Ashes of Foreverland

by Bertauski, Tony

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “An island.”

  “How...” She swallowed. “Island?”

  She lay still, eyes closed, breathing through the settling ache. He could see the subtle hints of memory returning, the details of Times Square covered in ash, running at Alessandra...and then the light.

  “How’d we get here?” she muttered.

  He held up the disc. She shook her head. Confusion clouded her pained eyes.

  “Where one to another is three, in the dark there is now light to see,” he said, quoting the last poem found at the Institute. “The discs he sent, they were colored on the edges; each one matched the gown we were wearing.”

  A touch of vertigo swirled in his belly, the jiggling trapdoor threatening to drop him into a pit of reality confusion. They were in a Foreverland world looking at their bodies in the Institute that he presumed were representations of their real bodies.

  “Our bodies,” he said, “were wearing those gowns: blue, yellow and green. Three of us, just like the last poem said, where one to another is three, in the dark there is now light. And Alessandra was the light.”

  He held the disc above her, the shadow falling on her stomach, a small galaxy of pinpoints.

  “When the three discs were together, they vibrated. And then I noticed that these little holes dispersed the light in a way that made the shadow disappear, like the discs were just an illusion, like they weren’t really there. Like the poem said, look inward, for you are the bridge. Only it meant all three of us. We are the bridge.”

  Cyn sat up and rested her arms on her knees. Her hair hung over her face like curtains. “But we were together before that.”

  “There is now light to see.”

  Alessandra wasn’t the light when they walked into the Institute. That was the missing element. The pieces were in place so that when the time came, when Alessandra pulled down the Nowhere, when she’d brought the Investors back and transformed herself into a beam of light, there was a way for them to escape.

  “She saved me,” Cyn said.

  “She saved all of us.”

  “Barb.” The blonde curtains shook. “Barb saved me.”

  Danny sat next to her and gave her several seconds.

  “Barb was...she was an Investor.”

  He thought so, but couldn’t understand why Cyn was hiding her face from him. Why her voice quivered. The old woman had helped them become the bridge. She stopped Cyn until Danny arrived. Like she knew.

  But she was the only Investor clothed.

  “We all had an Investor,” Danny said.

  “Mine was different.” She sighed heavily. “I never told anyone this, but something happened in Foreverland that was...different than everyone else when, you know, the time came for her to take my body.”

  She swallowed. Hard. My demon is different than yours.

  “That cloud in Times Square,” she said, “the gray coming down, I remember that, Danny. I remember the Nowhere. I know what it’s like to be out there and pulled into a billion pieces. I remember having no body, no mind, just this...this shattered something...spilled all over the place like a...like a nothing.”

  She sniffed.

  “And then I just got pushed out, like someone pulled me back together and shoved me back into my body. All of the others were still in the Nowhere and I was back, but...” She exhaled. “Barb was already there—I’m sorry, I don’t like to...it’s all weird and confusing. I know it sounds all, you know, impossible but, it’s just...no one ever came out of the Nowhere except for me, I think. And, I don’t really know why.”

  She quivered and stifled a sob. Why me?

  She’d been in the Nowhere, tasted it. Danny was there, too, as a tourist. He didn’t feel the separation, didn’t dissolve. Maybe it would all sound impossible if she didn’t say someone had pushed her out. Danny knew someone that survived the Nowhere, someone that could come and go as she wished.

  Lucinda.

  Reed’s girlfriend came to Danny when he first went to Foreverland. She was the one with candy red hair, the one that knew the Nowhere, the one that took Danny out there to see and hear. She destroyed herself when Foreverland crashed.

  But not before she found Cyn.

  “Was Barb the one you were talking to?” Danny asked. “At the Institute?”

  She nodded. “I’m not crazy, Danny.”

  “I know.”

  “She’s been in my head since Foreverland ended. Every day was a battle. Until you showed up.”

  He remembered how it felt when he held her hand the first time, the way his body shook with relief, how his nightmare went away.

  “When you showed up, she just went away, sort of. For the first time, I couldn’t hear her voice. But she didn’t disappear. When you were gone, she came back, she poured the pills down my throat, tried to take back my body. If you hadn’t showed up that night...”

  She took several cleansing breaths.

  “But then she changed,” Cyn said. “Said Reed was behind it all.”

  “Told you about Alessandra.”

  She nodded. “And when I saw Times Square and the sky falling, I thought she was sending us all to the...”

  She sighed and didn’t finish.

  “I don’t think that’s what she was doing.”

  “That was the Nowhere. She was pulling it down, I could feel it. I can’t go back there, Danny. I can’t.”

  “We’re not going back. I promise.”

  “How do you know?” She looked up, eyes wide, red and glassy.

  He didn’t want to lie to her, not ever. She didn’t deserve that. He didn’t know where they were going; he could only tell her what he thought Alessandra did, what made sense.

  She destroyed Foreverland.

  It was more than that. Somehow, Alessandra brought the Investors back and made them pay. How she did it, he couldn’t explain. He even wondered if they were real, maybe they were just illusions. It was impossible to tell if anything was real.

  Their fear, though, that was real. They stood with wide-eyed panic on the sidewalk as the ashes fell around them, cries lost in the descending static that ate up the world. And all those voices intermingled with that tortuous noise, all those fragmented voices that haunted the Nowhere. And just before Danny and Cyn hit Alessandra, just before the light swallowed them, he heard the voices go silent.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Head starting to hurt again.”

  Danny’s forehead had settled, but there was still a throbbing knot between his eyes that he massaged with his thumb. Her headache appeared to go away, too, but now it was coming back. She rubbed tiny circles between her eyes.

  “Where is she?” Cyn asked. “Where’s Alessandra?”

  Danny eyed the path. Maybe she woke up before they did and went exploring. Judging by their pink skin, he and Cyn had been lying in the sun a while.

  “Where are we, Danny? If Alessandra destroyed Foreverland, where are we?”

  “We’re not awake.”

  “Why?” Her eyes pleaded, still wide, panic on the rims, reality confusion nipping at her heels. Thoughts of the Nowhere lurked behind her eyes.

  He exhaled sharply, searching the sky.

  If Alessandra was no longer a host and this wasn’t reality, then where were they? Who was hosting this? And why the island?

  A warm breeze rushed over the field. The grass rustled and brushed against them. Blonde strands stuck to Cyn’s damp cheeks. Danny brushed them away, her face warm.

  Once again, the smell of the ocean was strong, like they were bathing in it, breathing the salt spray, the taste lingering on his lips, stinging his eyes. And yet they weren’t close enough to hear the waves.

  And not a hint of lilac.

  He searched the blue sky in the disc’s reflection, the pinpoints dotting his eyes. The blood-red edge on his fingers. It wasn’t blue or yellow or green. It was a different color.

  Then he realized.

/>   Something about the ocean, something about the red edge told him where they were.

  Like we’re breathing the ocean.

  The path led to the beach. That was where Reed spent all his time when they were on the island. That’s where they buried his body. And this is what he smelled like.

  Maybe Alessandra didn’t walk away from the sundial after all. Or maybe someone led her away while they slept. Danny knew where the answers would be.

  “Let’s go this way.” He walked several steps down the trampled path. “I think we’ll find something on the sand—”

  She was gone.

  Danny ran back. The grass was still matted, the bundled pillow still in place. There was no path leading away from it, no footsteps or broken stems. Cyn was just gone.

  His smile faded, and he took a deep breath.

  He walked in a large circle, looking through the grass like she was an object that fell out of his pocket. He tripped over the sundial.

  This was the center of Foreverland when they were on the island, where everything started. Danny pushed away the debris and placed his hand on it. There was no tingling, no surge of power.

  It was cold and dead.

  Danny’s head began to throb. The sky was still blue, the air still salty. If this was still a dream, if his physical body was still in the Institute, then he hadn’t awakened. And maybe Cyn’s opening her eyes.

  “She’s all right,” he told himself. Then, “Please let her be all right.”

  He waited in case she reappeared. He couldn’t stand the thought of her coming back alone. When the sun was directly above him, he decided to follow the path to the beach. He crossed the dunes out to the hardpack, where a set of barefooted tracks still dented the sand, slowly melting in the sliding waves.

  The footprints walked straight into the ocean.

  Danny stared at the crisp line of the horizon, remembering a time when he sat with Reed, when everything was bleak and hopeless, wondering what was out there. He took off his boots and socks, dug his toes into the ground, the water cool around his ankles.

  Pain hammered a beating rhythm across his forehead.

  He went back to the soft sand of the dunes, sat down, and turned his face to the sun that was still high, still hot. He closed his eyes, letting the salty air fill him. The thrumming pain shrank until it was a spot between his eyes going boom-boom, boom-boom.

  The smell of the ocean faded.

  The water went silent.

  And Danny opened his eyes to a bright light.

  42. Alessandra

  The Institute of Technological Research, New York City

  A thorn.

  It was wedged between her eyes, probably no larger than a sliver. Felt like a railroad spike.

  She blinked. Colors smeared across the landscape. She distinctly remembered seeing everything, being everything. She didn’t need eyes. There was no separation. She was the city. She was everywhere.

  The light.

  But now she lay in a sterile room, the smell of antiseptic mingled with the rank odor of wet fur and mucus.

  She blinked again.

  Pain flashed between her eyes. The sliver was a double image, a gleaming rod extending somewhere between her eyebrows. Each breath sent it deeper into her head.

  She lifted her hand.

  Fire ignited her elbow, muscles screeching along her forearm. Her fingers hovered above her face, careful not to bump the metal sliver, pinching it between finger and thumb.

  A deep breath.

  It slid from her like an icicle, tickling her inner ears, raking the back of her eyes. Tears pooled. She turned her head and let them roll over the bridge of her nose.

  Another bed.

  It was on a white stand. An old woman was sunk halfway into a green cushion. Her arms and legs were bent. Her hair as white as the stand. She was a mummy pulled from the belly of a pyramid, her flesh wrinkled like ancient leather. Her mouth was slightly open.

  The beds hummed.

  Roller pins massaged the back of Alex’s legs, buttocks and shoulders. Pain radiated all over. It took three efforts to get up. She sat in a hunched position, catching her breath, waiting for strength to return...

  When she remembered who she was, where she’d been.

  What she did.

  The room began to turn. It was too much—the dream, the reality—and the walls began to shrink. She wished for the peaceful light that swallowed her, that eternal existence where she rested after bringing back the old men and women.

  After silencing the voices.

  Peace.

  She ended their suffering. She sat in the middle of the empty street, bemoaning her own fate, when the woman named Barb showed Alex her destiny. She was the one that would bring peace to the children.

  You will balance the scales, Barb told her.

  Alex let one of her bare feet touch the floor. It was hard and cold. Pins and needles crawled up her leg as if struck with an aluminum post. She let the other one down and rested. There were tubes in her arms that burned when pulled out, clear liquid dripping on her toes.

  Images were scattered over two computers.

  She reached out and took one large step to the one nearest her. Data scrolled along the margins. A picture of her was set in the upper left-hand corner. None of the script made sense except one flashing word.

  AWAKE.

  She was no longer dreaming, back in her body, her flesh. It seemed so obvious she wasn’t asleep, now; the density of her body was like a shrink-wrap of flesh, her identity contained within.

  The image fractured into static. Data blazed over the screen and then went black. A single line appeared on a blue screen.

  DATA CORRUPT.

  Something broke.

  Her reflection looked back from the blank screen—frizzy black hair, dark eyes. A red spot glistened on her forehead. She brushed clear liquid from the hole. It ached with each pulse.

  The room resumed a slow spin.

  She latched onto the computer and closed her eyes. I’m awake now. I’m awake now.

  The monitor nearest the old woman showed a different status. Alex stumbled over to it. The photo hardly matched the shriveled husk behind her. It was a younger version, a healthier time.

  Patricia Ballard, it said.

  And the word below it brought the room to a standstill.

  DECEASED.

  She remembered her on the oversized monitors in Times Square, an image that more closely resembled the picture on the computer. But on the sidewalk, she was naked and old and hidden in the arms of her husband. Her husband, Tyler Ballard, the man she interviewed at the prison, was enraged.

  That was in the dream. I interviewed him in the dream.

  He had shouted at Alex, but the voices—the poor, distorted voices, the children that had been thrown into that gray static—filled the air, blotting out the crashing buildings that fell in plumes of ashes. Tyler was responsible. They both were.

  Patricia wasn’t angry. She was sad, resigned. Accepting.

  She knew her fate. And when the Nowhere collapsed, she went willingly.

  Of course, Alex hadn’t meant to murder anyone. She only brought the ones responsible for the crimes she witnessed. Patricia and Tyler had kidnapped Alex like all those old men and women had abducted the children. The Ballards inserted Alex into her own dream. They wanted her to be the sleeping host that would keep Foreverland alive.

  And they had already hurt so many.

  But now there was silence. No more voices, no more pain. No ashes.

  Machines began beeping on the other side of a curtain. Alex needed to leave. Her gown was loose, her feet bare. She needed to be less conspicuous and pulled open all the drawers and found a box of bandages. Gently, she covered the oozing hole in her head.

  Her clothes were beneath her bed.

  She ran past Coco, down an empty hall, all the offices open and vacant. She stopped at the front doors. Outside, it was dark, the streets empty. A light rain fel
l in slow motion.

  Two cabs were waiting.

  She pulled a hood over her head and ran. It was late, the city asleep. But the night was warm. Winter had ended. She could smell the green of new growth.

  And no lilac.

  Alex jumped in the first cab, lay back and watched the city pass by. The streets were slick and shiny. It was perfectly quiet, beautifully silent.

  The voices no longer cried.

  43. Cyn

  The Institute of Technological Research, New York City

  Thirst came in waves.

  It was a pebble, a tiny stone that rose and fell. Cyn was reaching for something to stop it from rising and falling, rising and falling. But it wasn’t a pebble, not something she could touch.

  It throbbed.

  Something beeped just out of reach, auditory spikes between valleys of silence, reminding her of a rooster that woke her after long, dead nights in the cabin.

  Her eyelids cracked.

  The light was harsh, slapping her into the cold tight ache of her body. She blinked back the fluorescent light and smacked at the thirst on her lips. Something was between her eyes.

  She yanked it out too quickly, throwing a switch on an internal tuning fork. When the room stopped spinning—her head still singing—she was looking at a boy with red hair, sunk halfway into a green cushion. His arms and legs were slightly bent.

  “Danny,” she croaked.

  She sat on the edge of the strange bed, her feet dangling just above the floor. Her knees, exposed below the hem of the yellow gown, ached. So did her fingers and elbows. Most of all, her hand throbbed like her forehead. It was wrapped in gauze. She peeled off the tape, exposing a slice across the back of her hand, thick whiskers of black stitching poking out.

  I cut myself so long ago. Why does it still look like that?

  The time dilation.

  Danny was right: time went much faster in Foreverland. If she still had stitches, that meant—

  Her knees buckled when she leaped, catching herself before coming down hard. Pins and needles shot through her feet. She lowered herself to the floor and crawled. The curtain that separated their beds had been pulled aside. She passed an open cabinet and noticed the box of clothing as she pulled herself up to Danny’s bed.