The Revealing

by Bill Myers

  We continued around the artwork and the kids that I loved so dearly. When we arrived at the double doors, they opened as if by magic and there stood the roly-poly nun with the perma-smile.

  I stepped into the entry hall.

  “Miss Brenda?” It was Lindsey again.

  I turned and called, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be fine.”

  Littlefoot reached for the front door.

  “Wait.” I turned to Daniel. “If I leave, can I return?”

  He held my gaze and slowly shook his head.

  I turned back to the classroom. There was such joy here. Such . . . purpose. “I love this place,” I said. “And these kids. They’re my life.”

  The moisture welling up in Daniel’s eyes said he understood. “It will be better,” he said. “If you come with us, they will be better.”

  I stared into those deep brown eyes. There was no missing their sincerity. He’d never lied to me before. I glanced up to the nun who stood beside him. She gave a nod of silent assurance. I looked back into the room, the children, my life’s work . . . and slowly returned the nod.

  The nun gently closed the double doors. I turned to face the girl. She reached for the front door, opened it, and we stepped outside.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Our feet had barely touched the stone steps before Littlefoot turned around and knocked on the door again.

  The nun answered, beamed like she hadn’t seen us in forever, and ushered us inside. But when Sister of the Perpetual Smiles opened the double doors to my classroom, things were completely different.

  Instead of kids with easels, there were all those desks that I’d seen before—back when we were running from the melting floor the first time. Same light oak paneling, same computer monitors manned by the same computer geeks. Everything the same, except . . .

  Near the end of the room, on a raised platform, behind an expensive desk sat . . .

  “Andi?” I shouted.

  She looked up, along with the rest of the room. I raced to her—not running, but not exactly walking, either. The two kids followed.

  When we got there she was already standing, taking off her glasses. “Do I know—”

  “It’s Brenda.”

  She frowned. “I . . . I dreamt about you. Just last night. And the night before.” Her frown deepened. “But . . . we’ve never met. Have we?”

  “Of course we’ve met. We’ve been together all day. And a few months on top of that.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “In the other universe. Our universe.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The multiverse thing.”

  “Multiverse? But that’s . . . just a theory.”

  “You tell that to the melting floor and everything else happening to us.”

  Her eyes widened. “It wasn’t a dream? It was you.” She looked at Daniel and Littlefoot. “And you. I saw you, too.”

  “The professor,” I said, “is he here?”

  “The professor. He was with us, too, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Is he with you?”

  She hesitated. I looked out over the room. By now every computer jockey was staring at us. And they weren’t exactly smiling. “Who are these guys?” I said.

  “What? Oh, they’re my employees. This is an information and research facility.”

  “Not very friendly.”

  “Yes.” She put on her glasses for a better look. “I don’t understand. They’re normally quite congenial.”

  “They don’t want us here,” I said.

  She looked at me.

  “And trust me, the feeling’s mutual. Get the professor and let’s go.”

  She scowled and looked over to the far wall.

  “So is he here or not?”

  She stepped off the platform and started across the room. I traded looks with the kids and followed—the geeks watching our every move. When I caught up to her I said, “Daniel and his girlfriend here say we got to get back to our own universe. So let’s find the professor and get our butts outta—”

  We’d reached the opposite wall and she pointed to it. “What?” I said.

  She motioned to a small drawer built into the wall. A brass plaque was on it.

  I leaned in and squinted to read:

  Dr. James McKinney 1955–2013.

  I turned to her. “The professor, he’s—”

  She nodded. “Several years ago.

  “And that’s him? In there?”

  “His ashes, yes. He asked to be interred here. It may interest you to know that this entire center is named in his honor.”

  “But he’s not dead. Not in the other universe. Not in ours.”

  “This is my universe. This is what we lived for. What he . . . died for.”

  I looked out over the angry faces and gave a snort.

  “You have no idea what joy I have here,” she said. “The thrill of all of this information right at my fingertips. Anything and everything. It’s a dream come true.”

  “And the rest of the world?”

  “You mean the riots? The radiation poisoning?”

  “Riots? There aren’t any riots.”

  She frowned.

  “Yeah, well, maybe in this universe,” I said. “Whatever they got going here, I’m betting it’s pretty ugly. But the thing is, you and me, all of us, there’s a chance we can change it. If we go back we can fix things so they—”

  “That’s extremely doubtful.”

  It was my turn to frown.

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The odds of us, of anybody, overthrowing The Gate are extremely—”

  “I’m sorry, did you say ‘The Gate’?”

  She motioned me to lower my voice.

  I continued, “They’re the ones we’re supposed to keep the spear from. Remember the Cardinal? That was our whole purpose. To get the spear before The Gate did.”

  She glanced around, afraid someone would hear.

  “Look, we’re in the middle of something here. I don’t know what, but it looks like we’re a team or something. All of us.” I motioned to the drawer. “And the professor, if we go back, he’ll still be alive.”

  She stood a moment looking at the plaque.

  “Trust me, the jerk is still alive. You saw him an hour ago. You dreamed ’bout him. About us.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Of course you did. You—”

  “No. It was not a dream.” She grew more confident. “It was an alternate reality. The multiverse.” She turned toward the double doors across the room. “And if this structure is indeed a portal—” She looked to Daniel. “Or as you’ve stated, ‘a depot,’ it should be fairly simple to return.” She started forward.

  The kids and I traded looks. She was in.

  We followed her across the room. The geeks were getting out of their seats. One or two tried intimidating us by flexing their geek bodies. Good luck with that.

  We were practically there when Andi slowed. “But Tank? Where is Tank?”

  “He’s not here with you?”

  “No.”

  I swore.

  Then her face brightened. “The training room!”

  “What?”

  “The room we saw next to the stadium, do you remember it?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  She crossed to the double doors and opened them. There, waiting in the entry hall was who else but Sister Smiles. The old lady motioned us forward and we stepped in. Littlefoot reached behind us to shut the double doors. Andi touched her shoulder, and she stopped just long enough for Andi to look out over the room one last time.

  Then, taking a breath for courage, she turned and nodded to the nun. The woman opened the front door and we stepped outside.

  Actually, inside.

  The door opened to the entrance of the giant stadium we’d seen before. They were playing football. Well, a type of football.

  CHAPTER

  13
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br />   For starters, every lineman had some sort of club, or battle axe, or something. Like those old gladiator movies. Only these guys were monsters. Literally. Five, six hundred pounds apiece. Real knuckle-draggers.

  I turned to Andi and shouted the obvious, “Steroids?”

  “Perhaps. More likely genetic manipulation. In fact, if you notice the ratio of height to weight you can see a reoccurring pattern of—”

  A play began, and she was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Each team went at the other—grunting, shouting, clubbing, hacking. And blood. Lots of it. The quarterback got sacked. And for good measure they started bludgeoning him to death.

  The crowd cheered.

  Andi leaned over and puked.

  “See any sign of Tank?” I shouted.

  She shook her head. So did Daniel and the girl.

  Andi looked back up and groaned, “Oh no.”

  I followed her gaze to the field. The monster boys on the sidelines were turning toward us.

  “What’s the deal?” I shouted. “What are they looking at?” But I already knew. So did Andi. And it wasn’t just the players. The fans were also turning toward us.

  “They know we don’t belong,” Andi said. “They sense it.”

  “We got as much right bein’ here as them.”

  She looked around. “You may think so and I may think so . . .” She nodded toward the dozen Neanderthals leaving their bench and lumbering up the steps toward us. “But they don’t.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Just one.”

  She looked at me. I looked at her. We spun around to the cliff behind us and began banging on the wooden door.

  Sister Happy Face took her sweet time to answer, so I threw in a little R-rated language to speed up the process. By the time she opened the door the goon squad was a dozen yards behind us. We ran into the entry hall and she slammed the door a second before they arrived with their own version of banging and cussing.

  Daniel pushed open the double doors to the living room. Only now it was the training room. A handful of the big bruisers were stretched out on the tables groaning and moaning. Some were bleeding. All were waited on by the one and only—

  “Tank!” Andi rushed to him.

  The big fella barely had time to look up before she threw her arms around him. He returned the hug, more than a little awkward. When she stepped back, she pulled herself together, even more awkward.

  He broke into that bighearted grin of his. “Andi.”

  “You remember.”

  “Remember? Shucks, I dream about you all the time! I mean, that is to say, well, not all the time, but what I mean is . . . It’s you! You’re real!” He spotted me and the kids and broke into an even bigger grin. “You’re all real!” He reached out his arms to Littlefoot, and she ran into them for a hug. “It’s sure swell to see you again!”

  She looked up to him and grinned back, those blue eyes now liquid brown.

  The goon lying on the table in front of him groaned. Probably because of the bone sticking out of his arm.

  “Oh, sorry, partner.” Cowboy reached down and wrapped both of his hands around the arm. He closed his eyes and began silently moving his lips. Just like old times.

  Meanwhile the bruisers kept banging on the front door until you could actually hear the wood planks starting to crack.

  When Cowboy pulled away his hands, the arm was as good as new. Not even scar tissue.

  “That’s what you do here?” I said.

  “Yeah.” He shot me his good-ol’-boy grin. “It’s pretty fun. And I get to make lots of new friends.” He turned to the guy on the table. “Ain’t that right, Gus?”

  Gus moved his arm, grunted, and showed his appreciation by lunging for Andi.

  She screamed and jumped back.

  Cowboy slammed him back down on the table. “Come on, now. That’s no way to treat our guests.”

  Gus groaned. Too weak to try again. But he wasn’t the only one with an attitude. The whole room was turning and staring. Several even managed to growl.

  “What’s wrong, fellas?” Cowboy called. “These here, they’re my pals.”

  “We don’t belong,” I explained. “We’re in the wrong dimension.”

  “Universe,” Andi corrected. “We’re in the wrong multiverse and they sense it.”

  The front door was beginning to splinter.

  “We gotta get outta here,” I said.

  “Brenda’s right.” Andi grabbed Cowboy’s hand and tried pulling him toward the hallway. But he wouldn’t budge.

  “These . . . are my friends.”

  “Maybe your friends,” I said, “but not ours. Look how much they hate us.”

  Gus made my point by sitting up and lunging for me. He was stronger than before, and it took more effort for Cowboy to shove him back down. “But I help these guys,” he said. “Me and the Lord, we fix ’em up. And I really like it. I like it a whole bunch.”

  Some of the goons from the other tables were struggling to their feet.

  “We know you do,” Andi said. “And that’s very commendable. But there’s something even greater.”

  “Greater than this?”

  “You can make things better,” I said. “We can make things better. But you gotta come back with us.”

  The bruisers who’d made it to their feet began hobbling toward us. It was like a scene from The Walking Dead.

  Andi quickly explained. “In this reality, you’re only a Band-Aid, you’re only fixing something that’s already broken. If we go back, there’s a chance we can prevent the multiverse from splitting like this; there’s a chance we can stop all this from happening before it begins.”

  “She’s right,” I said. “We can do it. If we roll up our sleeves and all work together, we can do it!” I winced at my cheesiness, not really sure I believed it.

  But Cowboy did. He looked from me to Andi. Then he looked to Littlefoot, who was nodding. He turned back to Andi and she reached for his hand again. This time he took it . . . just as the front door exploded open.

  We turned and ran. Gus, the goon, caught my jacket, but I spun around and slipped out of it—a parting gift.

  When we got to the hallway I glanced over my shoulder. The players from the stadium had joined those in the training room.

  “The stairs!” Cowboy shouted.

  It made sense. No way was I goin’ back into that kitchen. I grabbed Daniel’s hand, he grabbed the girl’s, and we raced up the steps. We were halfway to the top when the whole staircase began to shake—no doubt from the extra tons of muscle that had just started up them.

  We made it to the top and Andi started for the first bedroom door. The one we’d escaped through before. But this time it wasn’t real. Just a painting of a door.

  She ran to the second. This one was real and she threw it open.

  We gasped. And for good reason. There was another me lying there on a bed, passed out with a needle jammed in my arm.

  “What?” I cried. “That’s not possible.”

  “It’s your nightmare,” Andi said. “Up in Washington. It’s the universe where you had the overdose.”

  I tried to step in for a closer look but she pulled me back. “No,” she said. “It’s a paradox!”

  “A what?”

  “A time paradox.” She pushed us out and slammed the door shut behind her. “It’s too dangerous!”

  “Not as dangerous as these boys.” Cowboy pointed to the players who’d reached the top of the stairs.

  We ran to the next door and tried it. It was locked. I slammed into it with my shoulder.

  “Let me!” Cowboy stepped in and hit it once, twice. It took three hits before the lock broke and it opened. But instead of the door flying open and into the room, it flew out at us . . . pushed by a thousand gallons of water that roared over us, slamming us to the ground and rolling us down the hall.

  It drained in seconds and we made it to our feet, gagging and coughing up seawater.


  I shouted to Andi. “That was your nightmare, where you were drowning.”

  “Yes!”

  The flood slowed the bruisers behind us, but not by much. They were already clamoring to their feet and stumbling toward us.

  The main stairway with the fancy banister was just ahead. The perfect escape—down the steps, through the entry hall, and out to the beach or whatever would be there. There was only one problem.

  Players were also coming up them.

  “Now what?” Cowboy shouted. “We’re surrounded.”

  Daniel raised his arm and pointed to a closed door at the very end of the hall. Not a door to a room at the end of the hall, but simply a door at the end of the hall—as in, open it, step out, and fall out of the house. It hadn’t been there until now. I was sure of it. I was also sure I recognized it from Washington. But there, the door was on the first floor and it led into a basement with some pretty ugly stuff.

  One other thing: Sister Smiles was standing beside it. But instead of motioning us toward it, she was motioning us to get down on the floor.

  It made no sense. But it didn’t matter to Daniel. He dropped to the ground, digging his hands into the carpet a fraction of a second before she opened the door and all hell broke loose. I’m not swearing. It was hell, complete with the red glow and leaping flames.

  There was also wind. Lots of it. But, unlike the last door, nothing was racing out at us. Instead, we were being sucked toward it. It pulled on my clothes, my hair. My whole body was being dragged toward it. I dropped to my knees, grabbed the only thing I could find—some door molding—and hung on with just my fingertips.

  “Look out!” Cowboy yelled.

  I turned and ducked just as the first of the big boys tumbled past. I flattened myself against the wall as another rolled by. And then another. And another. Until there was a steady stream of bodies being sucked into the doorway.

  My fingertips ached. Any minute they’d give out. I turned to Daniel. He was slipping, losing his grip on the carpet.

  “Hang on!” I shouted.

  He dug in, but the wind was too strong.

  “Grab my leg!”

  He looked at me.

  “Grab my leg!”

  Finally, his grip failed. He slid past and just barely caught my ankle in time.

  My fingers cramped, on fire, but I yelled, “We’ll be okay! Hang on!”