black, but they’d survived.”

  “I remember looking down at Mikey at that point. He just relaxed, slumped back down, like everything was OK. His cheek was already starting to swell up and go dark red, and I’m sure his head must have been cut from the remote because he had blood on his little shirt. Still, he just lay there, silently, panting, thankful these two little figures were OK.

  “That was all my fault, and I live with that till this day.”

  Jacob was sniffing, wiping the odd stray tear from his soft, wrinkled cheek. There was no sound for what felt like ten minutes, until Jacob leaned forward and filled Connor’s glass.

  “Seeing that kind of thing at the age you were can only dictate what you become,” he said. “Just that one incident. I’m sure there were more, but what you’ve told me absolutely tells you that he, your other self, will have spent his entire childhood, all the way to adulthood, in the shadow of your father. Something so instinctive as not wanting to make him angry for fear of being beaten stems into everything he will have done from thereon in. Every decision he made, every step would have been to please his father. He would never have felt good enough, always striving to outdo his father’s success. In his mind he would never have achieved that.”

  Connor was silent, staring at his trembling hands wrapped around his glass.

  “What I’m saying, Connor, is that you don’t need to worry that you could stray onto his path. Aaron Voss is who he is, not because of himself. He is who he is because he had something you didn’t. Your father.”

  29

  The next morning Connor woke early to the cockerel, and immediately checked the old cell phone for messages. The night before, while lying there wide awake, thoughts of the conversation he’d held with Jacob whizzing around his head, he’d messaged Kate to see if she was up. After an hour of no response, he’d drifted off.

  He grabbed the phone, but to his dismay there was nothing. 6:32 am.

  His stomach churned instantly as Matt crossed his mind. He hoped he was doing OK on the other side. For some reason, him being asleep for six or more hours while Matt was over there worried him, making him concerned that he might need his help.

  He’s not in any danger, he thought, reassuring himself. Everything was calm when he jumped there, and there was no reason to believe Matt’s experience would be any different.

  He relaxed.

  The talk he’d had with Jacob the night before had really settled his mind. He’d been wrestling with his thoughts on the subject of his similarities with his alter-self for weeks, and all it took was a succinctly delivered, perfectly simple and logical analysis of the situation, which had so far evaded him, from Jacob. The fact it was a combination of both Jacob’s caring upbringing, and the contrasting childhood Aaron Voss had received, meant he’d all but escaped the clutches of Voss’s desire for power. This power, he derived, was his key drive, and as Jacob so astutely surmised, was one borne from his will to live up to his father.

  He couldn’t remember much about his parents. Apart from a few isolated scenes all he could picture were their personalities — his father, Lukas, an overbearing tyrant, hell bent on asserting his authority on anyone who crossed his path, and his mother, Amanda, meek and servile, who would vent her frustrations on her children whenever given the chance. Looking back, it was obvious to Connor they were both alcoholic — the signs were there, the mood swings, the irrational shouting and beatings, but to a ten-year-old boy with no concept of alcoholism, it was just how things were.

  The phone beeped.

  “Heyy, nooo I was in bed. What’s with this old messaging? Had to go and find credit to reply, nowhere sold it. Had like 1 message worth last time, maybe left over from when my gran used to use this phone”

  Connor smiled, his stomach tightening with excitement.

  “Sorry, using my old man’s phone. It’s a long story.”

  “Oh yeah? Everything OK? x”

  Matt was going to be in Red Oscar for at least another two days. Ma
ybe now was time for a little R and R.

  “Yeah, some really weird shit going on. You’re back in Cali now yeah?”

  “No, still in Philli :( :( x”

  “Wat? It’s been like a month now right? How’d you get the time off?”

  He watched intently as she typed, the little icon showing it was going to be a long one.

  “I didn’t go back. You made me quit Silk, it was horrible anyway. I’m living here again now and my mom’s gonna see about gettin’ me a job.”

  “Wait, I made you quit?”

  “Yeah, well you inspired me to quit :D You in Philli too?”

  “I’m actually at my dad’s place in the middle of Colorado. Maybe I can head to Philly for a day or 2, got some time to kill, pick up some things from my apartment. Wanna meet?”

  “Sure, when are you thinking?”

  “I’ll jump on the SilkLoop, will be there in about 8 hrs.”

  “Let’s meet at Fresh at 7 xx”

  He packed a few things into his bag and made his way downstairs. Jacob was reading in the living room as he descended, and as he looked up he glanced at Connor’s bag and back to his eyes.

  “Leaving?”

  “Just heading to Philly for a day or two while Matt’s on the other side. There’s nothing I can do here so I thought I’d head down for a bit of a trip and pick up some things. Maybe try and work on that soulmate thing you told me about.”

  Jacob laughed.

  “I’m gonna take that pistol you gave me,” said Connor, a little embarrassed to say. It seemed somewhat childish, like a boy with a new toy, but he knew Jacob would understand.

  “Yes, good idea. Don’t get caught with it though. That holster I gave you will fit nicely under your arm so keep it inside your jacket. Don’t get pulled over either. Are you taking the truck?”

  “Yeah I’ll jump on the SilkLoop – it’ll fit on there, right?”

  “Yes, yes, you shouldn’t have any problems. When can I expect you back?”

  “I’d say a couple of nights,” replied Connor, looking at his watch for absolutely no reason. “Where did you put the pistol?”

  “Ah ha!” said Jacob, waving his finger and springing from his chair. He walked over to what appeared to be a blank section of the wall, gave it a tap, and an invisible door opened to reveal another gun cabinet. “Snazzy, eh?”

  “How many gun lockers do you have?” asked Connor, laughing a little.

  “I’d have one in every room,” he replied, grabbing the pistol along with a box of bullets and the holster. He handed them to Connor. “If it were practical.”

  “Fair enough.” He removed his jacket and slipped on the holster, then tucked the ammunition into his bag. He pulled back on the gun slide, checked there was a bullet in the chamber, then added that to the bag before hoisting it onto his shoulder. Seeing him handle his pistol this way, Jacob nodded slowly, showing his pride with a smile of the eyes and a ‘not bad’ expression.

  “Can I take your credit card?” asked Connor.

  “Um, yes, yes of course.”

  He felt the need to explain. “I don’t want to be using my prints anywhere. I’d rather just swipe your card to pay for things if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course!” he said, whipping it out of his wallet and passing it over.

  “I’ve got your old phone, so if you need anything, and I do mean anything, just call.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  “And keep me updated on Matt. Let me know if he comes out before I get back.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” he replied with a nod that told Connor he just wanted him to leave and stop fretting.

  He stepped out of the house into the overcast morning, the bite of the cool air on his cheeks. He had a little spring in his step as he walked, buoyed by his chat with Jacob, and excited about the prospect of meeting up with Kate. It had crossed his mind to get in touch with Lacey, just to check in on James, but he wasn’t sure if he was in the right place to cope with all that. He wanted to know how James was, but it had been a month since they last spoke, and they left on sour terms, so he would need to tread carefully if he were to make contact now.

  As he entered Denver center and followed the navigation system toward the SilkLoop terminal, his mind began to focus on the people he saw in the streets, in the GyroPods, restaurants and bars, each one of them going about their lives. It was unfathomable for him to consider that any of these people, who sat chatting to their friends or drinking coffee, minding their own business while they perched on top of the original Empire State building in their VR world, could be a global threat worthy of complete domination. The entire concept was alien to him.

  He turned off the main road and headed underground, entering a wide tunnel and descending steeply into darkness. After a few minutes he reached what looked like a toll station, where he pulled up alongside a payment screen, swiped Jacobs’s card against it, being careful not to touch it, and set off as the barrier dropped. After negotiating a series of twists and turns, he joined a queue of other cars which was moving slowly. Up ahead was the entrance to the SilkLoop – an underground train, using the same quantum technology as SilkRush, but designed to ferry cars from one city to the next, connecting twenty six cities across the United States and Canada. The success of this system was largely due to it allowing commuters to take their own cars from city to city, but in the fraction of the time it would take to drive.

  When it was his turn he drove onto a large platform, which almost immediately slid the truck sideways and into the train carriage, a large door closing and isolating him in his own cabin. He climbed out of the truck and helped himself to the refreshments they provided, and sat down on the small sofa, flicking on the X-Vision television to while away the eight hours it would take to reach Philadelphia, around 1800 miles away.

  He snoozed most of the way, despite the cups of coffee he enjoyed roughly every thirty minutes, and when the television displayed an alert that the train was ten minutes away from his stop in Philadelphia, he got himself together and returned to the truck.

  Although the traffic was typically light, almost non-existent in the center of Philadelphia, he was still running late. His original idea was to head to his apartment first, freshen up, grab some more clothes and a few other items and head to meet Kate, but as it was six-thirty already he chose to go straight to Fresh.

  Fresh wasn’t Connor’s type of place at all. As he entered the large glass doors he glanced around the huge, high-ceilinged room. Everything was white, with high tables and bar stools, low, white, hex chairs with sharp white coffee tables, VR booths, glass partitions between everything, and no staff.

  He sighed and looked around. 7:05 and no Kate. There weren’t many tables free, so he picked the one nestled between two tables of antisocials, sitting there with their VR goggles on, and began to walk over.

  Suddenly his phone rang. “Hello?” he answered.

  “Look left.”

  His head shot around and sure enough, there was Kate, relaxing on a Hex sofa with a drink in her hand, smiling, her BlackBook pressed to her ear. She was wearing a small dress, her cropped hair dainty, kept in place with flower clips. A pang of butterflies thumped him in the stomach, and, bowing his head in shame, he made his way over. She stood to greet him, shared two cheek kisses, and sat back down. Connor sunk into the Hex sofa, the surface automatically molding to his body.

  “You look different,” she said as he nestled into the seat.

  “I do?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, analyzing his face while stirring her gin and tonic casually. “Dunno what it is.”

  “Stress, probably.”

  “Oh no!” she said. “Colorado that bad?”

  He chuckled. “No, nothing like that. How is the unemployed life working out for you? How did that come about?” He tapped on a nearby screen to order a mineral water, reluctantly having to use his fingers, and out it popped through a panel in the table.

&nbs
p; “Oh, you know,” she replied, “I’m enjoying the freedom. That place is a killer.”

  “Silk?”

  “Mmhm. It’s seriously the worst place you can work, ever.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he said quietly, taking a sip of his drink.

  She didn’t really acknowledge his response. “I just figured I’d rather stay in Philly, you know? Going there every day, not speaking to anyone, it was just horrible. It made me depressed. I feel loads better now.”

  “So you’re living with your parents?”

  “No I’ve rented a little apartment. It’s sooo much better. In Cali I had this pod thing I used to stay in. The term ‘one bedroom’ doesn’t really do it justice. My place here isn’t amazing but anything is better than that plastic tomb I was living in.”

  Connor snorted in surprise at this last description.

  “So what’s with you?” she asked. “You like, disappeared and now you look all, serious,” she said, pulling a mock grumpy face.

  “It’s a long story,” he replied, nodding slowly. “Not one for here, really. Do you want to get out of here? I’m heading over to my place to get some things, maybe we can relax there a bit. Use the pool.”

  She chugged back the last of her gin and tonic immediately, and with a wipe of her mouth she stood up.

  “Let’s go!”

  30

  As Kate exited the truck in the underground parking lot beneath Connor’s apartment block, he surreptitiously removed the beautifully engraved, silver pistol from his bag and slid it into the holster he was already wearing beneath his jacket.

  Not being one for paranoia, his loathing of conspiracy theories and tinfoil hat scaremongering being nurtured in him by Jacob from a young age, he was a little embarrassed by himself being so nervous about traveling and using his identity. Arming himself against potential attackers seemed to him like vanity, or ego, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He had to stay alive, and although it felt to him like he was the deluded old man in some old spy movie thinking he’s being followed by the KGB, he simply had no idea what could be in store for him, so he had to prepare for the worst.