Down World

by Rebecca Phelps

  The man’s back seemed to freeze, and suddenly he whipped towards us, grabbing a shotgun from above the mantel and pointing it directly at my face.

  I gasped. It took a moment to register what I was looking at, and that it was real and this wasn’t a movie.

  Brady’s reflexes kicked in faster than mine, and before I knew it, he was pushing me to the ground. I landed on my hip, the sharp blow reverberating up my side and making me realize that we were in very real danger. I looked up and saw Brady still standing facing the window frame above my head.

  Brady’s eyes were locked on the man, and he slowly raised his hands.

  “It’s okay,” Brady said. “It’s okay, don’t shoot.”

  “What do you want?” the man asked.

  “Sorry,” Brady said, his voice trembling. “We didn’t know anyone lived here. We’ll be on our way, okay?”

  I watched from the ground, too scared to move, wanting to grab Brady and drag him away from there, away from danger. After what felt like an eternity, I saw Brady bring his arms down and take a deep breath. The man must have lowered the gun.

  “Who was that with you?” the man almost shouted. “Stand up, girl. Let me see you.”

  “She’s nobody, sir,” Brady insisted, keeping me pressed down with his foot. “We’re really sorry we bothered you. We’re going now, okay?”

  But I could hear the man approaching and had no idea what I was supposed to do. Would he get angrier if I stayed ducked down? Should I do what he asked?

  The decision was made for me when the man stuck his head out of the window and looked down at me. I knew his face, but from where?

  “Jesus,” the man said. “It’s you.”

  I tried desperately to place him, feeling that I had seen him recently.

  “You look exactly like your mother.”

  And that’s when it all came back to me. He had been the man in the diner when we’d first met Sage, the one she had mentioned. His deep-set, haunted eyes were the same. And my mind flooded with questions. How long had he lived here? And why?

  “I know you,” I told him. “You’re Sage’s friend.”

  “George.”

  “Yes, from high school. Right? She told me about you.” I was feeling more confident as I stood up next to Brady. This man was an old friend of my mother’s. He would never hurt me. “And you know my mother.”

  “Go back,” he simply said. “Go back into the lake. You can’t stay here.”

  Brady and I stared at him, neither one of us willing to go without finding out more.

  This man remembered me from the diner. That meant he was the real George. “You’re not from DW. What are you doing here?”

  But that’s when we heard the dinging sound, like a small bell on a bicycle. A man was whistling. Looking back at the path, no one was yet visible. But another dinging followed, and it seemed like more than one person.

  “Damn it,” George said. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  Brady and I both instinctively took a step back to examine the path, looking for the bikes.

  “No, no,” George whispered. “Get in here.” He practically pulled Brady in through the window, then leaned over and pulled me in behind him. Once inside the warm little cabin, the man quickly ushered us away from the window.

  He led us towards the back of the room and shoved us into a closet, pulling the accordion-style curtain closed in front of our faces. Brady and I both stood in shock, standing with our backs pressed against the man’s musty clothes. There were no more than a couple of inches to move in, and a hanger was stabbing me in the back. I started shifting some of the clothes over to make more room for myself, but Brady grabbed my arm to stop me.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “Don’t.”

  We heard the footsteps enter the cabin then. As I had suspected, there were at least two sets of men’s boots stomping into the room, mere feet away from us. One of the men greeted George in a pleasant tone, but with words that I couldn’t make out.

  George responded in a boisterous voice that completely negated the sad, quiet man he had been a moment before. They talked for a couple of minutes before I realized they weren’t speaking English. I couldn’t place the language, but George seemed to be fluent.

  Brady held his ear to the curtain, and even though I knew he couldn’t understand them, he seemed to be listening to their tones to try to figure out what they were talking about.

  The longer they talked, the more nervous I became. Who were these men that were so dangerous we had to hide in a closet while they were here? We heard forks scraping against plates as they talked, and it was clear they were eating the breakfast.

  Every now and then, a phrase in English would pop up: “More coffee?” “No problem.” And very often, simply, “Okay.” But then they would go back to the other language and I would be lost again.

  My eyes scanned the closet, adjusting to the dimmed light. An open shoebox of photos sat on a shelf along the wall, and I leaned over as quietly as possible to try to make out the images on the top picture. It was an old Polaroid, and I recognized the outline of my mother’s face.

  I flipped through a few more and realized I knew some of the images. They were pictures of a group of people lounging by the lake. My mother had some of the same photos in an old album in her room. I had seen them years before but had never thought much of them. These must have been her friends once. I saw a picture of my mother and John laughing. George was in the background, watching Sage with hungry eyes.

  The sound of shuffling boots made my heart freeze. I sensed Brady stiffening next to me, clearly thinking the same thing: What would we do if they opened the closet? His hand reached back towards me in a protective motion, as if he could hide me completely behind his arm.

  But the shuffling of boots did not head in our direction. The men exchanged some words, all seeming very cordial. And soon the sound of their heavy feet made its way outside, where the little bells on their bikes were again happily dinging. The crunching of the dirt beneath the wheels grew fainter as the bikes receded, and I felt my breath begin to regulate again.

  Brady leaned in a bit closer and whispered to me, “It’s okay, they’re gone.”

  I nodded. Several seconds went by, and I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to come out or not. Finally George appeared, opening the closet door.

  “Now you need to go.”

  “Who were those men?” I asked, looking around now that the light was streaming back into the closet. I stole one last glance at the stack of pictures, and saw that the one on top was definitely of my mother. We came out into the tiny room, and George went on as though I hadn’t said anything.

  “Just make sure they’re not watching,” he said. “Act like you’re going for a swim, and when you’re sure the coast is clear, dive down and go back to the other side.”

  “The other side?” I repeated breathlessly, realizing something about the portal we had just gone through. “George, does the lake portal only lead to here? Not to any other dimensions?”

  “That’s right. Now go.”

  “And this is the one my mother and John built, right?”

  George was momentarily distracted from his task of kicking us out. “How did you know that?”

  But I didn’t want to take the time to answer him. “Why did they build this particular place? Who were those men, George? And why do you live here?”

  He sighed deeply, looking like all the air was seeping out of him. “You’d have to ask your mother what she was thinking, because I’ve never been able to understand it. I guess this is the world she and John wanted.” His sad eyes crinkled in the light of the doorway, his face set in rigid stone.

  Brady leaned forward. “Don’t you throw off the balance by living here?”

  George shrugged. “I don’t disturb anything or change anything. I kee
p to myself.” He sighed deeply, deciding whether to continue. “Near as I can tell, you can stay in another dimension for up to a week or so. There’s no exact science to it. I stay for four or five days at a time, then head back up. After that . . .”

  “Go on,” I all but demanded.

  “If you and your other self diverge too much from each other, it can be too late to go back.”

  I choked back an aching fear from his words. Robbie’s been down for over four years now.

  And my mother . . . and Piper. Dear God, was it too late already?

  But then another pressing question escaped my lips: “Why come down here at all?” George’s body language was growing more and more tense with my delays, but I needed the answers.

  He finally nodded towards the woods where the strange men had ridden off. “They don’t know about the portal. I’d like it to stay that way. I can keep an eye on it from here.”

  Brady started to lead me off, but I had one more question I needed to ask. “Wait . . .” I pushed Brady back gently. “You know what’s happened to my mother, don’t you?”

  George turned to Brady, as all the adults seemed to do when they were done with me. “Take her back. It’s not safe here. You understand me?”

  “I understand you, sir,” Brady said, and I couldn’t tell if he was being polite in order to placate this man who had greeted us earlier with a shotgun, or if he was just stalling for time while figuring out what we should do next.

  “We haven’t even looked,” I protested.

  “Let’s head back,” Brady said, addressing me but keeping eye contact with George. “We can talk about it on the other side, once we’re safe.”

  Something in Brady’s eyes told me that I was supposed to simply say yes. Had he noticed something I hadn’t? Was he trying to tell me something?

  I nodded and we walked slowly through the room towards the door, past the dirty plates sitting on the little table.

  George watched us from the door frame as we headed for the lake, making sure we didn’t stop. As we walked out of his earshot, I whispered to Brady, “What are you doing?”

  “We can’t stay down here, Marina. There’s something wrong about it.”

  “Do you mean those men who were talking? Did you understand what they were saying?”

  Brady kept walking slowly, his hand grasping my upper arm, and I was reminded of the time I had seen him in the school hallway, holding on to Piper that way. Leading her away from danger, or so he’d thought.

  I broke away from his grip and started to run. I didn’t dare look behind me to see if George was still watching, but even if he was, I was sure I could outrun him. He was old and out of shape. Brady could catch me, of course, but I had a feeling he would run with me. Either way, I wasn’t going back through the lake portal empty-handed.

  I had made it inside the lip of the forest trail when Brady ran up behind me and grabbed me by the shoulder.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he said as he slowed us down.

  “Do you want to find Piper or don’t you?”

  “I don’t think . . . ,” he began, looking around. “I don’t think this is a safe portal.”

  I stared at him, seeing how scared he looked. What was I missing here?

  “Hello, children,” came a man’s voice from behind us in the woods.

  We spun around and realized that both of the men from the cabin were standing about eight feet away from us, holding their bikes.

  Brady stepped in front of me again. He chuckled, trying, apparently, to act casual. “Hello,” he replied.

  “What are you two talking about?” the first man asked. I was shocked that he had no accent whatsoever.

  “My sister . . . ,” Brady began, nodding to me. “She wants to go to the movies, but I told our mom we’d be home.”

  I was frozen. The men were wearing identical outfits—shorts with neatly pressed blue T-shirts and sparkling white sneakers. They even had baseball caps on, but they didn’t have any logo. It was like they had read in a book somewhere how to dress like an American, and had tried to emulate it, missing something along the way.

  “Sorry if we’re disturbing you,” Brady continued.

  “Oh, you’re not disturbing us,” the first man continued. “I’m just not quite sure why you’re lying.”

  A moment of silence ensued in which all of us seemed to stare at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

  “Why don’t you come back with us?” the first man asked. “We can call your mother from the hotel. She must be worried about you.”

  I silently weighed our options and realized that we didn’t have any. We couldn’t go back through the lake portal. They would be watching. And there was no point in trying to run back to George’s. We had already been spotted. There was nothing he could do for us now.

  Going back to the hotel did seem like our safest bet. Maybe the DW versions of Sage and John could help. Maybe we could escape from there when no one was looking.

  I reached out and took Brady’s hand, squeezing slightly to reassure him. “Okay.”

  We all walked back at a steady clip, the men pushing their bicycles. Along the way, they occasionally made what was clearly intended to be polite conversation. They talked about the weather and asked if we were hungry.

  We both simply grunted and smiled, not sure what to say. Who were these men? Brady never let go of my hand. I kept telling myself that soon enough we’d be able to sneak away and run back to the lake.

  We broke through the woods at the end of the path and when I saw the hotel, it was all I could do not to gasp.

  It was completely transformed. Gone was the dilapidated little garden plot with the broken lawn furniture. In its place was a sleek patio with clean white lounge chairs. Several guests were sunbathing on the chairs, all looking like movie stars from the golden age of Hollywood. The women, with their hair piled high on their heads, wore retro bathing suits and large dark sunglasses. The men also looked very tan, and also somehow out of date. Their hair was all parted on the side, the swim shorts coming up too high on their waists. Was this some kind of theme party?

  To our right I noticed a lap pool where the garden had been. A man did a rigorous backstroke down its length.

  The two men parked their bikes next to a gurgling fountain, not bothering to lock them, and led us into the hotel through the back, which was now two large double doors leading directly into the lobby.

  I had never seen anything like this place. A large atrium with trees and even more fountains sat in the middle, and dozens of people milled about, checking in at the very sleek front desk. Actual bellboys were tagging luggage. Again, everyone seemed to be dressed like they were attending a 1950s costume party.

  I looked down at the highly polished tile beneath my feet, wondering what had happened to that hideous dark red carpet.

  “And who are these two?” a woman asked as she approached. On hearing her voice, my body clenched as though it had been hit by a car.

  I looked up and saw her standing there, her hair up in a bouffant style like all the other women. She was wearing a bright red suit, matching her perfectly applied lipstick. She looked young and she looked beautiful, like a telenovela star. And she looked right through me, not recognizing me for a second.

  My mother had never been prettier.

  CHAPTER 14

  I felt frozen in time as I stared at my mother, my brain not able to process how she was standing before me, and half expecting her to take me into her arms. I waited and waited. But it never happened.

  “Are you children lost?” she asked.

  I felt the tears start to sting behind my eyes. She really didn’t know me. How was this possible?

  Sage said that the different planes of DW are simply alternate existences—a world in which you hadn’t had an accident, or had been born in
a different city. Was this the plane where I didn’t exist at all? Was this the version of herself that my mother had really always wanted to be?

  “Brady,” I whispered, turning to him. I didn’t think I could stand this for one more moment, to be in her presence, to feel the coldness coming off her.

  “We were hoping to use your phone, ma’am,” Brady said, polite and calm. He had no idea who she was, of course.

  The two men in the baseball caps were still standing next to us, and the first one—the one who had done all the talking—spoke softly to my mother. Once again, the words were not in English. This time, standing right next to him, I could recognize it as Russian.

  My mother laughed and responded in perfect Russian, a language she did not speak a word of on our plane.

  The man leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, his lips lingering a beat longer than necessary, and I was repulsed by the certainty that this weird man with the bicycle was probably my mother’s boyfriend down here.

  He and the other man walked off, and we were left alone with my mother in the bustling hotel.

  “Come along,” she said. “You may use the phone in the office.”

  She led us behind the huge front desk, nodding to incoming guests and stopping briefly to say something in Russian to one of the clerks. The clerk nodded and handed her some mail to take with her. My mother was clearly in some kind of position of power at the hotel now. It seemed like maybe she even owned it.

  The office she was referring to was not the little room where Sage had given us pizza when we first arrived. Instead, a large polished suite, which seemed to include the space where that room had been, waited for us through a door behind the front desk. All I could think when I saw it was that everything looked so sleek. Lots of highly polished marble and gold fixtures. The only things that remained from the previous incarnation of this hotel were the original chandelier and those ornate sconces, both of which now seemed perfectly in place.

  We heard water run in a small bathroom in one corner of the office as my mother led us to a sofa where we could sit. We looked up to see a very clean-cut man in a suit and tie emerge, wiping his hands with a small towel. It took me a couple of seconds to recognize the man as John.