by E. S. Mercer
“What are you talking about?” I asked, still searching for the witch inside. You could see the concern in his eyes as he lowered his voice to explain. “This, all of this was just an idea that I planted into your head. You’re asleep, back in your father’s castle and I was merely supposed to keep you distracted. But somehow you made this fantasy into a possible reality. You projected yourself into an alternate future.”
“So, the children, Ryan, all this is real?” I asked. “In this version of the future, yes,” he said, noticing the gun in his hand. He passed it off to me in a very flamboyant manner, confirming that he was in fact the little witch.
“You need to find your way back!” he cried, wiping his hands on his pants. “You have to come back and fix everything before all this happens for real!”
“How did I do this?” I asked. “I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone. Why would I create this?”
He grunted with annoyance. “No, you didn’t create this scenario. I did. You just caused it to become real!”
It took me a second to realize what he was saying but when I did, I got a little freaked out. “Oh!”
“Yeah,” he said shifting his feet. “I don’t have much time left, but I need you to figure out a way to get back.” “But how?” I asked. “I don’t know. It’s gotta be the children, your attachment to them,” he replied. “You gotta convince yourself they aren’t real!”
I nearly broke out in tears when he suggested it. “I don’t want to do that!”
“Do what?” Lucas asked.
I could tell immediately by the look on his face that he was himself again.
“Crap,” I said, starting to walk away. “Always leaving me before I get answers.”
Lucas didn’t ask and I didn’t offer as we continued on to what was once the great Meridian Manor. “You know, it was one of the first places completely destroyed by the New Order,” Lucas offered. “The terrorists were hiding there when it was destroyed.”
I was curious as to who he thought the terrorists were.
“Some guy named Samiel,” Lucas replied.
“And the rest of the people?” I asked. “A bunch surrendered, while you and your friends went on to save the rest of the city,” he said, with an apparent tone of confusion. “You ask questions as if you don’t remember anything.”
“Maybe I don’t,” I replied, kicking a piece of broken brick. I stopped walking, almost exhausted from the six blocks we had gone, hoping that I really was in a dream. I tried telling myself to wake up, to focus on changing things or even to get back to where I was supposed to be. “I want to go home,” I said. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Then I will take you,” Lucas said, holding out his hand. I ignored his help and sat down on the rubble. “No, I mean, I don’t belong here, in this time, this place.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, sitting down beside me. “You lost me.” “This isn’t the way the story is supposed to end,” I answered, tossing a stone. “I am meant to stop all of this and make sure no one gets hurt. Doesn’t seem like I am doing a very good job.”
“So, stop working with your father,” Lucas offered. “Help us change things.”
“No,” I said, standing up. “I mean I have the ability to go back and make sure none of this happens at all, I just don’t know how!”
“Maybe stop thinking so much?” he said, trying to follow my train of thought. “Sometimes we over think things and it hinders us.” “Hmm,” I said, looking at my companion. “Maybe you’re right. A feeling made it real, maybe all I need to do is feel something else. I accept that this isn’t real!”
And as soon as I said it, something changed. The air, it became less crisp as the stench of death and destruction almost instantly changed to a dull smell of concrete and dust. Then, out of nowhere, a storm cloud appeared, shedding tears as hard as I was. I could feel a change in the atmosphere as reality tried to fight its way to remain intact.
“Are you ok?” Lucas asked, sitting down beside me.
“Accepting it doesn’t mean I can do it easily,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I can feel the loss.”
“Of what?” he asked.
“The loss of a family I am not meant to have,” I replied. He turned to face me. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“You aren’t meant to,” I said, cradling his cheek with my drenched hand. “And you will never have to.”
He leaned in, misreading the moment, when we were conveniently interrupted by the screeching of tires and a stretch limo pulling up.
“I thought the road was blocked,” I said, looking up at Lucas.
“It was,” he said, reaching over to grab the gun from the back of my pants. As the window rolled down, I glanced over to see my mother’s face and turned to stop him before he could pull the gun on her, but he vanished, as if he was erased out of existence. I turned in circles, scrambling to find him when my mother yelled from the car.
“What are you doing on this side of the city?” she asked, opening the door. “This is such a dangerous place to be. You shouldn’t be here alone!”
As she stepped out of the car, a very concerned Ryan followed.
“You can’t be here,” he said, in a very different tone than I was used to. It was stoic, cruel and atypical.
“What is with you?” I asked, as he grabbed my arm. “You are…,” but I couldn’t find the word.
“Get in the car,” Ryan demanded, ignoring me. “We are taking you home.” He placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me, but I stopped for a moment as I looked up towards the sky. I could feel the rain but it didn’t feel the same as it did before. It felt wet and cold, but didn’t have the sting or smell I thought it should have.
“Please get in the car,” he begged, giving me a gentle shove. So I did, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was strange. Strange, however, was an understatement.
Instead of turning us around and leaving the forbidden zone, the driver chose to take us in the direction of the Manor. I could tell by the look on my mother’s face that it wasn’t the direction she wanted to go, but she said nothing as she stared out towards the rain that now started coming at a much faster rate. It fell so hard that it was nearly impossible to see where we were going, but the driver never wavered. Even when the roads began to flood and debris began to float by, the car easily went through it.
Then, as soon as we started to pass where the Manor once stood, there was a momentary break in the clouds, as it stopped raining long enough for me to see what I thought might have been Gabriel standing in the rubble. I planted my forehead on the window so I could see a little bit easier, but through the flicker of sun that danced with the rain drops on the window, I swore it was just an illusion.
I started to turn away, when I saw him grab his abdomen, double over and collapse on the ground.
“Stop!” I cried, trying to open the car, but it wouldn’t budge as I yanked at the handle, nearly breaking it off.
Ryan, startled by my reaction, demanded that the driver stop the car.
“What is wrong?” he asked, trying to rub my leg and calm me down and seeming to be back to his old self. “Why are you so frantic?”
“Gabriel, he’s hurt,” I replied, continuing to pull at the handle.
“Gabriel’s gone,” Ryan said, looking out the window. “He’s dead Evangeline!”
I gave up on the handle and started beating on the window. “Just let me out, please!” I cried, hitting it as hard as I could. Just like the door, the glass wouldn’t budge, until after the sixth painful blow, my hand began to emanate the familiar blue light, allowing me to shatter the glass, so I could reach out and finally open the door.
“He’s not,” I said, running after him. However, the closer I got, the slower I became. Weighed down by the deep water and an unnecessary gravity that took hold, I found myself sinking into the asphalt beneath me. The cold rock surrounded my ankles as if they were tiny little hands trying to ho
ld me back. I trudged on, however, as it ripped the skin from my body, leaving a vast amount of blood behind me.
Soon, I found myself crawling on my hands and knees to get to him, calling out his name. When I finally reached him, they were as raw as my ankles, but I ignored the blood that dripped from my palms as I reached over and pulled him into my lap.
“I thought you were dead,” I said, brushing the hair out of his face.
“We can’t die, remember?” he whispered, opening his eyes.
“But they said you did,” I replied. “They said you were killed, years ago.”
“Years ago?” he asked, wiping the rain off his face so he could get a better look at me. “Where have you been?”
“Apparently in a possible future,” I said, checking his wound. “One where you aren’t in it.”
“But I’m here,” he said, “So what does that mean?”
“I don’t know!” I said, looking at his wounds, “but this gaping wound looks real.” I could feel myself tense up as I tried to figure it all out. I knew there had been a shift in things when Lucas disappeared, but everything still felt strangely legitimate and absolute. And if it weren’t for the intensity of the flooding or how I tore through the asphalt, I would have still questioned how real this was. But as I focused on a rain drop that now nonchalantly tumbled past my nose, it pause long enough to show me Noita’s face, begging me to wake up and I realized, I was once again, unconscious and back in the present.
What confirmed it for me was the door that now stood within the ruble of the Manor. It was the same door I had seen before at my house and in the cabin, it stood brighter than anything else around us.
“The door is back,” I said, trying to sit him up. “Which means it worked.”
“So then, where are we?” he asked, breathlessly, “How did I get here?”
I leaned in to shield his face from the rain. “What is the last thing you remember?” “Healing Zara and then everything going black,” he replied, wincing in pain. He went on to explain what had happened, including the part where Hyperion was in fact, his father.
“And then, everything went black,” he continued. “Next thing I know, I wake up in a warm and inviting cabin, sitting across from what looked to be your mother.”
“My mother? But she has been here with me,” I said, looking up and pointing out towards the road. “She’s right there.”
Gabriel sat up, crying out in pain as he looked out into the street. “No Eva, that isn’t your mother. I’m telling you, your mother was with me.”
“And how did you find me?” I questioned. “How do I know you are real?” “You don’t, but I assure you I am,” he said, as he leaned his forehead against mine. He brought his free hand up to my face and rubbed his bloody thumb across my cheek, as he kissed me. “I need you to believe that I am real and that you need to wake up.”
“I don’t know how,” I replied, as he wiped my face off with the sleeve of his shirt. “I am so confused by everything.”
“If not for you, then do it for me,” he said, looking down at his wounds. “I really need you to wake up and heal me.” I looked down at his wound and back at my damaged hands. “Maybe you don’t have to wait that long,” I said, watching the skin on my body instantly fix itself. “Even now, here in this place, I think I can fix you.
“But if this isn’t real, we don’t know that it would work,” he grunted, trying to reposition himself. “Your hands healing may be a trick of the mind.” “Yes, that is true,” I said, rubbing my hands together, “If I managed to turn this little fantasy into a reality and then transport myself back into the fantasy again, maybe, just maybe it could work.”
I placed them on his wound and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I would be as successful as I promised him, but I was going to try. Then again, maybe he was just a figment of Noita’s imagination and I was just going through the motions because he wanted me to. Nevertheless, as soon as my hands began to glow, Gabriel began to fade.
“It’s working,” he growled, fighting back the pain. “I can feel it.”
“But you are disappearing too,” I said, watching him fade in and out.
“Because I am waking up,” he said, breathing easier. “And I promise, when I wake I will find you.”
“No,” I said, lifting my hands. “As much as I want you to, I have to find the way back myself.”
He leaned in and kissed me. “Then I will be there for you when you do.” “Understood,” I said, sobbing as he disappeared.
“You are weak, always have been,” my mother said as she came walking up.
“What? I’m not weak!” I replied, wiping the tears from my face. “I’m tired.”
“You are supposed to be the most Supreme being in the Universe and yet you succumb to self-doubt and pity.”
“I am still trying to break through the barriers of my mind,” I said, standing up to face her. “Uncertainty is different than doubt.” “And you think this is a time for self-reflection?” she asked, tapping me on the forehead. “The world is ending, your friends are in danger and you are sitting in a pile of brick and stone, moping.”
“Who are you?” I asked, backing away. “Gabriel is right, you are not my mother.”
“No, I’m not,” she replied, “And you make an unworthy opponent.” She looked like mother, with her long black hair pulled into a loose bun and her warm bronzed skin but her tone was dark and sharp. But the more I questioned her about who she really was, the more she changed, until soon, she had morphed into a cadaverous version of herself. Her cool blue eyes turned a chalky pale yellow while her skin faded into a ghostly shade of white, that offset the dull gray in her hair.
“Ok, so you’re right, I am not your mother,” she said, pulling her hair down. “I’m so much better.”
“Better?” I asked. “No, there is a darkness in you that she could never possess.”
“Yes, maybe,” she said, circling me and waving her hands in front of my face, “but I’m still trying to grasp how someone like you can’t deal with simple human emotion.” "Because it exists,” I replied without thought. “Lack of emotion does not make you a higher being, if anything, it makes you less worthy of the title. But I am no better than anyone walking this earth, as a matter of fact, they have more practice than I do at understanding it.”
I turned myself around to try and keep up with her circling. “You draw your conclusion based on the fact that you assume me to be inflicted with emotion, when as difficult as it is, I am grateful to be able to feel it!”
“That is the problem.” she said, pausing her stride, “If you would spend less time feeling it, we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.” “Why are we having it?” I asked, grabbing her so I could find something to indicate who she was. But, as I touched the skin on her arms, I was jolted by a frigid malevolence that cut through me like a knife and knocked me on my feet. “Arabella?” I asked, scrambling to get away. “But you are dead.”
“Yes and she has high jacked your mind,” Noita said through Ryan’s mouth. “It's time I get her out of here.” He wrapped his arms around her and looked directly at me. “And you need to open that door and wake up now. You’ve gotta get back here and help us.”
And with that, they vanished, leaving me alone in a pile of debris with a frustratingly puzzling wooden door. However, when I turned my attention towards this question I needed answered, I noticed the locks were red hot and steaming. I asked myself how I was supposed to open a door when I couldn’t even touch the deadbolts to unlock it; besides, I didn’t even have a key.
I placed my hands firmly on the door and pushed it as hard as I could when I heard a faint knocking from the other side.
“Hello?” I said, putting my ear up against the cold timbers of the door. “Who’s in there?”
“You,” she replied, “And I can’t open this door without you.”
“But I don’t know how,” I said, reaching for the handle. “I don’t have a k
ey.”
“You are the key,” she said jiggling the door handle. “Just grab ahold of it and turn. Believe in yourself and it will open.”
“That’s it?” I asked, reaching for the knob. “I just have to believe?”
“Yes, believe that we exist,” she said jiggling again. So, I did what she asked and grabbed ahold of the bronzed knob. I could feel the cold metal in my hand start to boil as a key began to materialize in each of the red-hot locks. Then they cooled down enough for me to grab each key and unlock them.
Once each lock was undone, I slowly turned the doorknob until I heard the click of the latch releasing. The moment it did, the pesky rain instantly stopped.
I managed to pry open the door just enough to see a hand reach round and grab ahold of mine. It was cold to the touch, yet gentle and soft and so familiar.
“Why is it so hard to open?” I asked, through the crack. “What is blocking it on your side?”
“You still doubt yourself,” she replied. “Have faith that you are capable.”
“No, it’s not doubt, it's fear,” I said, planting my feet to push. “I fear that when I see your face I will lose myself and be gone forever.”
The door, which had refused to budge, now swung open almost completely on its own.
“And sometimes just admitting the truth to ourselves is half the battle,” she said, from the other side of the threshold.
“What is your truth?” I asked, holding out my hand to help her cross through. “The truth is, I’m not sure that I’m not worthy of the task before us,” she said, grabbing my hand. “It’s a great burden to bear and one that requires much more strength than I have.”
“Why haven’t I disappeared?” I asked her. “Why am I still here?” “I created you as an extension of me, but you became so much more than that,” she replied, hugging me. “You are now as much a part of me as you are now a separate entity.”
“So, I am not you?” I asked, confused, pushing myself away.
She smiled, gazing upon me with a maternal pride, “you are, but you are you as well.”
