by Ira Nayman
Investigator Chumley cleared his throat. “Umm, yeah, hi,” he said, “we’re investigators with the Transdimensional Authority. My name is Crash Chumley and my partner is, umm, well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Rapier-Dewall harshly insisted.
“The signal is coming from her,” TOM said. “Tracing now.”
“Signal?” Rapier-Dewall asked. “What signal?”
“Could you explain, Noomi?” Investigator Chumley suggested.
“I would if I knew what was going on!” Rapier-Dewall complained.
“My Noomi,” Investigator Chumley told her. “I mean –”
Oliver walked out of the kitchen towards them “Mommy, the sandwiches are rea…dy…” Noticing Noomi and Investigator Chumley, he said: “Whoa! There are two of you!”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Rapier-Dewall told him.
“Actually, it’s kind of neat,” Oliver assured her. Lawrence didn’t seem to agree: he was hiding behind his mother’s legs, looking at Noomi and Investigator Chumley like they were monsters under a wheelchair ramp. (Consider it brotherly osmosis.)
“May we come in?” Investigator Chumley asked.
Rapier-Dewall considered for a moment. “Oliver, take your brother into the kitchen and have lunch,” she commanded.
“Idon’twannago,” Lawrence exhaled, clutching more tightly to her legs.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Rapier-Dewall cooed at him, slowly prying his fingers off her legs. “These good people are police officers. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
Oliver took his brother by the hand and led him, reluctant, to the kitchen. Rapier-Dewall knew that there would have to be a lot more waggling of cardboard than usual tonight. Turning on the investigators, she harshly said, “I’d like to see some ID.”
Noomi and Investigator Chumley took out their ID cards and showed them to her. She had always thought it was ridiculous whenever somebody asked to see Jack Ryan’s ID card, and, now that it had happened to her, she felt the absurdity of it more keenly: how would anybody who had never dealt with the TA know what their ID cards looked like? It’s not like people hung samples of the official identifications of the various police forces they might come into contact with in their bathrooms so that they could study them while doing their business. For all this woman knew, Noomi and Investigator Chumley were showing her IDs they got by sending money to an address they found in an ad in the back of a comic book! Seriously. If the IDs had been written in crayons, she wouldn’t really have had a right to challenge them: for all she knew, the Transdimensional Authority style was to create IDs with crayons! Special crayons that had been designed to project the TA logo under ultraviolet light! Crayons that would self-destruct if touched by a child. Crayons that would…that would…that…
Under the circumstances, Rapier-Dewall was too freaked out to express any of this. She handed them back their IDs and coldly said, “Okay. We’ll talk in my study.”
Rapier-Dewall’s study was small, but inviting, with lots of wood, natural colours and images of her family everywhere. Rapier-Dewall settled into the chair behind her desk. There was only one chair on the opposite side of the desk, so the two strangers chose to stand.
Investigator Chumley started to explain why they were there. After a couple of minutes, Rapier-Dewall noticed that one of the other Noomi’s hands was slowly making its way towards her shoulder. This seemed like quite the liberty, so Rapier-Dewall gently swatted the woman’s hand away.
This is what actually happened:
“We’re from an organization called the Transdimensional Authority,” Investigator Chumley began to explain.
“I’ve heard of it,” Rapier-Dewall coolly responded.
Noomi, looking around the room, wondered if all of the family pictures were there in case the other Noomi forgot what her family looked like; after all, she would be instantly reminded no matter what direction she looked in.
“We’re investigating a death,” Investigator Chumley stated. “It may have been a murder – we’re still not clear about that. What is clear however, is that it involved interdimensional communication of some sort.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Rapier-Dewall asked.
Noomi wondered what would happen if she touched a version of herself from another universe. Would they explode, leaving no trace but two photons moving in opposite directions forever? And, how big would the explosion be? Big enough to destroy the house? Big enough to destroy the whole neighbourhood? Big enough to destroy the whole suburb? The city? The world? The solar system? The universe? Trembling slightly with the potential power, she inched her hand ever so slowly towards her counterpart’s shoulder.
“We believe that we have isolated a signal that could lead us to the perpetrator,” Investigator Chumley said.
“A signal?” Rapier-Dewall repeated.
Closer.
“That’s right,” Investigator Chumley stated.
“At the risk of repeating myself,” Rapier-Dewall repeated herself, “what does this have to do with me?”
Closer.
Investigator Chumley shifted uncomfortably. “The signal currently seems to be…running into…you.”
Just as contact was about to be made, Rapier-Dewall noticed what Noomi was doing and gently swatted her hand away. Despite that physical contact, the house, the suburbs and the universe were still there.
Well, that was disappointing, Noomi thought.
Rapier-Dewall was not happy with this news. Not happy at all. “What is this…signal doing to me?” she aggressively asked.
“TOM?” Investigator Chumley prompted.
“You want me to reassure a lead?” TOM responded. “Seriously? Boy, have you got the wrong artificially enhanced device!”
“What was that?” Rapier-Dewall anxiously asked.
Investigator Chumley placed TOM on the desk. “It’s just a device that helps us in our investigations,” Investigator Chumley assured her. “And, it has assured me that, although there is a signal running to you, it does not seem to be affecting you in any way.”
“Jack Ryan never had anything like that!” Rapier-Dewall exclaimed.
Noomi looked at Rapier-Dewall with newfound interest. “Crash, could you leave us alone for a couple of minutes?”
Investigator Chumley looked at her. When she nodded that it would be okay, he said, “I’ll leave you to it, ladies,” and walked out of the room.
Noomi sat opposite Rapier-Dewall. “You were a fan of Jack Ryan, Transdimensional Authority Police?” she asked.
“Was I?” Rapier-Dewall gushed. “I was the biggest fan of Jack Ryan, Transdimensional Authority Police! When I was a kid, I begged my parents to get me the Super Secret Jack Ryan Spy Detector Kit that came with a one-time payment of $10 and four Crunchy Calorye Counters Cereal box tops!”
“Me, too!” Noomi enthused. “Pretty disappointing, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, totally,” Rapier-Dewall agreed. “But, that didn’t stop me from playing with it for that whole summer!”
The two women laughed.
Meanwhile, Investigator Chumley, standing outside the door, looked at his watch. There was no good reason to look at his watch; he and Noomi would have to stay there for as long as there was a signal to trace. But, it was either look at his watch or futilely try – yet again – to decipher the final shot of Inception. It made his brain hurt. So, look at his watch he did.
Lawrence walked towards him down the hall. “Hey, mister,” the boy said.
“Yes?” the man replied.
“Is this what people mean when they say that they have two mothers?” Lawrence asked.
Investigator Chumley could be awkward talking to adults. But, talking to adults, he appeared to be a regular Abraham Lincoln compared to when he was talking to children. “Oh, ah, I’m not really the right person to be asking that question…”
Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, like he had just received great wisdom. Then, he noticed some
thing. “Are they – is that…singing?”
Investigator Chumley strained to hear through the door, finding that the boy was right. The women in the room were singing –
“…eeking out those with bad intentions
Across the Multiverse’s dimensions!
He is the greatest hero of all time
Always working to save Earth Prime!
Jack Ryan! Jack Ryan! Jack Ryan!”
The women laughed joyously.
“Jack Ryan is the reason I joined the Transdimensional Authority,” Noomi confided.
“Oh, I know,” Rapier-Dewall told her. “I felt exactly the same way.”
“But, you didn’t,” Noomi stated. “Join, I mean.”
Rapier-Dewall shrugged. “I didn’t get the scholarship,” she responded. “so I couldn’t go.”
“I didn’t get the scholarship, either,” Noomi said. “I went anyway. I worked my way through the first year and got the scholarship in second year.”
“Hunh,” Rapier-Dewall remarked, a touch of wist entering her voice. “I always imagined what my life would have been like if I had been able to join. Is it as exciting as it looked?”
“Well, this is only my first case,” Noomi admitted, “but, yeah, it’s been pretty exciting so far. And, you?”
“My life,” Rapier-Dewall, banishing the wist from her voice, declared, “has been a fulfilment of the old adage: Sikh and ye shall find.”
“Uhh, how so?” Noomi, who aspired to be a professional noticer, asked.
Rapier-Dewall pointed to a framed photograph on her desk that featured her, her two sons and an attractive man in a turban. “My husband,” she said, “Dev Dewall. Between him and our two sons, I have no time to be unhappy.”
Noomi looked at the photo for a few seconds. She felt wist rising in her. She hunted it down and killed it. “So,” she cheerfully asked, “how do you get your hair to –”
“Oh, here we go!” TOM moaned. “I knew if this estrogen-induced lovefest would go on long enough, it would end in a discussion of personal grooming!”
“You always this cheery?” Rapier-Dewall asked.
“Pretty much, yeah,” TOM answered. “The guy who programmed my personality killed himself three weeks after he finished.”
“I…should probably get back to the kitchen,” Rapier-Dewall said. “Check up on the boys.”
“Can I bring TOM along?” Noomi asked. “He’s tracing the signal inside you back to its source.”
Rapier-Dewall looked at the device dubiously. “If you must,” she said.
As they got to the kitchen, they heard Investigator Chumley dramatically saying, “…but, what they didn’t realize was that I had removed the ice pick from the lizard’s intestines while they weren’t looking!”
“Wow!” Lawrence exclaimed.
“And, that’s how you were able to pick the locks?” Oliver, excited, asked.
“Not quite,” Investigator Chumley allowed. “But – oh hi,” he noticed the two Noomis entering the room.
“Crash was just telling us about some of his adventures!” Lawrence said.
“Pretty amazing,” Oliver, damping down his excitement because, well, as the oldest he wanted to set a good example for his brother, said.
“I want to be a Transfismensional Authority agent when I grow up!” Lawrence shouted.
Rapier-Dewall gave Noomi a sardonic look. “Okay,” she said, “but, first, I want you to eat all of your sandwiches.” Rapier-Dewall retrieved the final grilled cheeses from the toaster oven, perfectly browned because this is, after all, a fairy tale, and set the plates before her children, who wolfed them down.
“Can I get either of you two anything?” she asked Noomi and Investigator Chumley.
“Well, since you asked so politely,” Noomi emoted.
“The drink that we drink nightly,” Investigator Chumley crooned.
“The drink we find so delightly,” Noomi, getting a haunted look in her eyes again, crooned back.
“The drink that we like best,” the pair sang, “Burpsi Cola – fizzier than the rest!”
As Noomi hummed in the background, Investigator Chumley orated, “Mothers, have you heard that soda rots your children’s teeth, just like it eats through the cabinet of a 747 jumbo jet? Then, you’ll especially want to look for new Burpsi Astringent! Not only does new Burpsi Astringent have no calories, it actually sucks calories out of you while you drink it!”
“Drink the drink that we like best,” the pair reprised, “Burpsi Cola – colaier than the rest!”
“Yeah!” Noomi added.
Nobody knew what to do for a few seconds, then the children burst out in applause.
“I’m sorry,” Rapier-Dewall said, not sounding sorry in the least, “but I don’t keep Burpsi Cola in the house. When a drop rotted through one of the magnets at CERN and caused the flashforward, well, I figured this was not something I wanted my children to drink!”
“It’s okay,” Investigator Chumley responded.
“No problem,” Noomi replied.
“Do, uhh, Transdimensional Authority agents always do that?” Rapier-Dewall asked.
“Nope,” Investigator Chumley responded.
“Never,” Noomi replied.
“You…just like Burpsi Cola a lot?” Rapier-Dewall asked.
“I can’t stand it,” Investigator Chumley responded.
“When I have tried it in the past, I broke out in hives,” Noomi replied.
“So, what was that all about?” Rapier-Dewall asked.
“No idea why it happened,” Investigator Chumley responded.
“The Multiverse is inscrutable that way,” Noomi replied.
A couple of hours passed. Lawrence and Oliver spent it listening to Investigator Chumley talk about his past cases, and the cases of other investigators he had known. Rapier-Dewall and Noomi spent it comparing their lives. Sometimes the differences were striking: Noomi lost her virginity at a Vegan Trombones concert, while Rapier-Dewall didn’t lose her virginity until she attended a Neiman-Marcus Overdrive concert a week later. Sometimes the differences were slight: Noomi was so repelled by the event that she didn’t have sex again for just over two years, while Rapier-Dewall was so repelled by the event that she didn’t have sex again for just under two years. Sometimes the similarities were scary: the second time was much better for both of them. Oh, and, they both collected plush dolls, ceramic figures and other kitschy representations of tsetse flies until they were 15.
Then, just as everybody was getting comfortable with everybody else, TOM said: “The signal’s gone dead.”
When they pulled Investigator Chumley away from the children, he asked the device, “What does that mean?”
“There’s…no…signal,” TOM said as if speaking to a 12 year-old.
“Oh, I am glad your personality wasn’t affected by the power boost,” Noomi told it.
“Why isn’t there a signal?” Investigator Chumley asked, trying very hard not to respond to the taunt.
“I would imagine it is because whoever was sending the signal decided to stop,” TOM stated, adding in exasperation, “Amateurs!”
The group chewed on that for a moment. Surprisingly, it was Rapier-Dewall who asked, “So, do you know where the signal came from?”
“I got a fix on the universe,” TOM answered, defensiveness creeping into its voice. “Considering that we started with an infinite number of possible universes, I think narrowing it down to one is pretty good for a couple hours of work.”
“And, the universe was…” Investigator Chumley prompted.
“The signal is coming from Earth Prime 0-0-0-0-0-1 dash delta.”
“The universe three doors down from Earth Prime?” Noomi asked.
“That is an imprecise formulation,” TOM quickly corrected her. “The various dimensions of the Multiverse exist on top of a single superstrate of space-time. Still…uhh…I suppose that’s precise enough for you guys.”
Investigator Chumley a
sked: “If we pick up the signal again, will you be able to trace it from there?”
“Yes,” TOM sighed. “You would have known that if you had read the manual…”
Investigator Chumley pocketed TOM. “Mrs. Rapier-Dewall, we’d like to thank you for your cooperation,” he said.
“That’s it?” Rapier-Dewall asked, sort of, kind of, a little…well, disappointed.
“Yes, thank you.” Investigator Chumley nodded towards the door, Noomi followed him out. When they got to the driveway, they found that a hamburger wrapper and drink had been dropped on the roof of the Dimensional Delorean™. Shading their eyes, they looked up, to see a pair of witches flying through a restaurant hovering hundreds of feet above them. A fast food fly-through window. Very clever. You gotta love life in the suburbs.
Investigator Chumley picked the trash off the roof and chucked it into a bag next to the driver’s seat. When he and Noomi were strapped in and the doors closed, the Dimensional Delorean™ shimmied and disappeared.
The Rapier-Dewall family went back to its normal lives. By which I mean that Oliver and Lawrence spent the rest of the afternoon looking for and watching old Jack Ryan, Transdimensional Authority Police episodes on YouTube and Rapier-Dewall scrapped that day’s column and, instead, wrote a warm remembrance of the hours she killed as a teenager playing Jack Ryan, Transdimensional Authority Police: The Game. Yeah, the creativity that had been put into the title was a pretty good indication of the creativity that had been put into making the game. Still, add a little imagination of your own, and even a poorly designed game can be enchanting. And, readers must have agreed: that article got the third most hits of any GamR Boyz article that fortnight.
That evening, after the boys had been put to sleep, Rapier-Dewall and Dev lay in bed talking. They had, as was their wont, set the bedroom to “mellow.”
“How was your day?” Rapier-Dewall asked.
“Mmmm….mellow,” Dev answered. “How are you doing?”
