Traveler

by L. E. DeLano

  Do you have someplace in mind? I ask.

  I thought a little glitter mousse might cheer you up.

  I smile, my eyes darting around. It’s like I expect Mario to leap out of the bushes like an avenging angel, ready to smite us or something.

  Okay, I sign. I’d love to. Let’s get back home while Danny is busy with his therapist.

  Why? he responds. We’ve got a pond right in front of us.

  Are you serious? It’s freezing. We’ll get soaked.

  You’ll transfer as soon as you touch it. If you do it right, the only thing getting wet will be your fingertips.

  If I do it right, I qualify.

  You have to learn sometime. He shrugs. Come on. You’ve got this.

  He leads me over to the pond’s edge. We’ll do this the easy way, he signs. But it’ll get our shoes muddy.

  What’s the hard way? I ask.

  He points at the footbridge that arches over the water. We jump.

  From the bridge? That’s only about six feet above the water!

  We’d have to shift fast, he agrees. But I don’t think you’re ready for that yet. And I doubt our counterparts would appreciate slamming into an icy pond.

  No, definitely not, I sign. Let’s stick with easy.

  We crouch down at the water’s edge, and he breaks through the thin ice. The water is crystal clear, and I’m easily able to see myself in the surface. I reach out, putting tentative fingers to the water as I stare at the other me, my mind filling with images of chandeliers and chrome and sparkling everything.

  I push on the surface, and the water is so cold, it makes my fingers numb. I concentrate as hard as I can with my fingers freezing off, and my hand pushes down … right into the water, soaking my sleeve.

  I draw back, making a startled sound as I shake the water off my frozen hand.

  Don’t get distracted, Finn signs. You have to tune out the conditions around you and focus on where you want to go.

  Can’t we just go back home and find a decent mirror?

  Finn shakes his head. You need to learn this. Someday, you may need to travel quickly, or under harsh conditions. Keep your focus, and you’ll be fine.

  I rub my hands together, trying to get them warm, and I try again, gazing at my reflection in the water and looking closely as my fingertips barely graze the surface. It still takes two more tries and an achingly cold hand before things begin to morph before my eyes.

  This time, instead of the easy give of water, it feels thicker, tighter. One strong push and I am through.

  Whoa. So this is where I live over here. My room is a technicolor, glittering nightmare. Everything is in neon shades of yellow and pink, and I have what looks like four shimmering disco balls instead of light fixtures, and all four of them are spinning at different speeds. It makes me want to throw up. If Danny were here, he’d be crouched in a corner with his eyes shut.

  I am suddenly filled with a wave of homesickness so strong it brings tears to my eyes and they spill over, sliding down my cheeks. I miss my Danny, singing along with Disney movies. I miss his goofy sense of humor and even the way he announces it like the town crier every time he farts. I miss climbing into my mom’s bed at night, after Danny goes to sleep. I know she’s tired, but she never tells me to leave. It’s the only time we have really that’s just for us, and we lie there and I talk about my day and we laugh and she lets me fall asleep there, if I want to. And when she turns out the light, she smooths my hair back and kisses my forehead, even though I’m seventeen. I pretend I’m asleep when she does it, but I’m really not.

  “You okay?” Finn says, coming up behind me.

  I nod, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands. “Just homesick.” I give a watery laugh. “It feels so weird to hear. And talk.”

  “A big mouthful of glitter mousse might help the situation,” he says.

  “Lead the way.” I slide my hand into his, and we walk down the hammered chrome staircase with the eye-burning fuchsia carpet and out through the multicolored front room with the rotating chrome fireplace.

  I’m relieved to see that the street looks nearly normal. The exteriors of the houses are a lot more flamboyant, and the cars look like something out of a 1950s sci-fi movie about the future, but we’re able to find our way to Mugsy’s without too much trouble.

  We get our mousse and slide into the booth. I don’t even bother waiting till I’ve sat down—I pull a huge dollop off with my finger and cram it in my mouth.

  I roll my eyes in ecstasy, not bothering to say how good this is. Finn knows. And he’s right; I do feel a little better. I wish I could bring some of this back for my mom and my brother. I’m not sure if Danny would try it because it looks strange, but he’d love it if he did.

  “You want a refill?” Finn asks, pointing to my nearly empty bowl.

  “I do, but I’m also debating the merits of a cupcake.” I hope other me can forgive me for sabotaging her diet this once. I need it.

  “Why don’t I go get both, and we can share them?” Finn suggests.

  “It’s obvious to me why I like you.” I grin.

  “Be right back.”

  Finn makes his way to the counter, and I spend a moment looking at the outrageous posters on the wall. Apparently, clowns are a major thing in this reality, and they all look demented in the posters. I cannot suppress a shudder.

  My fingers are sticky from the glitter mousse, so I walk back to the bathroom to wash them before I add a layer of frosting. I’ve just finished drying my hands and I’m opening the door when it’s suddenly shoved in from the other side. My mind barely has time to register the intruder before I’m pushed back and spun around, falling into the polished chrome wall.

  I let out a sound of protest because I’m surprised, but my eyes are on the sparkling, gloved hand with all its bracelets and jewelry that comes down to hold my palm flat against the wall. My startled eyes lock on my reflection next to it. Before I can get my bearings, I feel a mighty push from behind, and then the grip on my arm breaks.

  I am through. And I am all alone.

  36

  Walking on the Moon

  The landscape around me is an endless sea of gray. It’s unrelenting. Everywhere you look, there is almost nothing to break up the monotony. If my lungs weren’t frantically sucking in air, I’d think I landed on the surface of the moon.

  I guess I just met the other Traveler. And I think it’s a woman. A very strong woman, apparently.

  Where is Finn? Does she have him? I glance around frantically, but neither of them are anywhere in sight. No one’s in sight. I am completely and utterly alone.

  I get to my feet, rubbing my arms for comfort, and also because it’s really, really cold here. The sky is overcast, and it looks like it might rain any minute.

  I am standing next to a trickle of a creek, but it’s clogged with garbage and chunks of charred wood, forming a stagnant pool. The water has a greasy coating. I can barely see myself, but I might be able to see well enough to use it. It’s hard to tell with the hazy cloud cover darkening the sky.

  I have no idea where I am, but the Traveler doesn’t appear to have followed me. I crouch down next to the pool, holding my breath so I don’t have to smell it. I reach out, clear my mind, and touch the murky, swirled reflection showing in the water.

  My hand slides into a slick of goo and I pull it back, shaking the nastiness off it and wiping it against my jeans. Gross.

  I take a deep breath, really concentrating this time, and I nearly fall in, trying to push through the water. I try one more time, willing myself to the other side, to Finn, and still I am here. Wherever “here” is.

  I stand up, looking around, but I don’t see a house or a business or anything that could possibly have a better mirror. And since I’m not smart enough to have thought to keep one on me—I make a mental note to do that from now on—I’m going to have to walk until I find something. I decide to follow the creek, hoping to find clear water somewhere, but it
dries up not far from where I was.

  I feel like I’m making pretty good time. A glance down at myself shows that I’m wearing what I wore at Mugsy’s, instead of whatever I’d be wearing here, which means—I guess—that there is no me here. So the Traveler pushed me through to a reality I don’t exist in. I’m also standing out like a sore thumb in head-to-toe gold and fuchsia.

  I pick up my pace, wondering how long it’s going to be before the Traveler finds me. Off to one side I see the only thing that could pass for cover. It looks almost like a landfill of some kind, made up of large piles of garbage and felled trees. It almost looks like a tornado was through and leveled a town and they pushed all the rubble into a long, long pile that stretches as far as I can see. I need to get on the other side of it, because the Traveler could be following, and soon.

  Maybe I can find a broken mirror in the pile if I look. I just need to find a clear reflector to get me out of here. Murky, possibly diseased water is probably not the best way to go about this.

  I walk for what feels like hours, but without a working phone—I can’t get a signal at all—or a watch, who knows? It’s likely been less than that, but it feels like a lot longer. I haven’t found anything along the way that I can use as a mirror, either.

  The sun is beginning to sink in the sky, and it’s getting even colder. I’m starting to think that I’m not going to find shelter before evening when I find the road. It’s half-buried under dirt and fine grayish powder, and chunks of it have crumbled off at the edges.

  I follow the road in the same direction that I was walking toward, keeping to the edge of the rubble pile, and just as the sun drops to the horizon, I see the houses. It’s a small town, and strangely, even though it’s twilight, there are no lights, not in the street and not in any of the homes. I get a creepy sense of foreboding about this, and I slow my steps a bit, trying to pay closer attention, because I just kicked something hard as I was walking and it rolled off in front of me.

  That’s when I realize I’m walking through a graveyard.

  I kicked a human skull, and there are bone fragments all around me. Not one of them is intact—all are broken, shattered. I crouch down to look more closely in the remaining dim light and I see the marks upon them—like they’ve been gnawed. The bones are of all sizes. Large adults. Smaller adults. Children.

  I stagger to my feet as the horror hits me like an icy fist in the chest.

  I am in Finn’s world.

  The Traveler doesn’t need to follow me. She knows I won’t live long. Not here.

  The town in front of me now becomes a place to be feared instead of a safe harbor. I need to get out of sight. Who knows what’s hiding there, waiting for someone clueless like me to stumble in?

  But I have no choice. I have to go. I need to find a mirror. A puddle of clear water. A piece of polished metal. Something. And the houses in town are my best chance for finding any of those things. More than anything, I need to get out of sight, and I’m not about to curl up for the night on a pile of skeletons.

  I make my way more carefully now, grateful that I have my hearing again, but starting at every sound in the deepening night. It’s eerily quiet for the most part, but that just makes the tiny sounds stand out more when they occur. A shift in the rubble. Wind picking up. A thump that I can’t define.

  I crouch down, running as quickly as I can until I reach the side of a house, flattening myself into its shadow. I’m panting with exertion. I stand there a few minutes, waiting and listening.

  And then I hear it. Far off and barely discernable. Could it be human voices? I can’t tell for sure. I am tempted to hide in this building, but if they’re looking for people coming in off the road, this would be the first place they’d look.

  I stay flat against the wall, inching along until I get to a corner and can look around it very, very slowly. I don’t see anyone in either direction down the street, but that doesn’t mean they’re not inside a building or something. I stop and listen again, but whatever I’m hearing is faint and far away. I think. I hope.

  I decide to risk a run to the next house, and again, no one is there. I still feel like I’m too close to the road, though. I count down two more houses and wonder if I should risk crossing the street. Probably not.

  I move around to the back of this house, still listening closely for voices, or any sound of people. I am torn between the need to get away and the need to stay clear of what is an obvious entry point to the town. I try the back door, but it’s not budging.

  I look up and down the street carefully as I move around to the front of the house. I can see in the dim moonlight that the door has been broken in and I stand in the doorway, listening, holding my breath to keep it from sounding in my ears. I take a step cautiously into the house. My foot crunches down on something and I freeze in my tracks, holding my breath again. After what feels like an eternity, I move once more, and everything sounds impossibly loud as my footsteps echo on a wooden floor scattered with debris.

  The house is very dark, and I make my way blindly from one room to the next, finding nothing on the ground floor that could act as a mirror—at least not that I can see in the dark.

  I make my way up the staircase as silently as I can, but the stairs creak badly and I am sure I heard something rustle. I bite down on my lip to keep from making a startled sound, and I wait. Breathe. Wait some more.

  I make it up two more stairs and wait again before finally moving to the top of the staircase and working my way carefully down the hallway, my eyes straining to see in near pitch-black. The first room I encounter is a bathroom, and I nearly shout with excitement. Where there’s a bathroom, there’s a mirror. I fumble around automatically for the light switch and realize how useless that was when nothing happens. The power must be out. I feel for the sink and find it, then reach my hand out and touch the glass above it. Yes! It’s a mirror.

  But I can’t see it. If I can’t see it, I can’t shift. My hand reaches up to trace its outline. It’s definitely large and attached firmly to the wall. Maybe there’s something I can smash it with? I only need a good-sized shard. I feel around, but there’s nothing in the room—just a sink and a toilet.

  I lean against the sink, momentarily defeated. This bathroom has no windows, and it’s as dark as a tomb in here. I’m going to have to find another mirror in a room with some windows, or a flashlight.

  I step back out into the hallway, trying to move silently but failing miserably. There’s just entirely too much debris to step on, and the floor—at least to my ears—is incredibly creaky. I step into one bedroom that’s been made over into an office, feeling carefully along the wall. There’s nothing that feels like a mirror. I move on to what must be the master bedroom, and I’m disappointed to discover that there’s no bathroom suite attached. I ought to see a little better due to the windows in here, but there are heavy draperies blocking out even the slightest glimmer of light, and I open them carefully, just in case someone can see shadows moving in here from the outside. The windows still don’t shed enough light with a pale moon in an overcast sky. It’s useless. I close the drapes again.

  I put my hands to the wall, inching along and feeling for a bureau or any type of vanity table, when I hit the jackpot. A heavy, very ornate, and dust-covered mirror hangs on the wall over a chest of drawers. I clean its smooth surface with my fingers, crinkling my eyes as I strain them hard trying to see myself. I stare hard, touching the glass, willing myself to see more. Still useless.

  I start opening drawers as quietly as I can, feeling around in the hope of finding a flashlight, and I go into full-body shudder as I put my hand in an enormous spiderweb. I shut the drawer quickly and have to force myself to open the next one, and then the next.

  Still no luck.

  Another slow walk around the house, along with drawer-opening in the office and another bedroom with a crib (but no mirror) and rifling through the kitchen drawers, gets me nowhere. Until the sun comes up again, I’m not going t
o find anything in the dark. I might as well just wait it out till morning, then open the curtains and shift back once the sun is up.

  I feel across the top of the bare mattress on the bed and it seems to be clear, but a quick check of the closets doesn’t find me any bedding and only a few articles of clothing that I can try to use for warmth.

  I slide my arms into what feels like a ladies’ blouse and then carefully reach out to guide myself onto the bed, hoping I won’t be getting another handful of spiderweb. After another inspection, I curl up across the foot of the mattress.

  I am exhausted, but every slight noise, every bump, every whistle of wind skitters across my frazzled nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Every creak and pop of the house is a gang of evil men who have been instructed to target me specifically.

  I’ve got a mirror in front of me, and all I need is a little of the muted glow that passes for daylight in this place, and I am home free.

  I lie in the dark with my eyes open wide, pulling my knees up into my body, and I try to keep warm.

  37

  Found

  I realize that I must have dozed off, because I’m standing in the white-walled classroom. Mario comes through the red door and rushes over to me, grasping me by the shoulders.

  “Jessa! You’re safe!”

  “No I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. “The Traveler threw me into Finn’s world, I think. I haven’t seen anyone yet, but—”

  I’m pulled backward through the red door with such force, my arms flail, reaching out for Mario. When I open my eyes, I am still lying on the dusty bed in the dark, and from the adrenaline pumping in my veins, it’s clear that something has startled me awake.

  I lie very, very still, listening.

  There it is again. The voices.

  They’re getting louder, a lot louder. I can even make out the words.