Awake Page 3

  “I have no idea,” I said tiredly.

  “Try 50 years ago. They're VERY rare.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “YOU created it, you stupid fuck,” Thomas growled. “NOW do you get it? I told you, just being in this world has consequences, and now you're responsible for the death and damage to the city of Vancouver.”

  “This is insane, you know. How do you know I'm responsible? Natural disasters happen all the time.”

  We had reached the Humvee. He opened the door to the back seat. “We know that YOU caused it. When you came into this world.”

  “How was I supposed to know that something like this would happen?”

  “You can't plead ignorance,” Thomas said. “Get in.”

  “Can't you loosen these handcuffs?” I asked as I climbed into the back seat.

  “No,” Thomas said. He shut the door and climbed into the front passenger seat.

  We sped off.

  To my amazement, I actually dozed off in the half hour or so it took to drive to the police station. Funny how my first bit of sleep in days would be in this world, being taken to a police station where a sort of living-dead purgatory awaited me.

  Life was funny like that. It was even more surprising that they let me sleep, but presumably they weren't all that worried about me portal jumping in the car.

  I even dreamt, although it was hazy and the details indistinct.

  Melissa was in it.

  * * *

  I was shook violently awake. “Get up.” It was Thomas.

  “I'm awake,” I mumbled.

  “Straight to the holoscanner,” Thomas said. “Nothing but the best for you. Some of you travelers seem to be able to trick the portable scanners; you'll not be able to do that with what we have in the station.”

  I climbed out of the Humvee and he escorted me into a police station. Well, it looked like a police station, although it also could have been any generic government building, with the standard drab gray walls and nameless bureaucrats wandering about.

  No one wore any kind of uniform, at least none that I could tell. If there was a uniform, it seemed to be that just about everyone in this station – or building, or whatever – was dressed in generic, off-the-rack suits (for the men) and pant suits for the women. The kind of clothing you'd observe someone wearing and then immediately forget about.

  Some of the officers turned to get a look at me; apparently I had been the talk of the department (or police station).

  As we walked through the station I saw a clock on the wall and was startled to see the time: 14:21, it said, which meant 2:21 p.m.

  I was flabbergasted. When I had arrived here, it was only 8:49 a.m.; it felt like I had only been here an hour, maybe two hours at the most. Of course, I didn't know how the rules of time worked here when it came to going through these portals. Hell, this world had two moons; I wasn't sure about anything.

  We passed a sign that read: HOLOSCAN EXAM ROOM TWO, which I presumed was our destination.

  After a few moments we arrived (no one was saying anything to me). The room itself was large, white, the kind of room you'd find yourself waiting in for a doctor's appointment. With the exception of a large machine in the room. It looked, in fact, rather like a MRI machine, but one stood up on end. There was a section to it where it was apparent one was meant to stand while the machine did its thing.

  Thomas said, “I'm removing your cuffs. You can't be handcuffed while the machine is scanning you. My officers are standing by. If you try and make a run for it, we'll take you down.”

  “I'm not going to try and escape,” I said quietly. “Let's get this over.”

  Thomas nodded to a young man standing near what looked like a computer terminal near the machine. He looked, in fact, like one of the MRI technicians at my hospital. The young man punched some keys on his keyboard, and the machine hummed into life.

  “Over here, please,” he said, indicating the section of the scanner that I was to stand in. Thomas led me over.

  “Can you roll up his shirt sleeve?” the man asked Thomas.

  “You heard him,” Thomas snapped. “Do it.”

  “Which one?” I asked.

  “Your left,” the man said. I did, and I saw that in his hand was a syringe. “This injection will calm you down,” he said.

  “I'm already calm,” I protested.

  “Not calm enough,” he replied, and jabbed me. “There. Can't have you activating one of your...portals while we do this scan,” he said.

  He was right about one thing: the injection did make me very calm.

  “Okay, put him in,” the man said.

  Thomas led me to a spot where I could see a set of footprints painted on the floor. “Just stand there and line up your feet,” Thomas said.

  I did as I was told.

  The young man had returned to his computer terminal. “Looks good,” he said. Thomas stepped back.

  “Just stand still,” the young man said. “This will only take a couple of minutes.” He must have activated something at his terminal, because the humming of the scanner intensified. “Here we go,” he said.

  I stood, waiting.

  After about two minutes the humming stopped. I looked wearily over at Thomas.

  “Scan complete,” the young man said. “And...uh. Identi-chip confirmed.”

  “What?” Thomas and I both said at the same time, which would have been pretty funny under different circumstances.

  “Identi-chip confirmed,” the young man repeated. “Charles Matheson. Province ID code 821-97-4396. Inception date: Leap Month, 1970.”

  “Are you saying this man has an identi-chip?” Thomas cried.

  “He does,” the young man said. “Wait, the computer is pulling up some information. Says here that Matheson, Charles S., was reported missing and presumed KIA by the Royal Air Force on 7 February 1990. Posthumously awarded the Order of Military Merit. Looks like we have a military hero here, boss.”

  “That is flat-out impossible,” Thomas said.

  I agreed. Silently, of course, which seemed the wisest course of action.

  By then Thomas had pulled me from the machine and I was standing near the young man and the computer terminal.

  He shrugged. “It's not impossible, the data is here. His prints are on record.”

  “Scan his prints,” Thomas said.

  “Sure,” the young man said. He rummaged at his station and pulled out a small box. He brought it over. “This is a portable fingerprint scanner. Just put your fingers into this slot,” he said, and I did.

  “Stand still,” he murmured. “It'll just take a second.” After a moment the machine beeped. “Done. Prints are being transmitted to the database.”

  He returned to his terminal and punched some keys. “Okay, it's running a match against what we have on record for him from the Royal Air Force.”

  I was trembling. I don't know if Thomas noticed it or not.

  “Done,” the man said. “100% match. He's our missing airman.”

  “Great,” Thomas fumed. He brought his hand up to his mouth and seemed to speak into it: “Prepare interrogation room 1,” he snapped. Apparently he had some kind communication device on his hand, because a moment later a voice responded, “It's ready.”

  “Hands behind your back,” he said to me. I complied. He roughly snapped the handcuffs back in place. “Let's go.” He grabbed my arm and I followed.

  A few moments later we reached the room, which was essentially a small box with a table and two chairs in it. He motioned to one of the chairs and I sat; he took the opposite chair.

  “So, you're our missing war hero, are you?” Thomas said. He smiled, but there was no humor behind it. “You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?”

  I wasn't sure what to say. “Look, you know I'm a citizen, I'm not the one creating these...portals. You've got the wrong guy. I've done nothing wrong.”

  “Bullshit,” he said. “I saw the look on y
our face when Williams was reading off 'your' information. You looked like you were about to shit your pants.”

  “You have to let me go. I've done nothing wrong.”

  “I don't have to do anything. My government entrusts in me great power. Since 'you' were not actually killed in action back during the Saudi War, this means you're a deserter. You went absent without leave 20 years ago. During a war. That's punishable by death. One way or other, you're done here. If I can't banish you I'm going to see that you are put to death.”

  “Why are you so interested in seeing me dead?” I said.

  “Whether or not you believe it, your very presence in this world has consequences. You may have the identi-chip but you aren't from here. Maybe you were at one time. Every single time you rip open the fabric of reality there is a reaction. Ten years ago one of you came busting into my world and caused a massive earthquake. 100 people were killed in that quake. My wife and son were driving home from the store when this quake hit; they were on a bridge and the bridge just snapped in two. Guess what happened to them?”

  “They were killed in the quake,” I said quietly.

  “Yes they were. And get this: this was in a part of the country where, you guessed it, earthquakes are rare. The last one had been 75 years ago. So, crazy coincidence, one of you comes into my world, and ten minutes later causes an earthquake.”

  “I'm sorry for your loss, but that wasn't me.”

  “Oh, it may as well have been you,” Thomas cried. “You don't belong in my world. I intend to see you removed from it permanently, one way or another.”

  At that moment a voice spoke from an intercom. And as it started to speak I could hear behind it, faintly, a sound...a sound like...oh, a sound like a breakfast cereal crinkling. “Inspector Thomas, you're needed at the front desk,” the voice was saying. As it spoke, I could see the light, swimming, shimmering, shifting.

  A portal was opening.

  Thomas stood up. Was he not seeing this? Or hearing it? “I'm locking this door. You can't go anywhere. I'll coming back.” With that he headed out of the room; he slammed the door behind him, and I could hear the lock click into place.

  What timing, I thought. The portal formed and out from it stood a woman.

  My mind was not surprised to see it was my dead wife, Melissa.

  “Let's get going, Charles,” she said. She looked sad. “I thought you were dead. It's good to see you. Follow me.” She entered the portal, and I followed her.

  * * *

  We emerged in a familiar apartment; the portal collapsed immediately. We were back at Lynne's apartment.

  “I'm sorry it took so long to get you,” Lynne said, coming from the kitchen. “I needed some help with this one. I wanted to make sure this portal was masked. They're not going to be able to track it.”

  It took a moment to speak. “Thank you. This is all a bit...overwhelming. I need to sit down.” I sat down on the couch in the living room; Melissa sat next to me and took my hand. Lynne sat at my other side.

  “They scanned me and it said I had one of your identi-chips already. How is that possible?” I asked.

  “You have the chip implanted?” Lynne said. “But...” she trailed off.

  “It said I had been presumed dead 20 years ago,” I said.

  Melissa nodded. “We were engaged when you were sent to Saudi,” she said. “Your squadron was flying a mission when your plane was shot down. You and the pilot bailed out; it was just assumed you landed behind enemy lines and were captured and...killed.”

  “I have no memory of this!” I said. “What I remember is being at college! I didn't even know you then, Mel,” I said. “In my world we didn't meet until 1997. I never was in the military. My brother was, but he never saw combat.”

  “Maybe the Saudis...did something to you, brainwashed you,” Melissa said.

  “No!” I cried. “I don't even know what you're talking about! We never had a war with Saudi Arabia! We had a war against Iraq!”

  “Not in this world,” Lynne said. “Back in 1990 the government of Saudi Arabia sent troops into Iraq to capture the oil fields. Iraq is our ally.”

  “How could I have different memories?” I said. I looked at Melissa. “I remember our life together, and in my world, you died. That's the reality I know.”

  “Memory implants are possible,” Melissa said. “It's been done before.”

  “This is crazy,” I said. “I have a wallet with identification from a different world! I have credit cards from this world! I have pictures of us together in this world, Melissa. I have your death certificate. Are you trying to tell me that all of that isn't real? That it never happened?”

  “I've heard of this,” Lynne said. “It's not uncommon.”

  “It's not common for me!” I snapped. “I'm in some strange world sitting on a couch with my dead wife and her dead sister!”

  “We'll figure it out,” Melissa said. “There must be some explanation for what's happening.”

  “One thing we do need to figure out is how to get you back to your world. You're not safe here.”

  “No kidding. That guy Thomas wants me dead.”

  “When we know you're safe, we can talk,” Melissa said.

  “How would you find me?”

  She smiled. “In your world.”

  “Charles, what can you tell me about how you found your portal to here?” Lynne asked.

  “I was outside, working in my garden. I was listening to music, just relaxing. I heard what sounded like someone calling out my name. I followed this voice and found the portal.”

  “Most jumpers I know can summon their own portal. Maybe you did the same thing.”

  I frowned. “Well, I suppose that's possible. Nothing seems impossible now.”

  “So what we can do is try to replicate what you were doing. We know it takes a lot of concentration to summon a portal.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Let's try.”

  “Just close your eyes,” Melissa said. “Clear your thoughts. Take some deep breaths.”

  “Try to picture it in your mind,” Lynne added. “Visualization is the key.”

  “Okay,” I said. I closed my eyes, inhaled and exhaled. I pictured in my mind the light shimmering and swirling. I pictured in my mind my home.

  A few moments passed. Nothing.

  “This isn't working...” I began.

  “No, don't stop,” Lynne said. “Don't lose focus.”

  I continued, trying to recreate in my mind everything that had happened, each sensation.

  As I did, I felt something in my mind. It's hard to describe. It was sort of like a...click, in my mind, the sensation when you successfully remember something.

  Faintly: a sound, like the crackling of a breakfast cereal in milk.

  “Charles!” Melissa exclaimed. “It's working! Just a few seconds longer.”

  I continued to concentrate; the sound grew in intensity.

  I opened my eyes; the portal had formed.

  Melissa and Lynne stood up. “You did it!” Lynne said. “Get going! We'll talk again.”

  “How can you be sure of that?” I said, as I got up.

  Melissa kissed me lightly on the lips. “I know. GO.”

  I looked at them both, nodded, and stepped through.

  * * *

  I emerged literally on the front steps to my house.

  As I did, the portal that brought me here closed, but before it did, I could see the vague outlines of Melissa and Lynne.

  I was home.

  I looked at my watch. It had resumed keeping time.

  And while that wasn't entirely surprising, my jaw dropped at the date: my watch was showing it as the day before this craziness began.

  To my mind, it seemed only a few hours had passed, but apparently time worked funny through these portals. But who knew? I was playing a game with rules I did not know, and even if I did know, could not possibly comprehend.

  With that, I unlocked my front door and stepped inside.


  The house was quiet, and cool. It was strange walking in it for some reason – I couldn't put my finger on it immediately.

  I headed to the kitchen to make some coffee when it came to me: it felt like a stranger's house to me.

  I'm not why I felt that, but it was unshakable. It was as if I had no memories of this place, even though everything was in its usual place.

  Without thinking much, I put on the coffee, and headed back into the living room.

  On a bookcase near the television, I had kept some photos of me and Melissa, including our wedding portrait.

  I headed over there, and grabbed one of the picture frames.

  It was a picture of me. It must have been 20 years old as I was a bit thinner and seemed to have most of my hair.

  I was wearing a military uniform.

  My hands were shaking as I looked at this. Of course I didn't have any memories of taking this picture, and of course I had no memories of serving in any branch of the military.

  I didn't recognize the uniform – I have some relatives who served in various branches of the armed forces, so I had some knowledge of what the military uniforms looked like, but this uniform wasn't anything worn by our Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines or Coast Guard.

  I put the frame back. There was a small photo album on a shelf. I picked it up, headed to the couch, and sat down.

  I flipped through the album.

  I recognized nothing.

  Pictures from childhood of events I couldn't remember.

  A graduation, presumably from high school, although in my memory I had missed that ceremony due to a case of the flu so bad it kept me in bed for a week.

  And pictures of me and a young Melissa.

  I hadn't met her until my late 20s, yet these pictures appeared to be taken at school – we were alone in some of them, and in others surrounded by smiling, faces – faces of complete strangers.

  I had no memories of any of this.

  I flipped through the album. It seemed chronological: towards the front, shots of the smiling child and parents (in situations I had no recollection of); towards the rear, shots of high school and beyond.

  One of the last sets of photos seemed to be of my graduating from some kind of military boot camp, or maybe it was a military academy? I had no idea.