Awake Page 4

  In one of the photos was a caption: “Charles receiving his commission as Second Lieutenant, Royal Air Force.”

  One of the last photos was of me and a small group of men; we were all in uniform. There was a caption for this one, as well: “Charles and his squadron preparing for deployment to Saudi Arabia.”

  I closed the photo album.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My tired mind kept toying with the idea of my being in some kind of fantastic, very realistic dream; nothing this crazy could be real.

  It also felt like this had been going on for days, even though the reality was maybe three hours at the most, but time certainly was no longer reliable. Nothing was.

  That this was my home was beyond doubt; my door key worked, my car was in the garage with the correct license plate.

  I had wandered the house, I suppose searching for clues, and I kept finding things that didn't belong.

  On a bookshelf was my high school yearbook, and at first glance it looked like the yearbook I remembered. But as I thumbed through the pages I realized it was not: there were autographs of people I didn't know; there was a picture of me with other members of the hiking club (I had never been a part of that club); a photo of me and the school's marching band (I didn't play an instrument!)

  I came across photos of the senior prom, and there I was, grinning into the camera, with Melissa grinning along with me. I had attended my prom, but hadn't taken a date; me and several of my friends went stag. But there I was, with my date and future wife; a high school friend named David who, in one photo, had been elected as the prom king, when he had been one of the group to attend it alone.

  And there I was in my senior portrait, once again clad in a military uniform. Apparently I had been in some kind of high school JROTC program. Under my photo it read: Charles Matheson, Royal Air Force Academy.

  I put the yearbook away and wandered into my bedroom. Nothing looked strange here; my bed was its usual mess (living alone I didn't see the point in making the stupid thing when I'd just be tearing it down again when and if I actually slept) and the bookshelves in the room housed the books I remember putting into them.

  There's a nightstand next to my bed, and on it I saw a picture frame; it was face-down on the stand.

  I picked it up. This was a photograph I remembered; a wedding portrait of me and Melissa, from the wedding that existed in my memory.

  Curious, I looked through the room, and the closet, and even in some boxes: everything I found belonged here; there were no strange artifacts from a life I didn't have any recollection living.

  What did it mean? Did it mean anything?

  I had no idea. And to my great surprise I realized something: I was very, very drowsy. I felt like I could actually sleep.

  I pulled off my shoes and just lay down in bed without taking off any clothes.

  Within moments I was deep asleep.

  * * *

  When I woke up I glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand; apparently I had slept for a good 12 hours. I actually felt good for the first time in years.

  I yawned, stretched, and pulled myself out of bed. Still half asleep I stumbled out of my clothes, showered, shaved, and got myself ready for the day.

  That done, I headed to the kitchen to put on some coffee. As I did I noticed something: the portraits on the living room shelf had changed.

  The one of me in the strange uniform had been replaced with one of me and Melissa and our long-dead dog, at the beach; a proper wedding photograph from a ceremony I remembered; others.

  The photo album I had looked through contained all of the photographs it originally did, and not the weird replacements.

  I grabbed my yearbook; it too was the yearbook I remembered.

  What the hell was happening?

  A dream, my mind responded.

  Yes, a dream. That made the most sense. The alternate explanation was impossible. I was very relieved at this.

  After getting a cup of coffee I headed into the living room and turned on the television; I needed the comfort of the familiar afternoon programming I'd find there.

  I flipped through the channels, and was relieved to see the usual crap from MY world: court shows with grouchy judges; talk shows with loud and obnoxious guests; the usual nonsense on the all-news channels.

  I turned to one of those news channels, relieved to see a report about the President, and the one I remember voting for.

  I changed to the all-comedy network and let the noises flow over me as I drank my coffee and thought about everything.

  A dream. A very vivid dream, but still: a dream. The kind of thing one might experience after not having slept for as long as I had.

  I wondered if I'd sleep again tonight. It had felt great to sleep and stay asleep; if I did manage to drift off to sleep, it was always interrupted by my waking up every hour or so.

  I didn't know, and was excited by the possibility.

  After finishing with my coffee I returned the cup to the kitchen and wandered throughout the house again, just making sure that everything was in its place and as I had remembered. To my satisfaction I found everything in order, with no evidence of a life I hadn't lived.

  I looked through the kitchen window out into the garden; it was a beautiful day out with clear blue skies. The news ticker had said it was supposed to be in the upper 60s today, perfect weather for where I lived.

  Out of the shower I had put on my “grubs,” just an old t-shirt and sweat pants, and I didn't think I really needed to get into anything else to garden. I kept a pair of shoes by the back door (my iPod was there as well) and as I finished lacing up the shoes, my front doorbell rang.

  I had the big window in the living room shaded, so I couldn't see outside. I didn't get a lot of visitors here, although this was the time of day when the mail was usually delivered.

  As I approached the door my caller started pounding on it.

  “Hold on,” I cried. “I'm coming.”

  I opened the door.

  “Hello, Mr. Matheson,” said the man standing there. “I knew I'd find you here.”

  It was Officer Thomas.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “What a pleasant surprise,” I said, trying to stay calm. “What brings you to my neck of the woods, officer?”

  He smiled. “Why, I have an arrest warrant to capture a man who went AWOL during an armed conflict. It's a serious offense.”

  “You have no jurisdiction here,” I said. “This is my world. I never served in the military. You've got the wrong man.”

  “That's where you're wrong, Mr. Matheson,” he said. “I do have the right man; and as far as my jurisdiction goes, let's just say our worlds have an...why, an understanding about these things.”

  “You're crazy,” I said. “Get the hell out of here, before I have you hauled away to the loony bin. You can tell everyone there all about these parallel 'worlds' and see how far you get.”

  “We can keep this between us,” Thomas said. “Just come with me, quietly, and we'll take care of this.”

  “I'm not going anywhere with you,” I said. “Fine, go tell the authorities here your tale, and have them come back with a warrant.”

  “You'll be...” Thomas began, but I cut him off by slamming the front door in his face.

  My hands shaking, I locked the front door. I peeked out at one of the living room curtains; Thomas was actually leaving, although I didn't see any cars parked anywhere near.

  I sat down on the couch, trying to relax.

  On the bookshelf next to the television I could see that the portrait of me in a military uniform was back on display.

  I stood up and walked over to the bookcase. Yes, that portrait was there, as were the portrait that actually belonged there, of me and Melissa at our wedding.

  I grabbed the photo album; this time there was a mixture of the photos I knew, and the ones from that...other existence.

  Another wedding photo of me and Melissa; and next to that, one of the two
of us in high school, a time in my life where we didn't know each other.

  Someone was screwing with me.

  But who – or why – I didn't know. I toyed briefly with the idea that it was Thomas, and that certainly was a possibility, but I felt deep down that it wasn't.

  I turned on the television, and flipped to a news channel.

  The President I knew, giving a speech about the state of the economy.

  I flipped to another channel, and this time the network identification logo was one I had never seen; I was viewing live footage of...

  The aftermath of a hurricane. In Vancouver. Over stark footage of the devastation an announcer said in voice over, “The death toll in this natural disaster – the first of its kind in decades, experts tell us – is expected at over 500 dead, with property damage estimated at over 300 million dollars. Prime Minister Goldblum assured citizens that every resource of the government was being employed to cope with this tragic loss of life and property. The first reports...”

  I flipped through the channels: one station, airing a repeat of a situation comedy starring a group of attractive young people in the city of New York, was of a show I knew; the next station, airing a situation comedy starring people I had never seen.

  Back and forth, the familiar and the unknown as I went through the stations.

  I felt my sanity threatening to topple.

  As if all of this weren't crazy enough, I discovered that I suddenly was receiving several hundred stations; I have cable, and I know that the provider only offers 250 channels.

  This? I lost count as I went into channel 974.

  Now I was seeing footage of some other kind of disaster, except in this case I couldn't understand what the announcer was saying, as it was in a language I didn't know.

  As the camera panned this devastated landscape, I could see the sky from this city, with two suns glowing brightly.

  Another channel, another scene of devastation, in a world that didn't seem to have any kind of sunlight at all, although the moons were as large and as bright as a sun.

  With a cry I shut off the television.

  What was I witness to?

  It was as if all of these supposed alternate worlds were now being beamed directly to my television, but this of course was flat-out impossible.

  Right?

  I couldn't persuade myself that it was.

  Which meant that Officer Thomas would probably be back, and this time he probably would have agents from my government with him to arrest me and to, what? Extradite me to Thomas' world for prosecution?

  That seemed like a frightening possibility.

  I was tired of running, but I had to get out of here.

  Could I summon one of these portals by myself?

  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it.

  I could see a place in my mind; it looked like the island paradise Melissa and I had gone to on our honeymoon. I pictured a calm blue sky, waves lapping gently onto a golden beach; I could see two beach chairs in the sand, with no one else anywhere near.

  As I thought this, that now very familiar breakfast cereal crinkling sound could be heard, getting louder.

  I opened my eyes.

  The portal had formed in my living room. Looking through the shimmering light I could see the destination beyond:

  It was the beach paradise I had pictured in my mind.

  I stepped through.

  And while the beach I emerged on looked like the one from my memories, there was a major difference: large portions of reality were missing. What it looked like more than anything was an image, viewed over the Internet, that had simply stopped loading.

  The sand was there (and the beach chairs), and the waves were lapping gently on the shore, but the ocean itself simply ceased to exist a few yards out. In place of the reality was simply...nothing.

  A breeze was blowing; when I looked up into the sky, it too was incomplete. There were patches of blue sky, and also patches of that black nothingness.

  The sun itself seemed to be missing chunks of reality.

  Despite this, nothing else seemed wrong; it was warm and the air was obviously breathable.

  I appeared to be safe, at least for the moment. I went over to one of the beach chairs and sat down.

  The realization was dawning in me that the reason this...destination was incomplete was that I hadn't fully completed imagining it.

  Was that what this was all about? That I was imagining a world into existence?

  That in itself seemed impossible, but I was rapidly learning that the concept of impossible was pretty hazy.

  The truth of the matter was, I had no idea what world I currently was in – nor did I have any idea of my escape here was traceable.

  Lynne had said opening a portal created a kind of temporal signature that could be tracked, and I supposed that was entirely possible. How it was possible was beyond my understanding.

  She also had said she knew of people who could temporarily block out this signature. If I could create this simply by thinking about it, it seemed I could also imagine a portal as being untraceable.

  But was there more to this? If I were passing through different dimensions, was something like time travel possible?

  That also felt right.

  Of course, what also felt right was that I was having some kind of psychotic episode and tripping out of my mind with hallucinations.

  But that didn't matter, at least at the moment it didn't. I really needed to talk to someone about this.

  Did I risk a return to Lynne and Melissa's world? It seemed like the right thing to do.

  And even as I debated this in my mind, quite suddenly, was that loud crinkling sound; a bit off to my right the light had shimmered and I could see directly into Lynne's apartment.

  But it wasn't just the one portal.

  Suddenly, in all directions, I could see portals forming, dozens of them...no, hundreds, many of them taking the place of the black unreality that had been here.

  And I was getting the sense that not only were these portals to other dimensions, but to other times, too.

  I glanced over to my left, and through a portal I could see a familiar scene: John F. Kennedy's motorcade making its way through Dallas from that day in 1963; in another, a battlefield with soldiers dressed in Civil War uniforms.

  And some seemed to be portals to the future; many seemed to open into worlds of horrific devastation.

  Now, there were thousands of these portals.

  I was growing increasingly terrified at this; it was as if the entire universe, past, present and future were opening before me.

  I got up from the chair and, nearly in a panic, went through the portal to Lynne's world.

  I emerged into her apartment, although it was empty as the portal closed behind me.

  I went over to the couch, and on the coffee table in front of it was one of those plastic electronic readers, the same kind I had viewed the headline about the destruction in Vancouver.

  I picked it up. The screen flashed a message: you have new visual mail, and there appeared to be some kind of icon next to this message; I pressed it.

  What I saw next was an image of Lynne, in what I supposed was some kind of holographic display. She began speaking: “Charles, please stay in the apartment for now. You'll be safe here. Don't worry, no one knows you're here. A lot has happened since you left. Melissa and I will return soon to talk to you. There's food in the kitchen, and the bed in the guest room is made up if you want to get some sleep. See you soon,” the message ended.

  How could she have known that I was coming? Then again, how was it I could just imagine something and have it spring into existence?

  Too many questions for my tired mind to grasp. And while a nap seemed impossible, I realized just how hungry I was. It seemed like I hadn't had anything to eat in days, and in all likelihood I hadn't. I headed into the kitchen to see what I could make to eat.

  The refrigerator was filled with brands I di
dn't know, but at least they were of the kinds of food I did know, and I found the makings for a sandwich. To my complete amusement there were actually bottles of Crystal Pepsi, a product that had been discontinued in my world (for good reason); I grabbed one and took my sandwich to the kitchen table.

  I consumed the enormous sandwich in a few bites; I took a few drinks of the Crystal Pepsi (which was surprisingly good) and glanced at the bottle:

  “Bottled at the PepsiCo bottling plant, Denver, CO, © 2010”

  Was there a state of Colorado in this world? Every location in the United States was supposed to be part of a Canadian province.

  More questions.

  After finishing the soda I found where Lynne recycled the bottles. I wandered around the kitchen, looking at the various items, and found that while some of the cans seemed to indicate being manufactured in this world, others clearly originated from my world.

  I had no idea if this was significant or not. I sighed and wandered back into the living room and sat back down on the couch. I leaned back, took a deep breath, and promptly fell asleep. Did it take a world-changing exposure to things like parallel worlds and time travel to cure insomnia? Apparently.

  When I awoke, two things were immediately apparent: for one, I wasn't sleeping on Lynne's couch; I woke up on my own, much less comfortable couch.

  The other thing I became aware of as I wandered into my bedroom with the thought of taking a shower, and not thinking a whole lot about how I was now in my own home instead of Lynne's apartment:

  Melissa was in my bed.

  She was sleeping soundly, so I really didn't want to wake her, but my mind was fairly reeling at this, with the most obvious question being, how did we both get here?

  My mind was starting to rebel over the fact that it couldn't process these increasingly bizarre things that kept happening.

  I wandered back into the living room for lack of a better thing to do.

  There's a special photo album I keep hidden in a shelf of drawers; it's a private album that I don't share with anyone. I pulled it out and returned with it to the couch.

  This album was a record of my marriage, from start to end.