by LK Walker
“She has a very soothing voice,” I say looking around for the body that goes with the voice, only to find the room empty.
“Two-hour booking. Largest room available.” He calls back without any pleasantries.
“Two-hour booking confirmed for room three. Please enjoy.” It’s a luxurious voice, rhythmic in its cadence and it’s also obviously—I now realize—automated. I stop looking for the source and pretend I’m admiring the interior.
We walk around the long corridor that skirts the edge of the building. I can see outside, through the heavily tinted glass that lines the exterior wall. It’s spotless glass. I can’t see a single mark or a reflection.
Zander steers me through the doors with ‘Room 3’ written across them. The space I walk into is huge, like a movie theatre without the seats. He has me stand on a round, black pad protruding from the ground near the back of the room. As I step up onto it, he joins me. The pad would fit at least half a dozen people, so there’s more than enough room for both of us. But he stands close, so close I can smell him, and he’s looking down.
“We have to wait here a minute,” he says.
I turn my head to take in the room.
“Don’t move.” His hand brushes my arm. There’s an obvious lack of trust for my drunken state.
“Access beach,” his loud voice echoes in the empty space. “Restoration setting.”
I take another glance around, unsure what this place is, expecting something to materialize, maybe a screen or a projection.
“It will take a few minutes.” He’s seen the questioning look on my face when nothing happens immediately.
A strange sound comes from the vents in the walls, a rustling that grows louder and louder. I shift from foot to foot waiting anxiously. I would prefer not to be stuck in one place but since it is the only instruction Zander has issued, I do as I’m told. After a minute, the floor starts filling with tiny black specks, shiny and smooth. I was wrong about them being vents. The specks flood out of them. Gushing out, until all the ground around the pad we stand on is a sea of black sprinkles. The flow ceases and, for a few seconds, the specks lie dormant. Long enough for me to peek up at Zander. He appears pleased. His fingers push the fringe from my face, then trickle down to my shoulder. Big brown eyes stare down at me and right now nothing else matters. A perfect moment in time. I try to imprint it on my memory. But Zander looks away, breaking the magic. He is staring off into the distance. My focus follows.
The room shudders, the small pieces all around us shift, folding and merging with one another. The wash of black is changing color to golds and blues. We are no longer standing in an empty room but on a beach, stretching off for miles on either side, and beautiful blue water reaches out past the horizon. Two deck chairs sit in the middle of the beach, an umbrella poked in the ground behind each of the chairs offers them shade. The water laps at the shore, it’s calming slosh is the only noise I can hear.
“It looks incredible, so real.” And it is stunning. A waft of fresh and salty sea air grazes my nose.
With a childish giggle, I turn to Zander, “I can even smell it.” I take a deep breath.
Until then, I hadn’t noticed his eyes were on my face. “What’s that old saying?” he quips. “A kid in a candy shop?” My excitement is amusing him.
“That’s what it feels like.” I give him a hug. “Thanks for showing me this. It’s incredible.” I take another huge breath of air, bathing my lungs.
His face beams. “Showing you, huh?”
By the time I register his flat palm on my back, it’s too late to do anything about it. I squeal as he pushes me. Stumbling forward, I grimace, scared of what my foot will land on, unable to imagine what is truly in front of me. That is, until my feet hit the sand. The grains are warm and push up between my toes. I spin around to look at Zander, my mouth is gaping wide.
“Do you want that filled with sand?” He steps down onto the golden sands next to me.
“But how is it here?” I’m twisting myself round, so my feet go deeper.
“Who knows? Don’t go too far in any direction. You’ll hear a proximity warning. After that, you’ll hit the wall.”
I look around trying to discern the edge. There’s nothing to see but miles of empty beach.
“Administrator, increase sun intensity by two.” The sun slides up the sky at Zander’s command. Its strength increases, warming my face. “Administrator, Vitamin D-scan guest and set levels accordingly.”
“Moderate deficiency,” the computer replies.
“You need to get out in the sun more,” he says.
Zander’s hand takes mine and leads me to the chairs, sitting me down in one before reclining in the other. I take off my shoes and jersey, dumping them on the sand.
“Administrator? Why is it called that?”
“Cancel request,” Zander calls out. “It will try to perform whatever your next statement is after its name. It’s a word to get the computer’s attention, that way you don’t have to push a button. The A word was antiquated. No one would use it in here.”
“Hey, I’m an A word you A-hole.” He laughs until he realizes I’m not. “That’s rude.”
“Oh shit, you’re serious. You never told me that, it never came up on your…” Zander’s voice drops away and he rubs at the back of his neck.
“My what?”
“You never told me.” He repeats.
“You never asked.”
“Sorry,” and he does appear to be. There’s a short silence before he turns to face me, a perplexed expression plastered on his face. “Then why would you call me an A-hole. Wouldn’t that be insulting yourself?”
“That A doesn’t stand for Administrator, try arse, Zander.”
“Oh shit. Administrator immediate abort last request. Acknowledge.”
The smooth voice chimed in, “Cancellation acknowledged.”
Zander’s expression relaxes, relieved. It’s only then I consider my choice of words and what I had suggested the computer should do. His expression is priceless and I crack up laughing, so hard I’m lying back on my deck chair in complete hysterics. Zander’s arms wrap around me and he throws me over his shoulder. With me kicking and screaming, he strides into the water until it’s up over his knees. His hands slide up to my waist and he picks me off his shoulder and dumps me in. I hit the water and gasp. It’s colder than I’d expected. I resurface, spluttering and spitting.
I launch myself at Zander, full contact tackle. I’m satisfied to see shock on his face before I wrap my arms around him pushing him back and under the water. Unlike me, he manages to shut his mouth in time.
He makes it to his feet faster than I do and, with a hand on each arm, he hauls me up onto my feet.
Something’s weird with this beach. It takes a while for the penny to drop. “It’s fresh water.”
“I prefer swimming in fresh,” he said. “Eyes don’t sting and you can drink as much as you want.”
“It’s weird.” I lick my lips to get another taste.
“It’s sobered you up.”
“At least you didn’t take advantage of my state.” I don’t mean to sound so disappointed.
“Yeah, I was too busy insulting to you to do that.”
We stand there, waist deep in water, saying nothing as a light wave breaks just past where we stand. My fingers run through the surface of the water as it swells with each wave.
I start making inane conversation, creeping closer to him as I do until we are practically toe to toe. I stand there in anticipation. Wanting. I’m putting all my effort into keeping my breathing steady but it still sounds ragged in my ears. He leans in. His fingertips tickle my palms as he takes hold pulling me closer.
There is noise, abrupt and loud.
An alarm screams. The moment is gone. The water falls away from my legs and the sand disappears from beneath my feet.
“What’s going on?” The noise is horrendous. I yell to be heard.
“Security
alarm.” Zander closes the gap between us, and not with the intentions I had been hoping for.
“That I get. What’s the water doing?” The water and sand have parted, all the way up the beach.
“Giving us an easy track to the door.” He grabs my elbow and pulls me along.
As soon as we step up, his left iris turns pitch black, as if a shutter slammed closed.
“What the hell is that?” My finger pokes towards his eye.
Zander is oblivious to my words, his right eye is staring into space.
“How?” he yells at no one.
A large explosion outside rocks the building. If that hadn’t scared the crap out of me, Zander’s attitude would have. He’s pacing on the small circular platform yelling over the racket. “Valkyrie is with me. Immediate evac.” There is a pause. “It doesn’t matter. Do it wirelessly.” Another pause. “Well, if she stays she’s dead. Just do it and then get the hell out of there.” Zander’s left eye shifts back to normal. Now both his big brown eyes look down on me, I think I see fear.
“What’s going on?” I ask, panic stretching my vocal chords making my voice shrill. The explosions outside have ceased, or perhaps we are only between detonations. How the hell can you tell?
“Look after yourself.” Zander kisses me tenderly on the forehead. He pulls my body into him and holds on tight.
“But…” I begin to stutter.
Something crashes into the building. It’s so loud. Then there is a flash—flames.
I wake up screaming. Pain sears my brain for a second longer, before dissipating.
“What’s going on?” Jack mimics my own words, words he never heard.
I sit up, staring around. This is my room. The floral bedspread is screwed in a ball between my hands, my knuckles white.
“Sorry, bad dream.” I flop back onto the pillow. My retinas still have an image of fire on them. As the fear and the images slowly wane, I allow my body to relax.
“Come here.” Jack’s arms open wide.
I curl into him. My dream had turned into a nightmare. Worse still, it isn’t fading fast enough. My emotions are heightened as if I lived each moment of my nightmare. I fidget within my warm enclosure. Jack counters my movement with a kiss on the top of my head.
“You’re shaking?” Jack is worried.
I hug him tighter or maybe I am hanging on to him trying not to fall back into the hell I witnessed. I don’t feel stable. Either my anti-depressants are doing a number on me or—or what?
What other option is there?
I’m losing my grip on reality.
After an hour of fidgeting, I take half a sleeping pill. It doesn’t take long for my body to relax and I fall back to sleep.
Chapter 8
Two weeks have passed since my horrid dream.
Grudgingly, I used the sleeping pills Doctor Abrams prescribed to survive the first week. They gave me some sense of control over the horrors.
This past week has been pill-free. No more nightmares. And that is a blessing.
It’s Saturday morning, that too is a blessing. Captain Jackass is living up to his name. I have a week left at work and he’s making the time drag. He’s rude and demanding. I know it’s all a power trip for him. I remind myself of this every time he opens his mouth but it’s hard to stay level headed. I need to work out my frustrations before they act as a catalyst to eardrum-beat my boss. The gym beckons.
To add to my frustrations, I’ve had no more dreams, of the nice kind. The type without explosions and running for my life. I stopped taking the sleeping pills when I was ready to go back. But there hasn’t been anything. Two weeks without Zander. I’m disappointed, to say the least.
I’m out of bed and fossicking in my drawer, looking for workout clothes. Jack cracks open an eye and makes a grunting noise.
“I'll be a couple of hours. Go back to sleep,” I whisper.
“Come back to bed.” He’s barely awake and his attempt to pat the bed next to him ends in his arm falling limp on the side I vacated.
“I'll grab something from the café for breakfast on the way home. Have a sleep in.”
“Love ya babe.” His words are muffled by his pillow. He’s already drifting back off to sleep before I’ve found my shorts.
Saturday mornings in my neck of town are pretty quiet. Car parks sit empty outside the gym’s brick facade. I park my old red Honda Accord in one of the spots and head inside. There’s too much shame in taking the elevator, so I heave myself up the steps to the third floor, gym bag bustling along over my shoulder as I go. I’m glad it’s only on the third floor. My quads are already crying out. If it was on the sixth, I might have opted for the shame.
My frustrations keep me trudging—irritated at how slowly my last day of work is taking to come around and my distinct lack of good dreams. My body is itching to have a go, ready to blow out the cobwebs. Up the stairs, down the corridor and in to the spin room, all on auto pilot. Internally grumbling the whole way. The spin bikes are lined up in three rows and I love to hate these metal ponies. I sling a leg over one at the back and start to warm up, legs ticking over to an easy rhythm before the instructor turns on the music and that heavy first beat drops. This is what I’ve come for—my sweet release.
Forty-five minutes later, sweat rains down from me and I’m gasping for breath. My body buzzing, my muscles and my mind satiated. My problems are all but dissolved, at least for the time being. I feel cleansed.
The gym shower runs over me, cooling my skin as I lather my body with soap. I inhale the coconut smell before rinsing it off, standing still, enjoying the gentle patter of water against my chest. Nothing occupies my thoughts.
My cubicle starts to shake. At first, it shudders, enough that it has my attention. The unnatural flow of a solid building swaying is hard to ignore. I turn the shower off and grab for my towel. Then it starts to really shake, like it had only been giving off a warning before. My cubicle jolts.
Violently.
It’s not just my cubicle, the woman in the next one over starts screaming 'earthquake'. She screams more but her words are drowned out by the noise of concrete and steel jerking and jarring beneath us. I picture myself in a snow globe in the hands of a five-year-old. If it’s only snow that patters gently down on my head, I’ll be grateful. A thunderous crashing noise rips away the imagery.
The noise. It’s so deafening, so terrifying.
This is like life imitating my dreams, except this is real and here I could die.
The lights go out, plunging the room into utter darkness. The ground is still shaking. All I want to do is flee but running away is out of the question. I can’t stand unaided.
The ground under me moves brutally again and I brace against the wall to stay upright. There’s nothing to do but wait. I lean on the wall as it pushes back at me. My feet struggle to keep their purchase on the wet floor. Terror-stricken cries break through the cacophony as the building buckles and twists. I bend my knees to stop myself from falling to the floor.
The ground keeps shaking.
Solid ground should not move like this. Neither should solid walls. How long can they stand up to it?
The ground shakes—bobs—twists.
My heart thunders in my chest. All my senses are heightened, all except for my eyes which see nothing but black. Dust falls on me. I smell it as it mingles with my soap.
I’m terrified, but it doesn’t own me. Three months of mourning death have been blinked away in a beat. My mind is buzzing. Perfect clarity. Every muscle vibrating ready for action.
I want to live.
My body responds with every resource it can muster. For the first time in months, I feel fully alive.
The building finally starts to settle, into a drunken sway.
My hands grope around on the floor. They find what they’re looking for. My training clothes are damp and the sweet smell of sweat drifts up from them. Sweaty or clean, I don’t care. Shorts and a shirt, that’s all I bother with.
“Are you alright?” I ask the woman who has appeared out of the neighboring cubicle. Tears fall from her eyes. I take her hand and lead her to the door. As soon as I open it, the light from the outside world floods in. The walls look like an old man’s palm, cracks splitting in all directions.
The ground hasn’t finished with us and the building shudders violently again. This time, I’m close enough to hear the woman’s screams. I know my face must hold the same terror-stricken look, but my mouth stays closed. I brace myself for the aftershock. There’s a sound of falling debris close by. What’s happening to the building? I won’t be able to see until I can motivate my feet to move again. That doesn’t happen until the ground calms and the building settles back into a lazy side to side swing.
I poke my head around a corner to look down the corridor towards the exit. Now I know where the noise came from. The roof has collapsed, the corridor is a jungle of wires, and pipes lie amongst wooden boards and concrete chunks. No exit in sight.
I crouch down next to the mess. There looks to be enough space to crawl through. A trail of women emerges from the changing rooms, each making their own exclamation as they see the way blocked. Some are crying uncontrollably, while others look blank, as if unsure what emotion to use. None are fitting. I look down to see my feet tucked away in my trainers, a pretty bow on top. I don’t remember shoving them on my feet, let alone tying the laces.
“I’m going to try to get through. Stay here and I’ll come back.” I announce to no one in particular.
The woman from the next cubicle, whose hand I still hold, looks past me at the pile of broken concrete, twisted metal, and hanging wires. Her eyes tell me she is close to breaking point.
