by Mari Mancusi
We pass an old man, hobbling down the street on a bent metal cane. I can't help but stare as I realize he's got an extra eye growing out of his forehead. He looks up, his tri-fold gaze meeting mine. His forlorn face lights up like a child's on Christmas morning.
"Mariah?" he cries, his voice full of wonder. "Is that really you?"
"Oh, great. I was afraid of this," Dawn mutters. "Look, Brother-we're trying to keep a low profile-"
"Hey, everyone, it's Mariah Quinn!" the man calls out loudly before Dawn can silence him. A moment later I find myself rushed by what appears to be the entire town, encircled, entrapped, and completely engulfed by eager Dark Siders, their eyes shining, their voices animated as they demand to know where I've been. I'm smothered in hugs and questions and requests for help. I look around wildly for Dawn, pleading for his assistance.
"Hey, hey!" he yells over the roar of the crowd, shooing them away. He manages to carve out a small space between me and the Dark Siders. "I know you're excited to see her, but Mariah's been through a lot. She needs some time to recover before you bombard her with requests. I'm sure she'll be setting up visiting hours soon. So just hang on until then, okay?"
"Sorry, Mariah," several townspeople say, looking appropriately abashed. "We're so glad to see you again." They step away slowly, retreating, respectful. Some touch their caps; others bow their heads.
I look over the crowd, realizing that the man with three eyes is not alone in his deformities. A young woman has an extra, useless arm hanging to one side. A small boy has a tooth growing out of his chin. A middle-aged guy has an extra set of ears. They're all mutants. Every last one of them. I glance over at Dawn. Is he deformed somehow as well? But no, he seems normal. Flawless, even. A perfect specimen.
Before I can question this, Dawn grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd. It parts like the Red Sea, heads bowing reverently as we pass. Whoever this Mariah is, she certainly has the respect of the people. Almost as if she's some kind of demigod to them. Did she really betray them all as Dawn says? If so, what happened to her in the end? And most importantly, why does everyone think I'm her? It's unnerving to say the least.
Dawn leads me out of the town square and down another tunnel. We come to a metal door, embedded in a stone wall. "Home sweet home," he says as he presses his thumb against the sensor. The door slides open and we step inside.
The apartment is no more than a small cave; it's windowless and literally carved out of rock. The walls are smooth, as if they've been sanded or something. The decor and furnishings are beyond sparse, with only a small metal futon couch, coffee table, and bookcase. There's a kitchenette with a half fridge and stove top burners at the far end. Two doors lead off to the side. Bedroom? Bathroom?
The front door slides silently shut behind me. Dawn walks over to the futon and collapses on it, head in his hands. He scrubs his face, staring down at the rock floor, silent.
"Um," I say, still hovering by the door. "So now what?" God, I just want to go home. I want this nightmare to end. I'm tired. Sick. Scared. Confused.
Dawn grabs a small silver phone off the coffee table and presses in a code. He puts the receiver to his ear. "Yeah," he says, after a pause. "I got her. Yeah, she's at my place. No. No, she has no idea who she is."
"Is that Glenda?" I ask, reaching for the phone. Dawn dodges my hand and stands up, walking to the other side of the room.
"No, you come get her. I told you I wanted nothing to do with this.... Nice trick, telling her to contact me when she reentered.... Yeah, whatever.... As far as I'm concerned she could have rotted in Moongazer Station" He grips the phone tightly, his knuckles white. "Yes, I really do mean that. Look, you guys have your own agenda and that's fine by me. But I want no part of it. I told you. I'm done. Ready to lie low. I've no interest in fighting the good fight anymore. And you know what? I don't think your fearless leader even knows there is a fight." He pauses again. "Whatever. Just come get her so I don't have to look at her pointy little nose anymore."
I frown, resisting the urge to check my nose. Pointy, indeed! Where does this guy get off? Whatever this Mariah chick did to him must have been pretty bad. So, how come everyone else sees her as some kind of hero? And how do I convince them all that they've got the wrong girl?
Dawn presses a button on his phone and looks over at me. "The Eclipsers are on their way," he says. "So you can relax. You'll be rid of me soon enough."
"Look," I say, figuring now that we're relatively safe I should put all my cards on the table. "No matter what you and the people out there think, I'm not Mariah. I'm Skye Brown-a video game designer from Manhattan. I don't know what's going on or how I got here or where here even is, but I'd really like to go home now." My voice breaks, the strain and stress and horror of everything I've gone through finally overwhelming. Tears well up in my eyes. Tears of frustration, helplessness, and rage.
There's a pause, then a crash, as Dawn slams his phone against the stone wall; smashing it into a thousand pieces. "Goddamn you, Duske!" he roars, so loud I think I feel the apartment shake. "Goddamn you and your fucking 'Gazers!"
I jump back, afraid of his violent outburst. "What are you talking about?" I ask, trying desperately to keep my voice steady. "Who's this Duske? And what the hell is a 'Gazer?"
He turns to me. "You, my dear," he says, "are not who you think you are. You think you're this Skye girl from another world? Skye doesn't exist. You're really Mariah Quinn. You're from here. Terra. In fact, you've lived your whole life on Terra, up until a couple months ago."
"Terra?" I screw up my face. "What the hell is Terra? This crazy world?" I shake my head. "Ridiculous. I'm telling you the truth. I'm Skye. I'm from New York."
"No. You only think you're from New York because of the drugs you've been taking."
"Drugs? I don't take drugs!" I retort. Well, not since college anyway.
"Yes, you do. And they've made you forget who you really are."
"I haven't forgotten shit," I say, gritting my teeth. "I have a whole lifetime of memories up here in my head," I add, tapping my noggin with my index finger.
"Likely implanted."
Sigh. Of course he would say that. "Fine. What about my family and friends, then? My coworkers?"
"Strangers introduced into your new life. I guess they were similarly wiped and implanted when you started Moongazing."
I squeeze my hands into fists and stare him down. "What ... the hell ... is Moongazing?"
"I ... well, I'm not entirely sure how it works." Dawn sinks down to the futon, his anger dissipating into a sort of sadness. "The government discovered a ... well, I guess it's another plane of existence. They found it during some astrophysics experiments they conducted about a decade ago. They perfected a way to send people there. To offer them a 'new and improved life'-a better world where the moon still shines at night and the air's still sweet enough to breathe aboveground. They call the program Moongazing. And the alternate reality is Earth as it once was."
"As it once was? What? This is crazy. Impossible," I say, fear pounding through me. "Though ..."
I trail off, realizing that if I suspend disbelief for a second, what he's saying does make a weird sort of sense. Not the Mariah thing-that's obviously ridiculous. But what if this world is somehow linked to Earth? That would explain how he recognizes my pop culture references, right? Sort of? What if I somehow really did slip through a tear between worlds and accidentally wandered into this underground alternate hell? It seems ridiculous, but here I am. And if I'm not having the longest dream of my life, I'm running out of rational explanations.
The good thing is, if his explanation is true-if the government is sending people from here to Earth they can send me back. I'll be able to go home.
"Look, as I said, I don't know exactly how the whole thing works," Dawn says. "It's not like the government clues me in to their schemes. Hell, most of the stuff I know is from what you told me when you started investigating the program in the first place. In the beg
inning you kept insisting it was a one-way trip to insanity That it was deadly and dangerous and, even though the government knew it, they were letting people 'Gaze anyway."
Okay, something in this isn't exactly adding up. "Uh, if Mariah was so against Moongazing, then why would she do it?" I ask.
"Well, no one knew whether it was dangerous or not when it was first introduced. And you were all gung ho to check it out for yourself, find out for sure if it really was the be-all and end-all that our great and glorious Senate was advertising."
"And if it was?"
Dawn rakes a hand through his platinum hair. "I guess you figured that if they really found a new aboveground Garden of Eden world, then it should be for everyone to enjoy. After all, it didn't seem fair that only those with disposable income could pack up and move to paradise while the poor bastards down below were stuck in hell."
"Well, that sounds like a pretty noble cause," I venture, wondering where everything went wrong.
"Sure, I guess," Dawn says. "Until you started getting addicted to the drugs."
I frown. "I still don't get what drugs have to do with all of this."
"You need 'em to 'Gaze, I guess. I don't really understand the whole reason," Dawn says. "Something to do with the brain needing a cushion for the travel. After all, at the end of the day, Moongazing is a pretty big mind fuck." He snorts. "Anyway, you started 'Gazing back and forth on a regular basis and using more and more of the drugs. It was like you became hooked or something. And after a while you starting letting things in your real life here on Terra drop. Important things, like your plans for revolution. And on the night we planned our biggest victory, you disappeared. Abandoned the Dark Siders just as you once accused the Indys of doing."
I cringe, wishing he'd stop saying "you" when referring to this Mariah girl.
"That night, the government swept in and took out half the resistance. Whatever information you gave them in exchange for that last trip was enough to allow them to destroy much of our infrastructure and vital programs-ones we spent years implanting. We nearly lost everything we'd worked to build, all because you chose Earth."
"But-"
"Whatever. I look at you now and I see nothing but an empty shell. A shadow girl with false memories to lull her into a peaceful sleep while her people suffer and die-lost without their leader." He stares at the wall so hard I half wonder if he'll burn a hole in the rock. "You make me sick, Mariah Quinn."
"I'm not Mariah," I protest again, weakly this time, most of the fight gone out of me. I wish he could just accept the fact that I'm not who he thinks I am. I'm not a revolutionary. I'm not a traitor. I've never been here before. I've never laid eyes on Dawn. I've never laid eyes on any of these people.
Have I?
Oh my God, I can't handle this. I want to go home. I want to curl up in my bed and be surrounded by my real life. My real friends. My real family. My real reality.
My throat constricts, asthma kicking in with a vengeance. Do I have my inhaler? I pat my skirt anxiously, praying it's still in my possession. I feel a lump and reach into my pocket, hands curling around my salvation. Forget breathing exercises; in a time like this I'm ready to let modern medicine lend a hand. I pull out the device and put it to my mouth
Dawn's hand knocks the inhaler from my lips milliseconds before I can take a puff. It skitters across the floor, banging against the rock wall and coming to rest a few feet away.
I stare at him. "What the hell did you do that for?" I demand. I dive for my medication. He's too quick, jumping in front of me and grabbing it in his hand.
"Give that back!" I cry, my voice cracking as I struggle to take in air. I double over, wheezing and choking, my hand out, uselessly begging.
"Look at you," Dawn says, his voice cold. "You're so addicted you can't even breathe without the 'Gazer drugs. Pathetic."
"That's not. ..Gazer drugs." I wheeze. "It's my ... asthma medication."
"You really think I'm stupid, don't you?"
My heart pounds in my chest. My skin's clammy and cold. If I don't get my breath under control soon, I'm going to die. Here, in this horrible place. Where no one knows where I am. Or even who I am.
I lunge at Dawn, but he's ready for me, shoving me backward. It's no use. I can't fight without being able to breathe.
Dawn drops the inhaler on the floor and crushes it under his boot.
"No!" I scream, my world flying out from under me. I fall back onto the futon, struggling to fill my lungs. My vision's gone spotty and I'm close to passing out and probably dying from asphyxiation.
Breathe in, hold, one, two, three. Breathe out, hold, one, two, three.
Please don't let me die. Not like this.
Suddenly I feel a presence inches from my face. My eyes flutter open, to find Dawn, kneeling in front of me, holding a paper bag to my lips. Desperate, I breathe into it, then suck out the air. Breathe in, suck out, breathe in.
"Come on," he urges. "Breathe, Mariah. Just breathe."
After what seems an eternity, I manage to wrestle my lungs back into submission. Dawn removes the bag from my face and rises to his feet.
"Thank you," I murmur weakly, though I should be yelling at him. Sure, he helped me. But if he hadn't broken my inhaler I wouldn't have needed his help to begin with.
"God, you're in worse shape than I thought," Dawn mutters, grabbing a burlap bag off the floor and swinging it over his shoulder. "But you're back now. Time to stop taking that shit. It'll do you no good here anyway."
"You don't understand," I argue weakly. "My medicine-I could die without it."
"That's what they've taught you to believe," he says gently "But you didn't die, did you?"
"Um, well, no. But that doesn't mean..."
He shrugs. Anyway, I've got to go stand in line for rations. The Eclipsers are on their way to get you. They'll explain the rest."
And with that, he stalks out the door, shutting it behind him before I have a chance to follow. I'm trapped. And at the moment I'm also too weak and dizzy to do much about it. I pull myself off the couch and examine the inhaler. The glossy purple case is shattered, the vial cracked. Not good. I need to find more medication or next time I really could die, no matter what Dawn believes.
I spot an ID card of sorts, lying on the coffee table. Dawn's picture smiles back at me. Despite being a complete psycho, he really is a beautiful man. I notice the ID lists him as Dawn Gray-Surface Medic, nT Alpha. Surface medic? Is that like some kind of doctor? My mom would be so impressed if I told her I just made out with a doctor. Less impressed that I kicked his ass a few minutes later, however. Of course, if he really is in the medical profession, he should know better than to withhold someone's medication.
I discard the ID on the coffee table, deciding to explore the rest of the apartment. I walk over to the bookcase. There's only one book, lying on a top shelf that I can't reach. Besides that, there are just a couple of photos, framed with crude glass and metal. The first is a group shot of a bunch of boys, all in cranberry-colored school uniforms. All are smiling as if none of them has a care in the world. The caption below reads ACADEMY ALPHA. Was that Dawn's elementary school? I set the picture back on the mantel and pick up the other. It's a black-and-white portrait of a girl wielding some sort of Japanese sword. Underneath it says Mariah Quinn:
Champion Swordswoman-Lunar Park Pro Division.
I take another look, my eyes widening in disbelief.
What the hell? No! It can't be.
I grab the picture and stare hard, my fingers trembling so badly it's hard to get the image to focus. But suddenly it all becomes crystal clear.
The girl in the photo-the one with the sword-it is me.
4
My fingers fumble; I drop the picture onto the stone floor. The glass frame shatters into a million pieces, cutting into the face of the dancer. Into my face.
I sink down onto the sofa, trying to get a grip, not wanting to lose my breath again. I've never posed for a photo with a swo
rd. And yet, there's no mistaking it. This is a picture of me. My face. My body. It's absolutely identical, down to the exact heart-shaped beauty mark on my left shoulder-the one Craig used to like to nibble on when we'd make love-and the same winding daisy chain I'd regrettably had tattooed around my ankle back in college.
The girl in the photo-she wasn't just a look-alike, someone who could easily be mistaken as me; she was an exact replica. She was, in all respects, me.
What the hell is going on here?
It's almost like I was back in my club kid days, when I'd bring a camera out with me. I'd get really wasted, maybe not even remember how I got home. The next morning (after downing seven or eight Advil) I'd upload the photos that had been taken the night before. There would always be the strangest pictures of me--ones I never remembered posing for. I used to love it, considering them some kind of surreal art form, photographic evidence of the human body on autopilot. A digital reminder of what alcohol purged from my brain.
This whole experience reminds me of that: the barest glimmer of familiarity drowning in sea of black holes. But how could any of it be true? Unlike the nightclub adventures, I don't have gaps in my memory. I remember exactly what I did the day before and the month before and the year before that. And I think leading a revolution against an underground regime would stick in one's head a bit more solidly than a drunken pub crawl.
But what other explanation is there? It's not like Mariah is just a figment of Dawn's imagination. The whole town recognized me. And then there's the picture....
A loud knock on the apartment door causes me to nearly jump out of my skin. I glance over, nervous. Who could it be? Then I remember. The Eclipsers. Glenda and her friends. Dawn says they can help me. And Glenda can obviously travel between worlds. If anyone has answers, she will.
