by Claire Kane
Wait a sec, he thought. I just got attacked in my own apartment, which is now torched, and I’m worried about steaks? Wow. But hey. It’s for Lacey. I can always get a new apartment.
Sighing, he skirted the island counter and waved at a firefighter heading in his direction. “Hey. Konnichiwa, dude. Care to tell me why you didn’t RSVP? And sorry, I don’t know how to say that in Japanese.” The uniformed man moved by with a purpose, neither stopping nor even trying to dodge Victor. So Victor dodged him.
Something felt off. He’d been standing right next to the island when he’d sidestepped his unwelcome company. He looked down toward the counter and immediately wished he hadn’t. The counter was protruding halfway through his torso, and he couldn’t feel a thing. He felt his breath catch—only there was no breath to catch. He closed his eyes and slowly placed his fingers on the inside of his wrist.
Nothing.
Victor froze. The implications seeped into his mind. Barely daring, he willed himself over to the stretcher, and no one stopped him. He reached for the sheet, only to have his hand pass right through it. He tried again with the same results. And a third time. He tensed in frustration, grinding his teeth. “Can someone please move this sheet for me?”
Almost as if he had heard him, a police officer stepped out into the hall, a camera dangling from his neck, and a clipboard in one hand. The officer readied his camera, then lifted the sheet. As the flash exploded, Victor saw the worst thing he’d ever seen in his life.
Himself. Face blackened, half melted, and not at all ready to greet his future wife.
“Aww man,” he exclaimed, falling back against a wall, only to fall through it into the apartment next door. He stumbled to right himself, and found himself upright as soon as the thought occurred to him. “What is going on?”
In reply, a cold whisper whisked through his mind.
“Hello?”
The whisper came again, but if someone was saying something, he couldn’t understand it. Suddenly remembering he was in his neighbor’s living room, he looked around frantically to see whether he had interrupted anything. Thankfully, the room was empty, and as sodden as the charred husk of his own digs.
Legion.
He paused at the nearly imperceptible word. In fact, it was almost more a feeling than anything he’d actually heard. Ignoring it, he strode to the door and reached for the handle, only to pass right through it. “So why am I not falling through the floor?” He asked to no one in particular. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t be dead. I’ve got a killer date planned for Lacey. This can’t be happening.”
Legion.
The hairs on his neck rose. Great. I’m dead, but I can still freak out. That’s just wonderful. A sense of cold dread began pecking at the outer edges of his thoughts. He ignored it again and, forcing a sigh for the sake of it, he walked through the door—eyes closed—and back into the hall. Two medical technicians were wheeling the stretcher into the elevator at the end of the hall, and he ran to catch up. The doors slid closed too soon, and he cursed himself for not being in the elevator.
So he closed his eyes again and simply charged through.
Settling in between the medtechs, he waited as the elevator descended, still wondering why he wasn’t just falling to the center of the earth. “Okay, this is really starting to trip me out now.” The medical techs didn’t seem to notice his comment, but carried on a muttered conversation in Japanese. After a few moments, Victor realized that he could understand them, despite his general lack of language skills.
“They are lucky the entire building didn’t burn down,” one man said. Instantly, Victor knew—the way people know in dreams—the man’s name, and everything about his life. Father of one, married for five years but cheating on his wife with four different women. In heavy debt to the local yakuza, and a bit too fond of saké and gambling.
“Stupid American,” the second tech said. “He probably got drunk and lit the place on fire just to show how amazing he thought he was. He probably tried to put it out by urinating on it. Maybe he thought he would be better at it than the fire sprinklers.” Both men laughed. As with the first tech, the full bio of the second guy practically appeared before Victor’s eyes. College kid in med school. Never had a girlfriend. Lived with his parents and played games in his free time. Still held a grudge against the US for Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
“Hey!” Victor called. “Watch it.”
The techs both paused momentarily. Drunken Cheater glanced around. Gamer Boy looked momentarily confused.
“Wait,” Victor said. “Can you guys actually hear me?” He waved his hand in front of their faces. “Hello? Konnichiwa? Ohayō?” The techs both shrugged, and carried on, though Gamer Boy didn’t make any more snarky comments about Americans all the way down to the lobby.
Victor followed them out into the street, and toward the waiting ambulance. He was about to climb in when the creepy voice/feeling thing buzzed through him again.
Legion!
They were there without further warning. Scores of vague black shapes surrounding the ambulance and spilling across the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. They seemed to absorb the harsh glare of streetlights. Victor froze, unable to resist watching them. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the shapes were more than just that—they were people.
I’m guessing they’re the leftover of Soylent Green…
His eyes were somehow able to track them all simultaneously. And then he made out their faces, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Hideously twisted masks of hatred, extreme hunger, and envy were everywhere he looked.
“My… gosh,” he whispered.
Across the street, he saw a swarm of the things crowding around a local bar and brothel. As soon as he thought of the place, he found himself inside, peering through thin curtains of opium haze and cigarette smoke that diffused the dim neon from the bar. The place looked surprisingly American. The shadowy beings were packed in the place like sardines, every one of them scrabbling with wicked claws at the various patrons, as though they could somehow rip them open. A small fight erupted in one of the back booths, and the shadows were so thick there he could hardly even see the men who were throwing punches. Lisping, sinister choruses of laughter hissed from the men, even though their lips weren’t moving. All at once, Victor knew the brawlers were no longer in control of their own bodies. When one man finally went down, a demon emerged from the fallen man, its dark eyes mingled with despair and ecstasy.
Legion!
Victor turned and bolted for the door, dodging tables, chairs and the handful of patrons still on their feet. Bursting into the open night air, he ran for the ambulance, which was already pulling away. A sinking feeling alerted him to the notion that his sudden flight must have attracted unwanted attention.
Legion. The word drew out long and slow in his mind, and he felt cold.
The creatures materialized between him and the ambulance that was taking his body away. Then they were on his right hand and his left. Victor whirled back toward his apartment building, only to find they were there, too. He could even feel them in the air above him.
Legion.
Waving his arms frantically, he tried batting the vaporous forms away, but to no avail. “Seriously, get lost!”
No flesh. They hissed as one. Just like us, now.
“I am not like you! I’ve got a hot girlfriend who’s going to marry me once I can quit being dead. Now leave me alone!”
In an instant, they were swarming around him. The lights around him blurred, and so very dim. He felt as though his heart should be bursting, but remembered he still had no pulse. The creatures continued to suck every shred of warmth from him, and he felt as though an invisible cage was closing on him, trapping him; shrinking him. Victor’s will to exist was dying at an accelerating pace.
Lacey! Lacey! he cried in his mind. Help me, babe! Someone, please!
THREE
Rounding the corner of Victor’s apartme
nt building, Lacey realized that part of her didn’t actually want to say goodbye. What would happen after tonight? After Victor would fly back home? They’d wish each other the best of luck and remain vague Facebook friends?
She paused to think and caught a glimpse of herself in a window. A muted reflection of her large almond-shaped eyes looked back at her, above a nose dotted with just a few freckles. Freckles Victor referred to as “sweet cinnamon sprinkles.” With a sigh, she supposed watching Godzilla on repeat wasn’t such a bad thing. Funny how she hated the flick, herself. Maybe it was the half-Asian side of her rebelling. Her eyes traced to the tops of skyscrapers, imagining the giant ripping buildings apart like mere Legos in his lizard hands.
At the sight of smoke pluming out of a nearby apartment building, Victor’s to be exact, Lacey shook her head, trying to expel her overactive imagination. But the smoke only increased. All at once, the flashing lights and unusual, static crowd made sense.
“Oh, no!” she gasped. Instinctively, she just ran.
She ducked under the police line tape, only to have her heel catch in a manhole lid, ripping it off. She nearly fell to her knees, but with fast reflexes she successfully kicked both shoes off and clung tight to her purse as she continued. Small bare feet slapped the wet sidewalk, her long black hair slashing back and forth.
Suddenly remembering apartments have sprinklers, she slowed her pace, letting the thought alleviate some of her anxiety. Victor would be okay. He’s safe, she told herself. Victor would have gotten out anyway. Still, there was a darkness that tried creeping into her chest, as she neared the emergency personnel.
She asked the first person she came across, a tall woman in a robe, zombie-eyed in astonishment, “What caused the fire? Did someone leave an iron on? Was it a candle? What?”
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t know.” Lacey bolted through the lobby door, not even hearing the officer calling out to her to stop. The fire crew had disabled the elevators, so she sped up the stairs, and raced down the hall toward his apartment, bursting through the small cluster of police officers still investigating the scene.
Victor’s apartment was unrecognizable. The obscenely acrid scent nearly lifted her off her feet to throw her back out. Holding her nose, she stepped around the wet remains of charred boxes to the kitchen. Once-white countertops were black. Soot and ash littered the floor and climbed up the walls like a disease. She spotted a skillet teetered against skeletal remains of the cupboard space below the stovetop. Kneeling down, she stared at it, trying to gather her thoughts.
Glass shards poked out of a lump of soggy debris beside the skillet. Lacey lifted a large shard and rubbed the blackness off with her thumbs. There was a label to some cheap wine. That wasn’t on par with Victor’s taste. Although he sometimes had cereal for dinner, wine was something he never skimped on… unless moving was making his wallet tighter than ever.
Setting the shard back down, she unsettled a bit of ash, exposing a small square something. Lacey plucked it out and wiped it off. A jewelry box? She lifted its lid.
“Victor?” she gasped at what was revealed. A brilliant diamond engagement ring flashed at her—a marquis cut, like she always wanted, on a platinum band.
Someone grabbed her elbow. She turned in surprise, successfully shoving the jewelry box into her long red blazer unseen.
The officer glanced at her bare feet and drenched hems to her slacks, saying, “We need this area clear.” Although he spoke no English, Lacey understood.
She stood in shock, wiping back flyaway hairs. Out of habit, she reached for her press pass, but wasn’t wearing one. “He was home? Cooking?”
“Yes.” There was a solemn nod, then she was escorted out.
*
Victor threw himself to the ground and curled into the smallest possible ball. His attempts to envision Lacey were rebuffed, and his whole world shrank to a small cluster of emotions so vivid he could taste them. Despair, torment, envy, hatred! His vision imploded into a collapsing tunnel of hazy obscurity while tormented shrieks drowned out his hearing. The cold was now beyond description; the things were now sliding over his skin and penetrating his being.
“Please! Please… please…” Then his voice was gone.
LEGION! The word carried a terrifyingly triumphant note. At once, Victor realized, there were things worse than death. And he was experiencing one of those things first hand.
Then it was gone. All the pain and rending fear vanished like water under an atom bomb. Even though it was nighttime in Tokyo, everything was wrapped in brilliance. His vision, once darkened, had been miraculously enhanced. At a glance, he was able to make out the pores in the skin of a person looking out the window of an airliner passing overhead. The shrill cries of the damned had been replaced by a warm melody that was at once music, a fragrance and a sweet taste. Victor had no idea how that was possible, but he didn’t care. He had been saved, and that was the only thing that mattered. Well, that and finding Lacey.
Leaping to his feet, Victor examined himself. He found it odd he was still wearing the same button-down shirt, tie, and slacks he’d been wearing when he came home from work. The clothing bore none of the marks of the attack, and he wondered how that was possible.
You really are a newbie, aren’t you?
Victor looked around to see where the thought had come from. There was no one. “Hello? Hello? You’re not another one of those freaky smoke devil things, are you?” His eyes scanned a full three-sixty, but found nothing.
You need to look higher, sweetheart, the thoughts said with oddly sarcastic patience.
He looked up. In the midst of the glowing scene one small, particularly bright light shone.
“You?” Victor asked. “What are you? You saved me, didn’t you?”
He felt a sigh. Do you really have to use your mouth? the thing said. You’re dead. Don’t expect me to flap my gums, even if you do.
“Are you an angel?”
Another sigh. Of course. Am I seriously going to have to teach you everything about being home again? They must have really worked you over when they plugged you into that mortal frame. Then again, your death was rather traumatic… Normally, people remember things much faster once they get back.
Victor’s brow scrunched. “What are you talking about? Get back from where?”
The light undulated slightly, and drifted down to his eye level. As it neared, it resolved itself into a shape he found he was startled to recognize.
“Ms. Tibbits?” He scoffed at the sight of his childhood cat.
The cat fairly glared at him. It’s “Rao,” honey. It was you and those other humans that gave me that stupid name. “Ms. Tibbits.” Pah. Anyway, you’re safe. It looks like we’re going to need a long talk. It’s concerning that you didn’t even remember the Dark Ones.
He shuddered involuntarily. “Who—what were those—things?”
The black and gold tabby raised her eyebrow, completely surprising Victor.
What, Rao said. Because only humans can have facial expressions and intelligent thoughts?
“I, no, I mean… I just—”
She sighed again. It’s alright, kid. I’m just a tad frustrated by you waking up ignorant and defenseless. It’s not terribly common. Don’t let my tartness scare you. I guess being unable to talk to you humans for those seven years just really got on my nerves, you know? We cats are, well, more intelligent than you people think.
“You mean, you wanted to talk to us before?”
She nodded. Of course. You humans might not be the brightest creatures, when you’re mortal, but you’ve got one grand lineage behind you. Once you’re out of your faulty mortal frames, you’re actually quite good company, for the most part.
“Thanks,” he said. “I think. But I still don’t know what just happened, just then.”
Come with me, deary. We’ll take this slow, for your sake.
Victor watched as Ms. Tibbits—
Rao, thank you…
—didn’t bother to jump down to the ground as he’d expected. Instead, she floated along, five feet off the ground, drifting rapidly ahead of him.
“How are you doing that?”
What? Moving without wagging my legs?
“Well, yeah.” He fell in beside her, still wondering how it was that his childhood cat was alive and talking to him, at which Ms. Tibbits—
Rao!
—rolled her little green eyes—
Don’t make me sound cute, Vic. I’m done with the “cute” thing, okay?
—and turned and looked at him, still drifting.
Let me give it to you straight, hon. You’re not tied up in a mortal frame anymore. You’re not chained to those stupid rules. Walking: what a waste of effort! Gravity bends to the will, dear; we just forget how to do it when we’re tossed into mortality. Oh, and all those other “rules” of physics? You can throw those out, too. They’re meant for that sphere, not for Reality. The rules here are even stricter, but they’re looser at the same time.
Victor frowned. “Stricter… but… looser? How is that possible?”
She gave him a look of hopeless frustration. I’m just going to show you.
The expected magical gesture Victor was waiting for never came. One second, he was just outside his old apartment building. The next, it was just… there. All of it. Sights, sounds, history, thoughts, music, science. Like an entire doctorate-level education crammed into five seconds. When it was over, Victor dropped to his knees, feeling as though he should be panting.
