Chapter 14 - Okay. No lie. This was just plain fun to write.

“What was that for?” I wake up with a start.
“I am sorry,” Jack says, offering me a bag of frozen vegetables, “I may have gotten a bit carried away. I just thought, if you were unconscious now, you would dream, and you would know who some people were. I probably should not have punched you, though.”
I press the veggies against my eye, “You think? Am I going to have a black eye from this?”
He blushes, “probably. I am sorry. I should have waited, you would have slept eventually. Patience is not my strong suit, though.”
“Apparently.”
“More importantly, though, did you dream? Do you remember anything?”
“More importantly?”
“Sorry,” he takes a deep breath and spits out the next paragraph rapidly, without drawing another, “Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything? Are you in pain? Can I make you more comfortable? I am terribly sorry that I injured you and can only hope for some forgiveness and grace.”
“Yeah, whatever, I forgive you. How about a drink?”
“You are getting sober, remember?”
“You punched me in the face, remember?”
“I am still not going to get you a drink. Now, did you dream?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really. Or if I did, I do not remember it at all.”
He swears under his breath, “now I really feel like a jerk. I knocked you out cold and it did not even change or help anything.”
“Yeah. Basically you just punched me in the face for no reason. How long was I out for?”
“A couple hours.”
“I feel strangely rested. Which is strange, considering this was the second time today I got hit in the head, so I am pretty sure that I should not be feeling this good.”
“I am pretty sure you should not be feeling this good, as well. But I have a question for you, do you have the key with you now?”
“The what?”
The key, the map, the note, whatever it is that you would like to call it. Do you have it with you right now?”
“Um. No. Actually, I do not. I mean, I usually carry it, but since I have met you… lately I have been leaving it at home more. In a safe place, of course.”
“Hm,” he pauses, thinking about this for a few seconds, “have you had it with you when you have dreamt before? Every time?”
“I… don’t know. I suppose I probably have. I do still keep it with me most of the time.”
“Would you be carrying it on you, or just in the same room? Did you have it with you every single time?”
“I don’t know! I do not remember! I think I did, but maybe I did not. The first time… I lost it the first time.”
“You lost it?”
“No, well, yes. But not exactly. It is not as though I misplaced it or something, I had it, I swear. But it slipped out of my hand and it got away. I was chasing it… it was in front of me. It was right there, maybe fifteen feet. Then there was the tunnel…”
“The tunnel?”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t know if it was really a tunnel. It got very hot, though. There was an alley. I don’t remember ever seeing that alley before that night, but it was there. But that is not all that weird, because there are a lot of things in this city that I do not know. Then… the note, or, the key, it flew away, not blew, it wasn’t going with the wind. It was flying, like it knew exactly where it was going, and it went down the alley. It was hot. Very, very hot. Not like the sun, but stuffy, hard to breathe, and uncomfortable, like a tunnel. It was dark, even for an alley. Uncomfortably dark. And I do not really remember any walls to have felt my way along. It all seemed very… just uncomfortable. I have said the word uncomfortable a lot of times in explaining this, but I do not know what other word to use. It was all just so odd and surreal and… awkward.”
“Awkward?”
“Like maybe I was in a place I should not have been.”
“Okay, so there was the tunnel, and it was uncomfortable. Then what happened?”
“Then I came out, and the air was fresh, too fresh. I was very odd. It was windy before the alley, but when I walked out, there was nothing. It was just… air. Not wind, like it had been on the other side. It was about to storm… was it raining? It seems like it may have been raining. But not there. It seemed too clear. There was grass, Jack. I do not really know if I had ever seen grass before then, but I knew right away what it was. The sky was so blue there, not like the grey here, if you are even in a place where you can see the sky. It was certainly like some kind of different world.”
“You think that you were on a different planet?”
“No… yes? I really do not know. I mean, is that even possible?”
“A great many things are possible when given the right tools, the right time, the right circumstances… you would be amazed at what all is possible.”
“Like… walking down an alley on Earth and ending up somewhere else entirely?”
“Yes, I imagine that would be a good illustration of my point.”
“But… is that what happened?”
“I really do not know. In all honesty, you are the only one who can say for sure at this point, leastways until we found out who these people you met are.”
“What are the chances that I totally flipped my lid and I am hallucinating? Or that I’m having some crazy bad drug trip?”
He shrugs, “Knowing you, I would say they are pretty high. But some things, Anna, are real. And those are the things that are worth pursuing, even when no one else understands, even when everyone else thinks that you are crazy. Like I told you before, you and I, Anna, we are adventurers. Adventurers are meant to be a little bit crazy. We are meant to be full of passion and ambition and drive, and maybe even a few hallucinations. It’s like… you know… when you want something so bad you can just see it, touch it, taste it, and feel it. It becomes more than some kind of an abstract idea, it springs a life of its own, sometimes in a very literal sense. But then, it becomes difficult to distinguish between fantasy and reality sometimes, and you get comfused. Everyone else in this great big universe will look at you and say you are crazy, but when it comes down to it, there is only one opinion that matters, and that is yours. Are you happy? Did you get what you wanted? Is this the life you dreamed? And really, I don’t care at all what anyone else says as long as I get life. Life like this.
“It is the type of thing you have never even dreamed of, because it is too big for dreams. Whole galaxies we never knew existed, stars that have never been named, creatures never seen. That is the real beauty of it all. Certainly, I do not love everything that I am made to do. Putting back into place events in history that may have better been displaced, retaining order and justice at the cost of mercy… these are all things that I have to do, and I really would rather not. But it is worth it, because there is something more, there is something bigger. And that, Anna, is culture. Whole worlds just waiting to be explored! Faces just waiting to be known! And it is not about the fame or recognition or any of that, let someone else keep it. It is just about seeing those things, those crazy, beautiful, mind blowing things, things that will leave me dying at a young age saying “I’ve seen more than most men twice my age.” It is worth it, Anna. It is worth every cost.”
“Tell me about it, then.”
“A history lesson?”
“Of course, what else?”
“Let me see, what was I going to tell you earlier?”
“Kelderdash.”
“Right, exactly, Kelderdash.” He takes a deep breath, then begins, “long ago there was a town by the river that ran all the way around Kelderdash, and in that town there lived a girl whose name was Isobel. Isobel was very beautiful and a very eligible young girl, but she had no interest in the men of her town or even in the idea of marriage. She was filled with both wisdom and knowledge, a modest and shy young lady who spent a great deal of her time studying and learning from books.
“She lived with her father, who was a blacksmith. He was a good man who loved his daughter very much. His wife had died giving birth to the girl, and to his dying day he would never look at another woman, for he had loved her so much. He raised his daughter, Isobel, in a very good and right manner, with much love and affection, yet not overspoiling her. And she became quite the sensible lady, for her father was a wise man, and passed on his wisdom to the girl from the time that she was a very young child.
“She had few friends, but was quite content to be alone. She spent much of her time imagining. As she grew older, this imagining became more vivid, and soon it seemed that what happened in her mind was also happening in front of her. The thoughts and characters and creatures in her mind were no longer just in her mind, they had come alive and were active. She certainly knew that this could not be true, yet saw more and more proof that, beyond all logic, the thoughts in her mind were awqakening into reality.
“She still fought against this, but in the woods at night, the town began to hear strange bnoises. There were reports of odd and unusual creatures seen in the river – creatures the like of which had never been seen before, or if they had been before thought of, only heard of in old wives’ tales and wistful ledgends of far off places long ago. Yet strange, these things were now appearing.
“One day into town came a strange young man. His hair was firey red and his eyes deep brown, his skin was tan, and there seemed an odd countenance about him. Now Isobel rarely ventured into town, but she had to run errands one day, soon after the arrival of the man. The moment that she saw him, she was filled with terror. She ran all the way back to her home and begged her father that they pack up and leave the town immediately, for there was great danger to come. Her father inquired of her what was amiss, but she could not give him answers of any satisfaction, and so he refused to pack up and leave on such a wild emotion.
“But leave is exactly what they should have done, for soon people in the town began to go missing, one by one, and the reports were heard of it about town every morning. Soon, less than half of the town was left. And all this time, Isobel had not ventured back into town, for she knew what had happened.
“This was certainly no ordinary man. By day he was charming and had any girl in the villiage on a whim, but by night he was something entirely difference. When the moonlight touched him, he would transform into a beast. His name was Ithranger, and Isobel knew him well, for he had sprung from her very thoughts.
“Now, I will not go into the details of this tale and bore you, for I imagine you know quite well how these sorts of tales go. Isobel fooled Ithranger and slayed the beast, though strangely to the dismay of the town. For though they had come to realize that he was a beast, they were strangely enthralled with him. But that is not really the point of the story, see, Ithranger was just the beginning. The town saw that he had sprung from Isobel’s mind, and they had a great fear of her, and sent her from society. Her father was devastated, and died of grief soon after her departure.
“As for Isobel, she wandered through all of Kelderdash, seeking out the beasts of her own creation, and destroying what she could, for she alone knew their weaknesses, still better than they themselves knew. But she could not capture nearly as many creatures as she created. The creatures of water were more tricky, as were beasts of the air. And it must be said, many of these creatures were good and beautiful.
“As she was on her quest, she was found by a young man, and they fell in love, of course. Soon she gave up on her quest, convinced by the man that it was not her fault, that what had been created was meant to be created, it was destiny. She settled down with the man and they started a family.
“This family was a new race, for Isobel was the first of the creators, and all her children after her also had the ability to shape things out of nothing. The gift has weakened over many of thousands of years, but it is important to note a few things about the creators. They are still very real, and very formidable enemies, though they are generally very amiable creatures. They also have created many of the races that we have today, in fact, they created many humanoid species, such as the werewolf, of which Ithranger was the first. They are also very dangerous if they are unaware of their abilities. They are creative creatures by nature, and will spin tales in their mind which will creep into reality. Their tales can be both beautiful and terrifying, and the effects of these tales are entirely unpredictable.
“However, and sadly, I feel, the creators have become a nearly extinct race. They have been crossbred and hunted and mutated so much that they are now nearly impossible to find, which is very much a sad tale, in my opinion. They were once a strong, healthy, thriving, and altogether beautiful race. But now they have become nothing more than a species eaten away by time, worn away over the years.
“If you walk away from this history lesson with nothing else, remember at least this. Time is one thing we cannot stop. We can surf through it, we can play with it, we can shape it even, in some ways, but it is unstoppable. And nothing stays the same over time, all things will change. Things grow old, things die, things wear out, and new things are made, which will in turn grow old, wear out, and die. And that is one of the few constants in the whole universe. The inpenatrability of time. Sad, but altogether true.
“Now then, I can see it written all over you that you have had a very long day, I would imagine this has much to do with your family. I am also imagining that you would not wish much to talk of it. So go home, then, and get yourself some rest. I will call a taxi for you. I will see you tomorrow, same time, same place.”
I nod somewhat absently, realizing how much ths day has taken its toll on me, and wait patiently on his couch, maybe dozing off a little, until the taxi arrives and carries me back to my house. Once inside, I stumble up to my room and fall quickly asleep on my bed.
And there, only a few feet away, on top of my dresser, lay one very peculiar note, which held far more power than I had realized.

Chapter 13 - He punches her in the face. Yeah. I'm that awesome.

“There once was a young girl from a planet called Kelderdash,” Jack began, sinking down onto his ugly pink couch and folding his arms behind his head.
“Kelderdash?”
“Yes. Why?”
“It’s just, I have heard of Kelderdash before.”
His forehead wrinkles up, “where?”
“In a dream, I think. Or I thought. But Kelderdash is a real place, then? A real planet that actually exists?”
“Yes. Or rather, it did exist before it was destroyed in a war.”
“It was blown up?”
“Yes.”
“And the people who live there, the people are dying out?”
“I suppose so,” he shrugs, “Many of them just moved to their twin planet, Kelderon. But it is being rumored that soon Kelderon will be destroyed, and if that is to happen, I suppose it really will endangered the Kelderdashans. What sort of a dream was this that you had?”
“Just. A very weird, very realistic dream.”
“Are you certain that it was a dream?”
“I’m not certain of anything right now,” I take a swig of milk from the glass in front of me, “I am not sure that you are not a dream… or worse, a hallucination. It has occurred to me that I could be a schitzophrenic.”
“I am pretty sure I am not a dream. I am also pretty sure that you are not psychotic. Well. I mean. A little bit. You certainly have a death wish, but I do not think you are seeing things that are not there type of crazy. I would like to hear more about this dream, though.”
“Well, it was not exactly a dream. It has been more like… a lot of dreams. Nearly every time I fall asleep, I think. But, I am not sure. Why don’t you just tell me this story, and we could talk about it later? I am tired, and I do not feel like thinking about it right at the moment.”
He frowns, “I have noticed that you look more tired lately… if the key is causing you to skip dimensions in your sleep, that may explain a lot.”
“The key?”
His frown deepens, “Yeah. The key. The piece of paper I gave you. The one that I do not remember giving you. The one you have had for years – that is no ordinary paper. That is a key.”
“But a key to what?”
“A key to my ship.”
“Your… spaceship?”
“It is a little bit more complex than an ordinary spaceship, but we will go with that right now. Sometimes the keys have interesting effects on those not trained for intergalactic travel.”
“Interesting effects like what?”
“Like causing you to travel through dimensions in your sleep. When did these dreams start?”
I think back, trying to remember, “It was the night I met you,” I realize this out loud.
“That is very interesting,” his eyebrows shoot up, “before or after you met me?”
“Before.”
“I found you passed out in the alley…” his voice trails off, “you did not remember going that far from home, if I remember correctly? You seemed confused about where you were. You were drunk, sure, so I suppose any number of things could have happened. You could have done anything, really. But what if that is not what happened? What if you did not do anything?” his voice grows faster, more excited, and his eyes bulge the slightest bit, “what if this were something completely out of your control – and out of mine, too? What if I did not just find you, but you were meant to be here? You could have been brought to me for a reason… you have to have been brough to me for a reason, you have my key. But no, none of this makes any sense. You should not be able to… but you do. But who? And why? Is there any reason for you to be here? What could there possibly be about you that is so important that the entire universe seems to be in an uproar about it? And what if they know? I wonder if they know… maybe they were what brought you here in the first place? But no, that is entirely ridiculous. But is it? Maybe it is not ridiculous, maybe… but…” he stutters a little bit, “did you meet anyone in these dreams, Anna? Do you remember any names?”
I nod, straining to remember everything that I can, “I met… I did meet some people. I met a woman, and a man. But not together. I met the woman first, but then some things changed, and I was somewhere else and I met a man. His name was… it was Matt, but that was not his real name. He said he was from Kelderdash.”
“Matt from Kelderdash,” he frowns, “nope, never heard of him, I do not think. What about the woman? Do you remember her name?”
I press my mind, knowing that I know her name, but not quite taking grasp of it, “I know it,” I mumble, “I know that I do know it. She told me it. But I cannot remember.”
“Then tell me, tell me anything you remember about her. What did she look like? Where was she from? What did her voice sound like? How did she act? Anything, Anna. We might be able to figure this out.”
“She was… short? Maybe. I think she was short. She was dark.”
“What do you mean by dark?”
“Her skin… her skin was dark, and her hair, too.”
“What else do you remember?”
I rub my palms over my eyes, darkening my vision, trying to remember, and drawing a blank, “Matt said… he said that she was older than she looked.”
“How old did she look?”
“I do not remember.”
He growls, frustration reddening his face, “try, Anna, try to remember. If you can remember, maybe we can figure out what is going on. Maybe we can figure out why you have the key and how you and I are connected.”
“I don’t remember, Jack! I just don’t!”
“Then I am sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
And then everything goes black.

Chapter 12 - Bleeeeeeeeh.

I wake up with a start, as though from a bad dream, and sit up too quickly, smacking my head against the corner of the cabinet I am curled up against. A groan of pain escapes my lips and I allow myself to lay back down, gripping my forehead with my palm. Blood oozes down my face and I realize that this is probably a very not good thing.
I absently glare at the two beer cans on the counter from last night, and wonder if it was last night at all, or if I really did leave here and was on a spaceship with Matt somewhere.
I pull myself to my feet and drag myself to the bathroom, where I press a towel to my face. I look at my reflection in the mirror. Strange as it is, my appearance seems to have changed a lot over the past few days alone. If I thought I looked awful before, I look like some sort of a ghostly creature now. Though it does appear that I may have gained some weight, the rest of my appearance is a wreck. My eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with red, surrounded by dark, almost black, rings. My hair hangs greasy and limp on my shoulders. My skin is pale and dry, as if I were dead.
I take the towel off of my face and wash it with the hand towel that I haven’t changed in weeks. I realize this is far from sanitary, but right now I am more concerned about stopping the bleeding. It is not that large of a cut, perhaps about half an inch. Head wounds always bleed an inappropriate amount. I grab a band aid from the cupboard, fully realizing that it will assist very little in stopping the bleeding, and plaster it to my head. I stare in the mirror for a few seconds, watching the blood seep through the thin barrier, then remove it and press the towel to my face again.
My phone rings and I awkwardly dig it from my pocket with one hand.
“Hey, Jack,” I make a guess, considering he is the only person who calls these days.
“Anna?” Wrong guess.
“Who is this?”
“This is your father. Who is Jack?”
“Dad?” I ignore his question.
“Yes, this is dad. Who is Jack?”
“A friend. Why are you calling?”
“A friend, friend? Or a boyfriend, friend? Well, I just haven’t seen you since I moved out, and I thought I would check up on you, see how you are doing.”
My dad moved out? When did that happen? Have I really missed this much?
“Are you still there, Anna?”
“Uh. Yeah. You moved out?”
“A few weeks ago. I guess I did not do so great at seeing you even when I was there, huh?”
“I guess not. Why are you making an effort now?” I realize that I sound like a jerk, but I care very little about that. I am more wondering what he thinks he can gain by being all friendly toward me now.
“Well, I just thought it was about time I should get to know my favourite daughter.”
“I am your only daughter, and you never cared about knowing me before. What is this? Some kind of a midlife crisis, or something? Are you having an affair and want me to side with you instead of mom? Because I really don’t give a damn about your life or hers, do whatever you want, just don’t pretend to care about me.”
“Anna—“
“No, don’t even start with me. You had your chance. You had seventeen years of chances, and you never cared, so don’t even try to pretend that you deserve to be a part of my life now, after everything. You haven’t earned that right.”
“Anna,” he tries again, and maybe I should give him a chance, let him talk, maybe even listen, but I’m tired, my head is bleeding, and my life is confusing, and he never did anything to make it better.
“Shut up and just stay out of my life, okay? I am pretty sure we are both a lot happier when we don’t talk, so just stay away from me and we can pretend that we don’t exist, okay? Bye.” I shut my phone and strangely enough feel hot tears start spilling down my face, mixing with the blood, the strange, sticky mix falling down my cheeks and onto the bathroom floor. It is that kind of crying – the kind where your tears are falling so heavy and fast they hit the floor. I do not remember the last time I cried like this. Somewhere in me, which is maybe what makes it hurt the most, is there is still a little piece of me that wishes that phone would ring again, that hopes he still cares enough to give me another chance, even if I will not offer him the same grace. But staring at my phone through blurred eyes, I know that will not happen.
That just is not the way life works. The phone does not ring again. The fighting does not just stop. Everything just is not okay at the end of the day. Love is conditional and grudges never cease. Words cut deeper than knives, making wounds that refuse to be healed. And somewhere out there in this world, there is supposed to be some sort of a meaning. But I do not see it. I have never seen it. I have seen war and tears and pain but there never is hope, there never is that light at the end of the tunnel.
And the phone will not ring again.
But now, it does.
“Dad?” My voice shakes more than I intended for it to.
“No, this is Jack.”
Of course, “Um. Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine, what do you want?”
“I had not heard from you today. I just wondered if you were planning on coming over tonight for history lessons, or if something had happened?”
“Nothing happened. I am good.”
“Something happened. I can hear it in your voice, Anna. You are crying. Besides, the very fact that you would even say everything is good just tells me that everything is very not good. You are far from the sort of person who says “I am good”, you’re more like doom and gloom and a little rapture.”
“First of all,” I mutter, wiping my eyes with the bloody towel than pressing it hard against my forehead, “I am not a little rapture. Secondly, I am bleeding profusely from my head right now.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Are you hung over?”
“Not really.”
“You drank last night.” It is not a question, it is a statement, but I answer it, anyway.
“Yes. But just a little. Just two cans. That is not very much, considering ythat I am apparently an alcoholic.”
“Really, Anna? What happened to sobering up?”
“It was not that much. And I do not feel so badlythis morning.”
“Why is your head bleeding?”
“I slept on the kitchen floor and-“
“Wow, that sounds like a good idea.”
“Are you going to let me finish or are you going to be a jerk?”
“Well, being a jerk was working pretty well for me, but if you ask nicely, just maybe I will let you finish.”
“I won’t, then, if this is how it is going to go.” I fume. I know that I am more upset than is necessary at the moment, but I am too tired, too worn out, too bleeding, too crying, too broken, and too unfixable to worry about the fact that I am being unreasonable towards a man whose real name I do not even know.
“I am sorry, Anna,” he sounds sincere enough, “you seem upset, and I can only imagine it has much to do with your family right now, and I should not be giving you a hard time. I will give you slack on the alcoholism today. You just frustrate me a lot. You are better than you give yourself credit for, and it bothers me when people sell themselves short.”
“Gee, I am so sorry for making your life so difficult.” I know the sarcasm is not necessary, even slightly, but for whatever reason, it is making me feel a little bit better to be a complete jerk right now. And as selfish as that is, I am taking advantage of the feeling.
“I am sorry,” he repeats himself, “please tell me how you hurt yourself. I promise to be sympathetic toward you.”
“Fine. I woke up on the kitchen floor. I had a weird dream. I woke up too fast and hit my head on the corner of the counter, and I cut my head. Now it is bleeding a lot and it will not stop bleeding. Also, my father called. I guess he moved out of the house, but I do not really know when this happened. I didn’t realize he was gone. I have mixed feelings on this. I also have mixed feelings on the fact that he called at all. I guess I am kind of angry at him, for being presumptuous enough to try to be a part of my life now, after so many years.
“And maybe this is all my fault. Maybe I am being stupid and selfish and unreasonable, but you know what, I really do not care, and I have not cared for quite some time. But I just. You know, how can he even do that? It is not fair to me. He never cared about me when I was a child. The only child he and mom ever cared about was the one that died, and they just… forgot about me, or something.” I am pleasantly surprised by how even, unaffected, and apathetic my voice sounds as I explain this. It would be hard to imagine that this was the very thing I was bawling about just a few moments before.
“I sometimes wonder,” he trails off, not finishing his thought.
“What do you wonder, Jack?”
“I wonder if my parents – my real parents – cared about me at all. I wonder why they did not find me. I wonder if they even tried at all. I was happy growing up, sure. But it still does not change the fact that someone let me go. Someone had me first, and whatever happened, whether they did abandon me, like my parents said, or whether I was adopted, or whether I was kidnapped… someone had to let go of me. And I can’t help but think, even if I were taken from my real family, that if they had cared, if they had looked hard enough, if they had looked long enough, that they would have found me. But no one ever did find me. I was left. Alone. And even more alone, after my parents died.
“I am not going to be presumptuous enough to assume that I know how ou are feeling right now, because I do not. But I do know what it is like to feel abandoned, and unloved, and like you have no one in the world looking out for you. But I will tell you something, Anna. No matter what happens in this world, I am going to be watching out for you. There is a reason that we met, and because of that I am the one who is not going to abandon you. I know right now you are looking for a parent, and I am far from being a remotely decent parent figure. But strangely, I find that I do care for you a great deal, and I am going to be here when no one else is, and I am going to take care of you when no one else will, because that is what friends do.”
“I was not aware that we were friends.”
“Well, I figured that we have got to be something, so we might as well not make it enemies.”
“I guess.”
“Are you coming over today, then?”
I nod, then realize he cannot agknowledge my nod over the phone, “yes, I will come over today.”
“Good. I will see you in about an hour? Take public transport. It is getting dark. It is not safe for you to walk around alone this late in the city, regardless of how tough you think that you are.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Does that mean you are taking public transport?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I will see you soon, then.”

Chapter 11 - Oh! Apathy!

It occurs to me sometime in the middle of the night, around three or four in the morning, that I have been intently staring at the ceiling fan for hours. It is not that is is particularly interesting, or fascinating, or entrertaining. In fact, it is absolutelt the most mindless thing in the world to watch.
There it is, spinning in circles, around and around and never really changing at all. There may be some small imperceptible changes in the rotations of the blades, tbut they are far from being perceived by my eyes, particularly in a dark room at three otr four in the morning.
Sometime in the next hour I find myself wondering why I am lying here so intent on this spinning. I think about my entire life, spinning in circles, wondering what is real and true and right… wondering what is good, but mostly what is factual. It occurs to mre that I do not know anymore what is my life and what is a dream and what is a hallucination or if I have died somewhere along the line and none of this is actually happening.
I am thinking largely of Jack, of course. He is quite the perplexing character of a man, certainly. And is he a madman or not? Certainly he has provided no evidence to the truth and factuality of the claims he has made, and certainly he has made some quite outlandish claims. Time travel? Check. Alien planets? Check. Different dimensions? Check. The man has made every sort of claim as to get him locked up in a clean, padded room for a decent amount of years. Yet for whatever reason, I find myself believing him.
As is common, I find myself walking downstairs to the kitchen and grabbing a can of beer out of the fridge. I down it quickly – a little bit too quickly, maybe. Then another. I sink down onto the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, and wonder abput everything else going on right now. Like the fact that I am not allowed to drink anymore. I scowl at the empty cans on the counter, but find very little regret about it.
I think about Jaynie, and the land with grass. When I am there, it all seems very real and true and believable. Yet now, it seems far away and ridiculous. There is absolutely no possibility that it could be true. I simply… must be having some very strange withdrawl symptoms. Some weird dreams. Or whatever.
I lean my forehead on my knees and suddenly agknowledge the headache threatening to split my head in half. I am tired, for sure, but sleep sounds anything but appealing. I am far too awake for sleep. Yet then, I am far too tired to stay awake.
I feel my eyelids begin to fall shut of their own will, and I fight it as well as I can, but they have entirely taken on a mind of their own. My head feels as though it has become far too heavy to support any longer and I curl up in a fetal position on the kitchen floor. I feel like this is becoming a habit, and I am slightly disturbed by that. There has to be something seriously deranged about sleeping on the kitchen floor on a more regular basis than one sleeps in their own bed.
Right now, though, I am ignoring that fact in favor of concentrating all of my efforts on not falling asleep. I fight to keep my eyes open, though simoutaniously unsure of why I even care whether or not I fall asleep.
But then, maybe I do know. I know I will wake up no longer in my kitchen, but with a girl named Jaynie in a land with grass. I think back suddenly to the first night that I met Jack, remembering chasing the note down the alleyway, remembering how it got so hot and stuffy, as though I were in a tunnel, remembering… nothing… and her words, talking about the map, suggesting that I know more than I do. Or suggesting that I know more than I think that I know.
I remember her words very clearly, along with the expression on her face and the tone of her voice. She was not accusing, nor was she angry. She was not asking questions, really, and she was not confused. She was simply… stating facts, I suppose. I remember it word for word, “The map. It was not a map at all, as I’m certain you already knew. You at least knew it on some level, because if it were just a normal map, you would not have loved it like you did, nor would you have kept it so close to you. But it has been growing on your mind for years, has it not? You think of it more and more, and you feel more attached to it, and you can’t think of anything else, can you?”
She was right. She knew something that I did not, and for whatever reason, she was convinced that I did know exactly what it was that she was talking about, when in reality I knew very little. I generally know very little. I am lucky most of the time if I wake up in the morning and remember my own name.
My muscles relax themselves slowly, preparing for rest, but I jerk myself back to consciousness. I am unsure of why I am so opposed to falling asleep, I mean, certainly that I will be in that other dimsension, but why is it that I do not want to go back there? It was disconcerting, sure, but not bad by any means. There was, in fact, something comforting about the whole situation. The very fact thatr there were grass and plants was a complete novelty to me, and it was a very pleasant place, overall. There seemed to be nothing wrong with Jaynie. She was pleasant and very nice to me, an adventurous sort of girl who seemed to know too much, but not in a bad way.
I push myself back to my feet and pace back and forth for a few minutes, mostly just as an exercise to keep myself from falling asleep than from any unsoundness of mind or of thought. Yet pacing does seem an appropriate activity at the moment, and I continue to do so, contemplating all these things in my life, until my legs refuse to carry me any longer, and I find myself curled up on the floor once again.
I somehow find the willpower to pull myself back to my feet and up the stairs to my room, where I fall into my bed and can no longer resist sleep. My eyelids fall shut for just long enough to jerk back open.
“Oh good, you are awake,” are the first words I hear when I open my eyes.
“What,” I pull myself to sitting up, “Where am I?”
“Kelderon. It’s nice this time of year, but the nuclear warfare dampens things a bit, you know. We are just here to clean everything up after the fight, get society back in order and all, you know how it goes.”
I blink at the man a few times before asking, “and who are you?”
“Matt,” he sticks out his hand and I shake it. He has a nice handshake, strong and solid, and his hands are not sweaty or cold, they’re soft, dry, and warm. It is an incredibly comforting handshake, “I am sorry,” he says, a sweet smile spreading quickly across his face, “I had forgotten we have not met. It’s just, you know, I have heard so much about you for so long, and we have been watvching you, and it just feels as though I have known you forever, though I guess really I don’t. Anyways, I am sorry about that. Jaynie said you might be hungry when you wake up? Do you want something to eat? You certainly are a hard sleeper, I could not wake you up for anything. I mean, there is a war going on outside, and you slept thtrough one of the largest battles in theh history of the world! That is quite the accomplishment.”
“Thank you?”
He chuckles, “Anyways, were you hungry, then? Can I get you anything?”
“I’m okay, I don’t need anything. What year are we in?”
“In the intergalactic timing system, we are in year 12003, in the Earth time system, I believe this would be 1998? I am not totally sure, I never learned Earth time that well. I’m an alien, from Kelderdash, Kelderon’s twin planet. It exploded during the first war, about twelve years ago, but most of the inhabitants survived and came here, so it was nbot all that tragic, except for the death of a planet. I suppose it really is always sad when a planet is lost, a little bit of history and culture that will never be regained, but these things happen.”
“Your whole planet was destroyed and it doesn’t even bother you?”
He shrugs, “I guess that it does a little bit, but, you know, what is the point in being upset about it? The Intergalactic Council for Time Exploration will not allow us to change anything about it. In fact, there have been multiple times that I have been assigned to assist in the destruction of my own home planet,” a shadow passes across his face as he says this, “all in the name of keeping history straight.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, “no, do not worry. I am just being ridiculous. The council knows best, of course.”
“Who is this council, anyways?”
“Well, Jaynie, for one.”
“Jaynie is on the council? But isn’t she like my age? I thought the council was supposed to be old and wise?”
“See,” he says, brushing a lock of blond hair out of his face, “you humans assume that everything that looks like you must also be a human, and that is simply not true. I am a human, and have the same skills and capabilities as you do, and age at the same rate. However, Jaynie is far from being human. She is much older than she looks. In fact, her race is somewhat immortal.”
“How is a race somewhat immortal?”
He shrugs, “oh, you know, they just don’t die from old age. They are capable of dying. They can become ill, or they can be killed in battle, or something of the like. But they are immortal in the sense that they do not just die of natural causes.”
“So how old is Jaynie, then?”
“No one really knows,” he pauses, debating on what to say next, “personally, I think she is much older than anyone expects. Most think that she is a few hundred years old, but I think it is possible, even, that should could be a few thousand. Occasionally she will make a comment about an event… and I know that we are time travelers, and she could have seen many things that she did not live through, but she talks about some things in a different way than those who have simply travelled to them. She seems very much as though she has lived them. Plus, she sometimes has a slip of the tongue, referring to things that are no longer relevant or things that… well, it is difficult to explain.”
“Try.”
He frowns, “For example, The Intergalactic Council for Time Exploration has implemented different rules at different times. It makes sense, because new things are required as new problems arise. For example, there was a time when travelers were permitted to alter the course of history. This rule has been implemented for some time, since the year 2000, but there was a time when it did not exist.”
“2000 was not that long ago.”
“In the intergalactic timing system, not in the Earth time system. It’s been more than 10,000 years ago, really.”
“Oh. Right, that will take some getting used to.”
“It’s alright. We all have things we have a hard time getting adjusted to when we first get started in all of this. I mean, there were definitely things that I had a hard time with when I became a traveler. You will get used to it soon enough, though, we all do.”
“I can’t imagine ever getting totally used to this,” I rub my eyes, remembering that this is probably a very strange, very realistic dream. Very realistic.
He laughs and starts wrapping his left hand in a long strip of cloth, carefully winding it over his wrist and up his arm, “it does seem pretty surreal sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“No,” I laugh, “it seems pretty surreal all the time. I am still convinced this is a dream… I don’t understand what is happening, at all,” I watch him wind the cloth tightly around his right hand, “what are you doing that for?”
He shrugs, “a little protection. I guess it would be easier to buy gloves, but I like things old school, plus,” he pauses, “things get thrown about all the time, you know, and if I had anything of value I would likely destroy or lose it. This just works the best. You are going to want something, too,” with that, he tosses me a wad of cloth.
I raise my eyebrows at the boy, “thanks.”
“Do you want some help? We do not have much time left before we need to get going, and sometimes it can get a bit tricky when you are doing it on your own.”
“Uh, okay.” He quickly takes the fabric from me and begins wrapping it around my hands and wrists, then about midway to my elbow, and securing it.
“So,” I begin, deciding to make an attempt at conversation, “you said your name was Matt?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“That sounds like an Earth name.”
He shrugs, “It’s short for Matteau. Still not the craziest thing out there, but, you know, it works.”
“I guess. How long have you been a time traveler?”
“Pretty much ever since the destruction of my home planet. I was about nine years old when Kelderdash fell. Right before the fall, some of the Intergalactic Council came to my villiage, looking for promising time explorers. I was chosen from among many. They said that our planet was soon to perish, but they could take me away and give me a better life. My parents knew that we could not stand against the war much longer with our planet’s resources, so they allowed the Council to take me away. I was put directly into training school with several other children my age – two others from my planet, even. It was far from an ideal childhood, to be sure, but I suppose it could be worse. I could have died, anyways.”
“What about your family? Did you see your parents again?”
He shakes his head slowly, squeezing his eyes closed for a few seconds, “They were unable to leave the planet in time. They went down with it, along with my sister and three brothers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it is in the past, and will not be changed,” he sighs, “and after all, we all have things that we wish would not have happened, do we not? There is no need for me to be selfish.”
I stare at him, wondering if his words sprung from callousness or training. He did not seem the sort of boy who cared nothing for his former life, “how old are you now, Matt?”
“I am twenty two,” he replies, “Though in Earth system I would be twenty one.”
“So thirteen years. Have you ever known anything else?”
He shrugs, “It does not matter. This was my destiny – to be a timekeeper. I am happy with my life.”
“Yeah, but you never even got a choice.”
“I think,” he pauses, “you Earth people are all about free will and choices. Maybe, just maybe, every so often, there are some things in life that should be determined for you.”
“Like what?”
“Like a great many things that you would disagree with. For one, what one should do with one’s life.”
“What else?”
“Whom one should marry, what age one should live to, how many children one should have, all those important sorts of things.”
“Why would you possibly think that yu should not get to make the most important decisions in your life?”
“Because,” he pauses, and places his fingers thoughtfully to his chin, as though stroking an imaginary goatee, “because often we get so caught up in the thick of things that we fail to see logic. We see fear, adventure, fortune, lust, danger, health… any number of things that could compel us into a decision that lacks the very most important thing.”
“And what, would you say, is the very most important thing?”
“Wisdom, Anna, always wisdom. And we seldom have wisdom about our own lives and business. If nothing else, then there is always that fallback of when you are on your deathbed, you can look back at your life, and if it was not what you imagine it might have been, you can take comfort in the idea that it was not your fault – it was someone else’s mistake – and your life was exactly as it was meant to be from the start.”
“That sounds terrible! That sounds like a lame excuse to do nothing with your life for fear of messing up.”
“Quite the opposite, really, but I will not argue you on this. It is but a difference in culture and mind, and I shall not change yours, nor shall you change mine. May we agree to be friends in spite of our differences?”
“Of course… it is just, you know, you are wrong.”
He laughs heartily, “Well then, are you ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Go prepare this world for destruction.”
“Why are we preparing a world for destruction?”
“Because that is how the story goes, sweetheart. We don’t save, we don’t redeem, we simply warn, and give them the chance to flee, if they are able to.”
“And how many have the means to leave the planet?”
He frowns, “very few.”
“Doesn’t that bother you? I mean, you said your whole planet was destroyed. Your whole family, your friends, all of them, just gone like that. Don’t you even care? Aren’t you even going to try to keep that from happening to someone else?”
“You are young, and you have not learned the Intergalactic laws yet. Not all things can have a happy ending. That just is not the way that it is meant to be.”
“Do you honestly believe that,” I jump to my feet, my face turning red with passion, “when you have the means to help them, you would just tell them and leave them to die, just because of some stupid rules?”
“That is just the way the universe is,” he says, his tone of voice equally as upset as mine is, “what do you expect me to do, Anna?”
“I expect you to try. I expect you to save as many as you can and not give up until that whole planet blows. I expect you to care and to want to help them and not be more worried about rules than you are about people. Those are real, living, breathing human beings… or something… down there, and they are going to die, and you know this, and you are just going to stand here and let it happen?”
“I’m warning them.”
“You are condemning them to death.”
“I told you, I cannot do anything. This is beyond my control.”
“No, it is not. You know that is a lie.”
“I will be punished if I do anything.”
“And your punishment is worse than the death of… however many things live on that planet?”
“I could be killed.”
“Oh, so now you are only concerned with self preservation?”
“I would like to stay alive, yeah. I am not saying that I do not want to help them, for I very much do, but you do not understand how many laws and codes I would be violating. There are reasons for the laws, Anna, they are not entirely arbitrary, as you seem to think that they are.”
“What could possibly be a good reason for allowing what is probably millions of creatures to die?”
“I do not have every answer. I don’t know, maybe immigration. Maybe there have been problems when other races have been forced to move planets in mass quanities. I really have no idea. All I know is my job. And I am planning to do my job, leave, get a nice cup of coffee, and come back for the cleanup so that no one is harmed by the debris.”
“So now you are all concerned about someone being harmed? Doesn’t that seem a little bit hypocritical, even to you?”
“Look, do I want this planet to perish? No, of course not. Much of my extended family – cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and many of my friends migrated here before the destruction of my own planet. When this one blows, there will be very few of my kind left. Though my planet was destroyed, I never thought that there would be an end to my race, leastways not during my lifetime. The destruction of Kelderon means that I will be one of the last of my kind, so of course I care. This explosion means everything changes for me. I will be catalogued in the Book of Endangered Races, which will change everything about my life.”
“What is the Book of Endangered Races, and why will that change everything about your life?”
“Well, think in Earth terms. You Earthlings love your organizations and things of that sort. A good example would be, and I am not sure what you call it these days, you know, though, the organization for animals, that protects animals that are becoming rare. It would be much like that. When there are less than 1,000 of any given race remaining, we are studied, catalogued, and put into a book.”
“They put you into a book,” I echo dumbly.
“Just like history,” he confirms, “It basically announces the death of a race. Just like humans do with their endangered species’, the population of the universe takes very different stances on how to deal with endangered races. Some become our defenders and protectors, great advocates for us. However, to some we will become a challenge. Cannibalistic societies will treat us as a rare delicacy and hunt us for food, bounty hunters will chase us as trophies, and some will just seek to eliminate us for sport. The world is often a terrible place to be, and within the next few years… no, it may not even be years, with the strength and wisdom of my people, we will be lucky to withstand a few months. I will without a doubt be among the very last of my kind. This will not be because I am particularly strong or special or great, but simply because the Intergalactic Council for Time Exploration will provide me with decent protection, so I will be able to hold out longer than most of my kind.”
“I am sorry,” I mumble, uncertain of what to say to the man.
“You should be. Do not accuse me of apathy when you do not know what I have at stake.” He frowns, his forehead furrowing up in something of a cross between anger and sadness, “if there were anything that I could do, I would do it. But there is nothing I can do except hope for the best. Would I risk my own life for this planet? Certainly, I would save as many as I can. But it is not always about me.”
“Who is this about?”
“Well, there is you.”
“I would rather save them than myself. Last time I checked, I was not all that great, anyways. Who else, though? Who is this about?”
“My people,” he sighs and sinks back into his seat, “the Council have very strict punishments for those who would disobey the law.”
“What do you mean?”
“Genocide.”

Chapter 10 - Ten is for presumptious, self indulgent wordpadding

“Very long ago, in a land that you have never heard of, there was a girl named Kalia. She was a princess, and grew up in a castle, like most princesses do. However, the very different thing between Kalia and other princesses was that she was a species that lives underwater. They are quite humanoid in appearance, save for the lower half of their bodies.”
“Like a mermaid?”
“Exactly like a mermaid. In fact, the earth idea of mermaids is derived from these species, though their technical title would be w’relek, which sounds a lot like relic, but that is beside the point. They were a very private species and hid their existence from most of the world. They lived on a planet that was inhabited by humans, and you know how humans are.”
“How humans are?”
“You know. Silly, close minded, discriminatory. Humans will do anything in their power to make the world what they want it to be. This comes out in so many different ways… how you see it… different religions being called equally true and acceptable, racism, especially when it escalates to such extremes as genocide. Even simple things, like the way your school system is wrong. You humans do everything you can to make the world look exactly as you like it, no matter what means it takes to reach an end – whether that means living in denial, or ignorance, or hatred, or murder.
“To be honest, I suppose this is not always such a bad thing. See, there are humans who take the desire to shape the world to their liking and do wonderful things within the world. They feed the hungry, free the enslaved, rescue the oppressed, love the loveless, and these are all very noble and good things that often spring from that desire for an ideal.
“Where were we, though? Kalia, yes. Anyways, the humans on this planet were very much human. They had created what they considered to be an ideal society. They were ruled by a king and a queen who loved each other very much and wanted the very best for the people under their rulership. They were fishermen and farmers, who lived off the land and the sea. They were a pleasant people, a small society, right around 5,000 people within the kingdom. And they were kind to each other. They always shared everything. They lived in somewhat of a socialist society, I suppose. Though socialism has never worked on Earth, it has been very successful in other planets, with other species. See, the reason it worked in this society was because it was not run by the government. It was simply the people, always sharing and providing for each others’ needs. They were not greedy. They did not pursue technology or riches. They were all very happy, very healthy, and overall a very wise race.
“Though, as every race does, they had their weaknesses. Perhaps they were over loyal to each other. Perhaps they were over reliant. But now, you can come to your own conclusions about what happened.
“The king and the queen of this colony were a good sort of people, the best sort of humans. They sought wisdom and understanding, and did the best by what they knew. They had three sons and four daughters. It was a beautiful family. Their oldest son, Jameson, was in line to be the next king. He was betrothed to a girl named Hannai. She was a sweet girl, the daughter of an elder of the colony. The second son was Garrison, who was to be an elder of the colony one day. He was the most intelligent of all the sons, a bit of a scientist, though not unhappy with their society. He simply had a healthy thirst for knowledge, and was a pleasant young lad. He was betrothed to a girl named Alissa. She was the daughter of an elder, as well, since this was the custom, and he loved her very much. The third son was unlike his brothers, rather, unlike any of his siblings. They were fair-haired, yet he was dark in appearance. They were quiet, demure, and good, content with their lives and community. But the third son, Ericson, longed for more. Perhaps this was his downfall.
“Ericson was in line to be an elder, as well, though this was not what he desired. See, although it was a good society, there were some large problems. In this society, perhaps the largest cultural problem was they were very much determinists. If you were born into a certain family, you would inherit your family name, livelihood, and position in society. It was something of a very mild caste system. Though Ericson loved his family and his people very much, he was dissatisfied. He was not meant to be an elder, perhaps. He was meant to be an adventurer, a learner, a dreamer. He began to learn all the trades of his people: carpentry, fishing, blacksmithing, farming, hunting, and cooking. He even pursued some of the more uncommon traits among his people, such as religious studies, shoe making, athletics, music, art, pearl diving, tailoring, mining, candle-making, and writing. He preferred these studies immensely more than he did the duties of an elder and a member of the royal family. In fact, he became quite the skilled young carpenter.
“On the day of his eldest brother’s wedding, the entire royal family was out on the ocean, sailing. It was a lovely wedding, held at sunset. They had hired the best musicians and chefs in all of the country for the affair. It was beautiful and magical, a perfect day for a wedding. That night, however, as they were far out on the ocean, the waters grew uneasy.
“They could not get back to port in time. The ship broke a leak, the waters were too rough, and it sunk. The next morning, the colony sent out a rescue mission to recover any survivors. Luckily, there were many survivors. Of the 82 people on the boat, they were able to rescue 65. Sadly, the happy couple was not among them, nor Alissa, the fiancée of the middle brother, Garrison. Two of the princesses were also lost to the ocean. Also, Ericson was not among those who were rescued.
“There was great mourning in the land, and among the royal family. Garrison was next in line to be king, the last male of the royal family. He went into deep depression and locked himself into his study. After a few days one of his sisters went to check on him and found him dead. He had killed himself out of grief. This deepened the sorrow of the colony. They declared a week of fasting in mourning for their losses and to seek wisdom as to what their next move should be.
“On the third day of the fast, a young girl was walking on the shore of the ocean and found the prince, Ericson, washed up on the shore. More than finding the body, he was alive! And in good health! As though he had not been harmed at all by the accident. He was taken back to the castle and the sorrow turned to joy and the mourning to laughter. Throughout the land, all was thought to be well. But within the walls of the castle something very different was happening.
“Prince Ericson was back, but unhappy. He was now meant to be king, the only candidate to become king, now betrothed to a girl named Megan. He spent many days mourning his fate, wailing that the ocean should have taken him instead of Jameson. He spoke of the ocean as menacing and beautiful, terrible and wonderful, deep and blue and hateful, yet soft and sweet. He spoke as a madman, and perhaps he was mad. Yet, all madness springs from something. This is what happened between the time of the accident and when Ericson appeared on the beach. Now, to explain this, I will have to start at the beginning of another tale that was going on at the same time in that land.
“Kalia, the mermaid princess I told you of earlier, lived in the ocean by the colony we have just heard of. She and her people lived a quiet existence. There were some very unique things about the w’relek. They had what we might call ‘magic’, though in reality it was more of a trade. It is often funny how different species’ look at each other as being particularly special, gifted, or mysterious, while in reality each creature on any earth at any given time has skills that perhaps no other race will ever have, and these aren’t really things that are supernatural. It is just a difference like, for example, the uniqueness and miracle of science as compared to a painting, or the wonder of gymnastics as compared to mechanical genius. All of these things are wonderful and good and within human capability, but not every human can paint a breathtaking picture or assemble a car. Some things are simply not qwithin every human’s capability.
“In the same way, there are those differences in giftedness between species. Now the w’relek were gifted in this way, unique from any other species I have known: they had a mastery of water and a capability to communicate through telepathy. Now this did not mean they could hear any thought at any time, but they are able to speak into another’s mind, if they so desire. Some of the more gifted at this skill are able to invade others’ minds at their leisure, though it is nearly impossible to search the mind of any race without them being at least vaguely aware of your presence. It is quite unnerving to sense another presence within your own, and many creatures are apt to go mad from the experience.
“The w’relek possessed other gifts, as well, which you will learn of soon enough. But the point is Kalia was very gifted in telepathy. She was certainly the most gifted in the royal family in this area, and probably the most gifted among her people at that time. The storm had been created by her father, for there was an ongoing strife between the humans and the w’relek, though most humans knew nothing of these happenings. Her father had, out of rage, crafted this storm much in the same way someone creates a pot or a sculpture. It was carefully calculated as to be just enough to scare the humans, but leave them relatively unharmed.
“But sometimes things happen tthat are beyond any control. And though the w’relek have a great amount of power over water, they cannot control natural elements, omly shape them to their advantage. By the time the king realized the storm had gotten out of hand, it was too late to stop it. The w’relek were frantic. They did not like the humans, certainly, but as I have said, they are, in nature, a very peaceful creature. They really did not wish harm to others.
“You see, the humans had lost nearly all respect for their ocean. The w’relek understood that the humans must fish in order to live, but the humans had become greedy, taking too many fish, and violently, with hooks and sharp wires and tricky nets. More than one w’relek had been injured by some human fishing device. In addition to this, pollution had grown exponentially as the human society had slowly advanced. Because of this, the water in the ocean had become less and less safe for the w’relek to live in. They were upset by this, certainly, and though the royals of the w’relek had some (though few) influential human contacts that they pleaded with for a change, their situation had continued to worsen.
“So that was the situation on the night of the wedding, and it was never meant to escalate to the extremes that it did. But sometimes fate plays a larger hand in our lives than we feel like admitting, and sometimes thinsg happen that we do not understand as part of some larger or greater cause.
“Kalia was there that night, beneath the boat that the festivities were being held on. A few hours before the storm, some began to notice Ericson acting strangely. They said afterwards that they thought perhaps he had just drunk too much wine, but after his return wondered if it had been something more. Now, they were right about one thing. Ericson had drunk far too much wine and was a little bit tipsy. When he first heard the voice inside his head, this is what he blamed it on. After a few more hours and a few more glasses of wine, he began to respond.
“See, Kalia had found his mind after searching among all those on board the ship, and she found something absolutely fascinating about him. She knew it was, perhaps, a mistake, because communication between the w’relek and the humans was very closely monitored and even forbidden without direct and specific approval by the king, but there was something of a spark there. They made small talk for awhile, discussing the weather, the ocean, the happy couple, the size of the ship, and the funny quirks of the guests. This was all rather strange for Ericson, because he was half convinced that he was having a pleasant little chat with himself. However, the longer they spoke and got to know each other, the more convinced he became that whatever he was talking to was very much not of his own creation. He found her charming, sweet, and fascinating, and over the next few hours grew quite the infatuation with the voice in his head.
“When the sea began to get out of control, Kalia worried for his life. She could do nothing to help him while he was still on the boat, so she convinced him to jump overboard with those who had already given up hope of fixing the leak. Yet he refused. The ship sunk, pulling the humans deep into the ocean with it. It was the most terrible thing Kalia had ever seen. She frantically swam through the sunken ship, pulling unconscious bodies onto a nearby island and saving as many as she could. Any who remembered the beautiful girl with the fish’s tail would write it off later as some strange hallucination in their panicked state of mind.
“When she found Ericson, he had little life left in him. She hauled him to the surface of the ocean, but saw that he would not simply become well as the others she had rescued would. She knew, though, that her elder sister was a gifted healer. If there were anyone capable of fixing the man, it would be Eva.
“Eva was older than Kalia by a few years, and perhaps wiser. When she saw the man, she refused, saying they should not interfere with the natural courses of life. But her younger sister insisted, crying and pleading, begging for just one favor, and eventually Eva consented. She healed the man and they drug him to the shore of the island, where they finished nursing him back to his full health. As he became more well over the following days, he became more aware of the women who were nursing him back to health. When Eva saw this, she took him back to the shore of the colony one night while he was asleep, hoping he would forget all of what had happened, that it would be blamed on a dream, a hallucination, too much salt water, or something of the like.
“But Ericson had not forgotten. The memory haunted him both day and night. He did not sleep for days, then passed out of exhaustion. He began to spend hours in his elder brother, Garrison’s, study, looking at old maps, charts, and notes from sailors and fishermen, looking for some explanation or even the start to some answers. He also began to look into his eldest brother, Jameson’s, affairs, wondering if he could find the answers he desired from some political source. And slowly, things began to show up. Sketches in old books and letters and jpournals of creatures who appeared to be half of a man, and the other half fish. Strange tales of impossible rescues out in the middle of the ocean. Stories of men who had claimed to have spoken to sea creatures. Even, as he found very interesting, accounts of men claiming to have communicated using their minds with some outside entity.
‘He had not expected to find much on the political end of things, but was surprised. There were years missing from history books, events and accounts that were only partially there, as though something had been ripped out and hidden. The finances grew stranger, particularly financial reports from many years ago. There were large, unexplained expenses, vaguely recorded with little explanation.
“He became a man obsessed. And see, that is when men get the most done: when they are obsessed. Unfortuanately, he neglected his kingdom in this process. This went on for years, and his parents aged, and soon were nearing the time when Ericson would take over the kingdom.
“Underneath the surface of the ocean, a very different tale was unfolding. Kalia had neither been able to get the young prince to leave her mind. I suppose that you could even say she had fallen in love with the boy. She mourned day and night that she would never see him again, missing him terribly, longing for him as a small child longs for his mother. It was more than a simple infatuation, it was a need. She knew she could not see him again or ever be with him, and that he mustn’t know of her existence, even, but she wished, nonetheless that there were a way.
“Now I may sound contradictory, for I told you that the skills of the w’relek were far from magical, they were simply differently skilled. But there are dark powers in this big, crazy universe that none of us can fathom or explain. There is a real, tangible evil in this world, Anna, just as there is a real and solid good. And there were some of the w’relek who, in their quest for power, had turned to this black magic. Among those who had lost sight of what was good was Kalia’s mother, whose name was Gartha.
“Kalia could not remember her mother well, but she knew the story. She knew how, after the death of her younger brother – her only brother – how her mother had simply lost her mind. Her life lost all its will and purpose, and she turned to the dark arts for answers. Perhaps she believed that she could bring the young boy back to life through magic, and perhaps she did not then understand what she was messing with. But the powers sucked her into their traps, and she grew dark and was banished from the kingdom, set upon with a curse. For you see, we all make mistakes, and even kings fail. Though he banished his wife from the kingdom for practicing black magoic, he used the very same arts to set a curse upon her, marking her for life as one banished from the kingdom. It was a terrible curse, as all wqho looked upon her were filled with horror. Kalia was but seven years of age when her mother was banished from the kingdom. And now, a young lady of nineteen, had not seen her in twelve years. After the curse had been placed upon the woman, the king had called all of the family together to look upon her and banish her to the deepest, most lonely parts of the ocean.
“That was the last time that Kalia had seen her mother, and it was a terrible memory. She trembled at the thought. But as she grew more and more grievous, she began to venture from her quarters, roaming by herself through the ocean and longing to be more and more alone. She ventured into the deeper and darker parts of the ocean, where few were brave enough to go. There were creatures in these parts of the water that were dangerous, dark, and unknown. Perhaps the girl longed for death. She certainly no longer had a desire for life, leastways life without the young prince Ericson. It was only a matter of time, then, before she stumbled upon her mother.
“At first she was skeptical and cautious, but the more she and her mother saw each other, the more she lost her sense of fear, or perhaps even logic. Her mother told her ythat she loved her very much and was sorry for her mistakes. She listened to her as she recounted the tale of the storm on the ocean, and told her of the prince, and she sympathized with her as she mourned for the man. It was some time later, months later, that she began to suggest that she may see the lad again. She slowly began to tell her of possibilities that magic would offer, how it could change one to look anmother way, just aas the dark arts had changed her into something abominable, it could change Kalia into something that she also was not.
“Kalia should have fled from the moment her mother began to suggest these things, but she was young and lonely and heartsick, and not in the best shape to combat these deceptions. She listened intently to her mother and gfound these ideas attractive. Soon, she consented. Now, the dark arts do not hold all power in the world, as her mother had told her. There are some things that are stronger, and one of those stronger things, as her mother had told her, was the power of love. So, she said, she could give her a chance at what she wanted. She could give her legs instead of fins, a chamce to walk on the land with the man she loved, but this could not be permenantly held by magic. The prince must also fall in love with her, and only by that power could she retain her human form. If this did not happen, after thirty days she would be consumed by the darkness. She would slowly lose her strength over these thirty days, weakening and losing her strength to the evil from which she drew her powers.
“And Kalia knew all of this, but consented anyways. So then, nearly three years after the day of the storm, a young girl washed up on the beach. She was weak, starved, and confused. The people of the colony, being a good sort of people, took her under their wing. Particularly the royal family. Still, it was many days before she saw the prince. Though it had been years since they had last met, her feelings for him were yet as strong as ever. He had grown older and more solemn over the past few years, trying, perhaps, to forget what had happened, yet staying awake every night, deep into the night then into the morning, and searching for answers. Dark rings surrounded his eyes, and the first wrinkles had crept onto his face, his hair had started to grey, even at his young age, and his eyes were faded. He had grown old well before his time, yet she still found something wonderful about him.
“He had heard of the girl his people had found and taken in, but when he met her, was perhaps, himself, surprised. She seemed to him, nostalgic. Like a long forgotten dream from childhood. He was far from in love or even infatuated, but he certainly was interested. He saw in her something that he had not found in any of his research, adventures, or studies. He felt that, out of anyone in the world, she would be the one to have the answers that he was looking for. It is impossible to say why he felt this way about her. Perhaps he truly did remember her from the accident, or perhaps she was using her skills to manipulate his thoughts and make him more inclined to her.
“She was pleasant, sweet, and kind, full of mystery. And I imagine it need not even be stated that she was very beautiful. She was loved dearly by all who met her. She soon became very close friends with the princesses, and was invited to stay in the castle until she regained her memory and was able to return to her home.
“But let me explain what had happened, when Kalia gave up her citizenship as a w’relek, she forgot all of where she had come from and who she was. She could not even remember her own name. She became a girl without an identity. They called her Arielle.
“She soon began to weaken, as the darkness overtook her. Her voice faded from it’s strong, sweet tone into a whisper, then was gone engtirely. She became too weak to walk and her hands lost their strength. Within ten days, she was confined to a bed as her health slowly deteriorated.
“Ericson was greatly dismayed by this, perhaps not so much for his affection toward her, though he did feel some sort of a love toward the girl, but more because he feared he had lost his chance. He felt now, she could not speak nor write, he would never get the answers that he sought. Nevertheless, he began to visit her every day, and soon would not leave her bedside. Watching her and wondering at who she was and where she had come from and what she might know. He wondered if she did actually remember, and simply it was to terrible to live. Perhaps she was running away, as a dangerous criminal hiding out in their small beach town. Perhaps she was afraid. Perhaps… well, there are a great number of “perhaps” in this universe, and I am certain he thought of each of them.
“I need not even tell you her thoughts in these last days. She grew desperate and terrified. She slowly began to remember, more as though dreams, the life she had formerly had. She remembered her kingdom, her father, her sisters, her friends, and most clearly in her mind was her mother. Her distorted face haunted her dreams, that she would no longer rest at night, but stay awake, eyes wide open in terror. She knew what would happen within the next few days, it was just a matter of time. All that she had left was the power of her mind – telepathy. But she was afraid to utilize this, she did not know how he would react. The nights grew longer, though, and she grew more and more desperate.
“He took her hand in one of these nights, “I wish you could speak,” he told her, “I feel as if I know you very well, yet I know not why.” He had paused for some time, leaving them both wondering of the others’ thoughts, until he spoke again. He told her of the wreck in the ocean those three years ago, and how he had been gone for some days afterwards, to suddenly appear on the shore in excellent health. He told her he remembered some girls, but they seemed as though they were from a dream, yet at times he thought it may have been her, though he knew it could not – must not be so. She smiled at him, and he found this encouraging. He went on, telling her of the research he had done, how he had searched for answers. He also told her what he had found. He told her the stories of the people who were half fish and half man, of the strange happenings in the ocean, and of the sailors who claimed to converse with others within their minds. He grew cautitious, then, and pronounced himself to be silly for even considering such a thing, but he wondered… could she have been one of these creatures? Could she, perhaps, have been the woman he talked to, within his mind, on the night of the storm those few years ago? He asked, if it were possible, would she communicate with him now?
“She grew bold, and answered him. She told him some of what she remembered, that she was the girl who had rescued him from the accident, that she was one of those, and that she was very ill, and would soon die. Now, this may have been very hard for anyone else to accept, but there was something different about Ericson. He was an adventurer, as I told you. He found nothing she said to be unbelievable, in fact, as soon as she said it everything suddenly seemed to fall into place. He wondered, though, how it was that she had come there. She told him of her mother who lived under the ocean, and how she had tampered with the dark arts that she might be human for some time. He wondered what would make her desire to be human, but she shied away and simply blushed. If only he had understood that blush! But no, she simply told him that she wanted to know what it was like to walk on the land instead of swim through the waters. He wondered at why she would risk her very life for a chance to be human and asked if there were any way to mend her illness. She replied that yes, she believed there was a way, but she could not tell him of it.
“She suddenly felt, now as she was here, that she could not – nor did she wish to – make him fall in love with her. She wanted him to, certainly, yet not because she needed him to. If it were to happen, she felt, she did not want it to be because she forced him to. He stayed with her all the time from then on, and they spent hours talking. Soon, it was he twenty ninth day, and she revealed to him that tomorrow she would be gone. She could no longer move, and her breath was weak. Her eyes had faded and her skin was hot to the touch. He cried for hours, feeling that she was the dearest friend that he had ever had. He begged for her to tell him how to free her from this terrible curse, that she would be allowed to live. He promised that he would do anything, pay any price, if only her life were to be spared. But she refused. She would not tell him what would keep her from falling into the darkness.
“But this she knew. The darkness would not kill, it would only capture and torture. Certainly, she did not tell him this. But she did tell him that she would not die, only be taken away. Yet he knew this could not be for the good in any way, and feared for her all the more.
“As the clock struck midnight, the ocean began to stir. Up from out of the ocean rose a woman, she was both beautiful and terrible and frightening. It was Gartha, mother of Kalia. She had come for her daughter. Because Gartha’s motives in ‘helping’ her daughter were far from pure. See, the darkness demands sacrifice. It demands blood and lives and souls, and more power can only be gained by the means of sacrifice. Gartha cared nothing for love or dreams or hope, but only for power, and this was her plan all along: not to help her daughter, but to diminish her, and capture her soul, and use it to gain power. Classic case of the strong preying on the weak.
“She went to the castle and took Kalia from the bed where she lay. Ericson fought for her, certainly, but was no match for Gartha’s strength. She departed, taking Kalia with her to the bottom of the ocean.
“It was not long later that Ericson realized his love for the girl. He stood on the shores of the beach, begging for Gartha to come up out of the ocean and meet with him. He began diving into the ocean, deep as he could, and venturing out on sailing ships late at nights. He rarely left the waters, even to sleep. And one day, his requests were answered. There came Gartha, out from the water, demanding of him why he was seeking her. He told her of his love for her daugfhter and begged for another chance at saving her, just one more chance to see her. And this was when Gartha explained. Had he expressed his love for her when she was yet alive, she would not have been taken into the darkness. He had his chance, and he missed it, and would spend the rest of his life regretting it.
“With that, she dove back into the ocean, but in his great mourning, he lost all sense, and grabbed onto the edge of her fins and was pulled down into the depths with her. The grace of God must have been with him, along with the power of the w’relek, who yet mourned for their princess. He found a shell beneath the waters that was a craft of the w’relek, it allowed for him to breathe and thus survive beneath the waves. He took in his hand a sharp stone and speared Gartha through the heart, killing her.
“He did this out of rage, not knowing what it would accomplish. And in fact, it did very little. Yet with her dying breaths, she gasped that he may now have a chance, if he found where she lay.
“He searched for years through all of the ocean, looking for the girl he loved. He never gave up, yet he never found her. Perhaps Gartha lied to him, and it was so that she never could be found. Perhaps he knew not where to look. Perhaps he had found her, even, and there were no way left to rescue her from the darkness that had taken her. Yet they say that to this day he is searching for her beneath the waves, kept alive by the strength of his love for her, and that he will not let death take him until she is found.
“As for the colony, it crumbled without the rule of a king. Anarchy fell on the land and the people fell into famine, then scattered, becoming pirates and murderers and thieves. The land was broken by the love of one man, a man who could have lived a pleasant life ruling and protecting his people. Though it is said that one day he will return with his bride, and together they will take back the land and re-establish the kingdom, and the descendants of those who scattered will once again gather together under the reign of King Ericson and Queen Kalia. Once again, the lands will give good crops and the people will live in peace, happiness, and harmony.”
He pauses and looks at me meaningfully, “and that is the end of the story.”
“Why did you tell me this story?”
“It is history, Anna,” he says with a sigh, “simple history and nothing more. If you are to travel with me, you must understand these things and know not only the history of other worlds, but you see, this is how the folklore of your very own world was formed. Travel is not simply about knowing other people or places or things, but maybe it is most of all about knowing about who you are and where you have come from.”
“So you’re going to teach me history?”
“That is the plan.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes for you to know the basics, and to understand the way that the world works.”
“What does this story say about how the world works? Immortality and black magic? That is the way of things?”
“Perhaps simply, sometimes things that we do not understand happen. Sometimes happy endings never come, things that are meant to be do not happen, the guy never gets the girl, evil prevails, and good loses. But there are guiding principals to the universe, things that we cannot change. There are two very powerful things in the universe: evil, and love. I would say evil and good, but we humans have very little capability for good, yet great capacity for love, and strange as it seems, with that passion and drive in us, we can oftentimes accomplish the impossible. I know that I sound like a cheesy women’s movie right now, or some adventure novel with a moral at the end, but listen to me, Anna, there’s some really amazing stuff in this world that has a heck of a lot of power in it. But we have to choose what is right and good and true instead of what is easy. Evil is always the easy choice, and love is rarely simple. But that does not mean that we should not pursue it. In fact, maybe it is all the more evidence that we should.”
“Okay,” I mumble, unsure of how to respond to his speech.
“I should take you home,” he says, “it is getting late, not safe for you to walk anymore, the city gets dangerous at night this time of year.”

Chapter 9 - Ugh, got behind on posting.

“Her name was Kait and she was about nine years old on the day that I met her. She had blonde hair that was a little too long and a little too tangled, and the biggest blue eyes you could ever imagine. She had the kind of smile that could bring a whole room too life, and a laugh that could light the world on fire. She had a very nice singing voice for a child so young, but then, her whole family was very musical and she had been in voice lessons from the time she could speak in sentences.
“You would not have thought she would be the type of girl to fall for that sort of thing. She was beautiful, promising, from a good family, and so terribly, terribly young. It is always the saddest when it’s the young ones. It’s not that you believe it to be impossible, you just don’t really expect it. You think they are so pure and innocent, they would not fall for something so treacherous. But it happens, and it’s terrible.
“Especially terrible with her. She was just… that girl, you know what I mean?”
I have not the slightest clue what he means, but I nod anyways.
“But sometimes… power is too much for even the innocent to resist,” he sighs and leans back in the ancient leather chair, “I’m sure you know how the story ends, it’s nothing original.”
“Uh, yeah,” I’ve spent the last three hours listening to him recount tale after tale of adventure and horror in “some other dimension.” I’ve found myself repeatedly convinced that he is a madman, only to, the next moment, be solidly reminded of his sanity.
Every few minutes, I question why I am even here, just to, in the next secodn, be reminded. And yet there is some kind of a battle going on inside of me as to whether or not what I am doing is right. Maybe right is not even the word that I am looking for. I haven't been right for a long time, I'm not sure that what I'm looking for is something that is right. Maybe i don't care anymore about what is right or wrong.
Maybe all I want is something true - something real and solid. Between the alcohol, the drugs, the instability at home, the instability at school - whatver it was that happened to school - between everything, I somehow managed to lose anything that was real. Everything was constantly changing, completely ion flux, and never slowing down to give me even the slightest taste of security. And maybe it's better lkike that - to not even know what it is like. But maybe it isn't. Maybe I've wasted my whole life on something that was worth nothing at all.
And I think that is the reason that i am finding myuself here - as strange as it is, this man, Jack, offers something real. And the terrifying thinmg is that it may be the most hideous kind of falsehood, and the only way I will ever know is if I trust him. Even more strangely, I do trust him. There's something in his eyes, something in his voice. It's not the tales of a madmen that he is telling. He's being real, honest, with all the tears and laughter and emotion that goes along with it.
And I begin to wonder when it was - the last time I felt anything at all. I've spent the last several years teaching myself to be numb, to forget how to feel and to erase any emotions from my head or heart, or wherever it is that emotions begin. And now, here with him, I am wondering if I had been wrong all along. Maybe it wasn't so bad. I always assumed that sort of a thing was for the weak. Thre man before me is anything but weak, I think. He may be one of the strongest people I have ever met, if his words and demeanor are not false. And if he is a liar? Then... well, I don't know what then, to be honest.
It occurs to me that in this whole crazy life, I always have had some sort of a plan, some sort of a way to survive. And suddenly, the map's reached it's end... or maybe it's beginning? And I've run out of plans and thoughts and theories and dreams and have no choices left but to live it. Amd if it ends up to be nothing, if really everything that I've lived for amounts to nothing more than a dream or a nice story or a thought in the back of my head... I have no idea what happens at that point. How do you recover from that? How do you just move on with life as though nothing has ever been different when you've suddenly realized your entire life was not at all what you thought it was. And the whole idea of this is terrifying and awful, so I push these thoughts out of my head, giving him the benefit of doubt, and tune back into his words.
“They of course could not catch up to us. Their technology is still pretty far behind, and ours is a good ship. Old, but sturdy. Theirs…. It’s funny, you would think they would be a lot more practical, considering, but it’s more about looks than anything else, and looks don’t get you much of anywhere. Unless your greatest goal is to not be alone on a Friday night, then looks might help you out. Aside from that, it’s just not worth it.”
“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
“The Tacos.”
“Tacos.”
“Well, not like the delicious Mexican food… they are, um, let’s see if I can pronounce it… Firoraptograndortacos, but we fondly refer to them as tacos. It’s just simpler that way. They hate it, though, so if you ever meet one, probably shouldn’t refer to it as that. Unless you like being killed with lasers.”
“Um. Alright. And what are they?”
“Aliens.”
“Woah, now we have time travel AND aliens?”
“Yes, that is what I have been talking about for some time now. Have you listened to me at all?”
“Uh, of course. I was just clarifying, that is all. It is all pretty strange for me. I feel like I might have crash landed in the middle of a cosplay con.”
“You did not, I assure you, though I do find it amusing how close to reality many of their ideas are, while at the same time being entirely pompous and ridiculous.”
"Did you honestly just call science fiction freaks intellegnt?"
"Well, I was not going to go to the extreme to call them that, I just think they may be slightly more enlightened than the rest of you humans."
"What's up with that?"
"Well, they do realize the potential for life and reality beyond what they are used to. Likewise, a good deal of the religious types also have veryu good points. Now some of them are just ridiculous, but most are just realizing the truth: the world is bigger than they thought, there's meaning and purpose in life, and not evrything is hopeless."
"That was not what I was asking about, but okay?"
"What was it that you were asking about?"
“You humans?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you say that? Please tell me you are not an alien.”
“I am not. I told you, I grew up in Brooklyn.”
“Okay,” I pause, but he does not speak, “well, are you going to explain yourself now?”
He frowns, “well, I’m afraid I am going to sound rather silly and arrogant. And I am trying to think of a good way to say it.”
“Really? Now you are worried of my opinion of you?”
“Well, not so much worried. I just feel it would be easier to work together if you did not think of me as a pompous idiot.”
“Just explain, I promise I will not hate you forever.”
“Fine. Well. You see, I havw seen... a lot. And doen quit e a few things that your average human has not, and I suppose that it is a little bit rude of me to blame them for that, because it really is not their fault that their experience has been so limited. I just feel so... I don't know... insulted? when I get lumped together with all you other silly, stupid humans. Most races recognize some existence beyond their own, yet we have made an art of trying to erase any possibility of life beyond us. What thoughtless, stupid, selfish creatures we are! It's all popular to know the right answers as to why there is no meaning, no morals, no answers, no absolutes. We think it is so exciting - so daring and interesting. In reality, we have been boring ourselves to death for years. We have become the laughingstock of the universe. So when I say "those humans", I say it in a way you might say "that family" or "that house" in reference to things which, by definition, you belong to, but you wish no association with. Do I make sense?"
"Well, I do think that you are very arrogant, but it would be silly for me to scold you all that much about that, as, sincve you just so cleverly poined out, I do the except same thing, except on a smaller, less interga;lactic scale. And I suppose neither one of us is right, and neither one of us is wrong."
"Oh, it may well be very wrong, but I am okay with tat at the monment. One day I will imporve myself and work on being less arrogant and close minded, for now I am conmpletely kay with being a little bit wrong in this area. I have greater roads to trave before I go down that one."
"No need to get all poetic about it."
"I find that when people hear that I am a time traveller, they suddenly expect me to speak with a British accent and describe the world in poetic terms. I used to be very normal, before I got stereotyped as Doctor Who. I used to, you know, play football - real football. Now I play futbol. And that's not even painful - it's soccer. I never thought that I would end up playing soccer and travelling across the universe, feigning a British accent and growing a goatee."
I can't help but laugh at him, "wow, your life sounds terrible."
"It is," he says with a grin, belieing his statement, "you would be surprised. See, once you start travelling with me, you'll do the same, start acting British."
"And grow a goatee?"
"I think you would look very nice with just a little bit of facial hair."
"I'm glad that you specified the just a little bit part."
"You are welcome. Now, let me see, where was I? We were talking about Tacos, right?"
"Right."
"Okay, so the Tacos, and you will probably meet quite a few of them in our travels, they are perhaps the biggest enemy to humankind, not that you can blame them much, sometimes I feel like being the biggest enemy to humankind, and I am humankind. In theory, a large part of our job is to protect our planet from the Tacos."
"Our job?"
"Responsibility, per se. There is a council for those who travel between time and space, and occasionally, if a large problem arises, they will put out some assignments for us to complete, such as settling certain treaties, making trade negotiations, leading armies to battle, tweaking a historical event that has fallen out of place. All of these things are, of course, of upmost importance. Mostly we freelance, doing things on our own whims and leisure. A few of us have what we may call "pet projects," say, like, a refugee planet. It is pretty much social work on an intergalactic scale."
"Intergalactic social work," I laugh slightly at the thought, "what university can I major in that at?"
"It may surprise yo to know that there actiually are many intergalactic universities and training schools. Most of the degrees are very credible on most planets. Earth is one of the few planets yet that refuses to accept that there is a whole entire world out there that is beyond their reconing. Silly humans."
"Okay, I get your point, you hate humans."
"I wish I were an alien."
"That is a statement I don't hear every day."
"Ah, well, get used to it."
"I guess I will have to. So these Tacos, what is up with that?"
"Tacos... right, yes. It would be very important for you to know how to properly respond to a Taco. The best response is always silence. There is nothing you can say that they will not use against you. So keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. They are tricky, so be cautious. You think you know what is going on. In reality, you know nothing at all. Wait until you gain a little more knowledge to say or do anything at all. If you ever happen to be captured, nothing. No speaking, no heroic attempts at escape, nothing. You wait for me to come get you, understand?"
“And if these Tacos are so tricky, what makes you think that you will be able to rescue me?”
“I have all the time I need. I can wait for years to retrieve you only a day after your capture. Sure, it will kill me inside to know that in even one dimension, even one timeline, I allowed someone to be tortured for years. But you will not know that when I rescue you, you will not remember anything at all.”
“Then… thank you, I think?”
“You are welcome, if that is how you are choosing to take it.”
“So, that is just what you do, then, alter past events at any time you feel like?”
“No,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment as though in deep thought, and perhaps also deep pain, “no, there are rules that govern. There are some things that I cannot do, some situations I cannot change. There are renegades, those who change history. It is the council’s job to keep history in tact. This becomes increasingly difficult as the renegades grow in number.”
“What do you mean, keep history in tact?”
“Some travelers look at all the wrongs in history and try to fix them, heal all the scars in our history, and create some sort of a Utopia. Unfortuanately, our world is far from perfect, and messing with events in the way they do creates some unexpected and often horrific results.”
“Such as?”
“Imagine if Hitler had been assassinated.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“See, that is what everyone thinks, but what if, instead, it had been Stalin? If one man perishes, there is always another to take his place. And, I’ve found, the alternative is often unlovely.”
“Has someone assassinated Hitler?”
“Wouldn’t you, if you thought it would save lives?”
“Yes.”
“And yes.”
“So basically, you travel through history replacing all the events that other people travelling through history deleted?”
“Basically.”
“That’s a little bit unique.”
“It is.”
“Is that what I am going to be doing?”
“If you want to.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Well, then, I guess you won’t do anything.”
But I will. And it’s in this moment that I realize I have honestly abandoned any sense of reality. There is no longer any voice in the back of my head telling me that I am probably crazy, there is no more skepticism, no more doubts, and a complete absence of any logic that I may have had once upon a time. I don’t really remember what it feels like to be normal: or at least as normal as I once was, which really was not all that normal at all. I do not any longer remember caution, and I feel as though even if this were some sort of a crazy, drug induced dream (where I ironically become sober), I would never want for it to end.
More terrifying than the prospect that this could be a dream is the very fact that I believe it is not. I believe this is truer and realer than anything I have known before. And I realize that right now I am placing all my trust –every hope, dream, and thought – squarely on the shoulders of this one man. Should it turn out that he is, after all this, a madman, I think that would be the end of me.
But looking at him, I find it hard to believe it possible that he could be a madman. He just looks far too sincere. His clear blue eyes light up as he begins to recount some tale of a far-off land. Perhaps I should be listening to him, but I am not. I study his apartment with some interest. It is hardly the apartment of a madman. The small living room consists of this ugly pink couch – some product of the 80’s that once upon a time, some man thought was a good idea to create. It was not a good idea. Sorry, man who invented this couch. The upholstery is worn and faded, completely destroyed in some parts, with a bit of the metal frame sticking out of one of the arms. The brown, leather chair is not in much better shape. The sides are ripped and there are tufts of stuffing peeking out at random places. It looks like a chair that may have been nice five or ten years ago, but exhausted itself in the effort to survive and became somewhat haggled from it. A sturdy coffee table sits uneasily between the two seats, stacked a foot or two high with books, papers, coffee mugs, and empty soda bottles – typical of a university student. I wonder if he is in university. I had not asked, but he would be in that age, I suppose. The only other substantial piece of furniture in the main room is a large wardrobe that puts me in mind of those books, the Chronicles of Narnia. Perhaps it is not so much that they look like something from the books as it is that I am not certain I have ever seen a wardrobe in an American home. The wardrobe is, by far, the nicest piece of furniture in the room. Only a few years old, and well taken care of. Made out of dark, solid wood, and engraved. I wonder absently what might be held within the wardrobe, but quickly forget such thoughts and allow myself to become wrapped in his story. And this is how it went: