Obscura Burning (16 page)

“In the most simplistic way, yes. And this decision…” Cruz taps my box labeled
Sleeping with Shira,
“Seems to have started this all.”

“Why
that
decision? I must’ve made a hundred different decisions that day.”

“Only this one had a significant impact on your life. Simple laws of physics. Action-reaction; for every choice there is a consequence.”

“I don’t get any of this.” I rub my hands over my face.

Prof taps the mouse pad, scrolling through pages of forum posts. He swivels the screen so Mya and I can see better. The title reads, “Reality Switching, WTF!?” Over
one hundred thousand
responses.

“What is this?” Mya asks.

“It seems you may not be the only one experiencing this phenomenon.” Cruz takes back the computer and starts reading. “‘Today, I swear I woke up in a different world. I wasn’t even me. Things were the same but all different. This is so messed up. What the hell is happening?’” Prof glances at me before reading another one. “‘Keep switching between lives. One day I’m in Sydney with Mum, the next I’m in Brisbane with Dad. Think this is Obscura’s fault? Headaches and nosebleeds. Anyone else feeling weird?’”

“So Kyle’s not the only one?” Mya asks.

“It appears not. If what Kyle says is true, it seems to be happening to others as well. And not just here, but all over the world.”

“But what is happening?” There’s a quaver in my voice.

“I don’t have all the answers. This is very complicated,” Cruz says. “I wouldn’t expect you to grasp the quantum physics of your situation.” He pauses and wobbles to the fridge, fetching cans of soda. “But the danger is real.”

“That I could die?”

“That too.”

“Why’s Obscura even here, and where did it come from?” I feel better not talking about my imminent demise, even if I’m not alone. There might be other people seesawing between lives, but none of them could have it any shittier than me.

“That is the real mystery.” There’s a glint in Prof. Cruz’s eye that makes me squirm. He’s enjoying this. Mya’s foot brushes mine under the table. She rubs her toes against my ankle and my leg stops bouncing.

“We never saw her coming. One day the solar system was perfectly normal; the next day Obscura appeared. She was just there, creeping up to Mars.”

“How is that possible?”

“It’s not. It shouldn’t be unless we have in fact already shifted into an alternate reality in which Obscura is a permanent neighbor.” Prof taps away at the computer.

“You mean, the whole Earth shifted?” Mya asks. “Like we’re all living in some weird altered dimension right now?”

“Possibly. No way of really knowing.” He turns the screen to us once more. “I predicted such an event, that a celestial anomaly could bring about the end of the world as we know it.”

There’s a star chart mapping our solar system. Obscura’s depicted in bright blue.

“So you’re saying we’re all gonna die?” Mya folds her arms. “Just like those doomsday nut jobs?”

“Impossible to say really. The Mayans believed that twenty-twelve would mark the end of the fourth Age and the start of the fifth thanks to some mysterious, cosmic egg. I choose to interpret that as a celestial body.”

“Obscura,” I say.

“Exactly, my boy.” Cruz taps the planet on the screen. A quick glance around the kitchen doesn’t reveal stacks of canned food or bottled water. Maybe he’s got an underground bunker and a weapons stockpile in his backyard.

“So what happens in the switch over between fourth and fifth worlds? The Earth gets wiped out of existence?” Mya’s not looking terribly impressed.

“No one knows for sure. According to some Mayan legend, the end of the Fourth Age would be a time of purification; whether that’s the annihilation of the entire human race or simply a cleansing, we have no way of knowing. Either way, things will change. We are standing on the precipice.” He’s way too excited by all of this.

“You sound like those guys with their damn
the end is nigh
leaflets.” My optimism drains away. This guy doesn’t know any more than we do. All just speculation and conjecture with fancy physics terms.

Prof. Cruz laughs. “I’m simply explaining an interpretation of science as identified by an ancient culture, who couldn’t articulate what they understood about the universe in a language we find scientifically acceptable today.”

“But why am I shifting?” I sip my Coke. “Why me?”

He shrugs, a movement that causes his whole torso to wobble beneath his checkered cowboy shirt.

“Perhaps you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the perfect time.”

“You’re being cryptic.” Mya huffs.

“It’s not as if we have documented cases of time travel and inter-universe touring at our disposal. Anecdotal evidence from biased sources is all we have.” His gaze falls on me. That same glint that makes me feel uncomfortable. “This is rather remarkable, Kyle. You have been blessed with a rare opportunity.”

“Blessed? I shift at random between two realities that aren’t exactly terrific, and all I get for my troubles are nosebleeds and headaches. I just want it to stop.” I’m tired, so tired of being two people, of leading separate lives. Of not remembering the bits of life I’m apparently leading even when I’m not around.

“This is likely due to an error in chirality. The nosebleeds, et cetera. That may also be a side effect of the entanglement as your consciousness degrades.”

“Whoa, back up. Chi-what?” Mya puts her elbows on the table, leaning forward and looking curious.

“Chirality is a theory of mirror images being nonidentical. This is an additional problem in Kyle’s case.” He opens up another web page filled with equations and mathematics that go right over my head.

“You mean these two parallel lives are meant to be mirror images of each other?” My head hurts, and massaging my temples isn’t helping one bit.

“Obscura’s interference seems to have allowed Kyle, and a few others, to operate within two different dimensions at least at a conscious level, if not physical due to the entanglement. These dimensions, alternate universes, are chiral. That is, they’re nonidentical. They separated from each other at the time of the rift, when Obscura appeared. Her appearance likely coincided with the exact moment Kyle made the decision not to be with Danny.”

“Lucky me.” I lean my forehead on my forearms, closing my eyes as the burning band around my head tightens its grip.

“And this consciousness degradation bit?” Mya asks.

“Every switch between realities would essentially destroy part of Kyle’s consciousness. Hence, the very real possibility of death by quantum entanglement.” Professor Cruz gives me an apologetic look. I’m tallying up the number of shifts, trying to work out exactly how much of myself got lost thanks to quantum physics.

“So how do we fix it?” Mya’s voice is strained.

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” The prof drums his fingers on the table.

“What about this syzygy; could that be having an effect?”

I’m listening even though their voices grate in my ears. Mya’s is shrill, a screwdriver spiraling holes through my brain.

“The syzygy definitely exacerbates the effects. The syzygy is at its most perfect on Wednesday, when Obscura is closest to Earth. After that, the planet’s orbit takes us out of the straight line.” Cruz plays an animation of the various planets’ orbits, illustrating the formation of the syzygy and it breaking apart.

“That could be a good thing, right?”

“Or catastrophic. The window is fairly narrow, an hour or two only, during which time the syzygy remains perfect.”

“Window for what?” I ask.

“Hard to say, but that’s when the parallel realities will be at their most flexible. Their most malleable.”

“You mean, Kyle could control the shifting?” Mya sucks her bottom lip contemplatively.

“I think that if there is any time in which Kyle may be able to influence what’s happening to him, Fourth of July, as the hour approaches…” He pauses, running the animation again and then opening up a list of numbers that make me squinty-eyed. “Eleven p.m. No later than midnight.”

“Midnight, Mountain Time?” Mya looks incredulous. “How very poetic.”

“Just the way it works.” Cruz shows us the time frames. Science doesn’t lie.

“So I have to stop the world from ending before midnight on the Fourth of July?”

“Or risk the possibility of being stuck in one reality or the other, without the ability to shift between them.”

“And I’m supposed to choose one?” The sound of my own voice makes my head feel like it’s splitting open, my brain being wrenched from the confines of my skull. It takes me a moment to realize I’m screaming as the blue marble of the kitchen swirls into darkness.

Chapter Sixteen

Shira’s dead

Hospitals at night are the loneliest places. The sick and suffering hoping they’ll make it through the darkness to see the light of another day. Others hoping that this night’ll be their last. And then there’s me who’s stuck in the wrong reality, hoping the world does end, preferably before they start the electroshock therapy, before I have to choose between Danny and Shira. This is the worst kind of nightmare and there’s no waking up from it.

Just me and my machines beeping away the hours. Mom probably had to go to work. Or maybe she’s meeting her secret lover at the seedy motel. For once, I wish I could see my dad.

Danny’s probably at home with his family, praying for my recovery. Shouldn’t disturb them with a phone call.

I’m strapped down again, wrists and ankles. Leather straps, but when I tug on my bonds it sounds like clinking chain.

Chain. Handcuffs and chains on my wrists and feet. The passing sensation of being somewhere else. Being
someone
else.

I blink and I’m back to leather straps in a hospital bed. The shift happened so fast I think I might actually have whiplash.

According to the clock on the wall, with glowy strips on its hands, it’s almost 4 a.m. Tuesday morning maybe, though I can’t be sure.

I need to pee, desperately. It only takes two yells to bring a nurse running.

She offers me a bedpan. I insist on using the can. The nurse is young with wide, nervous eyes. She probably doesn’t want to have to handle my junk any more than I want to suffer the indignity of trying to pee lying down.

“I’m not going to run, I promise.” I give her a big, beaming smile. She nods and helps me out of bed. The IV trolley thing follows me, connected to my arm by a dripping tube. The nurse seems relieved when I close the bathroom door behind me.

Perched on the porcelain, I run my hands over my face. I’ve made a total mess of this situation. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.

Cold water feels good on my cheeks and eyelids, washing away the grogginess from whatever they jabbed me with. Maybe they’ve got me on psychotropics already. Wonder if an overdose would kill me. I fiddle with the IV bag but I’m not sure how to up the dosage or what it would really achieve. Another attempted suicide, and they’ll lock me up for sure.

In the mirror, the swelling around my eye is a little better, turning yellow now. The gash in my lip still aches and tastes of blood. My hair’s a tumbleweed tangle; might just shave it all off.

Chirality, that’s what the prof called it; the mirror image not being identical. I stare at myself in the glass, concentrating harder than I think I ever have, trying to activate the quantum entanglement—if that’s even possible. My eyes burn as I stare at my reflection. The nurse knocks on the door but I ignore her, maintaining focus on the face in the mirror.

After a while it doesn’t look like me anymore, he looks like a stranger, some beat-up kid totally confused and overwhelmed by his existence. Slowly, the skin sloughs off the other Kyle’s face, revealing glossy pink scars. The flesh puckers around his mouth and eye, so much uglier on the left side of his face.

“Hello, Scarface.”

Tentative fingers explore my own cheeks. Smooth skin except for a pimple or two and the bruised eye. No scars beneath my fingertips. I smile and the boy in the glass smiles as well, a lopsided grin that pulls his features into a grotesque rictus.

More than one nurse bangs on the door now, demanding I open at once. I reach for that other Kyle. The surface ripples beneath my fingertips, tacky and warm, clinging to my fingers like bubble gum from a hot sidewalk, then flowing in viscous ribbons over my hand and up my arm.

I’m burning. I try to shake off the goo and every droplet bursts into flame, engulfing me in fire. Kyle in the glass is laughing at me, shedding his scars as the flesh melts off my bones.

The door bursts open behind me, and the flames rush hungrily toward the nurses. With bleeding hands, they reach for me, grab my arms, and pull me into the inferno.

I try to scream, but my tongue turns to ashes and my throat smolders. Gulping down smoke and fire, I hurl myself out the door, past the nurses reduced to brittle skeletons. But I can’t get out, even though the door’s open. There’s an invisible barrier preventing my escape.

A jab and sting in my thigh. The flames are extinguished, replaced by the cold rush of bathroom tiles as my knees collapse and I pitch forward into the nurse’s waiting arms.

They drag me back to bed. I’m still conscious as they strap me down again.

“He’s burning up,” a nurse says, her hand pressed to my forehead.

“Should I get the doctor? Might be a reaction to the meds.” The young one, her voice strained with worry and maybe fear.

“Could be pneumonia from his ribs. Stay with him; I’ll call Stevens.”

I’m shivering, even though my hospital gown is soaked with sweat. The nurse tucks the blankets up over my chest and around my shoulders. She smooths the hair off my face.

“You’re going to be just fine.” She strokes my hand.

I want to tell her I’m dying, that the world’s going to end, but the drugs take effect and I slither sideways into darkness.

* * *

A cooling breeze, wind chimes tinkling in the distance. It’s nighttime and Shira’s humming a sweet little tune over Danny’s strummed guitar chords.