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Dimensions An Interdimensional Thriller

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Ray Wenck Glory Days Press Columbus, Ohio

Copyright © 2021 by Ray Wenck All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission. Glory Days Press Columbus, Ohio

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com Dimensions/ Ray Wenck.—1st ed. ISBN 978-1-7360350-4-7

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dimensions

Dimension

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Other Titles | Random Survival Series Danny Roth Series

The Dead Series Pick-A-Path Series

Stand Alone Titles

Short Stories

Co-authored with Jason J. Nugent

The Historian Series

Jeremy Kline (Coming Soon)

Dedication This story is dedicated to all who see themselves or are seen by others as different. We all are but acceptance is important and should be given freely.

Acknowledgement This is perhaps the strangest story I have written. I have no idea where the story line came from, it was just there, in my head, pounding to be let out. Out it came. As the words appeared on the pages, I had to think back about whether I was drinking the night before but alas, it was not the excuse I was hoping for. I might have concerns about what I was on if I did that sort of thing, but no reason or excuse can be found for the bizarreness of this tale. The fact that it came from my head gives me pause to consider how strange I must be. At least I can say it’s because I’m a writer. I wish to thank Steve Wilhelm for his editing and Get Covers for the cover design. In this strange year of Covid-19, being forced to stay inside has allowed me to write and publish a lot of stories. Please take a look at my website raywenck.com to find a list of titles and sign up for my newsletter. Enjoy and as always, read all you want—I’ll write more.

Dimension

1. dimension (n) pl. dimensions: A specification of the spatial and directional limits of a given space, designated by a number representing the maximum number of lines in said instance of geometric space that can possibly exist such that the angle between any one of them and any other one of them is a right angle (also designated by the minimum number of points needed to define it minus one). 2. dimension (n) pl. dimensions: A category of related units of measurement that can be converted to one another from one another. 3. dimension (n) pl. dimensions: An alternate universe or a parallel universe, the latter usually referred to in fiction.

CHAPTER ONE

It was a small, ugly house, so why did the thought of entering cause Bennet Wilson such dread? That was easy to answer. His father had spent the last years of his life in this house. In fact, he rarely left, becoming more reclusive with each ing year. But that in itself wasn’t the reason for his hesitation. His father had also died in this sad excuse for a house, just five days ago. The well-dressed woman standing to the side released another sigh, this one louder than the previous two in case he hadn’t heard those. He had. He’d merely chosen to ignore them. For the third time in the last minute, she glanced at her watch. Bennet wished he hadn’t taken the attorney’s offer of his assistant giving him a ride. It was obvious she hadn’t done so voluntarily. She made it clear her time was more valuable than his. Her presence and demeanor made seeing the property for the first time in three years that much more dreadful. Ellen Crane was a tall woman perhaps in her late thirties. She wore a light-blue business suit, high heels, and what Bennet assumed was an expensive hairstyle. If one dressed for success, she had reached her idea of that level. Without looking at her, he said, “You don’t have to stay.” She frowned. “Mr. Crawford’s instructions were quite clear. I was to stay with you until you entered the house, something that cannot be achieved by your standing on the sidewalk.” Her tone reminded him of a teacher he’d had in elementary school, although the grade level escaped him. She had that same quality of subtle reprimands. It was just as annoying now as it was then. Winston Crawford was his father’s attorney. He tracked Bennet down to tell him about the will. Bennet hadn’t known his father died. Now he felt guilt over not visiting him when he got out of jail. “That won’t be necessary. I’m not sure yet whether I’m going in.” She cocked her head to the side, like a confused puppy not understanding the command. Even her tone altered. “I don’t understand. It’s your family’s home. That was the purpose for this trip. Why don’t you want to enter? Because your father ed inside?” Bennet didn’t get the notion she was being rude. The question sounded more like she was curious about the reason. He faced her and offered a thin smile,

extending his hand. “Thank you for the ride. I do appreciate you taking the time.” “But . . . Mr. Crawford was rather insistent.” “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he gave a conspiratorial smile. She frowned and placed a keyring containing more keys than the house had doors into his palm. It appeared she wanted to say more but must have realized the futility of her words. She forced a smile and strode back to her shiny new Lexus. Bennet watched her go, giving a wave as she drove away. Once out of sight he returned his attention to the house and the burden it presented. He took a step forward onto the narrow, somewhat uneven walkway to the house and then froze. Had the temperature dropped with that one step? No, like everything else about the memories of this house, it was his imagination. To test that idea and prove the silliness of his apprehension, he retracted the step. Huh! It did feel warmer on this side of the grounds. He looked up at the assortment of trees near the front of the property. That must be the reason. The trees blocked the sun. It made perfect sense. The odd mix of pine trees, oaks and maples added to the look of neglect the house showed from the curb. His father had not been one for yard work or upkeep. If anything needed to be done, he hired the job out. Though whatever the repair, it had to be drastic for him to make the call. Not that he didn’t want the house to function; his main reason for letting things go was because he didn’t want people on his property. His reasons were always vague. It wasn’t that he feared robbery or vandalism, or even that he was afraid of being murdered in his house. The only time Bennet ed his father making a comment, it was he feared discovery. Discovery! Of what? They had little money or wealth of any sort. Few items of technology offered temptation. If someone broke in to steal anything of value the complete lack of those items might guilt the crook into leaving something instead. It was as confusing to Bennet then as it was now. And his father remained the biggest mystery. Since the day they moved in, something about this house possessed him like a supernatural entity. He never explained his actions or his

reasons. Bennet wasn’t sure even his father knew what they were. He was just different once they lived here. From the stories he heard from the attorney, his father became even more obsessed just in the past few years after Bennet moved out. Gathering his nerve, Bennet stepped across that invisible line onto the property. With a reasonable explanation of why it was colder corralling his nervousness, he walked toward the small, square, concrete porch. Did the air smell different? With an annoyed shake of his body, he tossed off the inane notion and reached the porch. Even knowing the growing anxiety was nothing more than a childhood monster under the bed fears, he still had trouble lifting his leg to climb the cement stairs. Instead, he stood on the walkway and surveyed his new home. His home. Ha. What a joke. For how long? He couldn’t afford to pay a mortgage. At his father’s request, the attorney had paid the mortgage with money left with him specifically for that task. Bennet had a little less than one month to live there before the next payment was due. At least he’d be off the street for a while. A thought stopped him. Why leave money for the rent with an attorney? Did his father expect something to happen to him? Then the breath of death caressed his skin and goosebumps erupted. Was his father ill? The thought upset him. If he had some disease Bennet wasn’t there to help him through his suffering and the last moments of his life. He stared at the porch as guilt swept over him. A weight seemed to land on his shoulders. A tear escaped his eye and meandered down his cheek. He wiped at it angrily though whether that anger was directed toward his father or himself wasn’t clear. He glanced away for a moment then refocused on the house pushing all other thoughts aside. The house had four rooms plus a bathroom. A living room, kitchen, and two tiny bedrooms made up the six-hundred square-foot interior. The exterior measured twenty-three by twenty-six feet. There was no basement. A one-car detached garage stood to the side and behind the house. The gray aluminum siding had lost much of its color. Two of the black shingles decorating the two front windows were missing, leaving one on each. Several of the gray-black shutters were missing.

The flower beds on either side of the porch were overgrown. The only thing resembling a flower was the dandelions that looked like a bright yellow carpet. The grass needed to be cut and the trees trimmed. One of the oaks looked half dead. The barren branches hung over the roof like a pending guillotine. The fence on the right side had fallen and one of the window panes was cracked. For a man with no source of income, the needs of the house were overwhelming. That was just on the outside. He forced his legs to rise and climbed the two steps to the porch. He opened the screen door sans screen and aimed a key at the lock. Bennet realized then he had no idea which key fit. There had to be thirty keys on the ring. He knew in his heart he would have to try them all, likely finding the right key on the final try. It was just the way things went for him. Once he established which key opened the door, he was taking it off the ring to avoid the same problem over and over. Bennet thought it a positive sign when he shoved in the thirteenth key and it turned in the lock. It opened with a hiss like the connection broken on a vacuumsealed door. His imagination heard a whispered “Yes,” on the released interior air. He stood on the porch examining the space as if expecting someone to appear or some strange occurrence to defy logic. Nothing. Truth be told, it was a bit of a letdown and anti-climactic. What had he expected? The ghost of his father to appear? He stepped inside and like every old-time horror movie he’d ever seen, the door closed on its own.

CHAPTER TWO

The door did not slam shut but the click of the latch seating startled him, sending an eerie chill through his veins. It was enough to make him want to bolt from the house. No, he had to face down his unwarranted fears, go through the house once, then close it up and put it on the market. Not that he expected it to sell. The house needed work and didn’t have curb appeal. The small size would limit the number of interested buyers. A family of three would struggle here. Other than living here himself the options were limited. He moved through the living room and stood in the doorway to the kitchen. It needed a lot of updating. A rattling sound drew his curiosity. He traced it to the refrigerator. He snorted. This was where a gruesome discovery was made in horror movies. He shrugged off the notion and reached for the handle. If it was such a ridiculous possibility why am I hesitating? That thought annoyed him and he opened the door. The space was nearly empty save for a few basics. Someone must have cleaned it out after his father’s death. Butter, ketchup and mustard, mayo, strawberry jam, and four bottles of Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale. The bottles were in the door and the cause of the rattling. The sight brought a smile to his face. Dad didn’t go for many frills but good beer was one of them. Bennet closed the door but then opened it back up and removed a bottle. He searched the drawers for an opener. Not finding one elicited disappointment. He set the bottle on the counter. How did his father open them? Oh well. He picked the bottle up, set the edge of the cap on the end of the counter, and just before slamming his hand down on the bottle noticed the magnetic opener on the side of the refrigerator. Of course. Two healthy swigs later, he continued his tour of the house. The bathroom held the usual assortment of toiletries. Nothing much had changed there except he noticed his father had installed one of those handheld shower sprays. A bracket had been attached to the wall to hold the head. Knowing how inept his father was at handyman chores he wondered if he had hired someone to install the bracket. He touched the bracket. It wobbled. Nope. Dad did it himself. He moved down the hall and paused between the two closed bedroom doors. The one on the right had been his room for the short time he lived here. Bennet

turned the knob and pushed the door open. It still had the squeak. As the room was revealed, he noticed the changes. His bed was gone. It took up much of the ten by eight-foot space. Without the bed, the room appeared larger. His cheap four drawer dresser was still here but had been moved to the opposite wall. One of the new objects was an old wooden desk. The kind teachers used to have in the front of the classroom. He wondered where his dad got it. A cheap bookcase was next to the desk. From its unbalanced look, Bennet decided his father put that together too. Bennet entered and did a complete circle taking in the walls. None of the posters that had adorned the walls survived the transition. No surprise. Whether because he disliked Bennet’s choice of art or his father was too angry about him leaving, the posters’ life expectancy had been short. He stopped at the desk. Papers and bills were in neat stacks at the back corners. A daily planner was propped against the back wall. Huh! What could he possibly need that for? The man seldom left the house. He reached for it and stopped. His curiosity was not that acute. He turned to leave and spotted the closet. It was small like everything else and had no door, just a curtain that hung from a rod. The curtain was bowed outward like something was too big to be stored there. Bennet pulled the curtain back and his jaw dropped. It was a safe. A large metal rectangle that stood five feet high. Apparently, it was used. The shiny black surface was chipped in many places exposing the silver metal beneath. Four deep grooves ran down the right side. They reminded him of claw marks. On top of the safe was a long, heavy, sheathed knife with a polished wood handle and a serrated edge on top, like a saw blade. Next to that was a leather holster, empty. Where was the gun? For that matter, why did he have a gun? Knowing his father, he probably found it discarded someplace and thought he’d have a use for it. That made more sense than him having a gun. Still, the knife was a surprise. He set the beer on the safe, picked up the sheath and slid out the blade. It was wide, with a curved end that came to a sharp point. Why would his father need a knife? What happened in the years since he left? After his mother died his father’s behavior became increasingly strange but had he fallen into paranoia?

A knock on the door startled him. In the two years he lived there, Bennet could only three times when someone came to their door. Two of those times had been Girl Scouts and the third had been bad. He walked to the living room and peeked through the dingy curtain. A policeman stood on the porch. Oh, sweet Jesus, not again. The cop's eyes wandered over the front door then stopped on the window. Bennet stepped back as the curtain fell into place. That was dumb. The knock was more insistent the second time. Bennet moved to the door and opened it. The policeman nodded at him then took a hurried step backward, drew and pointed his gun at Bennet. Bennet felt a vice constrict his chest. His breaths burst from his lungs in short sharp expulsions. His hands went up instinctively. The cop’s narrowed eyes were locked on his. “Put the knife down. Now. Don’t make me shoot you.” Shocked by the words, Bennet glanced up to see he still held the knife. “Oh. Oh. Okay. Don’t shoot. I forgot I had it.” He slowly bent and set the knife on the porch, then straightened and backed away. The cop kept his eyes on him. The gun never wavered as he stepped forward and snatched up the knife. “You have any other weapons?” “No-no. No, sir.” “Come down here.” Bennet complied. He didn’t need any more complications with the police. On the walkway, the officer said, “Turn around.” Bennet did. “Kneel down.” Bennet did. “Place your hands, palm down on the porch.” Bennet did. Brusque hands professionally patted his body. His wallet was removed from the back pocket. The officer backed away. Bennet heard him say something into his mic but his mind was so befuddled by this sudden turn all he heard was “Requesting . . .” A brief exchange occurred in which the officer gave his name to whoever was on the other end of the radio. He signed off. “Okay Mr. Wilson, why are you here?” “I-I live here. Well, used to.” “Used to. So, you broke into this house. Why did you have a knife? Was it to

harm someone? To me?” “What? No. I . . .” The radio squawked and the officer answered. He asked a question, got an answer and signed off. He stood silent for a moment then said, “You only been out a week and already you’re in trouble.” Bennet sighed. Once you were a convicted felon nothing ever got easier. “Look, I can explain if you give me a chance.” “Oh, you’ll get your chance alright.” A hand snaked around him, snared his right hand and bent it back. The bite of the cuffs hurt. Once his second hand was secured behind his back the officer said, “I’m going to assist you up.” With his help, Bennet stood. “Okay, let’s go.” “What? No. I didn’t do anything wrong.” “You’re on parole and I found you in a house that isn’t yours and carrying a weapon.” “I didn’t break into the house.” He pulled him along down the walkway. “Then how did you get inside?” “With the key.” The officer paused. “What key?” “The one in my right pants pocket.” The officer dug into the pocket producing the key. “Where did you get this?” Bennet was growing angry. That was a problem. Only bad things happened when he got angry and he had no desire to go back to prison. In a sharp voice, he said, “From my attorney.” He emphasized the word my. “He gave it to me after the reading of my father’s will.” The officer turned him so they were face to face. “What are you saying? This is your father’s home?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s what I would have told you earlier but you decided to cuff me instead.” He felt the pressure in his veins. The tightness of his muscles. The tension in his jaw. “You had a knife. I wasn’t taking chances on an unknown situation.” “Okay, I get that, but all you had to do was give me a chance to explain. My father died. He left me this house.” A thought struck. “How did you even know I was here?” “A neighbor called and reported a suspicious person had broken into the house. What was the knife for?” He felt the pressure ebb. “I found it inside. It’s an unusual item for my dad to have. I just discovered and picked it up when you knocked.” The officer nodded. He turned Bennet around and unfastened the cuffs. “Okay, Mr. Wilson. I apologize for the misunderstanding. Make sure you don’t leave the house carrying that knife.” He nodded, not trusting his anger to make things worse. He handed Bennet his wallet. “Sorry for your loss.” He turned and left.

CHAPTER THREE

Bennet waited for him to drive away before re-entering the house. Once a police department er, after being falsely accused, arrested and sentenced, he no longer had any respect or confidence for any portion of the legal system. He set the knife down, picked up the beer and polished it off. He exited the room, went into the kitchen and opened a second. He was halfway done when he stopped. The beer was too good to gulp it down. With his foot, he dragged a chair out from under the table and sat. It took several minutes for him to push the incident aside and become calm. He was so different now from the shy, awkward boy he was before incarceration. In prison, he was angry all the time. The unfairness of his imprisonment and what he was forced to face and endure changed him forever. He learned to fight, to protect himself, to survive. The anger became a part of his being. Even now that he was outside and free, he couldn’t go far without a flare-up. Often for no reason. Like a love he could not function without. He finished the beer and left the bottle on the table. He had a long walk back to the motel and the room he shared with another recent parolee. It was time to leave. As he reached the door he hesitated and glanced down the hall. He still hadn’t looked at his father’s room. He sighed. No need. There was nothing for him here. He’d sell it cheap, take the money and move on. Preferably to another town in another state in a different section of the country. He was pulling the door closed when he heard a ringing sound. He froze, confused at first, then recognized it as a phone. Bennet walked back inside and followed the ringing to the kitchen. Mounted to the wall was a red phone with a long cord. Other than a telemarketer, who would be calling? Bennet lifted the receiver. “Yeah.” “Mr. Wilson?” A male voice said. Who knew he was here? “Who’s calling?” “It’s Winston Crawford, sir. Just calling to make sure you got into the house alright.”

“Yeah. I’m in.” Obviously since I’m talking to you on the house phone. “Good. Good. Have you given any thought as to what you want to do with the house?” “Yeah. I’m probably going to sell it.” “Oh,” he dragged the word out showing disappointment. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Your father did so hope you would stay there and take up his work.” “Work? What work? My father hadn’t worked since my mother died. He fell apart soon after. He lost his job, our house, and everything else. It was why we moved here in the first place.” “I’m aware. But moving there was the best thing that ever happened to him aside from you and your mother. He told me that often. Whatever your father was doing it had to do with that house.” “Really?” he looked around. Whatever his work was certainly didn’t have to do with renovations. “Yes. It is true. He found something there he very much wanted to share with you upon your return. It is a shame you were not able to arrive before his ing. So much was lost, I think.” “Well, whatever his work was I see no sign of it here. I’m just going to sell. I can use the money.” “Such a shame, but you see, as part of your father’s wishes, selling is out of the question. If you have no interest in the property it is to be boarded up. It was his wish that you lived there, and if not you, then no one will reside there again.” ‘You’ve got to be kidding me?” Bennet exploded. “So, I can’t benefit from this at all?” “No, sorry. Your father wanted his work to be protected. He wasn’t sure others would, ah, appreciate the extent of his discoveries.” “Discoveries? What are you talking about? There’s nothing here.”

“And things aren’t always what they appear to be. Why don’t you take a day or so to decide? Perhaps spend a night or two and give me your decision then.” Bennet was too flabbergasted to speak. His life was one shitty break after another. Finally, he said, “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” And hung up. He stood for a moment replaying the conversation. Discoveries? What the hell was Crawford talking about? What possible discoveries could his dad have made here? Nothing he’d seen so far. He shook his head. Just another line of BS his father spewed and the attorney fell for it. Angry, he stormed out of the house slamming the door shut. He marched down the walkway to the sidewalk not sure if the door was locked but not caring. As he walked, he fumed. He couldn’t catch a break. From one injustice to another. As if prison wasn’t bad enough. As if being an ex-con entitled him to a job and a bright future. In the short time he’d been out, finding a job was proving to be impossible. The little money he had was almost gone, used for rent and food. His father’s contribution to the cause after bills, taxes, and attorney fees was twenty-seven dollars. Selling the house had been his one hope—perhaps his only chance to get a fresh start. Now even that had been taken from him. Just another glorious example of how his life sucked. He calculated his total finances, which didn’t take a genius. Twenty-seven dollars, plus twenty-two dollars, minus three dollars and fifty cents for his breakfast left him with forty-five fifty. How far would that massive windfall take him? Two more days rent at the motel. He’d have two dollars and fifty cents left for food. He came to a bar and stopped at the door. Or he could just go in and tie one on and not worry about tomorrow. The thought tempted him. What difference did it make if he spent it all now or in two days? Once it was gone, he had no way to replenish his bankroll. He stopped with his hand on the handle. Then again with the door halfway open. A voice shouted from inside. “In or out—make up your mind.” It broke the indecision. He let the handle slip from his grip and heard muffled laughter drifting through. Bennet backed away and resumed his trip to the motel. He thought about picking up a fast-food burger but his mood said screw it. It was nearly dark by the time he reached the motel. He took out his key card and

swiped it. The latch did not click. He tried it again. Same result. Slower this time. Still nothing. After the eighth time he was angry again and ready to pound someone at the front desk. Bennet hit the door to the lobby hard sending it crashing into the wall. The small Indian man behind the counter took one look at Bennet’s face and backed away. Bennet smacked the key card down on the counter. “My damn key doesn’t work.” “Oh yes. Sorry, sir. Let me take care of that for you right away. What is the room number?” The man was nervous. Bennet wanted to calm down. He didn’t want to take his bad day out on him. But Bennet was beyond control at the moment. Even the man’s accent annoyed him. “One, seventeen.” He tapped a few keys, blinked a few times then leaned forward to examine whatever appeared closer. His eyes flicked toward Bennet once, twice, and on the third time, he said, “What?” “I’m very sorry, sir, but you have checked out of that room.” “What? What are you talking about? My roommate should be in there. My stuff is in there.” “No, sir. Your, ah, roommate, Mr. Smith, checked out this morning. The room was cleaned. There was nothing inside.” “He did what?” Bennet’s voice was near full volume. Though stunned by the explanation, he was not surprised. Michael Smith was a druggie. Bennet was sure he was looking for a score. The few dollars Smith might get for Bennet’s meager belongings would be enough temptation for him to skip out. In a much softer voice, he said, “But my things were in there.” “Come,” the man said, “I will show you the room so you will see for yourself nothing is there.” Bennet followed, completely deflated. He gave the room a quick search but knew it was futile. He muttered an apology and left. What did he lose? Underwear, socks, a few shirts, a lightweight jacket, and a small pocket-size

Bible given to him by the warden on the day he was released. But, inside the bible was the only picture he had of his family before they all died. His mother from cancer. His sister, Darcy, was killed by a drunk driver. And now his father. Huh! What did dad die from? Had the attorney told him? If so, he didn’t . If he called him again, he’d have to make a point of asking. He stood on a corner outside the motel and glanced down each street. What did he do now? Where did he go? The answer was obvious and came quickly. With reluctance, he retraced his steps back to the house.

CHAPTER FOUR

By the time he reached the house, he was tired and sweaty. He fumbled for the light switch, surprised to find the electricity still on, not that it shouldn’t be. After all, he had two beers earlier and they were cold. But the way his luck was running he fully expected Crawford had the utilities disconnected as soon as Bennet said he wanted to sell. He went to the kitchen and snagged another beer, then went through the cupboards. To his surprise and elation, the cupboards were full. He found boxes of macaroni and cheese, pasta and cornbread, and cans of soup, vegetables, and fruits. He pulled out two cans of minestrone, emptied them into a pot he found in another cupboard and then set them on the stove. While the soup heated, he dug out a spoon and a bowl. He sat and ate and for the moment allowed himself to think at least something had gone okay. The food didn’t cost him anything nor did he have to spend money on rent. Maybe I can milk this a little while longer. At least until the next month’s rent and the bills were due. Finished, he set the bowl and spoon in the sink and went to bed. However, when he opened his bedroom door, he ed his bed was gone. Once again, he found himself hesitating outside his father’s room. He contemplated sleeping on the worn imitation leather sofa but pushed the thought aside. Why sleep on a sofa when a perfectly good bed was just behind this door? Yet, even as he reached for the knob, he knew that’s where he’d spend the night. Hand poised above the knob, unable to make , Bennet pivoted and went to the sofa. He’d slept there before and had certainly slept in worse places. He stretched his long, lean body out on the sofa. His legs extended beyond the armrest. His eyes stared at the ceiling. Unbidden memories flooded back. Images displayed on the ceiling like his own drive-in movie theater. None were of this house. All were from a time before. A time when they were still a family and happy. They once lived in a two-story, four-bedroom home, complete with a three-car garage, a family room and living room, a formal dining room, a finished basement and a built-in pool. His parents were fun-loving and caring. His father was a professor at the local community college. His mother a legal aide at a large and well-established law firm. They made good money and lacked for nothing.

They took family vacations to wonderful places such as New York, Boston, Florida, and the Bahamas. Big extravagant affairs with all the tourist attractions and much more. His parents had money to spend and were not afraid to do so. But money only went so far and when your time was up did not have lifeextending capabilities. His sister, two years older, was sixteen and riding to the local mall with a friend when the midday drunk ed out and crossed the centerline. It began the line of events that led to the downward spiral that ended where he was this night. Not wanting to go any deeper into family history, Bennet curled on his side, drew his legs in, and searched for sleep rather than memories. He prayed his dreams did not continue where he left off with his memories. He woke with a start. The room was dark. A darkness that went deeper than the night. A chill settled over him creating the mental image of death lurking somewhere in the shadows. He wanted to move, to sit up, but was unable to dispatch the fear that held him in place. A sound intensified the fright. His eyes strained to pierce the black shroud that seemed to have blocked out all light. The intensity of his fear had him shaking and drawing into a tighter ball, his only defense against what lurked in the room. Then, just as fast and as drastic, the room lightened, the chill dissipated, and the overwhelming fear bled off like it was sucked away by some supernatural vacuum. Bennet was left with sore, tense muscles and an ache that started behind the eyes and traveled deep inward like an ice pick. He gasped as the pressure released him. His body all but melted into the cushions. He sat up and scanned the room. His gaze easily penetrated the four corners. No one or nothing hid there waiting to pounce. Sweat dripped from his forehead plopping on his arm. The slight touch made him jump. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, his breath fighting to return to normal. He had a sudden need to exert energy and stood with an abruptness that made him believe his movements were controlled from somewhere outside his body. Bennet paced, slowly at first like he was testing the floor for stability. Then, with a burst, he traveled the length of the room, a distance that took only four strides, before pivoting for the return. Several trips later, he entered the kitchen, filled a glass with water and drank it down. His eyes settled on the clock on the small

microwave. Three twenty-two. He guzzled another glass of water, then set the empty down on the counter. What the hell just happened? Was it a nightmare? That was stupid. Of course, it was a nightmare. But it had been so real. So, what? Gripping. He hadn’t had a dream so terrifying since those first nights in prison. He tried to recall what the nightmare was about but nothing came. If he didn’t what it was how did he know it was scary? The sweat, racing heart and short quick breaths might be a clue. The cause was obvious: the return to this house. Just being here sparked so many bad memories a nightmare was inevitable. He rubbed his face with vigorous motions. “Wow! That was extreme.” With reluctance, he returned to the couch. Sleep did not come easy. The memory of having the nightmare was still fresh in his mind even if the details did elude him. The fear lingered, holding fast, refusing to be replaced by anything more relaxing if not happier. But sleep did come and if he dreamed, it was not something so disturbing, nor anything he ed. The morning sunlight hit him squarely in his eyes. Even so, it was a more gradual awakening then the earlier one. One eye opened, followed seconds later by the other. He lay there taking in the sunlit room, then exploded upward in search of the remnants of the nightmare. As his heart rate slowed, he stood, stretched and went into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he washed his hands then splashed cold water on his face. What looked back at him in the mirror froze him for an instant, not recognizing the image. The face was drawn, eyes sunken with slight darkness beneath each. His eyes gave off a hollow appearance as if his soul fled sometime during the night. Or perhaps it had gone years before and he never noticed. In the kitchen, he searched the cupboards for coffee makings. To his surprise, he found a ground package of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, a pack of filters and a container of sugar. He didn’t normally take sugar but decided to treat himself this morning. He took the mug, inhaled the aroma and absorbed the steam. He then walked toward the breakfast nook, ignoring the two-seat kitchen table. Bennet slid into the booth, scooted back and lifted a leg on the seat. He tested the brew with a sip. Satisfied by its strength and recuperative powers, he took a long

drink. Feeling renewed he released a satisfied sigh and leaned back closing his eyes. For the moment, all was good. It was one of the best times he could being in this house. No one to rant at him. No one to remind him how inane his life was. Just drinking coffee and relaxing in the booth. He let that relaxing thought play through his mind for a few seconds then something stirred. A twitch in the tranquil moment. What was it? He tried to call it up. What nagged at him? It was annoying, whatever it was. Couldn’t he just have a peaceful few seconds? Giving up on finding the thread to pull the thought forward, his eyes fluttered open and his lips sought the rim. They froze a fraction from and he stared out over the cup. Booth. He was sitting in the booth. No, not the booth—a booth. They didn’t have a booth. He convulsed from the shock, sending coffee over the rim splashing onto the table. Scalding pain shot through his hand where the hot coffee landed. He set the mug down spilling more and sucked on the back of his hand. His eyes darted around at the unfamiliar sight. Where had the booth come from? He slid out fast like it was on fire and stood staring down at strange sight. When did his dad put in a booth? And for what reason? He lived alone. The small kitchen table was all they ever needed. It was just the two of them. No one ever came to visit. He turned to make sure the table and chairs were still there. The booth easily sat six, possibly eight people. Wait. Was it here yesterday? He recreated his movements through the house focusing on the times he was in the kitchen. He didn’t seeing it. But having never seen it before wouldn’t he have noticed it? This was so confusing. It made his head hurt. Bennet backed up a few steps to see the space from a distance. The width was equal to the kitchen, twelve feet. The depth he guessed was eight feet. It made the kitchen look so much bigger. Again, the when and why questions filled his thoughts. Even if his father had built the nook it was so unlike him. Not just the fact that he took the time and spent the money but because it looked like a professional job, though perhaps somewhat dated. The vinyl seat and back were red. The table looked like the Formica countertops you might see in an old diner, with assorted sized red and black dots covering the surface. A chrome-like metal band surrounded the edge of the table. On the

shelves in each of the back corners was an old-fashioned nutcracker. The one on the left was a soldier in a bright red dress uniform with black hair, large black eyes, a black mustache, and a sword. On the right, the figure was also a soldier but this one in a blue uniform with brown eyes and mustache and holding a long spear. A Tiffany light hung from the ceiling. He stepped forward for a closer look. From the two side walls hung paintings of battles depicting scenes from perhaps Napoleonic times, or maybe earlier. Each was held in a large decorative frame with intricate etching. In each, the focus was on a figure on horseback battling multiple soldiers on foot. The one on the left had a man in a red uniform riding a rearing white horse and swinging a sword downward at an enemy. A note of recognition teased at him. No, not recognition, but maybe connection. His gaze drifted from the painting to the nutcracker, then back. My God. Could it be? He went back and forth comparing each detail. In each instance, the painting matched the nutcracker from weapon to uniform to hair. He whirled to check the other side. It was the same. The soldier in blue rode a shiny black horse, its hooves descending on an enemy soldier’s head. Tiny droplets of blood flew from the crushed skull. The rider had driven the spear through an enemy soldier, the point protruding from his back. The paintings were gruesome in their detail and eerie in their exactness to the nutcrackers. The questions returned. When and why and now a who was added.

CHAPTER FIVE

Bennet looked at the walls of the original kitchen. He touched where the wall he ed used to run along the back. A new memory came rushing back. “There used to be a door there.” He pointed like he was explaining it to someone else. Where had it gone? And the room size was different too. To build this space the house had to be extended. With no backdoor, Bennet turned and went out the front. He jumped off the porch and hurried to the rear. The house wasn’t that big. It only took a few strides to determine the house had no new extension. It was the same size. Confused to the point of agitation, Bennet walked around the back and stared at the rear wall. It was exactly as always. There was the backdoor and the window. The window, of course. There used to be, well, still was apparently, a window in the wall where the back of the booth was now. Had whoever built the booth covered the door and window? No. Impossible. The house was the same size as always. The booth clearly made the kitchen longer. There was only one way to do that—add on. This had to be a dream. He stepped forward and touched the wall to be sure it was real. The weathered aluminum siding was cold to the touch. He backed away, studying the wall and tried to recall if any visual landmarks were on the back. If there were, he couldn’t bring them to mind. How was this possible? It just didn’t make sense. Befuddled and unable to find a logical explanation, he went back inside and rummaged through the junk drawer until he found an old, beat up, metal measuring tape. He ran back outside and laid the tape down along the side of the house. The tape took an effort to extend, having been crumpled in several places and needed coaxing. Once at the end of the house, Bennet squatted to read the number. Several of them had been worn away. He decided on twenty-one feet, six-inches. With a baseline established, he went inside and laid the tape on the kitchen floor. He started playing out the tape and stopped. He didn’t want his back to the booth. He had no rational reason other than the idea caused a chill to run down his spine. He adjusted his position and slid the tape beneath the table until it struck the base of the bench seat. He played the tape out as he backed away, stopping at the small metal divider on the floor that covered the seam between the tile floor of the kitchen and the worn carpeting of the front room.

Bennet bent over to read the number, then knelt next to the tape to be sure he read it right. Twenty-seven feet and four inches. That number didn’t count the distance from the front of the bench seat to the back wall which had to be another two feet. Impossible. He had never paid much attention back in high school science but the physics of having a larger space inside a smaller one was more Dr. Whovian than science. It could not happen. He stood, allowing the tape to recoil. Dumbfounded he stood staring at the booth unable to think or move for nearly a minute. His gaze narrowed and focused on the coffee cup still on the table. As he moved toward it, he ed the spill and tore off a sheet of paper towel. He picked up the cup and wiped the bottom then went to clean the spill but couldn’t find it. He bent to table level and glanced across the top. No spill. Not one drop of coffee showed anywhere. He glanced at his hand. The pain had eased and the skin showed pink rather than red. Had the spill only been on his hand? He didn’t think so. When he set it down, he ed coffee splashing over the rim. All the questions and unexplained—what?—phenomenon? were giving him a headache. He poured the coffee into the sink and went to lay down. He stretched out on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. A short time later, he stood, went into the bathroom, and took a lengthy shower. With his few clothes gone he dressed in the same outfit and went into the living room. He stared out the large picture window for a while trying to decide what to do today. He should look for a job. Yeah, no matter what he decided to do, stay here or move on, he needed money. His stomach rumbled. First, he had to eat. He entered the kitchen and went through the cupboards settling on another can of minestrone. It was better than what he usually had for breakfast, which was nothing. He emptied the contents into the same pot. He rinsed it after using it last night but didn’t really wash it. It didn’t matter. While it heated, Bennet turned to pour another cup of coffee. As he turned back, he looked at the booth and exclaimed, “What the—?” The cup dropped from his hand and shattered on the floor. Coffee splashed over his shoes. He barely noticed. His eyes were locked on the booth or more like,

where the booth had been just a short time before. “No,” he said, walking forward. His hands touched the wall moving around the window and stopping at the backdoor. “No,” he repeated. “This can’t be. I refuse to be as crazy as my dad.” His hands slapped to his face and he backed away. The soup was roiling in the pot. He kept going until he was out of the kitchen and out of sight from the back wall. He paced the living room talking to himself. “No. I am not crazy. I saw what I saw. I sat in the booth. It was real. Wasn’t it? No. You are not crazy. It-it was a dream. Yes. That’s what it was. A dream. You made it all up.” To be sure he stopped at the doorway and slowly peeked around the frame. The booth was not there. That was a relief, he told himself. That meant it was only a dream. He relaxed, then caught a whiff of something burning. He ran to the stove and switched off the burner. The soup was a darkened thick mass. He smelled both the soup fragrance and the burnt odor. Just another in a long line of failures. Still, it was better than nothing. He scraped the mess into a bowl and sat at the two-person kitchen table to eat. After washing the burnt taste from his mouth with gulps of lukewarm coffee, he left the house in search of work. The taste lingered, reminding him he should spend some money on toothpaste and a toothbrush, especially if he was going to interview for jobs. With no car, no phone, and no internet, finding job openings was going to be a long tedious process. He walked down the main street to a three-block section of businesses and strip malls. He found two help wanted signs. One wanted cooks for the late shift in a fast-food chain restaurant. The other sought a technician for a computer repair shop. Neither appealed to him but as he walked on finding nothing, he realized having any job was better than no job. If he chose the restaurant at least he’d be able to eat. Four hours into his hunt, sweaty, tired and hungry, he found a small help wanted sign in a window of a secondhand store called Clara’s Closet. One corner of the sign had loosened from the tape that held it leaving it half-hidden from view. The building was old but in good condition. The yellow brick stood out against the red brick and white, wood constructions on the rest of the block. He entered through the glass doors and looked around. It was busy to the point Bennet wondered if they had a sale going on. Clothes were strewn on the floor. Shelves were disheveled. A harried clerk was busy at the counter ringing up sales as fast

as she could with a line five deep. Bennet looked around but did not see another employee. If they’re desperate they might not care about his history. He didn’t want to wait in line to ask about the job, especially as busy as the clerk was, but he had an idea. He went to the window and took down the sign. As he approached the counter the clerk, a woman he guessed to be in her late twenties, was being harassed by a customer who insisted the price was other than marked. Bennet veered to the end of the counter and waited. The clerk blew at loose strands of her short, light-brown hair that had sprung loose from the mound on her head. She glanced his way. He smiled and held up the sign but she was already refocused on the customer. “Look, I’m sorry,” the clerk said, trying to keep her tone below the rude level, “but I don’t set the prices. I’m just an employee and I’m the only one here at the moment. If you wish to wait until I can get through this line, I’ll be glad to help you.” The woman had no problem being rude. “No, I’m here. You take care of this now.” Groans came from the others in the line. The woman whirled, fire in her eyes. “And you can all kiss my ass.” One woman in line tossed her items over a rack and left. Bennet stepped forward catching the clerk’s eye. Before she commented, he held up the sign and pointed at it. The clerk looked from Bennet to the sign then back to him again. A smile lit her eyes first and spread to her mouth. She nodded her head with vigorous bobs, then motioned with her chin toward the rude customer. Bennet set the sign down, cleared his throat, and said, “Let me help you with that, Ma’am.” She gave him a hard glare, then an even harder one at the clerk. “Does he work here?” “Yes, he just came on. Ah—”

“Bennet.” “Yes, Bennet will be happy to assist you.” “If this is some trick to get me out of line, I’m going to come right back.” “Let me hear what the problem is and I’ll try to fix it,” Bennet said in his warmest voice. He held out a hand as if to say, this way. With another glare at the clerk, the irate woman stepped aside. “Look, here’s what I told that rude clerk.” Bennet thought, this woman has never had to deal with herself or she’d know rude. “This jacket was on the rack that says five dollars. She’s trying to tell me it’s ten dollars. I’m not paying no ten dollars for this jacket. No. I won’t do it. That’s too much and besides, it’s false advertising.” Bennet was sure this woman was the type who believed the squeaky wheel gets what it wants. He didn’t doubt the jacket was on the lower-priced rack just as he was sure she put it there. “Can you show where it was hanging?” “You bet I can.” The woman spun and led to a circular rack with a sign that read, “Everything on this rack is five dollars.” Bennet picked up a shirt and looked at the tag. Over the printed price of fifteen dollars, a line had been drawn in red ink with a handwritten five-dollar price. He checked several others and found them all the same. Then he took the jacket from the woman and checked its price. No red line and no handwritten price. “I can see how this might be confusing. A customer took it from one rack and hung it here. It was maybe an accident or possibly on purpose, thinking they could get it cheaper.” The woman started a rebuttal but Bennet cut her off. “Let me see what I can do price-wise.” He took the jacket off the hanger and held it out in front of him. He shot a surreptitious glance around the edges of the jacket

to the woman and doubted the jacket would fit her bulky frame. “First, did you try it on yet?” “No, but it’s my size. I know it’ll fit me.” “I’m sure you’re right, but some of these companies don’t always follow the same size guidelines. I’d hate to have you get it home and find out it’s too big. Let’s slip it on to make sure.” He held it up for her to slide her pudgy arms through the sleeves. The jacket was fake leather in a light green color. It did have nice lines and a modern style. “Wow, this is a nice jacket. I can see why you want it so badly.” She slipped an arm in, then struggled to get the other in. Bennet guided her arm through the second sleeve. The woman turned her face looking hopeful. “Oh, yeah. That is nice. It shows off your reddish hair.” The coat did not close. “And this style can be worn open to highlight a nice blouse or sweater.” He stood back and faked an iring look. “Oh, yes, you have to own this jacket.” He led her to a long narrow mirror attached to a pole. Her eyes took her image in and clearly liked what she saw. In a low conspiratorial voice, he leaned close and said, “This is a steal at ten dollars but let me see if I can get it lower for you. This jacket was made for you.” “You really think so?” Her eyes twinkled as she swayed back and forth, stopping in momentary poses. “Absolutely. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Bennet returned to the counter. The line was down to two people. He spied a pen, picked it up, and said, “I’ll bring it right back.” The woman was still taking in her image. Her lips were adjusting to her poses in what he assumed were flirty looks. He helped her out of the jacket making a joke about the fact she struggled to get it off. “Oops! My fault. There you go.” He held it up in front of him, smiled, and shook his head. “You know, I saw this at another store for fifty dollars. Look, it’s like brand new. This should be a lot

more than ten dollars, even at a secondhand store.” “Hey, I . . .” He put a finger to his lips to quiet her. “Don’t worry. I’m on your side. You have to own this jacket. Here’s what I’m going to do.” He took the pen and drew a blue line through the price, then wrote eight dollars. “Just for you, I’m lowering the price. It’s the only one like it in the store and really should sell for more than ten dollars. But for you . . .” he held the ticket so she could see it. She started to object. “If you don’t buy it, I’m going to raise the price to twenty dollars as soon as you leave. It’ll sell by the end of the day. This is your chance to get it for eight.” He handed her the jacket draping it over her arm and letting his hand linger on the material. “Soft.” He trailed his fingers down her arm to her bare wrist, winked, and said, “Shall we ring this up for you?” Her eyes locked on his. She had a gleam there that made him want to gag. He took her by the elbow to the counter as the last customer left. “We’ve come to a special deal just for her.” The clerk cocked her head to the side with a worried expression. Bennet winked at her and presented the jacket. She paused for a moment as if not sure what she was seeing. Bennet could sense the woman tensing, gathering her ire was another confrontation. Then the clerk said, “Very good,” and rung it into the cash . As the woman left, Bennet said, “You have a good time showing off that jacket.” She gave a flirtatious giggle. “Oh, I will, honey. I so will.” Once she was out the door the clerk and Bennet released a huge sigh.

CHAPTER SIX

“M y name’s Bennet.” He reached a hand across the counter. “Clara.” She took the hand warmly and gave a grateful smile. “Thank you so much for handling that for me. Every time she comes in here, she haggles over the price and gives me a hard time.” “No problem. Happy to help. You had your hands full, especially being the only one here. I take it that’s why the sign was up.” “Yes.” “If you’re an employee, do you have the authority to hire me?” “I’m actually the employee and manager, so yes. I do have some paperwork for you to fill out but we can do that after we close.” “What can I do for you now?” “I like the sound of that. Hopefully, you’ll have a long and happy future here.” He laughed but did not reply. She seemed to be waiting for something then Bennet realized she was studying him. “I’ll go straighten things up a bit while you decide what you need me to do.” She nodded and he had the impression she watched him go. The thought was unsettling. Was she checking him out or wondering about him as an employee? He spent the next hour picking discarded items up and reorganizing shelves then she led him into the back room. The space was large and open. One section had a series of metal shelves, most overflowing. An overhead door was in the back wall next to a security door. The wall opposite the shelves had a small enclosed room that looked like it had been thrown up to separate a breakroom from the rest of the area. Inside was a small dorm size refrigerator, a table with three plastic chairs, a microwave and a coffee maker. Next to the breakroom was a bathroom. Mounds of clothes and a wide assortment of items filled the remainder of the space. “We get tons of stuff almost every day. Sometimes they bring stuff in to sell and

sometimes they just dump piles at the backdoor to get rid of it. Usually, the stuff that gets left in the back is junk and the owners don’t have room in their garbage or they don’t have a service and expect us to dump their stuff. Those piles are usually left out back at night. When you come in the first thing that needs to be done is clearing away whatever’s out there. Some days that’s easy some days not so much. At any rate, it all has to be gone through and set in piles. The two main piles are keeper or trash. It takes more time then I have to sort through it all. That’s why there’s so much of it.” “Do you have guidelines to go by?” “Not really. It’s more a commonsense thing. If it’s too worn, torn, broken, or has missing parts, it’s junk. The junk gets put in the dumpster out back.” “What about pricing. How do I know what to price things at?” “Don’t worry about that. I’ll do it at first then train you. There are guidelines to follow online if you’re not sure, but once you get the feel for it you won’t need to use that unless it’s an unusual item.” “Okay. You want me to start on this?” “Yeah. That’d be great.” Clara walked to a pile of clothes and picked through it. She lifted a sweater. “Like this. It has a tear in the armpit. It’s in a seam so could be repaired. We set those items in that large cardboard box over there.” She pointed. “I have two people that come in once a week and take the items they can sew. Those get a special price tag and once the item sells that person gets a percentage of the sale.” She picked up a wrinkled t-shirt that smelled and had a stain on it. “This,” she held it up away from her between her forefinger and thumb and crinkled her nose, “is garbage.” She dropped it and wiped her hands on her pants. “By the way, you might want to wear gloves when you go through the piles. You never know what might still be lingering in them. Several times we’ve found fleas and ticks and twice we’ve had mice.” She left him to his daunting task. A few times he set aside a shirt that might fit him. He’d have to ask if there was an employee discount. Two hours later, Clara returned and was amazed at how much he went through already.

“Wow! This looks better already. I think I’m going to like having you here.” “I was wondering. Is there an employee discount?” “Ah, yeah, but it depends on the item. The company frowns on employees grabbing the good stuff before the customers get a chance. Did you have something in mind?” He held up the two t-shirts. One depicted BB King, the other Iron Man. “Do you have a collection of rock and superhero shirts?” He felt embarrassed. “No. I, ah, just need some shirts.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I hope you’re not going to be a problem taking things.” “Oh no,” he hastened too fast. “It’s just that my roommate, ah, former roommate, took everything I own and left me with nothing.” He tried to read her thoughts through her eyes. She was thinking about something that wasn’t good. “Never mind.” He set them in a pile. “Just thought I’d ask.” “Did you come here looking for work or clothes?” “I saw the sign you were hiring. I came in for a job.” “What did you used to do?” “Ah, well, I worked in a kitchen—several in fact. I was in school and didn’t work then. Now, I need a job and don’t want to go back to flipping burgers.” She didn’t speak for a minute. Whatever she was thinking, her silence and probing eyes made him nervous. He hung his head. “Maybe this was a mistake.” He slid his hands in his pockets and walked past her. “Wait.” He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “I’m gonna give you a chance.”

His face brightened. “Part-time. I need to get to know you.” The brightness faded, but part-time was better than no time. She picked up the two shirts and tossed them to him. “My gift to you. Call it a hiring bonus. Besides, we have so many clothes a few that don’t make the floor won’t be missed.” He caught them. “Thanks. Thank you. You won’t be sorry. When do you want me back?” “Tomorrow. Nine a.m. sharp. Don’t be late. I’m big on promptness. I’m also big on firing you if you don’t show up.” “I’ll be here.” He started to leave, then stopped. “Do you need anything else?” “No, that’s good for today. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to clock in and we’ll get some paperwork signed. Plan on being here three to five hours.” “Okay. Thanks again, Clara. See you tomorrow.” He wanted to ask about getting paid for today but held back. If she got concerned over him wanting a few shirts she’d take back the job offer if he asked for money. Only transients wanted to be paid each day. He might not get paid for three weeks if they paid bi-weekly like most businesses. He just had to make his meager savings last. He left on a high, then ed the paperwork. The paperwork always included a question about if you were ever convicted of a felony. That was usually the kiss of death for employers. No one wanted to hire ex-cons. He could lie. He doubted this company would even check. Even if they did, if he showed his worth, they might be willing to overlook his past. Would being a good worker matter to them? He hoped so. It was after five when he arrived home. He was starved. This time he opened a can of beef stew and another of green beans. While they cooked, he leaned against the counter and thought about his day. He doubted the job paid more than minimum wage and only working part-time meant he’d make thirty to forty dollars a day. Not a sum to get rich off but more than he was making now. The job itself was easy. He thought Clara would be alright to work for as long as he didn’t do anything stupid.

He stepped forward to stir the food in the pots. He didn’t want to burn another meal. Another meal. That stirred a memory. He shot a glance at the rear wall. No booth. He wasn’t sure which way would alarm him more if it was there or not. Judging from his sigh of relief he was glad it wasn’t there. He poured the food onto a plate and ate hungrily. Finished, he set the dishes in the sink and walked away, then stopped and went back to wash them. If he was staying here for the time being, he might as well keep the place neat. He gave a final look at the back wall, then walked out. What to do? What to do? He spied the two shirts and knew what had to be done. The closet in the bathroom had a small washer and dryer stack. It didn’t handle much but was fine for the two of them. While he lived here washing clothes was one of his jobs. He wondered if his father bothered to wash anything once Bennet left. Since he didn’t have a change of clothes, he stripped naked and tossed everything in the washer. There was only enough detergent for one load. He halved the amount to stretch it for at least one more wash then turned the machine on. While that was in progress, he went back to the kitchen to take inventory. If he didn’t get paid for a few weeks he wanted to know how long he could eat before having to spend his precious dollars. Taking a notepad and pencil from a drawer he went through the cupboards. Two cans of minestrone, two cans of chicken noodle. One can of green beans, one of black beans and a jar of salsa. He found two cans of tuna, and one can each of pineapple, Mandarin oranges, fruit cocktail, and diced tomatoes. In another cupboard, he discovered two bags of penne pasta, a bag of rice and a box of pancake mix. He wondered how old it was since they never had pancakes once in the two years he lived in this house. Rounding out the food stores was a box of Rice Chex and raisin bran cereals. If he stretched it the food might last a week. The pasta would make a lot of meals but he had nothing to go with it except ketchup and diced tomatoes. If he got creative, he’d add tuna. Not much to exist on but it had to do. He made a grocery list, or as he referred to it, a wish list, starting with peanut butter, detergent, coffee, and bread and left it on the counter. With nothing else to do, Bennet switched the clothes to the dryer then wandered through the house

finding himself outside his father’s door. What was so frightening about entering this room? It’s not like he had any horrifying memories of being in his father’s room. He was never physically or otherwise abused within its confines. His father never wanted Bennet to go into his room if he wasn’t inside. The room was off-limits. That was fine with Bennet. He had no desire to see what was so important. It wasn’t like his father’s ghost haunted the room and would chase him out. It was just illogical and silly for him to feel fear. His mind made up, he pivoted and entered his old room, now transformed into an office. He went to the desk and opened drawers. They held all the usual desk items: assorted pens, pencils, and felt tips, a ruler, a calculator. One drawer held reams of computer paper. That made him think. He did a scan of the room. There was the combination printer/scanner but no computer. He must have had one. Bennet ed a laptop his dad took with him everywhere he went. He even carried it in a bag when he went to the grocery store. What was in it that was so important it couldn’t be out of his sight? He searched more thoroughly, physically looking through drawers until finding the bottom one locked. It was the deepest drawer and was big enough to hold a laptop. Bennet researched each drawer for a key, taking everything out of each. In the bottom of the slender middle drawer designed to hold the pencils and pens, he found the number twenty-six carved into the wood. The numbers were small but easily recognizable. “Twenty-six.” It appeared hand carved as opposed to stamped, like an identifying number for that part of the desk. Other than the number his search was fruitless. Next, he tried the file cabinet. The entire four drawer stack was locked. Frustrated he kicked the metal cabinet, hurting a toe, which made him madder. He flopped down in the desk chair and did a slow spin taking in every bit of the room. The walls held no pictures. Blinds were drawn keeping sunlight and unwanted eyes from seeing in. An adjustable neck lamp stood on the corner of the desk. Bennet picked it up and examined it for secret compartments. He tugged on the green felt on the bottom until it peeled off. No key was underneath. He pressed the felt back in place and set the lamp down. A small bookcase was to the left of the desk butting up to the corner of the room. He rolled the chair in front of the bookcase. It had four shelves and was cheaply made fiberboard rather than wood. He bent to pull out the books, opening them upside down and fanning the pages. When he went through each book, he started

replacing them until a title caught his eyes. Douglas Adam’s A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. What a strange title for his father to have. He never knew him to read science fiction. In fact, he didn’t him ever reading fiction. He was always into history and real science. His time was spent reviewing science magazines or doing research on his special projects, whatever they might have been. Though whacky and absent-minded, his father was quite brilliant. The problem wasn’t that he was anti-social, it was more that he related to science and his studies better than he did people. He hadn’t always been that way. When his mother and sister were alive, he was fun, gregarious even. If they weren’t out doing something together as a family, his father and mother went out with their friends. They had a core group of eight select friends they went out with or had over for gatherings. It was only after his mother died that his father fell apart and became reclusive. Unfortunately for Bennet, those were the years he ed most about his father. He thought about him now and about how unfair it was for him to only his father’s down years. How had his incarceration affected him? He could imagine but would never know. He’d been alone when he died. That was sad enough, but the thought that he might have contributed to that sadness, perhaps even quickening his father’s demise, was hard to take. He was surprised to find his vision had blurred. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and pushed those thoughts away. He set the book aside, thinking he might like to read it, then looked at other titles. Two books were Star Trek novels, another surprise. As he read through other titles, he found an entire shelf had been devoted to science fiction, primarily about space, time, and interdimensional travel. Another shelf had non-fiction titles about the workings of the brain. Many of them dealt with psychology and dreams. Other subjects included the power of the unused portions of the human brain and telekinesis. A third shelf held non-fictional titles dealing with black holes, wormholes, interdimensional, and time travel. What the heck was his father into in those last years. He wished he’d kept in touch. Then a wave of guilt washed over him. His father was the reason he was leaving the house. Then, when he got sent to prison, he never wrote or called during his allotted time and his father never came to visit. He still ed when the verdict was given. Stunned, he

turned and called to his father. “I didn’t do it. Dad, please believe me. I didn’t do it.” His father was in the gallery watching. Tears welled in his eyes but he never spoke. He never once said he believed Bennet. He just watched him be dragged out of the courtroom. The sadness and hurt in his father’s eyes were like a physical laceration to his brain. That was the last time he saw his father. The memory reopened old wounds. His own eyes clouded. No, he wasn’t going there. He wiped his eyes again, set the last books on the shelf, and left the room. The clothes were for the most part dry. He dressed and had a sudden desire to walk. He left the house, stood on the sidewalk and then without a destination in mind turned right and walked.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The cool early evening air was good for thinking. He tried to steer his thoughts to more positive memories but once started it was difficult keeping others at bay. He ed a walk on another day four years ago. While walking past a corner convenience store, two men ran out. They moved fast and emanated an element of danger. One plowed into Bennet sending him into the wall, while the second shoved a gun, a mask, and a roll of scratch-off lottery tickets into his hands. He pushed him back against the wall and ran. Confused and afraid, Bennet fumbled the gun. It fell and went off as two cops pulled up. The man who pushed it into his arms had ed it with the hammer cocked. The cops, thinking he fired at them, quickly subdued him. The owner of the store had a heart attack. Though he didn’t die, by the time he was able to be interviewed and shone a picture array he pointed to Bennet’s photo. Video from the security system was grainy. One of the actual robbers had a similar build but what really hurt Bennet was the fact he wore the same Avenger’s t-shirt. He ed trying to decide which shirt to wear that day picking the Avenger’s shirt because it was cleaner smelling than the X-Men shirt. That simple decision was the final piece of evidence that sent him to prison. He served more than two and a half years of a five-year stint before being released on parole. His life would never be the same. The kicker was he had been on his way to the Navy recruiting office to enlist. He wanted out of the house and away from his father. He saw the Navy as an opportunity to do that, to travel, and to get valuable training for his future. He’d never be able to do that now either. Bennet stopped on a corner and watched the traffic go by. He wanted to be in a car going someplace, too. Anyplace. Having the freedom to do so meant a lot to him. After being in a cell for all that time, being outdoors without armed guards watching you, or having to dodge the cell block toughs was important to his well-being. He sucked in a long draw of cool air and for the moment, felt refreshed. On the way back, he thought about his new job and hoped he had it long enough to buy a car. It didn’t have to be anything special. It just had to run. He’d hit the road soon after.

The morning came and he stretched languidly until the sudden jolt of ing his job hit him. What time was it? He threw himself off the sofa and ran for the kitchen. The digital clock on the microwave said seven forty-five. Damn! He was going to be late. It was a good forty-five-minute walk. He ran back to the living room and dressed. Last night, he laid out the BB King shirt to keep it from wrinkling. He pulled it on fast, stepped into his jeans and shoes, and ran for the bathroom. Two minutes later he was out and thinking he had enough time to make one cup of coffee. Back in the kitchen, he fumbled for a filter, getting angry because they wouldn’t separate. Finally, in the basket, he poured rather than measured the coffee in, grabbed the pot, and spun to the sink. He urged the water to fall faster. When he judged he had enough, he whirled back around and filled the bin. Pushing the start button, he glanced at the clock and saw seven fifty-eight. “Yes, still plenty of time.” He was excited, not just to be ahead of schedule, but because he was going to work. He had a job. That made him feel good. Legit. Like a normal person. That’s when he turned and saw the booth. “Ahh!” He jumped back like it was spreading fire. “No. This can’t be.” He rubbed his eyes. The booth was still there. He slapped his cheek. He was awake; unless his dream was so vivid, he felt the pain asleep. He stared at the mirage until the hissing of the coffee drew his attention. He glanced unseeing at the coffee pot then back to the booth. “What the hell is going on here?” He held his arms out toward the booth like asking it the question. Receiving no reply, he forced his feet to take him closer. Bennet stood at the edge of the table examining the booth area. He followed the line where the original wall was all the way around from ceiling to floor. No obvious line of where the extension began and the old portion ended, existed. If this was real, it was master craftwork. Bennet placed his hands palm down on the table and leaned forward. He looked at the nutcrackers then swung his gaze to the paintings. Something strange happened in the one to the right. He jerked back, disbelieving what his eyes saw. Had the mounted man just moved? No way. He was driving himself looney. He shook his head and turned toward the second painting. “Ahh!” he screamed and backed away. The mounted soldier on the left swung

his sword taking off the head of the enemy he battled. He recoiled in shock bringing him closer to the first painting. He thought he heard a horse whinny and turned. “Watch it, man,” a voice said in a French accent, and a tiny spear was thrust from the painting stopping an inch from his eye. Bennet dropped and slid across the table now aware of the sounds of a battle above him to the right. From his lower position, he looked up and watched as the battle came alive before his eyes. “Noooo!” It came out like a whine. “This isn’t happening. I’m not crazy.” “Get a grip, lad.” The voice came from the opposite side. “If you’re going through get to the safety point.” That voice came from the sword carrier’s side. He was speaking to him. This can’t be. He was hallucinating. Impossible. He hadn’t done drugs in years and even then, it hadn’t been more than pot. The sounds of battle grew louder and filled his head in stereo. He covered his ears and slid from the table to the floor. From there, he crawled out of the kitchen. Still, on his knees, he turned to see if anyone followed him. He was alone. He stood on shaking legs. Nothing. What was happening to him? A flickering of memory tore through his confusion and fear. Job. Bennet looked at the clock. Eight twenty-two. Damn! He was going to be late for his first day of work. He didn’t have the time to worry about his weird behavior and hallucinations. He only hoped he could keep it together at work. He needed this job. Leaving the coffee, Bennet bolted from the house and hurried down the street. He thought he should run but if he got too sweaty and gross smelling it may lead to Clara’s disapproval and being let go even before he started. The flip side of that was being late on the first day, especially after she made a point of how much she disliked tardiness. With no way of knowing the time Bennet increased his pace to a fast walk. He made the trip yesterday in forty-five minutes but wasn’t moving fast. He should arrive in time. He hoped. The pace added to his stress. Out of breath and sweating profusely, he slowed before he ed out. He estimated he was halfway there with perhaps twenty minutes until nine. Arriving on time was going to be a close call. He swept his head from side to side searching for a clock, unsure if it was better

to know the time or not. With the building in sight, He broke into a run. The front door was locked. He pressed his face to the glass and peered inside. No one was there. He knocked but instead of waiting to see if anyone came, ran around back. The rear of the building had an overhead door and a backdoor. Bags of clothes and other assorted items were stacked in piles at the overhead door. Bennet ran to the regular door. It was locked. This time his knock was louder and more desperate. A voice shouted from inside. “Who is it?” He thought it was Clara. “It’s Bennet.” “You’re late.” His stomach knotted. “I’m-I’m sorry. I knocked on the front door but you must not have heard. “Not for ten minutes you haven’t. I was up there at nine looking for you. You’re ten minutes late.” “I’m sorry. It took longer to get here than I thought. I’ll have to start earlier tomorrow.” He hoped there was a tomorrow. When the door didn’t open, a new knot formed in his stomach. “Come on,” he said softly so as not to be heard. “Please. Give me a chance.” The door clicked. He tampered down his elation in case she wanted to fire him face to face. The door was pushed open and Clara stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry, too, but—” she started, then stopped as she took his appearance in. “What’d you run from the car?” “I don’t own a car.” “You walked here?” “Yeah.” “How far?”

“I’m not sure. It took about forty-five minutes.” “Were you taking your time?” He shook his head. “No. I was moving fast. I didn’t think it would take as long as it did. If you give me another chance, I promise to leave earlier.” He stared at her anxiously awaiting her decision. Her first words made him believe she was going to fire him. At least she was thinking about it now. “Forty-five minutes walking at a normal speed is a little more than two miles. If you were walking as fast as you look it might be closer to three miles.” She paused and eyed him up and down. “Look, here’s the thing. I’m not so much a stickler on a lot of rules, but I get a lot of transients in here. They work a few days then never show up again. They want to be paid at the end of each day but then I’m never sure if they’ll come the next day, so I stopped doing that. It’s one of the reasons I’m shorthanded. “I also get a lot of druggies or recovering addicts or alkies. If you fall into one of those two categories it’s best you just quit now.” “I don’t do drugs and though I enjoy a beer once in a while, don’t have a drinking problem. What I have is a financial problem. I have no car, no phone, a few clothes, and little money. I need a job and if you give me the chance, I will be a good employee.” “No offense, but I’ve heard that speech before. You might be a good employee but for how long?” “Neither of us will know for sure unless you let me in.” She eyed him again while she nibbled on her upper lip, then, decision made, stepped aside for him to enter. “Don’t make me regret this.” Bennet didn’t bother making a promise she wouldn’t believe. He entered, thankful for the chance. “And go wash up. I don’t want customers seeing you all sweaty.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Clara gave him a verbal list of things to do. He started by rolling the overhead door up and hauling in the piles. Once that was done, he closed the door. The store opened for business at ten. Opening duties for him were to bring in the previous night’s leavings and begin processing those items. At ten the front and rear doors were opened. Customers came in the front, those dropping items off used the back. Anyone wishing to get paid brought their items to Clara for pricing. At one as a lull occurred, Clara came into the back and asked Bennet to watch the front while she ate her lunch. She gave him a quick tutorial on the cash then left him alone. He managed his way through a few sales and by the time Clara returned he had the hang of the machine. “Go ahead and take your lunch now.” He must have displayed something on his face that made her ask, “You didn’t bring lunch, did you?” “No, I wanted to get here on time and forgot to grab something.” “There’s a burger place two blocks down if you want to run down there.” He thought about that and his limited funds. “No, that’s alright. Thanks anyway.” He turned to go to the back room. “Do you need an advance on your pay?” He stopped. As tempting as that was, he said, “No. I’m good. Thanks though.” He returned to his task of sorting wondering if Clara’s offer had been a test. A short time later, Clara entered and offered him a bottled water. “Thought you could use this.” “Yeah, that’s great. Thank you so much.” He accepted the bottle, twisted the cap, and drank a third down while she watched. “I needed that.” He smiled at her. “Look, if you’re short of funds to the point you can’t eat, I will advance you a small amount.”

Bennet thought about her offer. This time he didn’t think it was a trap. She sounded sincere. “I appreciate the offer. If I get to the point where eating is a problem, I’ll accept your offer. But right now, I’m doing okay. I’m getting by.” He smiled at her then changed the subject. “The items in this pile are ready for you to price. Since this is my first day and I don’t want to make a mistake, this pile is things I wasn’t sure of. If you go through that one it’ll give me a better understanding of what’s acceptable or not. I’m going to take this pile to the dumpster.” It took four trips to clear the dumpster pile. By the time he was done Clara had sorted the maybe pile keeping only four items of clothing. That gave Bennet an idea of what Clara’s requirements were. Still, as he looked at the discarded items, he thought it a shame. Surely someone could get use from the clothes. “I see wheels turning,” Clara said. “See something you want?” “Huh? Oh, no, I was just wondering. What if we put these things in a box and set it in a corner? Maybe charge fifty cents to a dollar for each item. They didn’t cost you anything and may generate some small sales. “Well, I see two problems with that from the start. One, after a while the box will be overflowing and we’ll have a mess. And two, if they spend their money on low priced items the ones that make me more money will sit on the racks.” “Okay, how about this? I empty the box each week and add new so it’s constantly turning over. I can take the things we’re getting rid of to a homeless shelter to disburse or dump.” “That takes care of the clutter but some of those homeless are my customers. If you give them free things, they won’t buy from me.” “How many of them have money to buy, or at least enough to make a difference in your sales. By donating to a shelter, you might be able to claim it on taxes and may have more benefit then the few sales you lose.” She studied him for a minute before responding. “I want you to understand something. This is my business. You’re an employee. I make the decisions here and have been doing alright since I opened four years ago. I don’t need someone who may or may not stay more than a week trying to change things.” She paused. “That being said, if you have suggestions that might help sales I’ll listen.

As long as you respect my decision as final and don’t nag me about it later.” Bennet nodded wishing he had kept his idea to himself. “But let’s try it for a week and see what happens. You handle it. At the end of the week, I’ll decide if we continue it or not.” Bennet brightened. “Okay. Thanks.” By the time he put a large cardboard box in the corner of the showroom and filled it, it was time to leave. He said, “See you tomorrow.” “On time,” Clara answered. On his way home Bennet did some calculating. He worked a little over five hours. At minimum wage that meant a few dollars more than forty. New car here I come. With the thought of money coming in soon, he stopped at a local grocery and bought a loaf of wheat bread from the discounted bin, and cheap brands of peanut butter and detergent. Now he had lunch for tomorrow. As he pushed through the door of the house the phone was ringing. He rushed to answer it noticing the booth was gone. “Hello, is this Bennet Wilson?” “Who’s calling?” “It’s Winston Crawford.” The Attorney. What did he want now? “Mr. Wilson?” “Yes sir.” “I was just calling to see if you made any decision about the house. Are you keeping it or abandoning it?” “I guess, for the moment, I’m keeping it.” “As your primary residence?” “Not just as my primary residence, my only residence.”

“Wonderful. Your father would be happy.” The mention of his father brought a swarm of questions he wanted to ask. “Mr. Crawford, how well did you know my father?” “He was a client. Nothing more.” “But, I mean, you talked with him. Did he ever tell you anything, ah, about the house?” “We talked at length during one of our appointments. Is there something you wish to know? Do you have a specific concern?” “Well,” suddenly Bennet wasn’t sure how to continue without sounding crazy. “Did he ever mention, ah, strange things happening in the house?” “I don’t understand. Strange, like what?” “I can’t explain it, just—never mind. Did he ever mention a safe?” “Yes, he did. I take it you found it?” “Yes, but I don’t know the combination. Did he give it to you?” “No, but he was very excited, yet concerned about the contents.” “Did he say what was in the safe?” “Only that it contained an important and valuable discovery.” “But he didn’t give you the combination to give to me?” “No. He did say, however, that you were a smart boy and would figure it out. I got the impression he left clues around the house for you to find and decipher. He was concerned that someone else might get into the house and attempt to break into the safe. He made it difficult for that to happen. Whatever is in that safe was important and potentially dangerous. That’s why he was adamant that no one else but you live in that house.” Bennet didn’t know what else to ask but the attorney had given him a lot to think about. He said good-bye and hung up. As he fixed dinner, he replayed the

conversation settling on one key bit of information. The combination to the safe was hidden somewhere in the house.

CHAPTER NINE

He ate fast and hurried to his father’s room. If a clue was hidden anywhere it would be in this room. Even knowing the importance of entering Bennet still paused with his hand inches from the door. A memory surfaced. He pivoted and entered the office. At the desk, he found the carved number. Twenty-six. Was that one of the numbers? He studied the safe. How many numbers were in the combination? Three? Four? Five? Bennet doubted it was three. That was more for combination locks. So, four or five numbers. He bent over the desk and scanned every inch of the exterior. Then he moved to the interior, the drawers, and the cubby holes they slid into. Nothing. He needed to get the locked drawer open. The key ring. He hurried to the kitchen where he had discarded the ring of keys given to him by the attorney’s snobbish assistant. He found them on the counter. Back in the office, he tried every key. When none of them worked, he retried them all. Annoyed and frustrated, he sat back in the desk chair and stared at the drawer as if he could open the stubborn lock with his mind. Tools. He needed tools. Did his father own any? He tried to recall if he ever saw any sort of tool around the house. He knew there were tools in the garage at the old house but had he seen them since? Maybe they were still packed away in a box someplace. But where would a box be stored? It wasn’t like they had a lot of closet space. Try as he might, Bennet did not ever seeing a packed box. Maybe they left the tools at the old house for the new owners. The garage. When was the last time he looked in the garage? Had he ever? He went out the back door and around the house. The one-car garage stood back and away from the house. The driveway was paved up to the side of the house and then became a packed dirt lane. The building was wood construction and sorely in need of painting. He went around the side to the door. Locked. That figured. He tried the double front door. That was locked as well. Each side had four small glass panes. He pressed his face to several but had trouble making anything out. Bennet stepped back searching for a weak spot that might be exploited. Wait. He ed seeing a key marked ‘garage’ at some point. Was it when he lived

here before or on his more recent explorations? He scanned his mind for a thread he could pull to bring the memory forward. A glimpse of a drawer shot past moving at high speed. He rewound and slowed it down. It had to be a kitchen drawer. He ran to the house, leaped to the porch and into the house. In the kitchen, he yanked out drawers and rifled through them. he was sure he spotted it in one of these drawers. His frustration growing, Bennet pulled out a drawer and dumped the contents on the counter. He sifted through the mound of assorted items. Nuts and bolts, screws, nails, wire ties for bread packages, broken pencils, pens, sticky note pads, all kinds of things except for a key. “Damn.” He slammed the counter with his palm making the items jump. The next drawer held silverware. The one after that contained an assortment of kitchen gadgets. The third one was empty. He shoved it closed as something caught his eye. He opened the drawer again and stared at the bottom . Against the back wall of the drawer, the number thirty-seven was carved into the wood. Twenty-six and thirty-seven. Two of the numbers for the combination? He wanted to believe so. The find excited him. He went back to the spilled contents of drawer number one, found a pen, and took the sticky note pad. Bennet scribbled the two numbers onto the pad, then held the empty drawer below the counter’s edge and swept everything back inside. He seated the drawer and turned. Two drawers were on the other side to the left and right of the sink. The left one contained more junk. As before, he dumped the contents, rummaged through them, and finding nothing, scanned the drawer for a carved number. Nothing. He put the items back. The right drawer held an assortment of knives, from a paring knife and steak knives to two sizes of chef’s knives. In the back was an old skeleton key with a white tag attached by a string. The tag read ‘garage.’ Elated with making two discoveries, Bennet snatched up the key and went back to the garage. The sky was beginning to darken as he inserted the key and held his breath, waiting to hear the click of the lock being drawn back. The key turned halfway then resisted. “No.” Bennet was almost frantic. He twisted the key back and forth then wiggled it. As a last resort before attempting to kick the door down, he

pulled the knob, tightening the door to the jam, and tried again. The key turned, met resistance, and slowly broke through the impediment. “Yes,” he cried out and pushed the door inward. In the waning sunlight, the inside was revealed showing an old greenish Chevy Impala. He didn’t know much about cars but thought it to be from the sixties or seventies. He vaguely ed the car from his youth. It was his father’s pride and joy and was only driven on special days and only during the warmer months on days it didn’t rain. He wondered if it still ran. It was yet another key that needed to be found. Wait. How did his father get around? He knew he seldom left the house, but didn’t he have a car? He tried to recall what car he had before he got sent away. It had been a little brown two-door. The make and model escaped him but what happened to that car? Little space existed between the walls and the car. He pondered for a moment how his father managed to get in and out of the car. There was barely enough room to walk let alone open the door. He squeezed along the car facing the workbench. A small assortment of tools was lined up as if in order of importance. He grabbed the hammer and a regular screwdriver and slid back toward the door. The early stages of night had fallen with only a slight cast of ambient light reflected upward from the setting sun. As Bennet was about to close the door, he heard a sound. He whirled around. The car had vanished. The interior was total darkness. He extended his hand and felt a leaf. It hung in midair like it floated. He grabbed it. It felt like it was attached to a branch. A rustling sound caused him to retract his hand. Various noises came from different points in the garage. Some sounded like birds, other noises reminded him of insects. Then he heard what sounded like a monkey. He was hallucinating again. Something large flew past him as he shut the door. He turned to see and caught the flash of bright red before it disappeared from view. He shut the door and something heavy pounded against the inner side. He jumped back then quickly inserted the key and locked the door. Bennet backed away, fearing the door would explode outward releasing a host of imaginary creatures into the world. The sounds ceased but from somewhere in the distance behind him he heard,

“Caw. Caw.” It was too much for his fragile mind and he bolted for the house. Locking the door behind him, he backed away from the door fearing someone or something might come calling. The back of his legs hit the sofa and he collapsed onto it. What was happening to his brain? Had he accidentally ingested something that caused hallucinations? Or maybe the food was so old it created some kind of bacteria that was affecting his mind. Unable to discern the cause of his mental breakdown, Bennet stayed on the couch for a while before calming enough to think. He stared down at the hammer and screwdriver, ed why he got them and went into the office. He wedged the blade between the top of the drawer and the desk and pried backward. The screwdriver popped out. The drawer was too tight to get a leveraging position. He set the blade again but this time tapped it further in with the hammer. When he pried back the screwdriver had some bite. The wood beneath the blade indented under the pressure. Bennet strained. “Come on. Let go.” The wood cracked and the drawer fell free. Bennet was surprised to find he was puffing from the effort. He pulled the drawer out and set it between his outstretched legs. It was filled with papers. He took a handful and sorted through them. Notes on what? Experiments? Other sheets held in-depth calculations but with no labels, Bennet couldn’t understand what they related to. Then he found a sheet with a heading. A question. How much space can exist within the physical dimensions of a room? A second sheet asked, Is it possible for dimensions to exist within another dimension? And a third was headed, Do alternate dimensions exist? What was all this? Alternate dimensions? Was that what the booth was? Maybe it existed in a parallel universe and only appeared in the morning. That would explain the sudden appearances. Wait. What was he saying? Was he accepting this, this science fiction as real? He pushed back from the drawer and leaned against the file cabinet. Bennet tried to expand his mind and take the possibilities in. If any of what his father had written was true it explained a lot, not only about what Bennet was seeing but about his father’s erratic behavior. It explained why he didn’t like to leave the

house or let someone other than Bennet own it. Now he understood the strange assortment of literature in the bookcase. But his father was a man of science and facts. How could he possibly believe any of this existed? Unless. No. But, what if—? No. “Hold on. Hold on. Wait a frigging minute.” He froze and took several deep breaths as if drawing more air to make the next round of internal debates clearer. Fact. His father wrote the headings on those pages. Fact. His father only believed that which he could prove or have physical evidence. Fact. He had volumes of books on the subject, though some of them were fictional s. Unknown. His father was working to prove the existence of alternate realities. Unknown. (Doubtful) His father found evidence of or proved alternate dimensions are real. Insanity. An alternate dimension existed in their kitchen. No, it was too much to comprehend. He had to know more and to do that he had to methodically go through the papers in the drawer. With a plan in mind, he set aside the fantastical and searched for the real. One sheet at a time came out of the pile to be perused. It took several hours to finish all the drawer contained. At the bottom of the drawer, he did a doubletake. He held the drawer up to get a better look but the dim bulb overhead wasn’t strong enough to bring whatever it was out. Bennet reached in and found the anomaly. He traced it with a finger. It felt like it was scratched into the surface. That thought excited him. He pushed his head into the drawer but that only served to cut off the light. Needing to know for sure, Bennet stood and went into the kitchen. The light was brighter. He held the drawer at different angles until the etching was revealed. It was another number. He was sure of it. But what he couldn’t make out. From the junk drawer, he pulled out an old flashlight. What were the odds the batteries still worked? He flicked it on. Dim but it lit. He lowered it inside the drawer, angled it just right, and found the number forty-two just before the light winked out. With the excitement of a child upon opening a birthday present, Bennet jotted the number down with the others. Twenty-six. Thirty-seven and now, forty-two. He hastened back to the office and squatted next to the safe. Giving the dial a quick turn, he went through every possible combination of the three numbers.

None worked. He didn’t think it would open. He needed at least one possibly two more numbers. Bennet searched for a while but came up blank. Too tired to look further, he went to the sofa and stretch out. For a time, he lay there thinking about everything he discovered today. Was this what his father meant by ‘important discoveries?’ Whatever had driven his father now had a hold on him. He had to know more. He only hoped it didn’t make him as weird as his father.

CHAPTER TEN

The next morning began in similar fashion to the previous. He took a quick shower, dressed, and went into the kitchen. The booth was back but he was able to ignore it. He made coffee and peanut butter toast for breakfast, then a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. He didn’t see any sandwich bags so he wrapped the sandwich in plastic wrap, then left the house with an hour to get to work. The trip was more casual this time. Though the exertion left him with a sheen across his forehead it was nothing like the dripping sweat of the day before. He took the time to revisit the findings of the night. He was excited. With the new job and discoveries, he felt he now had a purpose. Clara beamed when she opened the door to see him there early. “Wow! On time. That’s good. Now see if you can make that a trend.” Bennet laughed. “I will always do my best.” “That sounds like a boy scout motto or something.” He laughed again, set his meager lunch down, and went to work. Not that he was changing the world with his job but it felt good doing something. Getting the chance to feel normal again like before his prison stint. He liked feeling a part of society. Well, maybe not a part but at least on the fringes. The mound of items left overnight was twice that of the day before. He hauled it all in and got to work. It was a busy day. By noon he was beginning to feel the drain. Clara came in and made a sound. His head snapped up. He realized he had dozed off and hoped Clara didn’t see. “Watch the front for me so I can have lunch.” “Sure, no problem.” Clara stayed away longer this time, taking almost her full thirty minutes. That pleased Bennet. Perhaps Clara trusted him more now. When she came back, she said, “You bring lunch today?” “I sure did.” “Okay, go eat.”

The rest of the day went smoothly. Clara kept him six hours this time. As he was leaving, she said, “Thought you’d like to know I sold seventeen items out of your sale box today. Not big money but most bought other things as well.” “That’s great.” “See you tomorrow?” she said as a question. “I’ll be here.” Pleased with the day’s effort, Bennet hurried home. He wanted to spend as much time as possible searching for the other numbers. After three straight hours of searching everywhere he could think of, he found himself outside his father’s door once more. This time he touched the knob and recoiled. What was the problem? It wasn’t that his father was abusive or evil, it was more a feeling of neglect. After his mother and sister died, his father was a basket case. But he was too. With an emotional trauma like two family ' deaths, a breakdown was normal, expected even. But once they lost the house and moved into this one his father went beyond emotional distress to the edge of insanity. Maybe it was those memories that gave him pause from entering the room. The fear of what he might find inside his room to further convince Bennet that his father needed medical and psychological care. Perhaps it was the guilt of leaving his father alone to fend off the world, possibly, it was that he let his father down. He vividly ed the disappointment in his eyes during the trial. But what hurt most during that time was knowing his father believed he was guilty. How could he think that about him? That he would become a violent criminal. The pain was still too fresh, the hurt too deep. He shook his head, displacing the thoughts from his mind. Memories aside it was time to move on or forward, whatever the proper term was. Bennet grabbed the door, turned the knob, and pushed. Nothing. The damn door was locked. Of course, it was. Why did he expect anything having to do with his father would be easy? Frustrated, he threw his hands up and screamed, “Ahhh!” as he walked down the hall to the kitchen. He sat in the kitchen debating on what to eat when there came a knock at the door. Surprised, he hesitated as if not sure he heard it the first time. When it happened again it was more insistent. He hoped it wasn’t the cops again. He got up and peered through the window. It was Crawford’s assistant, the snobby lady

who felt put out driving him here that first day like he was beneath her. Bennet opened the door. The woman, he couldn’t her name, flashed a quick smile, and handed him a large yellow envelope. “Mr. Crawford wanted you to have this.” He took it and she turned to walk away. “Why didn’t he just mail it?” Without glancing back, she said, “Oh, believe me, I asked him the same question.” Bennet took the envelope to the kitchen and sat at the small table. He studied it for a moment, taking in the handwriting, the address and the stamps like he expected a clue to the envelope’s sudden appearance, on its surface. Fearing it to be bad news he was reluctant to open it. What if it’s a bill for Crawford’s services? There goes the car. He tore through the taped flap and looked inside. A sheet of paper and a smaller, sealed, white envelope. He slid them out onto the table. The envelope had ‘Bennet’ scribbled across the front. It was his father’s sloppy handwriting. He stared at it for a moment then set it down and picked up the paper. By the look and feel it was a more expensive stock and had an elaborate letterhead for Winston Crawford and associates. He read: Dear Bennet, Please excuse my tiny fib about not knowing your father. When he first came to me, I thought him quite eccentric. But each time I met with him I came to see the intelligence behind those eyes. There also existed an inner haunting, a permanent pained look over the loss of both your mother and sister and to some extent, you. Though he never went into much detail I felt your leaving hurt him deeply. I doubt he understood the reasons but let the blame fall heavily on his shoulders. It was a great regret of his and wished he had a way of getting a second chance. In our time I came to understand and like him and to know he found something fantastic in that house though he never went into detail as to what. Whatever it

was excited him yet also frightened him. It was the reason for his initial visit. He was of the mind that whatever he discovered, remarkable as it was, would also be the death of him. He left this unopened letter with me to be sent to you if and only if you decided to stay in the house. I hope it gives you answers and perhaps some comfort knowing in those final days he thought of you a lot. It would have brought him great joy to have shared his discovery with you. Regards, Winston Crawford, Attorney Bennet set the letter down and stared at the wall. Quick memories of his father during happier times floated past his mind’s eye. He picked the letter up and reread it, then picked up the envelope. He studied the scribbling for a moment and was surprised to find his vision blurred. He wiped at his eyes and opened the envelope. Inside were three folded pieces of paper. Two were in the tri-fold style of letters, the third was a half sheet folded in half. He picked up one of the tri-folds and unfolded it. Bennet, I am extremely sorry that I was the cause of your leaving. That was never my intent but lost as I was after the loss of your mother and sister, I was unable to cope, thus ignored you. I wish I had the chance to do it all again—to somehow make it up to you, but as my days grow numbered, I fear that shall never be. I understand why you left; I was certainly inattentive and in those last few months I had made a discovery so unbelievable that it occupied all my thoughts and time. Forgive me, son. It is all I can ask. I wish I knew how to get in touch with you so I could say these three words, I love you. If you are reading this it is because my fears have come true and I am dead. Mr. Crawford has been a great help to me in setting everything up. He can answer some of your questions but due to the nature of my discovery, I felt it too

important and dangerous to trust anyone with the knowledge. You are the only one I trust to handle this right. I have enclosed directions that should prove useful. Be careful. Love always, Your Father

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tears flowed freely . Bennet made no effort to wipe them. he stared unseeing at the letter feeling guilt wash over him. He wiped them away minutes later, then picked up the second tri-folded paper. Bennet, It is vital that no one but you read this letter. The information within is important but if in the wrong hands may prove devastating. Whatever you might think of me, know this, your father was not crazy. As you will soon discover for yourself. I did not want to risk putting the discovery into this letter. Instead, I have hidden clues around the house that will lead you to the one place the information is stored. I’m sorry but I could not make it too easy. You will have to work to find these clues but trust me, the time spent will be worth the effort. The final two clues will take a conversation but not with anyone you know, in fact, not with anyone. You’re a smart young man. You’ll figure it out. Good luck and , tell no one. Love, Dad The third piece of paper was exactly that, a torn page from a scratchpad that had a hand-sketched drawing. The picture showed three walls in a U-shape. A large square object sat in the middle. But it was the lower and flat surface that went three-quarters of the way around the square that gave away what it was—the booth. At the top of the page were the words, ‘The Morning Room,’ written in his father’s scrawl. On each side of the booth, higher than the table were two arrows. He assumed they pointed at the two paintings hung there. At the bottom of the page the words, You have everything you need to solve the puzzle, were written.

The Morning Room. He rolled the name around his mind for a moment. He could see how his father came to name it that since the booth only seemed to be there at that time. He assumed the final two numbers were on or in the paintings someplace. He walked to the rear wall but there was nothing to see. He had to wait for the morning. Then he ed his new job. “Guess I’ll have to get up earlier,” he told the wall. What he needed was an alarm clock. He’d have to search the secondhand store tomorrow to see if Clara had one. The part about the conversation confused him. It wasn’t like his father knew anyone he might converse with. But what did ‘not with anyone’ mean? Was he to talk with himself? Or was his father’s ghost going to arrive? He hoped that wasn’t a possibility. Not that he wouldn’t like the chance to speak to his father if only to clear the air between them, but seeing his dad as a ghost or even knowing they were real was more than he thought he could handle. His stomach rumbled reminding him he hadn’t yet eaten. He looked through his meager stores and opted for a can of chicken noodle soup. After putting the soup in a pot and on the stove, Bennet made a peanut butter sandwich as his appetizer. While he ate, he reread the letters, growing increasingly excited at finding his father’s ‘unbelievable discovery.’ He allowed his imagination to run with fantastic possibilities. Beautiful exotic lands, wonderfully entertaining people, vast riches for the taking. He paced the house excitedly for a long period until he grew tired and settled down. Even as he lay on the sofa his mind continued to work, to dream. After a while, he wondered if sleep would come. He tried shutting his brain down but the effort to do so kept him awake. It was late in the night before Bennet finally succumbed. His fears about oversleeping had been a waste of concern. He was up before dawn and pacing the kitchen. The booth was not yet there. He prayed it came. Maybe his presence in the kitchen prevented its arrival. He made coffee and stood at the counter watching the brew drip into the pot. Finished brewing he poured a cup, held it between his hands for warmth, and inhaled the aroma. As he lifted the cup for that first revitalizing sip, he glanced up. The booth had arrived. Even expecting it, the sight both startled and unnerved him. After all, it was just yesterday morning when he thought it a hallucination and that he was going insane like his father. Now, he was relieved to know it was real and that

neither he nor his father was crazy. With anxious yet nervous steps, he arrived at the table. The paintings were still there. He looked at each. If a number was carved in either of the frames, they weren’t easy to find. He set the cup down and slid on his knees in front of the picture on the left. Ignoring the painting, Bennet scanned the surface of the frame. With all the etched lines in long curves and curls, it was difficult to see a number. He took his time moving from the bottom to the right side, inches from the frame. As he moved to the top a voice shouted, “Watch it you fool.” A sharp pain, like a pinprick, lanced his neck. He backed away and slapped at the spot thinking it a bee or wasp sting. He felt something tiny between his fingers and pulled it from his neck with a second pinprick of pain. He glanced down at it but had trouble determining what it was. He held it up close to his eyes. Were those feathers? Then it came to him. My God, it’s an arrow. Someone in the painting shot him. In utter disbelief, he looked up. The rider drove his sword through an archer. The long blade erupted out the archer’s back. The rider yanked it back ripping it from the now dead man’s body. It fell to the ground. “I tried to warn you. Get too close and you’re liable to get more than an arrow in the neck.” Bennet wasn’t sure what startled him more: the fact that the painting moved, that the painting talked, or that he was shot by a tiny arrow. Once more he thought he was going crazy. “Stay back now, lad, it’s for your own safety.” “You can talk?” Bennet said, stating the obvious. “Well of course I can talk. I haven’t lost my tongue now, have I.” The rider spoke with an old English accent. The horse reared then brought its hooves down on an enemy soldier. It was like watching a movie, only this one was interactive. “How is this happening?” “What do you mean? It’s a battle, lad.”

“But-but, why is this happening?” “Ah, you need to spend more time studying history. A battle is what happens when two parties disagree on something so strongly, they feel the need to force the other group to their way of thinking.” “Is this real?” The rider ducked as a spear flashed past his head. “Oh, it’s real lad. Come in if you want to know for sure.” “Is that possible.” “Aye. If you’ve a mind I can get you in the midst of the battle. Just say the word.” To his surprise, Bennet found he had an interest, but if he said ‘the word,’ whatever that was, was he stuck in the painting forever or was there a way of returning?” Then another more meaningful thought entered his mind. What if he died in the painting?

“I’m busy here, lad. What’s it going to be?” “Ah, not today. Maybe another day.” “Aye, probably a good decision.” Through with the conversation, Bennet backed away. Then the words of his father’s letter came back to him and suddenly made sense. A conversation ‘not with anyone.’ He leaned forward again and saw two tiny darts coming straight for his face. He flinched and threw up his hands in a defensive manner. Two tiny pinpricks shot more pain then he thought possible from two such small objects. He looked at his hand. The two arrows protruded from his palm only these were twice as long as the first one. He was able to grab them easier. As he pulled back, he felt the tug of the arrowhead against his skin. For a moment he feared their removal might require a doctor to cut them out. Then with sharp pain, they pulled free. He set them on the table and looked at the painting.

The rider had his back to him engaged in a fight with two men on the ground with spears. What struck him though was their blue uniforms. He turned to look at the other painting. This one was not moving but the man on horseback with the spear had the same blue uniform as the men fighting in the left side painting. Did the paintings depict the same battle from different vantage points? Bennet was anxious to ask his questions but didn’t want to distract the swordsman for fear of him losing the fight. He wondered if the soldier who had died was no longer in the painting. He didn’t want to take that risk. He needed answers and if the man died, he’d never get them. He watched like a fan rooting for his favorite MMA star. The rider sliced through one spearman and turned his attention to the second. With two deft strokes, he cut the man down. A third spearman came up from behind. Bennet yelled, “Behind you.” In a flash, the rider whipped the horse around and swatted the spear to the side a second before it would have impaled him. The horse reared up and knocked the man down, then trampled him under the thick, heavy hooves. The rider moved the horse forward and the man’s features were clear. A set of white teeth appeared beneath the heavy mustache. “Thanks, lad.” “You’re welcome. Sir, do you have a message for me?” “A message?” “From my father.” “And who might your father be, some lord, too rich and powerful to set foot on a battlefield?” “No sir. He’s like me. On this side of the painting.” “What’s his name, lad?” “Wilson. Theodore Wilson.” “Ah, Teddy. Yes of course. A good man. Haven’t seen him of late. He doing alright?”

Bennet lowered his head. “No sir. My father,” he choked on the words. He lifted his head and looked into the face of the mounted man. “My father died last week.” “Oh, lad, I’m so sorry to hear that. He truly was a good man and a delight to have discussions with. I will miss him.” They remained silent for a moment then the man said, “What’s your name lad?” “Bennet.” “Well Bennet, I’m Sir John Wilford. Nice to meet you. He reached his hand toward him. To his astonishment, a full-size hand protruded from the painting and hung in midair. Getting over his initial shock, Bennet took the hand and gave it a shake, noting the warm and rough calloused feel of the skin. “Nice to meet you, sir.” “You are welcome, anytime, Bennet. You saved my life. You have a friend for eternity.” “So, did my father give you a message for me?” “Aye, lad. That he did. I’m to tell you seventeen. Does that make sense to you?” “Yes, it does. That’s very helpful. Thank you.” “No problem. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve got more Frenchmen to dispatch.” “Good luck,” Bennet said to the man’s back as he rode away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bennet looked at the second painting with hopes getting the last number was as easy and as interesting. He slid from the booth but before moving to the other side, glanced at the time. He froze. “Oh, no.” He had thirty minutes to get to work. He ran like a maniac through the house then bolted out the door. He ran hard for a few minutes before giving way to exhaustion. If he was going to constantly be late, he had to get in better shape. He jogged, keeping a steady pace choosing being on time over showing up all sweaty and gross. If he was on time, he’d have an hour to clean up before customers arrived. As he got closer to the store and feeling that time was running out, Bennet pushed himself for more speed. He had no idea what time it was when he arrived but knocked on the door and hoped. Without comment, the door was opened. Clara stood there smiling. “Wow! Two days in a row on time . . .” Then she looked at him and the smile faded. “Sorry. I ran all the way to be on time.” “I appreciate the effort, but we may need to keep you out of sight for much of the day.” She stepped back to let him in. “You wouldn’t happen to have any alarm clocks for sale, would you?” She laughed. “Having trouble waking up? Yeah, I have a few out there.” “I need something to ensure I wake at the same time each morning, so I don’t have to run.” “Doesn’t anyone in your household have a phone or a clock they can set?” “No. I live alone.” “Oh.” “That surprises you?” “Ah, well, yeah, I guess it does. I guess considering your lack of funds you lived

with someone else or with your parents.” He shook his head, not sure how much to tell Clara. Then the words just came out. “Both my parents are dead.” Her expression changed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “My father ed just last week.” “I am sorry for your loss.” Bennet almost said, “At the time it wasn’t much of a loss but it is now,” but managed to keep that sentence internal. Changing the conversation to lessen her embarrassment, Clara said, “Why don’t you take a few minutes to wash up before starting?” “Good idea.” When Bennet came out of the bathroom, he felt much better. Sections of his shirt were still damp, but he didn’t feel as sticky. Clara was taking care of her duties out front. He opened the overhead door and dragged in the overnight drop-offs, then closed the door and went to work. He didn’t see Clara again. When she hadn’t come back to ask him to cover her for lunch, he became concerned. Was she avoiding him because of her questions? Had he made a comment that upset her? Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. It surprised him to learn he cared. He didn’t know her but somehow felt close to her even though he was sure that was only one-sided. Besides, it wasn’t like he was falling in love with her. She was the only person he talked to regularly, other than Crawford. It was more the need for human interaction than anything else. He pushed through the swinging doors to the front and found her leaning on the counter eating a sandwich and reading a book. No customers were there at the moment. The door squeaked as it swung back and Clara lifted her head. Her expression was blank. “I just wanted to check if you needed me to cover you for lunch but I see you’re already eating.”

“Yeah. It’s been slow today so I decided to eat here.” “Sure. I just wanted to make sure. I hadn’t seen you since this morning and thought you might be swamped.” “Nope. It’s so slow I think I’m going to cut you loose.” Panic struck his gut hard. “You mean for today or for permanent?” Clara hesitated and for a moment Bennet feared she was giving it some hard thought. Then she said, “No. Just for today.” Bennet felt the rush of air from his lungs. He nodded, turned to go, then ed the alarm clock. He moved through the aisles until he found three clocks. Two were plugins, one was a fold-up travel clock. He checked the prices. Three dollars for the plugins, two for the portable. He picked up the portable clock and went to the counter. He set it down and pulled out his small wad. “Let me ask you something.” “Sure,” he said, sifting through his few bills. “Is that the extent of your money?” He looked up. The question took him by surprise. He thought about lying. That he had lots more at home or in the bank, but the truth came out instead. “Yeah. At least until payday.” He gave a smile. She nodded. “I’ll tell you what. Take it and I’ll deduct the cost from your first check.” “That’s fine, but you said it was a slow day. I can pay it now if you want.” She snorted a laugh. “It’s been so slow the extra two dollars is not going to make a difference. Besides, the way the pay schedule is set up, you work for two weeks and get paid in the third week.” “Each time?”

“No. You get paid every two weeks except for the first two weeks you work. Don’t worry. It’s standard. You’re not getting cheated. The reason I’m telling you is because tomorrow is the end of the first week. You have to make that money last two more weeks.” “Ah. Got it.” He picked up the clock, folded it, and stuck it in his pants pocket. “Thanks for looking out for me. I appreciate that. Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yep. Bye.” For whatever reason, she was not as friendly as usual. Bennet hoped it wasn’t because of something he did. Only three hours today. If that was a trend it meant getting a car was delayed. The return home was at a slower pace. He took his time and window shopped along the way. Surprisingly, when you have so little you get used to not having much and don’t miss it. Though he saw many things of interest in the store windows there was nothing that called out to him, “Buy me.” However, the places that drew and held his interest were restaurants, especially since he missed breakfast and was too late to make lunch. One day, he promised himself. One day he wouldn’t have to worry about spending money on food. But now that his stomach had been awakened and was rumbling and he was salivating, it was time to get home. Besides, he had a lot of research to do. The cans of food were running low. He wanted to save them for dinner so made a peanut butter sandwich and opened the can of fruit cocktail. Bennet took his meal into the office and sat on the floor in front of the safe. Though he was one number short of the full combination and didn’t know the order he entered the first four numbers in the order he found them, twenty-six, thirty-seven, fortytwo, and seventeen, then went down the entire rotation of all sixty numbers on the dial. It took longer than expected, and in the end, had nothing to show for his time. He lay back staring at the ceiling. What to do? He could continue trying random combinations but after doing so for hours that didn’t hold much interest. One other thought came to mind. The one place he could get into and explore. The garage. With a sudden burst of energy, Bennet was on his feet and moving to the kitchen. He set his plate, spoon, and empty can in the sink then dug out the

skeleton key for the garage door. ing the jungle had only shown after dark he searched for a flashlight. He grabbed the one from the previous day and flicked it on. It lit but was dimmer than before. It wouldn’t last long. Bennet turned it off and hunted for batteries. None. His frustration grew and the pressure of his anger began to pound in his head. He went out to the garage anyway just to be doing something. The flashlight was jammed in his back pocket. While it was still daylight, he wanted to check out the car and whatever else he might find. The door opened and he stood in the doorway scanning the space. He wondered how long the Impala had been idle. Perhaps it wouldn’t start even with the key. He hadn’t seen anything that resembled a car key on the ring, but he’d look again to be sure. If not, hopefully, the key was in the safe. He stepped across the threshold, squeezed between the bench and the car, and looked at the dust-covered top. The tool assortment, minus the hammer and screwdriver he already took, included a series of wrenches, both box and adjustable, were followed by six different size screwdrivers, both flathead and Phillips. Four pliers of various shapes and a hatchet filled out the line. On the opposite side of the car on a rack attached to the wall were the usual garden and yard tools. A shovel, two rakes, a snow shovel, a hoe, hedge trimmers, and a push broom. There wasn’t much in the garage. He glanced up at the rafters. A floor had been built for storage that covered the back third of the garage. Two cardboard boxes were visible near the edge. Propped against the wall past the bench was a six-foot wooden step ladder. With the car in the garage, not enough room existed to open the ladder, but if it was set against the wall unopened, he might be able to reach one of the boxes. He didn’t have anything else to do so decided to give it a try. Bennet tested the ladder. It felt secure. He moved up two rungs and waited to see if it held. When it didn’t fall or slide, he climbed another step. From there he was able to reach the shelf but was too far from the boxes to touch them. One more step brought him to eye level with the floorboards. By holding onto the boards and moving hand to hand sideways he was able to reach the first box. Holding on with one hand he reached around the box with the other and dragged it toward him. The box rotated as he pulled, revealing a word written in black

felt pen. Miranda. His sister. It was a box of her things. He let go of the box and moved away. Flashes of memory invaded his thoughts: His sister appeared in various scenes. Her junior high graduation. She never made it to her senior year. Her playing softball and basketball for the school teams. She was the athlete in the family. Her wrapping her arms around him after opening the Christmas presents he gave her. He sobbed. His poor sister had so much going for her—so much to look forward to—all gone in an instant. He looked at the box and had a good idea of the contents. His sister’s things didn’t deserve to be relegated to garage storage. He’d put it in the office until he had a chance and the nerve to go through the contents. He reached back up and slid it above the ladder then took it down. Descending was tricky with the bulky and heavy box. He lowered two steps until he was able to set it on the bench. Then he went back for the second one. With Miranda’s box out of the way he now saw a third box pushed farther back. Bennet stretched to his limits and was just able to grab a corner of the second box. It spun a quarter turn. Twice more with small progress brought it to a point where he could get his fingers around the far side of the box. From there moving it toward him was easy. He set it next to his sister’s box and pushed to make room for the third one. He noticed his name on this box. It had to be stuff from his room. Judging by how hard he struggled to reach the second box, the third was not in reach. Bennet looked around the garage in search of an aide. He stopped on the rack of long-handled tools. He got down, settled on the hoe and reclimbed the ladder. It took several failed attempts before he managed to snag the last box. Once in a position to grab it he dropped the hoe next to the ladder and went to grab the box. He froze with his fingers on the box as the name came into view. Mom. His mother’s things. Another rush of memories ran through him. Too many, too fast to light on anyone. He thought about leaving his mother’s box there, not sure he would ever have the courage to go through her things, then shoved the sadness aside and brought it down, setting it next to the first two. The boxes each had an inch of dust on them except for his. It must not have been up there as long as the other two. He dusted them off with his hand as best he could, then blew across the top sending a cloud of dust into the air. One at a time

he carried the heavy boxes into the house. He set them in the right-hand corner one on top of the other. When he returned to the garage to lock it up the sky was darkening. He paused first looking toward the approaching night sky then at the interior of the garage. A quick estimation gave him a wait time of about twenty minutes before nightfall. He decided to wait but before the changeover, he went inside and picked up the hatchet. He didn’t want to be caught unarmed if whatever beast had banged on the door was suddenly in his face. Bennet closed the door but left enough space to see inside. The minutes crept by with annoying slowness. A feeling of anxiety about facing the unknown bloomed in his chest, restricting airflow and increasing pulse rate. As darkness engulfed him, he heard a sound from inside the garage. With caution, he pushed the door but before he got too far a voice from behind him shot his heart into his throat.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I wouldn’t do that ,” the voice said. Bennet whirled, lifting the hatchet in front of him. A red flash blurred past. He moved the hatchet in a weak swing far too late to be of any defensive measure. The voice was next to him now. “It’s a jungle in there if you know what I mean.” Bennet jerked backward, striking the back of his head on the doorframe. “Ow!” he cried out, as he searched for the source of the voice. A bright red, blue and green bird that looked a lot like a Macaw was perched on the window sill looking at him. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I just wanted to warn against entering the jungle. A lot of dangerous creatures reside in those dark woods.” Bennet stammered unable to form words. “Who? What? Ah, Where?” “You’re doing very well,” the bird said. “Only three more to go. Would you like some help ing them?” Bennet was too shocked to speak. “Very well. You forgot why, when and how.” “This can’t be real.” “Oh, it’s real alright. I should know. Until you opened the door to allow me to escape, I used to live in there. You can believe me when I say it’s a jungle in there, both figuratively and literally.” Bennet swallowed in an attempt to get saliva flowing to lubricate his throat and enable him to speak. “Who, ah, are you?” “Ah, it does speak. I am Moreno. And you are?” “B-B-Bennet.” “Nice to meet you B-B-Bennet. I like your world. It’s much less congested and

safer than in my world.” “What do you mean ‘world?’” “It isn’t a difficult word. World meaning where I’m from. You are from this world. I’m from the one in there.” “But-but you’re a bird.” “Hey now, no need to be insulting. I am a Macabawa. A very proud race from the world of Jungletta. What world is this?” Bennet ignored the question. “But you talk.” “Of course, I talk. Don’t the Macabawas here talk?” “No, well, some do but their vocabulary is limited.” “I have noticed your lesser avian species don’t talk. Most in my world do have limited speech. The Macabawas are a higher-order, more intelligent race. We are at the higher end of the intelligence spectrum in our world. Where do you place?” “Ah, I don’t know. There are so many forms of life here. Man is at the top, but I don’t know where I rank amongst them.” “Huh! From what I’ve seen so far I’d guess middle of the pack.” “Hey.” “No offense intended.” “Well, some taken.” “Tsk. Tsk. Perhaps initiating a dialogue was a mistake.” Moreno flew off. “No, wait. Don’t go. I have so many questions.” The large bird flew to a tree near the back of the property. “What are your questions?”

“How many other worlds are there?” “I do not know. But if more than one exists it stands to reason that others may as well.” “Where is your world located?” “I do not understand the question. It is obvious it is through that door.” Huh, Bennet thought. You’re not as smart as you think you are. “I think many more exist and somehow are connected to this place.” He pointed at the house. “Interesting—and worth exploring. Let me know when you know more.” “How can I reach you?” “I’ll be around. Oh, and a word of advice. Close the door before you let some of the bad races out.” Bennet looked at the door, now aware of a multitude of sounds coming from within. A roar shook him. He yanked the door shut as again something heavy slammed into the other side. He fumbled with the key as whatever beast it was rammed against the wooden door. How long will it stand under such force? The roar ripped through the door causing Bennet to shake. The key went in. He turned it, setting the lock and all sounds and pounding ceased. His blood raced wildly through his veins like category five rapids. He felt lightheaded and leaned against the door. Moreno was nowhere in sight. Bennet staggered like a drunk into the house. It took a while for his nerves to settle. For the first time, he thought he might need help handling whatever this house represented. But who could he tell or ask for assistance? He didn’t know anyone. After a while, he was able to focus on other things then the jungle room. He stripped and washed his clothes, then took a shower. By the time both were done he was exhausted and ready for bed. He wound the clock, adjusted the time, and set the alarm. As he lay down, he thought better of his choice and reset the alarm for a half-hour earlier. He had a lot to do in the morning and didn’t want to be late for work.

Bennet spent a fitful night flying in and out of various dreams like he had wings attached. He didn’t any of them but by the way he felt upon waking, they must have taken a physical toll. The ringing alarm brought him to a sitting position and took a few seconds for clarity. He swung his legs to the floor and rubbed his face. He was still tired but forced himself to a standing position. He went to the bathroom. By the time he came out he was much more awake and in need of coffee. He made the last half pot that he had and wondered how he was going to get through the rest of the week. More peanut butter on toast rounded out his meal. He had to be careful because the peanut butter was already half consumed. He took his meal to the booth and ate while he waited for the paintings to come to life. Was there a certain time or was it initiated by his actions? Did the people portrayed in the paintings actually die? He studied the painting on the English side to see if he recognized any of the enemy soldiers who died the day before. He didn’t but memorized those at the forefront of the painting this morning to see if they might still be there tomorrow. Bennet switched positions to the other side of the booth and moved closer to the painting. He didn’t want to get too close, ing his near-miss with the spear but was sure his nearness initiated the action. As soon as he was a foot from the painting, he saw movement from the horseman. His head turned slightly, his eyes narrowed, and the spear twitched in his hand. He anticipated the move as rider, horse and spear whirled his way. He backed away in time as three inches of the spear came through the painting. The rider said something in French that Bennet did not understand. “Sorry, but I don’t speak French,” That seemed to irritate the man more. He thrust the spear again, this time extending it six inches. He was trying to pierce him. How was he going to get the last number he needed to open the safe if he didn’t understand French and the person who had the information was trying to kill him. In heavily French-accented English the rider said, “You are an English spy.” “No,” Bennet said, then hurriedly explained. “My name is Bennet. Teddy Wilson was my father.” It sounded strange calling him Teddy. He preferred Ted or Theodore.

“Ah qui, Monsieur Theodore is your papa?” “Yes, er, qui. He gave you a message for me.” “Qui, but where is your papa.” “I’m sorry to tell you but my father is deceased.” At this announcement the man’s face shrouded. His eyes narrowed, and an ugly look of hatred filled his eyes. “Was it those treacherous English? I will kill them all for this.” “No. No, it wasn’t the English.” Then under his breath, he added, “At least I don’t think it was them.” He glanced over his shoulder at the still painting. “But he left word that he spoke to you and that he left a message for me.” “I am extremely sorry for your loss. Lord Marius Falshone at your service.” He gave a slight bow. His horse did the same. Bennet wondered if the horse was trained to bow every time it heard the lord’s name. That might prove fatal if someone called his name in battle. “I’m Bennet Wilson.” He started to offer his hand but stopped and bowed instead. “Give him the code you filthy Frenchman.” The voice startled Bennet. He turned to see Sir John shaking a fist at Marius. “You stay out of this you English bastard.” “Bastard is it? You son of a swine.” “I shall run you through with my spear, you inbred moron.” “I’d like to see you try, fake royal. I’ve been waiting a hundred years to meet you face to face.” “You’re too much of a coward to face me.” “Coward. A coward.”

Bennet could see tiny drops of spittle fly from the Englishman’s mouth. As the droplets caught in his mustache it gave the appearance of him foaming at the mouth. “Gentleman, please. A little calm and respect please.” “Bennet’s father almost made that happen. One day it shall,” Sir John said. “Ah, qui, this is true. I shall not give you the message until you make it happen.” “Wait. What?” “Oh, lad, you don’t want to do what he says. If you our two battles and one of us falls while you’re on the other side, you may not be able to return. God help you if we both fall in battle. You’ll have no chance at all.” “I don’t understand. Other side of what?” “Aye, that is the question.” “Don’t listen to the man, young Bennet. His words betray his cowardice.” Sir John sputtered. “Coward. I’ll gut you, you swine.” “You have my , Monsieur Bennet. the two paintings and I will give you your message.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bennet was at a loss . He desperately wanted the number Lord Marius possessed, but Sir John’s warning had him concerned. And what did he mean by ‘other side?’ This was not going as anticipated. He leaned back across the table to get an angle to see the clock on the microwave. He had fifteen minutes to get what he needed and leave for work. “What do I have to do?” “Oh, Bennet. Lad, you don’t know what you are doing?” “I’m sorry Sir John, but I need that number.” “Do you need it so bad you risk your life to achieve your quest? Or ours for that matter?” “I,” his thought process broke down. He had to focus and devise a solution. “If I did this,” he said to Lord Marius, “what would I have to do?” “Oh Bennet . . .” “Quiet, you old fool,” Marius shouted across the booth. To Bennet, he said, “You sit at the back of the booth in the very center. Place your hands on the table and don’t let go until the battle is engaged.” Bennet shot a sheepish glance at Sir John. The man just sat astride his mount, staring with sad eyes at Bennet. “So be it, lad. I wish you well.” Bennet said, “I’m sorry, Sir John.” He sat on the bench and slid to the back of the booth. There he inched a little farther until sure he was in the exact middle. He glanced up at Lord Marius. The Frenchman nodded his approval and rode deeper into the painting. At first, Bennet didn’t notice any difference, then realized the paintings on both sides were expanding widthwise toward the back of the booth—toward each other. His head turned from side to side in a constant motion, watching the two paintings move along the wall, drawing ever closer to their destiny. The original paintings were eighteen inches wide, now each was closer to a yard.

As it moved, more of the battleground and many more soldiers were exposed. The images broke into action as soon as they were revealed. Forty inches. Fifty. They were now less than a yard apart. The connection was going to occur over his head. Both horsemen rode inches from the expanding end of the painting. As the gap narrowed to a foot separation, Bennet leaned forward and craned his neck to see the result. Ten inches. His position was awkward. He needed a better angle to view the battle. Eight inches. Something tugged at his back with enough force to move him on the seat. He squeezed the table hard. Six inches. Afraid of what might be sneaking up behind him, Bennet pulled forward, then turned to look at what had him as the pull gained strength. Four inches. Bennet glanced at both paintings, then at the remaining gap over his head. Two inches. The pull had more intensity to it. He had to know, to see, what was behind him. He released the table, “No,” he heard Lord Marius shout and Bennet began falling. No, not falling, flying backward. A chilled air rushed around him. He moved through a dark space, traveling fast. Bennet flailed his arms in an effort to somehow slow his body. He reached out in hopes of catching hold of something. What was happening? No answer came but the thought of his impending death took hold and forced a hysterical scream from his throat. His feet struck something hard. He collapsed his legs, reaching in desperation for something solid to latch onto. His butt hit hard with a jarring impact. He rolled backward, smacked the back of his head, stunning him before completing a backward roll and stopping face-first on dirt. He lay dazed and in the clear portion of his brain, afraid to move. Bennet was unsure how long he stayed still but after a while, he could hear noises all around him. That confused him. Was someone in the house? He worked to identify the sounds: a pounding like someone using a hammer. That sound was distant. Footsteps? Perhaps walking on a wooden platform. Wait. Were those voices? Someone was in the house. He was being robbed. He pushed up to look around. The move sent pain through his head. Maybe he had a concussion. It took a minute for his vision to clear and the sights to . He was on a dirt street in what appeared to be an old western town. Wooden

buildings stood on both sides of him. They stretched to the right and left. He pushed to his knees, rubbed at his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly, and looked again, this time taking in more detail. Most of the buildings were two stories high. He was unable to see where the row of buildings ended nor anything behind them. It was as if the street and long row of structures was the only thing here. “Oh, I so wish they would do something about the drunks who litter our streets.” The female voice made him gasp. Bennet whirled around toward the voice and backpedaled crab style. He froze and gasped again as the person . . . no . . . multiple persons came into focus. “Judging by his clothes and his shocked expression, I think he’s a traveler, dear.” A man and a woman walked down the wooden boardwalk in front of the buildings. She was dressed in a long, flowered dress with a high collar, a small hat perched atop a mound of black hair and carried an open parasol resting across her shoulder. The man was dressed in a charcoal gray suit with vest and a black bolo hat atop slicked down black hair. He wore a wide but trimmed mustache and a gold chain hung in a loop from a watch pocket on his vest. Their style of dress didn’t go with the old western backdrop. But it wasn’t as much the sight of their clothes, nor even the old western town that made him gasp and then gulp. The man and the woman were human, well humanoid, but the man’s skin was also a light green color. No, not skin, fur. He had high, wide human cheek bones, a protruding nose, and a long, pointed chin. The woman, aside from her dress, appeared normal. Bennet clawed at the ground, propelling backward until he hit the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street. “The poor boy looks apoplectic,” the male said. “Really, they should do something about beings just dropping from the sky. There must be some way to regulate their appearance.” “We’ll bring it up at our next town meeting.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful.” They walked on ignoring him. The female glanced over her shoulder. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if they had a place to go upon arrival to get some indoctrination.” “You have such good ideas, Ophelia. You should oversee making your idea a reality.” Bennet stood and looked up and down the street. No other beings were in sight. Other than those two, Bennet had the feeling the town was deserted. He looked down the street to catch sight of the two strange beings but they were gone. Had they entered one of the buildings? Bennet tried to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment. He was talking to the two men in the paintings, sitting at the back of the booth, then whoosh. He was here. He looked up. It felt like he had fallen but above him was nothing but black. No sky, no stars, no source of light. Then how was it he could see the street and buildings? Was there an artificial light source? More importantly, how did he get back? He dusted his clothes off and moved to find the two creatures, no, he’d better stick with actual people until he learned more. He had questions. Lots of questions. He hoped they had enough answers.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Bennet walked down the center of town kicking up dirt as he went. He saw no other beings, human or otherwise. The town looked deserted. Maybe it was a ghost town. That would explain the green apparitions. It also explained how they so quickly disappeared. He went right, the side of the street he saw the apparitions on and stepped up onto the boardwalk. The clomp of his footfalls echoed, deadening the silence. Bennet stopped outside saloon doors and peered inside. Nothing but impenetrable black was inside. No one was there and nothing moved as far as he knew. He decided to enter. With his palm, he pushed on the swinging door. His hand went right through. His body already moving, stepped through the doors. It is a ghost town! He turned to look outside. Everything remained the same. The dirt road, the opposite side of the street, the lack of a light source. A noise reached him from behind. He whirled, expecting to see some creature or ghost creeping up behind him. Nothing. He walked forward. The darkness engulfed him. His feet touched solid ground but no longer created the echoing sound of the wooded walkway. They made no sound at all. His hands outstretched to prevent a collision, Bennet continued forward. A sudden thought caused momentary panic. What if he couldn’t find his way back? He pivoted, fearing all he’d see was black. A tiny window of light floated in the distance. He thought it strange. He only walked perhaps ten feet, but the small square of light looked a mile away. To ensure he didn’t lose sight of the light, he sidestepped deeper into the dark. With each three-foot stride, the light appeared ten yards farther. Two more steps and the light was a softball size. He stopped, afraid the next step would make the light vanish. From where he stood, he peered hard to make out any shape, movement, or darker shadow. Nothing caught his eye; however, he did notice the darkness looked lighter ten feet away. He scanned in all directions. They all remained pitch black. Was it a trick to draw him in closer? Bennet thought that a good possibility. Maybe the two beings he saw were lurking in the dark, ready to pounce. But that meant they could see him.

Unsure of what to do, Bennet froze. The tiny dot of light was still in view. He focused all his energy on listening for any sounds that might give him a clue whether to keep exploring or flee for his life. The noise occurred again, like something knocking against something else but for whatever reason, it did not raise internal alarms. Instead, the sound piqued his curiosity. He took a chance and slid another sideways step. The light was gone behind him. He fought the uncertainty and rising panic. Please, let me find my way back, he prayed. He stretched his hand out farther trying to touch anything and noticed his arm was somewhat visible. That encouraged him to take another step. He could see his leg, though now his arm was gone again. Bennet froze. If he went farther and disappeared again, he might never find his way back. Now, he still had a reasonable chance of making it back across the darkness and finding the exit. His body vibrated with nervous energy and growing anxiety. Bennet slid another step. His chest was now in view but his arm and leg were not. How strange. What and where was the light source? Without lifting his leg, Bennet leaned forward and strained his neck to push forward. A slight pressure pushed back against the top of his head. He continued to stretch. His back foot lifted but he worked to keep at least a toe on the surface. He heard the sound of a pop, so faint it reminded him of bubbles they used to blow as kids. Brightness assailed his eyes like a physical assault. He shut them tight in defense and raised a hand as a shield. Slowly, he cracked one eye open. His vision adjusted to the brightness. In front of him was a rocky wall that extended into a dark blue-black cloudless sky. He blinked his eyes open until they could handle the light. Then pulled the rest of his body from the dark. Behind him was a wall of blackness stretching higher and farther than he could see. When he extended his hand, it ed through the barrier. For a moment he feared he might not be able to through again. But now that he was on the other side of the darkness, how was he going to find his way to the light on the other side? With his toe, he etched an X in the dirt, then scored it several times to make sure it didn’t vanish. Then he turned to study the massive cliff in front of him. That too appeared endless. A space of fifty feet separated the rock from the black curtain. With a hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight—no, that wasn’t right, as there was no sun. The source of the light remained a mystery. He scanned the

cliff and spotted several dark places. He inhaled and caught a faint chemical smell. He was unable to identify the odor but it had a familiarity to his taste memory because he salivated. Strange. Everything about whatever this was, was strange. There had to be a simple, logical explanation, yet somehow, he didn’t think so. Bennet moved until he was standing beneath one dark section. He backed away from the rock face to have a better angle at viewing the spot. It appeared to be a cave. It was twenty yards above him. The opening looked to be about ten feet across and eight feet high. The sound he heard while in the dark happened again and sounded like it came from the cave. He studied the rock beneath the cave. There appeared to be a sloped path. He followed the potential path to the right with his eyes. It made a switchback and climbed back to the left. The trail ended below the cave where a series of four sections of the rock wall acted as stairs to reach the cave’s entrance. Whether the stairs were a natural occurrence or someone had chiseled them for that purpose was indecipherable. He made his way to the beginning of the trail. The ground was loose at the bottom. His foot slipped and he fell, catching his weight on his hands. Edges of the loose rocks dug into the meat of his palm. At least I know they’re real, he thought. Once he got over the loose section the path was easy to maneuver. He reached the switchback and paused to look down and up. Then, focusing on his goal, climbed to the three stone stairs. From there, Bennet had an angle to see the roof of the cave. The space inside appeared to widen past the mouth. He stepped on the first stair, hesitated then climbed to the second. He could now see deeper into the cave. It was larger than expected. He wanted to see what was inside but also had a healthy fear for what he might encounter. The third step required a higher leg lift to achieve. He stayed there for a moment taking in what he could see. The final one step to the cave floor was beyond what a normal step could reach so he set his palms on the rock and leaned forward. He had a good view of the cave and was disappointed. He didn’t know what he expected, but it just looked like any other cave he’d ever seen or been in. A little let down by his lack of discovery, Bennet struggled to get a foot to the top. He was forced to lean over the edge and drag his body up using any source of grip his hands could grab onto. His feet scuffed at the wall searching for

purchase to help propel him upward. A full minute later, he was laying on the rocky ledge of the cave breathing hard from the effort. He caught his breath, then stood in the cave mouth and examined the inside. The interior was four times the width of the mouth and another five or six feet taller. Whatever he thought he might find there had not come to fruition. There was nothing remarkable about the cave. It had the standard uneven walls with jagged edges. Dirt covered stone floor. Disappointed, Bennet stood with hands on hips and gave the space one final look before heading back. Nothing. Or was there? The thin coating of dirt on the floor showed signs of footprints. He bent to examine them closer. Some were normal shoe prints. Others showed long toes, or perhaps claws—four digits. He was no expert tracker so did not know the species of animal it might be but several creatures or beings had occupied this cave at various times. Unless of course, the animal was a pet. He followed the prints with his eyes and then realized another anomaly. Instead of less light, the farther he looked into the cave the brighter it appeared to be. If he learned anything from this unplanned excursion, he wanted to understand the light source. The air in a cave was normally cooler than outside but the temperature inside was quite comfortable. Not hot. Not cool. Just right. Bennet stood and advanced into the cave. Twenty feet in he discovered the cave branched to the right. A gradual slope lowered him at least ten feet. Still, there was no dimming of the light. It was as though the stone of the ceiling were responsible for the light. He moved right until he could touch the wall. It was like most caves, cool and hard to the touch. But most caves he’d been in had damp walls or signs that water had run through someplace. Next, he discovered the cave appeared devoid of insects. He looked hard at the wall and floor. No spiders. No ants. No strange bugs of any kind. It was as if someone had gone through and cleaned everything like it was a house. The cave went left and he followed. The floor dropped another ten feet while the tunnel itself stayed about the same dimensions throughout. Then it went continually downhill, perhaps a degree steeper than before. He had to give some pushback to avoid running down the slope.

He heard a sound and stopped. Recognition came quickly. Water. Running water, like an underground stream. Excited, Bennet quickened his pace. He stumbled a step when the ground leveled off but righted himself before he fell. He came to another right turn. The water sound was close. He rounded the turn and froze, mouth wide open. In front of him was a river with crisp clear water running in a slow stream. Behind the river was a home. Well, not quite a house, the interior of a home but like a TV set open on the filming side. To the left was a living room, complete with sofa, tables, and carpeting. In the center but behind the living room was a kitchen with all the usual appliances. To the right was a bedroom complete with king-size bed and matching dressers. As he swept with mouth agape, a female voice said, “Well, look who’s here.” The green man was sitting in a lounge chair reading what Bennet could only describe as a newspaper. He lowered it and took a pipe from his extended lips. “You were right again, my dear. He found us much faster than the last one did.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The man stood and faced Bennet. He was no longer green. His appearance had altered and now looked human. His new face reminded him of a father he’d seen on a nineteen fifties TV show. He wore gray suit pants and a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A red striped blue tie hung loosely around his neck. “Come, my boy. Sit down and tell us about yourself.” Bennet was too shocked to move. “I think we overloaded his senses, dear,” the woman said. “You may be right. On the other hand, he may not be as bright as our last guest.” The woman laughed. “Oh, that Theodore was a wit—and quite the charmer.” She snorted and placed a hand on her hair, striking a somewhat flirtatious pose. Her hair and dress were different from when he saw her on the boardwalk. Her hair was pinned higher on her head and she wore a plain yellow sundress, set off by her pale green skin. The man cleared his throat and said, “Ah, dear,” and made a motion with his hand. The woman glanced down and her expression lit in surprise. “Oh, my.” She turned, putting her back to Bennet. Less than a minute later, she faced him revealing the bright smiling face of a female human. Shocked, he stood open-mouthed until some small fragment of what she said worked its way into his mind. The woman had said his father’s name. “Theodore? Theodore Wilson. You knew my father?” The woman beamed a broad white-toothed smile and moved forward. “Your father? Well, of course. That makes sense, Ward.” Ward? That was it. They were posing as TV characters from an old sitcom. He glanced from the approaching woman to the man. The look on his face was one of confusion, then his eyes went wide and sadness softened his sharp features. “June, wait.”

The tall lean female stopped and looked over her shoulder at Ward. “What is it, dear?” Ward looked at Bennet. “Did you say knew? As in past tense?” Bennet wavered, the room suddenly spinning. He tried to speak, took an awkward step, and fell.

BENNET WOKE WITH A start. June squealed and jumped back. A damp cloth that smelled faintly of sulfur flew from his forehead. A small but strong fourfingered, green hand pushed him gently but firmly back down. Ward stood behind the sofa staring down at him. He glanced at the arm holding him in place and noticed it now appeared human. Had he just imagined the green hand? He was laying on the sofa. His shoes were off. June retrieved the damp cloth and went to replace it on his forehead. Bennet lifted a hand to stop her but lowered it before making as a flare of something feral flashed through Ward’s eyes. “Are you alright?” June asked. Without taking his eyes from Ward’s he said, “I think so.” “You gave us a fright.” She lifted the cloth and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. It felt a little rough and cold. “You do feel warm, but then you would, compared to us. Do you want to try and sit up?” “Yes. Please.” June moved back. Ward grabbed one of Bennet’s hands, slid the other behind his back for and helped him to rise. Bennet swung his legs over the edge and set them on the hard stone floor. As a slight dizziness swept over him, he lowered his head to his hands. A cool hand caressed the back of his neck. Vertigo ed within a minute. He raised his head and June’s face was within a foot of his. Her eyes were big, a bright green and slightly bulging. They held warmth and concern and seemed to draw him into their depths, mesmerizing him. At that moment, he had the feeling he’d do anything for her. Anything she asked. “June,” Ward said in a soft voice that sounded like a distant whisper to Bennet. “Huh. Oh. Yes. Sorry.” She blinked rapidly and the hypnotic spell of her eyes was broken. “It wasn’t intentional,” she said to Ward. “I just wanted to be sure he was alright. how his father reacted that first time. We thought we killed him.” At the mention of his father, all cobwebs in his mind dissolved. “You knew my

father?” “Yes, dear boy,” June said. “He was our friend.” “I take it he has died,” Ward said. “Yes, almost two weeks ago now.” “Two weeks,” Ward repeated absently. “Do you know how he died?” Bennet caught a fleeting yet fearful glance from June to Ward. “Ah,” he tried to recall. “No, actually, I don’t know how he died.” “He was young,” June said to Ward. “Even for their race.” She wrung her hands. “Do you think . . .? “Hush, June. Now’s not the time.” Bennet glanced back and forth to Ward and June. “You’re not telling me something.” “No. No. Not at all. We’re just reminiscing. But tell me, what is your name?” Bennet recognized the change of topic ploy but played along, vowing to come back to the topic of his father’s death. “Bennet.” “Bennet. That’s a wonderful name,” June said. “I’m Chulaterra. And this beautiful being is Promontia. Welcome to our home. So nice to meet you.” “Where is home?” The uncomfortable look was exchanged again. “June, why don’t you fix some refreshments and we’ll sit and have a nice chat.” June beamed a smile and turned, her dress twirling upward with the move revealing long slender green legs with sharp ridges down the back of her calves. “Come, Bennet,” Ward said, “let’s sit at the kitchen table.”

Bennet followed and sat in one of the four wooden chairs. The polished surface of the table made it look brand new. A question played through his mind about where the tables and chairs, well everything, came from. June placed a pot of tea on the table and arrayed three cups and saucers, the perfect fifties host. She left and returned with sugar and cream bowls and a plate of freshly baked scones, their aroma filling his nostrils. Had she been baking them when he arrived? She had to be. Otherwise, where would they have come from? She poured the tea and slid the cup toward Bennet, then poured one for her and Ward. “Sugar and cream are there if you wish and here, try a scone.” He reached for one and set it down next to his cup. He noticed she placed one next to each of their cups as well though neither made a move to taste either the tea or the scone. “Dear, that’s sugar and cream and this is tea.” “Oh, sorry. I got it confused.” He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand before turning his attention toward Bennet. “Tell me, Bennet,” Ward said, “what do you know about your father’s death?” Bennet thought it strange to be talking about his father with these two— whatever they were. But after a hesitation, said, “Not much really. I was ed by an attorney about the reading of his will. I went to his office but we never discussed the cause of his death. I think I was too much in shock to think straight. I hadn’t seen my father in almost three years.” Neither spoke for a moment, then June slid her hand across the table and covered his. “We are very sorry for your loss.” She winced and turned to Ward. “That’s right, isn’t it? Loss?” He nodded. June continued. “We had many a long conversation with him right here at this table.” “Yes, that’s true,” Ward confirmed. “He was a good man. We learned many

things about him and your world. This entire design is based on what he called a television show. He loaned us the entire series on DVD.” He chuckled. “It gave us countless hours of enjoyment.” They laughed together, however it sounded put on. They stopped at the same moment like it was planned. They turned their heads toward him in unison. An eerie feeling came over him. “Yes,” Ward said, his tone harsher. “We are sorry for your loss, but ours as well. You see, Bennet, we had a deal, your father and us. He learned from us and we learned from him.” They watched him perhaps searching for a reaction. “What we’d like to know is if you plan on continuing with that arrangement?” Bennet was stunned by the sudden change in the tone of the conversation. He no longer felt at ease if he’d felt that way at all. An underlying threat came with the words. He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to offend them, as they might be his only hope of getting back home. If he upset them in some way he could be trapped here forever. “I, ah, I don’t know. You’ll have to explain more about what the agreement entailed.” June blinked and sat back. It was the first time he’d seen her blink. If her look was anything like a human’s, she appeared to be confused by his words. Then she sat up fast. “Of course, Ward. He can’t decide without knowing what is involved.” Ward didn’t seem convinced. “Yes. Yes. I understand that, June.” His words were clipped and on the verge of angry. “I will explain it to you.” Tension rolled up his neck. His muscles tightened and his coloring altered darker. “Your father got trapped here . . .” June touched Ward’s hand, “Lost, Bennet, not trapped.” Ward’s demeanor notched upward toward rage at the interruption. “Yes, lost, my apology.” But he looked anything but sorry. June leaned forward and whispered something in Ward’s ear. He straightened instantly as if coming to attention upon a superior’s arrival. Without a word, he stood and walked from the room, or, cave, as it really was. “You’ll have to forgive my, ah, man, he gets a little tense at times. The books

and videos your father brought us are very important to us. It breaks the monotony of,” she shrugged, “everything.” Bennet didn’t know what to say so remained silent. “Let me explain. When your father first discovered this dimension . . .” “Dimension?” “Yes, Bennet. Where did you think you were? This is an alternate dimension attached like so many others to your planet.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

If everything he’d witnessed so far had been shocking, the discovery that other dimensions existed and he was now in one of them was mind-blowing. He stammered for several minutes trying to wrap his head around the announcement while forming unintelligible words. June patted his hand. “Have some tea, Bennet. You’ll feel better.” He picked up the tea and guzzled half its contents before the taste ed. It was like drinking dirty water. It had a faint taste of sulfur, which reminded him of the “egg water” they used to get from the handpump at one of the campsites they went to each summer in his younger years. It took all his self-control not to expel it from his mouth. He swallowed, fighting not to show his disdain for the taste. “That’s alright, Bennet,” she patted his hand again. “I never got it right for your father either. Maybe you can give me some additional pointers. I would appreciate some on the scones.” She slid the scone toward him. He glanced at her. If the scone was as bad as the tea, he feared he might choke on it. He picked it up, tried to smile but the anticipation of the taste made his face muscles too tense to create one. He lifted the scone toward his mouth, unable to take his eyes off its approach for fear it might come alive. Taking as small a bite as possible Bennet chewed under the steady and hopeful gaze of June. To his surprise, the taste was not bad. It had a hint of orange flavoring, again making Bennet wonder where that came from, however it broke down in his mouth like sawdust. He wanted to spit it out, but with June watching he didn’t want to offend her so he swallowed. He thought about washing it down with the tea but ing the taste decided to risk the scone getting stuck in his throat. Seconds later he hiccupped. This delighted June. She bounced in her chair and made dainty claps. “Oh, I’m so glad you liked it.” She leaned closer to study his expression. “Your father used to do the same thing. He said it was because his body was applauding the food. Is that true?” “Ah, yeah, it’s exactly true.”

She repeated her bouncing and clapping. “What we have learned and created here is because of your father. We cherished his visits and discovered so much about your world and its people. We tried to teach him things as well, but our knowledge and information was more restricted than his.” She drew back and the color in her cheeks faded somewhat. Bennet wondered if that was akin to a human blush. “I’m asking, please will you continue helping us learn? Please.” Bennet didn’t know what to say but not wanting to agree to something until he knew what he was required to do, deflected his answering. “What is it you want me to do?” “It’s simple really. Every time you come bring a book or a video from your world. When you return, we’ll exchange the old one for the new.” She got up in a hurry, walked to the coffee table in front of the sofa, picked something up and returned. She sat and slid two DVDs across the table. One was Mary Poppins, the other was the black and white version of The Gunfight at the OK Corral. The two in combination explained how June and Ward were dressed the first time he saw them and why the western town had so little color. “We loved them both. Did you bring anything new with you?” “No. I didn’t know I was coming. It just sort of happened.” Her face fell. She looked like she might cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know to bring anything. I promise I will next time.” He doubted there would be a next time but he didn’t want to make her more upset. Besides, he didn’t want Ward to be angry with him. Something told Bennet it might not take much and to do so may prove painful. June looked down at the table. She was upset. A soft sound reached his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was whimpering or purring. “I promise, June.” She perked up at the mention of her name. “I will bring you something to study when I return.” The elation faded. “But what if you don’t return?” She pouted.

Bennet felt trapped. He didn’t want to lie to her but couldn’t guarantee he’d be back. “Can I ask what you did for my father?” She contemplated the question before saying, “We told him about our dimension and others similarly attached.” “How many dimensions are there?” She shook her head. For a moment he thought she was refusing to answer the question, then added a shrug. “We have no way of knowing. I can think of at least ten, but I’m sure there are many more.” “How?” Bennet wanted to ask a question but realized it was too vast. He needed to narrow the scope. “Have you always been attached to this world?” This time she tightened her thin lips, made a gesture of turning a key and locking her lips, and tossed the key away. He’d been effectively cut off. “Will you at least show me how to get back to my dimension?” She shrugged keeping her lips in a tight line. “Okay. I guess I’ll try to find my way back. Of course, the longer that takes the longer it will be before I can get back.” He stood. The move surprised June. Her eyes widened. “You-you’re leaving?” “I have to. I have a life back home. I have a job.” Panic ripped through him. His job. Instinctively he looked at his wrist even though he hadn’t worn a watch in years. He was late. Clara was going to fire him. Worse she would be disappointed he hadn’t been different after all. He was a no-call, no-show. The worst kind of employee. “My God. I’m sorry. I have to go. Now. Can you help me? Please.” “I don’t know. Ward will be very angry if I let you go without getting something in return.” “But I don’t have anything. If I don’t get back how will I ever have anything?” “That’s a good point.” She considered that, came up with a solution, and stuck out her hand. “I saw this in one of your movies. We’ll shake on the deal. That

makes it binding, right?” “Ah, yeah, right.” He took her cool hand and she gave it two exaggerated pumps. “Okay. Deal.” She released him. “When will we see you again?” “Soon. Very soon.” The answer wasn’t to her liking. “No. I need an actual date and time. Your father came once a week at the same time. I want you to do the same.” “Okay. I’ll be back next week at the same time as this trip.” She gave that some thought then extended her hand again. Again, Bennet took it. She gave the same two pumps and said, “Deal.” He repeated the word to her approval. Her body vibrated with excitement and energy. “Come. We will tell Ward together. He will be disappointed you have nothing for us today, but he will accept our deal.” She led them out of the cave and down the slope. In the gap between the wall and the black curtain, they found Ward pacing and kicking at loose stones. His clothes and appearance had changed. Other than the green skin he reminded Bennet of Humphrey Bogart. A hat rode back on his head and a cigarette dangled from his lips. His hands were deep in his pants pockets. After a brief sidebar with June, he frowned, glanced at Bennet, and with a grudging and disappointed nod accepted the deal. June hugged Bennet. “I look forward to our next visit. Bring us something good.” Then she pulled the two videos from his hands. “We’ll keep these to have something to watch and for incentive for you to return. Your father told us how valuable they are. I know you’ll want them back.” She turned and skipped like an excited child, back up the slope to the cave. “Okay, Bud, let’s go.” Boggie had spoken.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ward/Boggie, walked directly through the curtain. Bennet followed, afraid to be too far behind in case he lost him in the dark. Once inside the darkness, following proved easier than anticipated. Ward’s green skin glowed in the dark. In a short time, they emerged through the other side and out onto the western town street. He stopped in front of a building Bennet didn’t recognize. They all looked alike. “This is the transfer point.” He stood back as if waiting for Bennet to initiate the process. “Ah, what do I do?” “I don’t know. Your father just looked up and whoosh, he was gone.” Bennet looked up. “Just a minute, Bennet.” Chulaterra stepped closer. His deep yellowish-orange eyes narrowed. “I’ve got something to say. Your father was a good guy. I liked him. I could rely on his integrity and knew if he said he’d be here, he came. You I don’t know. I’m trusting that you’re cut from the same cloth. Am I using that right?” “Yes.” “Good. Thought so. We’ve been stuck here for longer than I can . In all that time, we never had another visitor. We had people wander through, some even tried to cause us trouble and we dealt with them. But none I ever considered a visitor. Your father did wonders for our otherwise mundane and lonesome existence. Don’t disappoint us. We came to look forward to your father’s visits. If we’re deprived of that small bit of excitement in our lives, I may have to find a way to visit you. It won’t be a pleasant visit. You get my meaning?” Bennet swallowed hard and nodded. “Good. Counting on you. We both are. Okay. Go ahead. See you next time.” He turned and walked away.

“B-but I don’t know how to do this.” “According to your father, you’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out.” He stepped onto the boardwalk and disappeared through a building wall. Now what? He looked up, threw his arms up, and said, “Home.” With a sudden sound, like the whoosh Ward had mentioned, he was soaring. He screamed the entire three-second journey. Then as if dropped from a height to a cushioned platform, he landed. Stunned, he shot frantic glances from side to side, searching for anything familiar. What his gaze landed on and held was a blue-uniformed nutcracker standing on the back corner of a booth. His breath caught and then slowly Bennet turned his head. With great relief, he discovered the kitchen was in view. However, something was wrong with the image displayed before him. It was as viewing it through a haze. The details were not sharp. The air between him and the kitchen appeared to waver as if underwater. In a rush, he pushed off the cushioned bench and slid toward the kitchen and home. As he neared the end he glanced at the sidewall. The battle scene was not there. He didn’t care. All he wanted desperately to do was step foot on the worn linoleum floor of the kitchen. He swung his leg out and froze. The haze was thicker here as if there was a translucent barrier between the booth and the kitchen. He hesitated afraid to find out he was not able to break through. What if he could only exit in the morning when the booth was present? What time is it? How long had he been gone? It wasn’t more than an hour, maybe two. In a burst of movement, Bennet kicked his leg through, shoved off the bench seat and lunged. Bennet was standing in the kitchen. In victorious exaltation, he shouted in triumph and patted his body to ensure it was all there. He looked up to discover the booth was gone. His mind grasped for reasons. It was only there in the mornings but perhaps maintained a connection while he was on the other side. Since it was no longer morning, once he was out of wherever he was, it vanished like normal. He accepted that explanation. Why not? It was as reasonable as speaking with paintings and beings from another dimension. Somewhere in the back of his

mind, a little voice kept repeating It’s a dream. It’s a dream. He took comfort from that thought knowing he would soon awaken to find that was indeed the case. It would be a normal day. He’d wake, make coffee, and go to work. Work! The word sparked renewed panic. His head swept toward the time display of the microwave. Nine-twenty-seven. Wait. Was it morning or night? He ran from the kitchen but even before he reached the curtained front window, he knew it was morning. He grabbed a handful of the heavy material and ripped it back. Daylight assaulted his eyes. “Oh no. Clara is going to be mad.” Bennet grabbed his house keys and raced from the house. He ran the distance to the store. As he approached, he strained to see Clara through the large front windows but she was not in sight. By now the store should be open. He thought about trying the front door but decided to go around back to his normal entry point. No piles of clothes or stacks of boxes were outside. Had there been no overnight drop-offs or had Clara hauled them inside? He stopped at the back door and turned the knob. Locked. Panic consumed him. Fear of disappointing Clara made it difficult to draw breath. Bennet knocked. No response. He knocked again, louder. “Clara, it’s me. Sorry, I’m late.” No answer. Was she in there? Maybe she was injured or ill. He pounded this time as visions of her comatose body lying helpless on the floor assaulted his mind. “Clara,” he shouted loud enough to be heard on the next block. “What!” The sharpness of her voice was both a relief and a warning. His shoulders slumped and he blew out a long breath. She was going to make him work to get in—to gain her forgiveness. He’d do what she wanted. Beg. Grovel. It didn’t matter. To his surprise, he realized not disappointing her was more important than losing the job. He placed his palm on the door as if that gave him a better connection to her. “Clara. I’m sorry. I know I’m late. It-it wasn’t intentional.” He paused. How did he explain the reason for his tardiness? “Please, let me in. I’m not perfect but I

am trying.” After a second, the snap of the deadbolt being drawn back came through the door followed by the click of the doorknob. Relief flooded through him as the door swung inward. He froze upon seeing her. Clara’s face was an angry red mask. He swallowed hard then took a cautious step forward. Clara did not move from the doorway. Her hand shot up and planted against his chest with a solid thud that seemed to reverberate through his body. “I trusted you. I thought you were different.” Her other hand came up. It held a folded wad of money. She grabbed his hand and slapped the wad into it. “You promised me you’d be here every day on time.” “I know. I will. Please. I’m just an hour late.” “An hour?” her voice cracked loudly like thunder. “Try a day and an hour.” Bennet’s jaw dropped open. The shock of her words stole any argument he was going to put forward in explanation. She read his shock. “Oh, what? You didn’t know you missed an entire day? Wow! I told you I didn’t hire addicts. You swore to me you didn’t do drugs. You had me fooled. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now but I keep making the same mistake over and over.” “I don’t do drugs.” “Yeah right.” Confusion kept his thoughts muddled. Too many different threads crashed against each other preventing him from latching on to anyone of them and making sense of what he just learned. “A day,” he said to himself. “I lost an entire day.” “Yeah, go find another fix. Maybe this time you can lose a week.” She turned away and started to slam the door. Seeing his hopes fade, his only true connection to this world sever and feeling once more alone, a defiant spark ignited deep in his core. Bennet thrust his foot forward, blocking the door from shutting on him, on his life. He had to make this

right. Somehow, he had to explain but what could he say that didn’t enforce her belief that he was a druggie? The door flew open surprising Bennet as to the extent his strength had been impacted by his emotions. He strode through the door with an undefined purpose. He feared the motivating factor was anger. What was running through his mind? Was he about to assault Clara? That thought slowed his steps. Rather than close on Clara from behind he called out, “No.” His voice was louder than expected and with a more hostile tone. She stopped and pivoted. Was that fear he saw flash across her eyes? That’s not what he wanted. He just wanted a chance to explain. To beg for his job. “Get out of here, now,” she said pointing to the rear door. In a softer voice, he said, “No.” He stopped walking. He didn’t want her to think him a threat. “I need this job.” “You should have thought about that before getting buzzed.” “No,” his voice was harsher again. Quickly he adjusted. “I don’t do drugs—of any kind. I’m sorry. Things are spinning out of control at my house.” “I don’t care. Go.” He took one step forward, saw her blanch, and he took the step back. “I wish I could explain. I need to tell someone but no one would ever believe what I’ve been through or what I’ve seen. I’m not sure I believe it myself.” Clara crossed her arms hardening her stance, emanating hostility in his direction. He didn’t know what to say. It was obvious a second chance would not be forthcoming. He sighed. His entire body deflated. He wanted to say more but doubted his words would penetrate her protective forcefield. He turned to leave but then saw the pile of bags and boxes and stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “I need this job.” Then Bennet moved to the first box and began to sort. It took her a moment to respond. “No, I don’t want you here.”

“I know but I’m here and I’m going to work.” “I’m not going to pay you.” “Fine. I’m still working.” “I’ll call the police.” That gave him pause. If the police came, they’d find out he was a recent parolee. He’d be back before a judge and possibly in jail by the end of the day. He didn’t want that yet he continued to work. His body more collapsed to the floor than the intended sit. His eyes blurred. “I’m serious. I will call them.” He sobbed, swallowed a second one, then said, “If that’s what you want to do, fine. I’ll work until they get here.” “Bennet.” Her voice was softer and held comion. He waited for her to finish. When she didn’t, he turned to look but she was gone. Was she calling the cops? He’d know soon enough. Tears leaked from his eyes. He was such a basket case maybe prison was the best place for him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

More than an hour later , Bennet had the new arrivals sorted into their three piles: keep, toss, and sale box. The police had not yet arrived if they were coming. Clara had not made an appearance since she walked out. He looked at the piles then stood to take them to their proper places. As he did, his hand bumped the wad of bills. He stared at it for a moment, then picked up the dumpster clothes and walked away leaving the money. When he returned, Clara was there, the wad in her hands. “You shouldn’t leave this lying around.” “Hold on to it for me until payday. Please.” Her eyes searched Bennet’s face. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for but nodded and walked back to the showroom. Bennet worked through lunch. He didn’t have anything to eat anyway. Clara ate at the front counter and did not return. Once all the new items were priced, he took them out front and placed them on the long shelf behind the front counter. Clara insisted on placing the items on the sale floor herself. Bennet thought it was more to check his choices and pricing than a concern he might put them in the wrong place. His final task for the day was to place the new sale items in the box in the front corner. The previous items had been picked over. He folded and reorganized those, set them back in the box and he was done for the day. A thunderous roar startled him. He glanced at the front windows to see it was as dark as night. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky followed seconds later by more thunder, this time powerful enough to rattle the windows. Heavy drops of rain fell building up momentum to a point seeing through the dark curtain was difficult. He walked to the front fearful of what Clara might say. Was this his last day? “I, um, I’m all done.” Lightning flashed again reflecting off Clara’s dark eyes. She eyed him for a

moment then looked past him at the storm. When she didn’t speak it was almost a relief. Perhaps she wasn’t going to fire him. Maybe she was still making up her mind. If so, it was time to leave before she came to a negative conclusion. “You have to walk home in this?” He stopped. “Yes. But that’s alright. A little rain won’t hurt me.” She snorted a laugh. “A little rain? Are you seeing what I am?” He smiled. Their eyes held for a second before he turned and moved toward the rear door. “You can stay here until it stops, or at least slows.” “Okay. Thanks.” Bennet went into the back room and sat in the lone folding chair. As the storm raged outside, he lost himself in thoughts of the discoveries inside the house. He now had four numbers of the combination to his father’s safe. He almost had all five but at least knew where to find it. He would work through more possible combinations tonight. He didn’t know the exact order but they weren’t endless. With or without the final number he would find the correct order. It was just a matter of time. The safe would open but what would it reveal? “Bennet.” The voice came from somewhere deep inside his head. “Bennet.” It was louder now as if standing right in front of him. He shook himself from his dream and opened his eyes to find Clara bending in front of him, concern lines marring her otherwise perfect face. “Are you alright?” “Yes. I guess I drifted off.” “I’ll say. I’ve been calling your name for several minutes.”

“Sorry.” He stood abruptly causing her to gasp and step back. “Sorry,” he said again. Then to change the awkwardness, “Did it stop raining?” “No. It’s not as bad but still heavy.” “That’s okay. I’ll get on my way.” “I’m going to close in about fifteen minutes. I can give you a ride home.” The offer surprised him. Words fell over themselves in his mind and tumbled to his tongue in a disted pile. After several failed attempts, he stammered, “Oh. Awesome, that would be—so cool, but burden, no, I . . .” “Slow down, take a breath and try that again.” Heat flushed his cheeks. “Sorry.” “You don’t have to apologize. Do you want a ride?” “I don’t want to be a bother.” “You weren’t but you’re getting there. It’s a yes or no answer. Do you want a ride?” He nodded afraid of what might come out of his mouth. “Okay. Help me close up and we’ll go.” They walked around the store performing the closing routine. She gave him instructions on what needed to be done. By six they were finished and ready to go. “Don’t you usually close later?” “Yes, but it’s been slow all day and this rain isn’t helping. Besides, I’m the boss, I’ll close early if I want.” He stepped outside as she set the alarm and closed the door. Soft rolling thunder came from a distance. The rain was steady but not nearly so heavy. “It’s not that bad right now. If it’s out of your way I can walk.”

She fixed her eyes on him and frowned. “Bennet.” “Yes.” “Get in the car.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

She jogged from the doorway to a white Sonata parked on the street in front of the store. Bennet jogged to the enger side and slid in when she unlocked it. Drops of rain rolled down his head. The rain had been surprisingly cold. The engine cranked for a few seconds before it caught. Clara buckled her seat belt. Bennet did the same. “Where to?” “Straight ahead.” Bennet was nervous but couldn’t pinpoint why. The wipers beat a rhythm across the windshield that matched the beat of his heart. He could feel the thumping in his chest. “You said you were having trouble at home.” He hesitated. “Ah, yeah.” “What kind of trouble?” “I, ah, I’m not sure I can explain it.” “Try.” The word came out more like a command than a request. Bennet wondered if his job depended on his answer. ‘It’s not important.” “It must be for you to have lost an entire day.” “Why do you want to know?” She took a minute to answer. Each silent second hung heavier on Bennet’s shoulders. “I want to understand you. I need to know I can trust and rely on you.” “You want to make sure I’m not doing drugs.” “Yes, for one.” She faced him perhaps looking for a reaction.

“And for two?” She looked back at the road. “Because if you aren’t an addict and need help, I’ll try to give it.” Bennet shook his head. “I’m not an addict but I don’t know how you can help with my situation.” “Well, I won’t know until you tell me.” “It’s on the next block.” They didn’t speak again until Bennet said, “That small driveway right there.” He pointed. Clara turned up the unpaved two-track drive and past the tall pine tree that obscured the house from the road. For the first time since Bennet moved in, he took notice of the house and yard. The grass, or what there was of it, was long, brown, patchy and infiltrated by weeds. It needed cutting and other attention. The house was small. Nothing he could do about that. But it was streaked with black and green lines. It needed a good power washing and painting. The roof had a few shingles that were curled. The windows were filthy. He doubted his father ever washed them. The entire package made him feel embarrassed. “This is cute,” Clara said. “Who lives here with you?” Bennet was sure he had answered that question a few days ago. Had she forgot or was she testing him? “No one. I live alone. My father ed away and left it to me.” As an explanation for the condition, he said, “I’ve only been here a few days. Haven’t had a chance yet to get things fixed or cleaned.” She parked, leaving the engine running, then turned in her seat to face him. “So, if you live alone, what’s the source of your troubles?” He lowered his eyes as if the answer could be found on the floor. “I don’t know what to say. It’s nothing really. Just some things I have to figure out how to deal with.” “Such as . . .?”

“I can’t explain.” “Well, you need to tell me something.” “I can’t.” “Is it financial?” Given an out, he grasped at it. “Yes. It’s financial. I don’t know if I can afford to stay here.” “Then it might be a good idea to show up for work.” Anger flared but evaporated just as fast. “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.” “No, I won’t let it happen again. What else?’ “Ah, like what?” “You tell me. You’re the one with troubles.” “There’s things about the house . . .” he stopped. He couldn’t go there with her. He couldn’t explain it and she wouldn’t believe it. “Never mind.” He opened the door. The rain had lessened to a steady drizzle. She grabbed his arm. “What about the house? Is it haunted?” He looked for the mockery in her eyes. It was there along with curiosity. “That’s not the term I would use.” Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s it, isn’t it? You think the house is haunted.” Excitement oozed from her words. “Tell me.” He shook his head. Her grip tightened on his arm. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Tell. Me.” She was determined to know the truth but how could he tell her what he’d seen? It was too crazy, too unbelievable. Yet determination was set in her eyes. “I can’t tell you, but I can show you.”

Her eyes widened. A sparkle lit her eyes. “Then show me.” Bennet stepped out of the car and climbed the front steps. He slid his key into the lock and pushed open the door. Clara was still sitting in the car looking unsure. Bennet smiled inwardly. When it came down to finding out the truth she wasn’t as daring as she let on. Bennet waited. Clara’s gaze flickered from him to the house. After a minute. He waved, entered the house, and closed the door. He went into the kitchen. Other than a plate and a glass nothing was out of place. He tried to keep the place clean and uncluttered. When you had so little, clutter was not much of a problem. He set the dish and the glass in the sink then heard a knock at the door. He took his time getting to the door, wanting her to knock a second time. She didn’t. He opened the door and Clara stood looking at him. “It dawned on me that I don’t know you.” “And you’re worried I may trap you inside and take advantage of you or use your body in some satanic ritual.” “Something like that.” “I’ll step outside while you’re in the house. I’ll stay on the porch until you’re done looking then you can leave before I go back in.” “Okay, but how will I know what to look for?” “I’ll tell you.” “Okay.” “Here,” he stepped out onto the porch and held the door open for her to enter. She entered with a cautious step, gave the front room a quick look, then turned to Bennet. “I’ll tell you what to look for then you can close and lock the door.” “Don’t you have a key?” He lifted it in front of her. She took it. “So, what am I supposed to see?” “That’s the thing. Nothing.”

“What? If this is some sort of trick . . .” “No, listen. You need to go into the kitchen and look at the back wall. You’ll see a window and a back door. Take in the dimensions and every detail of the back wall.” “Then what?” “That’s it for now.” “For now?” “Hold on and listen. There’s nothing to see right now. To see the difference, you have to be here in the morning.” “I am not spending the night here with you.” She shoved the key against his chest and stepped out of the house. “No, wait. You don’t have to spend the night. Just be back here tomorrow morning. Get up an hour early and come here. I promise it will be worthwhile.” “What am I going to see? Is it a ghost?” “I’m not sure but it is real. I don’t want to say more than that. I want you to have an open mind and decide what you see for yourself.” She studied his face searching for a clue as to the truth of his words. “Please, Do it for me. I need someone else to witness this just so I know I’m not going insane.” “I’m not sure I want to be here when you find out you are.” He sighed and lowered his head in defeat. “Okay. Thanks anyway.” He stepped past her into the house. “Should I not bother coming into work tomorrow?” “Oh, stop looking so pathetic. Get out here.” She snatched the key from his hand and let him exit. Then, Clara entered, closed, and locked the door. She was back almost five minutes later. Longer than she needed to scan the kitchen leaving him to wonder what else she did?

When the door opened Bennet waited expectantly for a word or some sign that offered relief or hope. None came. Clara handed him the key. “I studied the kitchen. I have it memorized. I’ll be back here at eight tomorrow morning. If I don’t see anything mind-blowing you won’t have to come into work anymore.” “Okay,” was all he could say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Bennet doubted Clara would return in the morning. If she didn’t, that meant he was unemployed. Those sad thoughts were pushed aside when he ed the safe. He pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and read aloud the numbers. “Twenty-six, thirty-seven, forty-two, and seventeen. He already eliminated one set of numbers by using that order and trying all sixty numbers on the dial. None worked. It was time to change it up and try again. Though his stomach growled at being excluded all day, Bennet’s excitement quieted the angry God for the moment. He rushed into the office, sat on the floor with paper and pencil and worked through the next combination, switching the forty-two and the seventeen. By the time he finished using every number on the dial for twenty-six, thirty-seven, seventeen and forty-two his stomach was no longer in a mood to be put off. He made minestrone soup and opened a can of pineapple. The combination was strange so he finished the soup first, then ate the pineapple. When finished, he washed the dishes, pot and utensils, set them in the rack to dry and then stretched. His muscles were sore. The early morning run and sitting cross-legged for an hour had affected a body not used to exercise. He sat for a while but when he caught his head bobbing, Bennet forced his body to stand and went back into the office. His eyes landed on the three boxes he took from the garage. Curiosity won out over leg-cramping sitting. He sat in the desk chair and slid his box closer. The lid was taped. Using a pair of scissors he found on the desk, he sliced the tape and lifted the lid. Inside was a stack of papers, a few books, the backpack he used in high school and assorted knick-knacks that accumulated over a childhood. The memories rushed to him throwing off his equilibrium. It was so overwhelming he was forced to replace the lid and shove the box away. Bennet sat back in the chair breathing rapidly. Why had the sight of those things stirred such a profound reaction? He had no idea. None of the items held such an emotional value that they should have caused distress. Was it just that those times were the most enjoyable of his life? He didn’t want to get sidetracked with journeys down memory lane. It was all in the past and all lost. He could do nothing to alter what had once been but maybe

he could still do something about his future. He returned to the safe and wheeled the desk chair over to ease the strain on his legs. Over the next two hours he worked combinations, first trying twenty-six, seventeen, thirty-seven, forty-two, then twenty-six, seventeen, forty-two, and thirty-seven. Midway through the last attempt, his eyes began to blur. Yawning became frequent. He forced concentration long enough to finish that sequence, then retired for the night. Though he hadn’t succeeded, he had eliminated a lot of possibilities. If only he could get the Frenchman to reveal the final number. Exhausted and nervous about Clara’s visit, Bennet brushed his teeth and collapsed on the couch.

Clara The garage door closed as she shut the motor off. She exited holding the cloth bag she used for a purse and entered into her condo. She set the bag down and took out the plastic containers she used for her lunch, then took out the small thermos. She set all items in the sink to be washed. The condo was the perfect size for her. It had two bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a front room, a kitchen and a family room. It also had a two-car garage and a partial basement. Since she wasn’t much for excess, the condo was easy to keep clean. The pieces of furniture had been accumulated over time. There wasn’t much, but then, she didn’t need much, but each was quality. She rummaged through the refrigerator and took out fixings to make a grilled chicken Caesar salad. The chicken was coated with flour, parmesan cheese and Italian seasoning, then placed in a pan with heated olive oil. While the chicken cooked, she made the salad. When the chicken was done, she shut off the burner and left everything where it was and went to the second bedroom. This space had been designated her workout room and office. On one side was a desk with a rolling chair, a file cabinet, a laptop computer and a combination printer, copier, scanner. On the other side was a set of free weights, an expensive cycle with internet connection to her favorite online workouts and a rowing machine. Clara connected to a workout program, selected the hardest level and worked her body for twenty minutes. By the time she finished, she was drenched. She peeled from her clothes, showered and changed, then had her dinner. While she ate, she thought about Bennet. She purposely had kept him from her thoughts until then to allow time to to prevent any emotions or previous thoughts from impairing her judgment. Two tours in the military had honed her critical thinking skills and processes. Before that, she had been a military brat. Both her parents served. Her mother made the military her career. Clara had almost done so as well, but the death of her parents in a plane crash had changed her thinking. It had taken several years before she settled down enough to find her place in the world. Though she could never imagine selling used items as her lifelong dream, it was what made her happy. She was her own boss, set her own schedule and though she had few

friends, Clara was content. She got into the proper mindset and started with the facts. He was a good worker, but he had trouble arriving on time. He missed an entire day with no idea where it went. He acted like someone on drugs. She paused and erased the last thought. He acted like someone on drugs but it wasn’t a proven fact. Back to facts. Apparently, he owned a house. He had little to no money. He was good looking. She paused with a forkful of salad near her mouth. Where had that come from? And what did it matter? She analyzed that thought, searching for silly, schoolgirl emotional behavior. She shrugged it off as unmerited and allowed the fact. She moved to theories. He was an addict. She was surprised to find she wanted that not to be true. “Stop. You’re setting yourself up for another disappointment.” She chewed vigorously. He was strange and perhaps believes he is sharing a house with a ghost. Clara had to it she thought that was cool. She sighed and dropped out of analysis stage and allowed for free thought. The truth was she kinda liked him, though she recognized the stray dog syndrome for what it was. He was troubled about something, perhaps the loss of his father. There was something solitary about him. How long had he lived in that house? She wanted to believe there was a real problem at the house to explain his absences and his strange behavior but she doubted that was the case. Most likely he made it up to talk her out of firing him. Well, she had gone this far, she would give him the chance to prove it tomorrow but she already made up her mind. If whatever he showed her wasn’t compelling, he was out of a job. She set the salad bowl down and picked up her cell phone. She scrolled through the pictures until she found the one she took of his kitchen. She didn’t tell him. She wanted it as proof when he had nothing to show her tomorrow. When that happened, she would hand him his severance pay and never look back. What did he expect her to see in the morning that was so profound as to cause him to lose an entire day? Nothing that she could think of. Though she knew that was the most likely scenario, Clara realized she was rooting for Bennet to come up with something. She picked up her salad.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The alarm jarred him awake at six-thirty. Though slow to rise, once the thought Clara was coming worked into his mind, Bennet was a burst of energy. He hurried through a shower, then put in a load of laundry. It was far from a full load but he wanted the few items he had clean. Once dressed he went into the kitchen to make coffee but forgot he had run out. He cursed himself for not picking some up on the way home yesterday, then recalled he didn’t walk. Clara drove him. He banged through the cupboards searching desperately for a substitute and shouted with triumph as he found a somewhat squashed tea bag. He filled the pot with water, dumped it into the coffee maker and hung the bag in the pot. While it dripped, he watched the back wall for the arrival of the booth. Based on previous observations, the booth made an appearance between seven and seven-ten. It was six-fifty-eight. The pot hissed as it expelled the last drops of water. He poured a cup, set the pot down and turned to find the booth was in place. The arrival disappointed him. He wanted to witness it appear. He glanced at the clock. Seven-o-eight. He’d be prepared the next morning. He walked over and sat on the bench facing Lord Marius. The painting was still. “Lord Marius, are you there?” No reply and no movement. “Lord Marius, I need to speak with you.” Still nothing. He raised his voice, “Hey, Lord Marius, I wish to speak with you.” “I think he’s sulking,” a voice behind him said. Bennet leaned away from the painting and craned his neck to see Sir John looking down at him. “What is he sulking about?” “I believe he is angry that you did not fulfill his request.” “Sorry, but I didn’t know what was going to happen.” “No need to apologize, lad, the fool doesn’t realize it’s for the best.” “What would have happened if I didn’t raise my hands?” “The two battles would have been ed.”

“And one of you might die?” “Yes. That is a great possibility during war.” “What happens then?” “The final battle will commence.” “But you said it would be the end of you. Does that mean the booth, too?” “I’m not sure of the booth’s ultimate fate but this is what has been ed down to me. If the battles are ed, we fight until the end. If either or both of us perish in combat, this portion of our dimension will cease to exist. Countless battles are being waged throughout our dimension. Each battlefield has some point of connection to another dimension. I can’t be sure but I believe the booth may end as well. If so, it will disappear from our universe much like an exploding star would in your world.” “But, I can’t allow that to happen. There’s so much to learn.” “Then for both of our sakes never allow the battles to , no matter how much that fool begs or threatens.” “Why would Lord Marius want to end his existence?” “Ah, lad, I can’t say as I blame him. We’ve been doing this for generations. We are bored and tired. Perhaps he’s right. Maybe we should allow it to end. At least we’ll be able to rest. Many a good man has perished during our time.” “What do you mean ‘perish’? No one actually dies do they?” “Of course, they do, lad, it’s war.” “I don’t understand. From my view, you’re a painting. How can anyone die?” “You may see a painting, but from my view, I’m on a battleground. Yes, men do die here. If you watch closely you will see the losses. The next day the background you see will be different. Not by much but enough to tell. The scene is a bit altered and some of the men are different.”

Bennet didn’t know what to say. The very fact the battle was real was beyond comprehension. “Is it possible for you to die?” “Certainly, though it would take a very specific injury that I will not reveal for one of these blue-clad ants to end me. The only person who has a real chance of killing me is the person I’ve been pitted against. In this case, Lord Marius.” “Does getting killed by one of the blue-clad ants have the same effect on the painting, ah, I mean your dimension as being killed by Lord Marius?” “Bite your tongue, lad. That air bag does not possess the skill to finish me,” Sir John huffed. His mustache quivered as if it too was angry with the question. “I’m sorry. I meant no insult. I was just curious.” “Apology accepted. I get a little peeved at the idea that weak-kneed Frenchman could best me. To answer your question, no, I do not believe it has the same dimension killing effect that one of us dying by the other’s hand does. We may be out of the picture for a while as we recuperate but the battle will continue.” That brought relief to Bennet. He sipped his tea and glanced up to see Lord Marius glaring at him. He pointed his spear at Bennet. “After I kill that cowardly Englishman, I will find a way to kill you next.” The hatred resonated from the picture sending chills through Bennet. The man leaned forward over the horse’s head and said, “And until you give me what I want you will never get your precious message.” The words were like a spear to his heart. As shocked as he was anger sparked to life deep in his core. It rose like flames on a pyre. He stood and slammed the table. “Then, you shall never get what you want. But I have other means to get what I need.” “Careful, lad. Don’t get too close. He’ll skewer you with that toothpick of his,” Sir John warned. Bennet hadn’t realized how close he was to the painting. He backed away and met the hateful glare of Lord Marius. A knock on the door broke the stare down. Bennet jumped to his feet and hurried to the door opening it just as the second knock was landing.

“Oh,” Clara said. “Sorry, I was in the kitchen.” He stood back. “Come in.” Clara entered and looked around. She wore her usual attire, jeans, t-shirt, and open flannel, but there was something different about her face. As she walked toward the kitchen it dawned on him. She was wearing makeup. Not much, but enough to notice. He was far from an expert but with or without she looked good. He followed her to the kitchen. She froze in the doorway unexpectantly causing Bennet to pull up short inches from . She pointed. “What is that?” “It’s what I was telling you . . .” “You built that overnight?” “What? No. It’s not really there.” “What are you talking about? I can see it.” She turned to face him but stepped back abruptly upon seeing his closeness. “What kind of game are you playing here?” Her face colored with anger. “Hey, I’m not playing any game. This . . .” “You certainly are. You tricked me into thinking something strange was going on. The only strange thing here is you.” Her harsh words stopped more of his from being aired. He stepped back as if slapped. A wave of sadness washed over him. “Yeah, you’re right. It was all a ruse. Sorry for wasting your time. And yeah, I know, I’m fired.” He stepped back and away from the doorway and motioned with his arm toward the front door. “You have a good day and a great life.” She eyed him with a curious expression. With one more glance at the kitchen, she frowned, shook her head and moved for the door. “It never fails to amaze me. Just when I think I can count on someone they always disappoint me.” “You’re not the only one disappointed.” She stopped and turned. “And how am I a disappointment to you?” Her tone was harsh and defensive.

“What does it matter? To you, I’m just some low-life, drug-addicted loser. You didn’t even try to hear me out. When you arrived here your mind was already made up. I’m more than a little disappointed in you. You go ahead and think what you want but I know the truth. My truth.” He hung his head and shook it. “Please close the door on the way out.” Bennet walked into the kitchen. He heard the door close. Without looking back, he picked up his mug of tea and moved to the booth. Since he no longer had a job he might as well go exploring. Then a memory jumped to his mind. He hurried to the office. Quickly he searched the bookshelves, picking up one of the Star Trek novels and a DVD of the old Bewitched TV series. He hoped that would be enough to exchange for information. He trotted back to the kitchen and slid to the back of the booth. “It’s just the three of us now,” he said. He took a long drink of the tea, then sat back with his hands off the table. Sir John said, “Keep your hands flat on the table for ten seconds then lift them.” “Thanks, Sir John. You’re a true gentleman.” He shifted his gaze to Lord Marius to see if he was listening. He was and as usual, was not happy. Bennet counted to ten, lifted his hands, and was falling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Seconds later he landed on the dusty street. The old western town was still there. With his foot, he marked a large X in the dust in the spot he landed. Instead of traipsing down the street, this time Bennet walked straight toward the first building. He stepped up on the wooden walkway, angled toward a door and ran face-first into solid wood. “Ow!” he bounced back holding his nose. Blood dripped through his fingers. He stepped back tilting his head upward and pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he fell off the walkway. He landed on his butt, rolled back, and hit his head on the dirt roadway. He was not off to a good start. He lay still for a moment if only to prevent anything else from occurring. He pinched his nose until the bleeding subsided, then sat up. The book and DVD were on the ground ten feet from him. Bennet rose and scooped them up then stepped up on the boardwalk. This time he dragged a hand along the wooden storefronts until he found the start of the illusion. There he walked through the wall and counted his steps in the darkness until he broke through the opposite side. The brightness was dazzling for a moment. He waited for his eyes to adjust then moved along the high stone wall until he spotted the cave. To have both hands free for the climb, he shoved his bribes into the back pocket of his jeans. The climb was easier than the previous trip. Bennet reached the top and entered the cave stopping inside the mouth. Ward was still sitting in the same chair with a paper open in front of him and a pipe set between his teeth. Bennet studied him for a moment. He was tall and lean, with large eyes. A puff of smoke rose toward the rock ceiling. Bennet wondered if it was the same paper or did they have a daily delivery? Bennet stepped forward. His movement caught Ward’s eye. He lowered the paper, took the pipe from his mouth, and stood. “Well. Well. Look who decided to make an appearance. June, dear, look who came for a visit.” June was in the kitchen baking something with her back to him. She glanced over her shoulder. The face startled Bennet freezing him in place. Not that it was hideous; quite the contrary. Her features were feline. A light brownish, orange fur covered the delicate features of her face. She appeared green last time.

Hadn’t she? Though strange and unexpected it was mesmerizing. “Ah, June, fix your face, dear.” “What? Oh my.” She turned and pressed her palms to her face. When she turned back around, the image of June was in place. She untied her apron and walked from the kitchen. “Why Bennet, so good to see you again. Sorry about my slip. I wasn’t expecting company. I didn’t frighten you, did I?” “Huh, No, not at all. In fact, it was quite, ah, beautiful.” Color displayed on June’s cheeks. “Why, thank you, Bennet.” “Hey, now. Let’s not be hitting on my dame,” Ward said doing Bogart. Bennet realized he was staring open-mouthed at June. He snapped his jaw shut, stammered an apology and pulled out his gifts if only to change directions. Ward got as excited as a child receiving a present. He dropped the paper, the pipe fell to the floor, and he hurdled gracefully over the sofa to get to Bennet’s offerings. For her part, June did tiny jumps in place while doing her dainty claps and emitting a high-pitched squeal. The scene made Bennet smile. Ward took the book and DVD like they were precious commodities. He examined them closely like a jeweler analyzing a gem. “OOO! Star Trek. That sounds exciting. And look, dear,” he held up the DVD collection, “Bewitched. I think it’s a story about you.” He laughed though it sounded more like a gasp. “I forgive your tardiness.” “My tardiness. You realize time is different in my, ah, world, than it is here, right?” “Is it?” he asked coyly. “You know it is. I lost my job because more than a day ed by the time I returned.” June ed them and read the back of the DVD. “A job!” Ward said. “How mundane.”

“What? Are you retired or just rich?” “Why, yes, Bennet. Come, I can’t wait to watch this.” “But you said you’d tell me about the dimensions.” “Yes, yes. Of course, I will, but sit with us and explain what we see.” “But . . .” “That’s right, on your butt.” “I’ll get some popcorn,” June said. Bennet was dragged down onto the sofa. He looked in front of him but did not see a TV or a DVD player. He turned to say that to Ward when a loud pop came from the kitchen drawing his attention. He looked to see June walking back carrying a large bowl and three smaller ones. He heard the opening notes of the studio’s theme and glanced back to see the images displayed in midair. He could see right through them to the cave wall. June flopped down beside him, scooped a small bowl into the large one, and handed it to Bennet. It was full of warm popcorn. “How did you make it so fast?” “Skill. this to Ward, please.” She handed him a second bowl and he handed it off. When the first episode loaded the lights dimmed. Bennet looked around the room to see if anyone else was there. It was just the three of them. Maybe the lights were on remote control. Then he realized he hadn’t seen one. This was all so strange. It was like they created things out of air. He ed the tea and scone. Perhaps polluted air. Ward and June sat back, both placing their feet on the coffee table. They laughed, then gasped when Samantha did her first nose twitch. June scooted forward and faced Bennet. Her face displayed awe and wonder, her eyes were bright and twinkled like tiny stars. “Can all people of your dimension do that?” Without waiting for an answer, she placed a finger on Bennet’s nose and tweaked it back and forth.

“Ow! No. No one can do that. It’s just a TV show. It’s all made up.” The wonderous aura of her face faded in disappointment. She sat back. “Phooey. That’s too bad.” By the third episode, the popcorn was gone, and he was done. He wanted answers. He turned to Ward. He was enthralled, locked onto the images that played out before him. “I need to be going and need some answers.” “Shh!” “You promised.” He ignored Bennet. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll go explore on my own.” He waited for a response. “Seriously, you’re not going to help me?” “Quiet.” That one word, more of a roar, conveyed danger and the threat of bodily harm. Wide-eyed, Bennet leaned away, no longer wanting Ward’s attention. He studied the man, creature, alien, whatever he was but he was so focused on the show he gave no further interest in Bennet. Who were these beings? What had he stumbled into? Was he safe? If he couldn’t get answers it was time to leave, but was it safe to explore on his own? Then a new thought brought heightened anxiety. How long had he been there? Frustration and annoyance at their peaks, Bennet thought to give one more try to get his answers. He turned to June and his eyes bugged. June was now Samantha and was busy twitching her nose. The sudden change and exactness to the image on screen made Bennet jerk back in surprise. He bumped into Ward, who said, “Hey,” and shoved him back. His push was hard enough to propel him into Samantha, toppling them both to the floor. They rolled several times before stopping. Samantha hissed then twitched her nose and suddenly Bennet was airborne. He screamed until he hit the stone wall of the cave, driving all the air from his lungs and consciousness from his mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was dark when he woke. He kept still afraid of what he might attract with any noise or sudden movement. Whatever he was laying on was soft. With a slowness that ached mentally and physically, he slid his hand from his stomach down his leg until he reached the softness. It had rows of coarse material. Sofa, he thought. Voices reached him, either from a distance or whispered. He concentrated on hearing the words only to discover they were not speaking in a language he understood. He wasn’t sure it was a language at all. It sounded like a series of purrs, hisses, and growls. Where was he and who lurked in the dark? With all the control and stealth he possessed, Bennet swung his legs from the sofa until they touched the hard floor. A second later, light erupted and he covered his eyes against the brightness. “Oh, Bennet,” June said squatting in front of him. Her voice was soft, melodic and comforting. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I apologize profusely. We both do.” A hand settled on his knee. The touch startled him. His knee jerked. Her hand lifted. “Please forgive our rudeness.” His vision cleared and he removed his hands. June, now Samantha, was gazing with concern deep into his eyes. Her head moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. He moved closer to her as if drawn to her by some spell. “Honey,” Ward, now Darren, said. “Careful. You ah, don’t want to overdo it.” He emphasized the words ‘overdo’ and ‘it.’ Samantha drew back, blinked rapidly, and the pull faded. “What happened?” “You don’t ?” Darren said with a note of hope. “I flying and hitting something hard.” Bennet rubbed the back of his head and winced as he found the small lump. “Bennet, you know we would never hurt you, right?” Samantha said. “I mean, we’re friends and friends don’t hurt friends.”

He did the equation in his throbbing head. Friends don’t hurt friends. These people hurt him. Ergo . . . He tried to stand but dizziness overwhelmed him and he was forced to sit. “Darren, darling, I think he’s cussed.” “I think you mean, concussed.” “That’s what I said.” Bennet wondered if the word should be cursed. “How long was I out?” Samantha glanced at Darren. He shrugged. “Twenty minutes.” “I have to go.” This time he stood in increments. “Oh, no, please, Bennet,” Samantha said standing. “Don’t go. We’re sorry.” To Bennet, she sounded on the brink of tears. “Honest. We didn’t mean it.” “Please Bennet,” Darren said. “Let us make it up to you. Stay. Have dinner. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I promise.” He made a cross over his heart and held up two fingers to complete the vow. Bennet wondered what movie he got that from. “It’s late. I need to get back. Someone was waiting for me. They must be worried by now.” “Oh, Bennet,” Samantha said and hung her head in defeat. “It’s okay. I’m alright. Just a little woozy.” “Will you come back?” Darren said. Bennet froze, unsure how to respond. He was sure the hesitation was noticed and the meaning portrayed but he said, “Of course,” forcing a cheerfulness to his tone that even to him sounded fake. He walked toward the cave mouth. “Oh, Chulaterra, make him stay.”

“Now, now, dear. We don’t do that sort of thing.” Don’t do that sort of thing? Bennet hastened his steps. “I’ll walk you out, Bennet.” “That’s okay. I-I don’t want to put you out.” “Put me out? You’re not putting me out. I’m leaving on my own.” “I meant I don’t want to be a bother.” “Nonsense. You’re our guest.” They walked down the slope of the mountain. At ground level, Bennet ducked into the dark veil without waiting for Chulaterra. Maybe he could lose him in the blackness. By the time Bennet pushed through to the lighted old town street, Chulaterra was already there. “Look, Bennet, I know this all seems strange to you. I’m sure we seem strange, but you have to understand, we are the only two remaining of our race. We spend all our time alone or with each other. We are starved for companionship. When we first met your father neither of us knew what to think or expect.” He purred a laugh. “I thought old Teddy was going to faint. But we got past our initial awkwardness and became good friends. I hope we can do the same with you. These gifts you bring allow us to see something new. To become something new. It gives us joy and makes our normal days less boring. Quite frankly, before your father arrived, we were bored to the point of extinction.” He stopped. Bennet had his head down while Chulaterra spoke and spotted the X he’d scribed in the dirt. He looked up but everything was black. “What I’m saying is, please don’t judge us. Our eagerness to absorb the new things you brought got in the way of who we are. We’re not bad or violent beings. Give us another chance. Please.” Bennet felt bad. He didn’t want to lie to Chulaterra but didn’t want to commit to returning either. He stuck out his hand. Chulaterra gave him a quizzical look then his eyes brightened. “Oh, yes, of course. A handshake to seal the deal.” He took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. “I hope to see you again and

thanks for the movie.” Bennet smiled. When he wasn’t so absorbed in watching a TV show he wanted to kill you for interrupting, Chulaterra was a nice guy—or whatever. He lifted his arms and in his mind, said, there’s no place like home, and lifted off. Once more he came to an abrupt halt. His body bounced in the booth for a moment before settling, like he just came into the ride exit at an amusement park. Again, he was behind a veil looking out at his kitchen. Clara was not in sight, but what had he expected? He saw her walk out the door. It was better she wasn’t there anyway. She would’ve accused him of creating an elaborate hoax to fool her like a prank in one of those crazy reality TV shows. Since he no longer had a job, missing another day was not going to get him fired again. He slid out of the booth and stood. The kitchen was dark. He looked at the window to discover it was night. He would’ve missed work. Of course, he wouldn’t have gone exploring if Clara had given him a chance to show her the booth. The thought of not having a job upset him. The thought of not seeing Clara again saddened him. Now what? He still had the safe to unlock and he was hungry. After eating a meal he didn’t taste, Bennet went into the office, gathered his notes on the combinations he had tried and sat in front of the safe. For a while, he went through the motions, spinning the wheel a number to the right, back to the left, then right, left, right. He made it through half of the possibilities for the current combination when a thought occurred to him. What if this wasn’t the pattern of the dial turns. What if the first number started to the left? What if it didn’t switch back and forth from right to left, but continued in one direction two numbers in a row? Three? The possibilities were endless. Feeling defeated and like he was working in slow motion, Bennet sprawled back on the floor and stared at the ceiling. It was hopeless. His eyes closed. He didn’t fight sleep as it descended over him. He dreamed of an endless curtain of darkness. Light surrounded him in on all sides but in the distance. Every time he moved toward it the light moved too. He never got any closer.

In the back of his mind, a three-beat tapping sounded. He focused on the rhythm and tried to locate the source. Tap-tap-tap. It was louder this time. Tap-tap-tap. More insistent. Again and again. If it was part of a dream it wasn’t doing itself or him any good. The tapping prevented him from sinking deeper into a more restful sleep. From somewhere deep inside his mind an idea formed like a bubble. It floated free from its source and drifted to a place where it was noticed. Its appearance initiated a sequence of one-word thoughts. Tapping, knocking, door, visitor, who? The next word had explosive power that snapped his eyes open and his body to a sitting position. Clara. He got to his feet and ran toward the office door but before he escaped the room, the tapping came again. He froze and listened. It had come from somewhere behind him. Bennet retraced his steps, stopping in front of the window. Now more concerned about what he’d heard, his hand moved in slow motion toward the curtain. Before he pulled them aside, the tapping happened again, this time at its loudest. He jumped back and stared at the curtains. What was behind them? Did he want to find out? He decided he had to know but this time approached from the side. He peeled back the curtain from the edge of the window. Something moved. Something red, but in the dark, it was hard to tell what. It pressed its face to the glass with a thud that caused Bennet to jump away. His hand still held the curtain. The face pressed closer. A voice called, “Hey! You still alive in there?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

With relief, he realized it was Moreno, but the shock to his heart was painful. His hand clutched at his chest as if an external massage might help the racing organ. “Hey, you still with me?” Bennet stepped closer. The darkness outside made it difficult to see the large bird other than the beak, eyes and the red plumage of his head. “You scared me near to death, Moreno.” “Sorry, but I haven’t seen you in a while.” Surprised, Bennet’s heart warmed at the concern. “You were worried about me?” “Ah, yeah, sure. But I was also wondering where a chap might go to find some decent nuts around here.” Bennet was stymied by the request and now doubted it had been concern at all for his well-being that brought the bird to his window. “What are you saying? You’re hungry?” “Well, yeah.” The bird cocked its head and peered at him from one eye. “I do get hungry, you know. Don’t you?” “Haven’t you been eating?” “Yeah. There’s plenty of fruit trees in the area but a fellow like me likes to have a bit of variety in his diet. Don’t you?” “Yeah, but I don’t have any nuts and I’m not sure where you might go to find some.” “Oh, bother.” Moreno turned his back to Bennet and stared into the darkness. “The closest thing I have is some peanut butter.” Moreno whipped around. “What is peanut butter? Does it have peanuts?” “Yes, it’s made from peanuts but it’s like paste. I spread it on bread.”

“Can you spare some of this peanut paste? I’d love to try it and would forever be in your debt.” “I guess.” Moreno noticed his hesitation. “What’s the problem? You can’t share with a friend?” Friend? Bennet rolled the word around his head for a moment. It would be nice to have a friend. Could you be friends with a bird? Sure. Why not? People had pet birds they treated as friends. “It’s not that. It’s just, well, I don’t have much and I’m sort of low on food and money to buy more.” “Oh, I see.” But clearly, he didn’t. Moreno didn’t have to worry about paying for his food. He just flew to where it was, ate and flew away. But wasn’t the cost of giving up his peanut butter worth having a friend? “Give me a minute. I’ll bring it outside.” “Oh, that is wonderful. Thank you, Bennet.” Bennet walked into the kitchen. He took out the peanut butter and contemplated the best way to serve it to a bird. He took out a spoon, then decided to spread some on one slice of bread. He folded it in half to make a sandwich then cut it into four pieces and took it outside. The backyard was black. A dim patch of light from the office window offered the only illumination. He heard the flap of wings before he spotted Moreno. He almost jumped from his skin when the bird alighted on his left shoulder. “My, you are a jumpy one, aren’t you?” “You scared the life out of me.” “Stop exaggerating. You’re still standing. Still breathing. Still . . .” sniff, sniff. “Wait. What’s that?” “What?” Bennet felt his pants fearing he left a deposit.

“Nuts. I smell nuts.” Relieved, Bennet held up the four sections, though now having been smooshed together after his fright, they looked like one. He separated them and held one up. Moreno moved sideways, closer to Bennet’s neck and lowered his beak toward the bread. He sniffed several times, then in a quick move, snapped it from Bennet’s fingers. Bennet let out a gasp and examined his hand to ensure all fingers remained. Moreno smacked like he had lips. “Umm. Hey.” The smacking grew more frantic, the sounds he emitted sounded desperate. “Elp. Uck.” “What? You don’t like it?” Moreno flapped his wings but stayed on Bennet’s shoulder. The wings buffeted Bennet’s head. “Uck. Uck.” “Watch your language. It’s not that bad.” “O. upid. Uck. Uck. Eak uck.” “Is that the language of your world? I don’t speak it. Sorry.” Moreno went crazy. He lifted off and hovered in front of Bennet’s face. Bennet feared he was being attacked. “Eak. Uck. Eak. Uck.” Bennet could see Moreno straining. He replayed the sounds until along with the image a pattern formed. “Eek.” Moreno grew more frantic. “Speak. Teak. Leak. Beak.” At beak, Moreno nodded. “Es. Es. Es” “Beak. Okay. So uck.” Truck, tuck, duck. No, none of those fit with beak. He thought about the possible combinations. “Beak tuck. Beak duck, oh, duck’s beak.” Moreno shook his head and groaned. “Beak luck. Beak stuck.” Moreno went crazy. The tip of his wing pointed at the end of his beak. Bennet got it. On the nose. “Your beak is stuck?” Moreno nodded. Bennet put his hands on the top and bottom and gently pried them apart. Moreno gasped and fluttered. “What the hell was that?”

“Peanut butter.” “You can eat that? How do you chew it?” Bennet laughed. “I like it and for the moment it’s keeping me alive.” “I think I’ll stick to fruit.” “I’ll try to stop at the store tomorrow and pick up some nuts.” “I would be grateful.” “How grateful?” “Please. I’m not that kind of bird.” “Huh? No, I meant can I ask you some questions about your world?” “Oh, yes of course. What would you like to know?” “Have you ever been to other worlds?” “You mean excluding this one?” “Yeah.” “One other but that was a huge mistake.” “Why?” “Why? It was a world of all cats and you know what their favorite food is?” “Oh, I guess that might be traumatic.” “I barely escaped with my feathers. Did lose a tailfeather. That was very depressing. It was my favorite one.” “Do you know how to get to any other worlds?” “Why do you want to know? Is your own world so unpleasant you wish to look elsewhere?”

“No, but now that I know all these other worlds exist, I’d like to know more about them. Perhaps visit a few.” “Hmm. I can tell you what I know, but traveling to them is not easy nor is it always smart unless you know what you’re doing.” “That’s why I’m asking, so I can learn.” Moreno pondered his response for a moment. “First of all, we are not talking about worlds. They’re actually different dimensions attached to the same world.” “What?” “And here I thought I was dealing with an intelligent life form. Look, it’s like peeling off layers of a flaky puff pastry. As each layer is removed another is revealed. Each attached as a whole but can be broken down into separate elements.” “So, beneath the surface of this world is another one?” Moreno covered his face with one wing and shook his head. “You’re not listening. The layers or dimensions may exist anywhere. Their commonality is in with Earth. There are only a few places on the planet where other dimensions can be reached. Apparently, this is one of those places. Each dimension can only be accessed by one entry point. Sometimes multiple access points are in the same place but most times the only way to gain entry into one is to through another. “Each dimension has its own entry requirements or circumstances, such as my dimension which only makes itself known after the sun sets.” “Is there another dimension attached to yours?” “Yes, the cat dimension. If others exist, I’m unaware of them.” “Can the cats from their dimension to yours?” “Yes, but only if a being from that dimension holds open the portal and allows them entry. That’s how I was able to into your dimension.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t hold the door open for you on purpose. You just took advantage of my being there.” “Potato tomato.” “What? No, it’s tomato, tomato,” Bennet corrected switching from the long to the short a. “Why would you say the same thing twice? I think you’re wrong. You say two different things to make your point. One’s a tomato and one’s a potato. You say it that way cause it’s different.” “And I thought I was dealing with an intelligent life form.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Clara When she walked out the door of Bennet’s house, she was angry and disappointed. She wanted to believe he had a real reason for his problems, but once again, she had been let down. She had to give him credit for originality though. Of all the stories she thought she might hear, one about a disappearing booth was not even close to her list of top ten. She made it down to her car and stopped. He had the nerve to turn this around and make it about her. He’s disappointed in me? What an idiot. And what a fool I am for falling for his bullshit. She allowed her anger to rise then whirled and glared at the house like it was at fault for Bennet’s behavior. No, she wasn’t done with him yet. She had more to say plus she still had the money he was owed. She fished the wad from her back pocket and strode toward the porch. She entered and caught sight of Bennet sitting at the back of the booth he built overnight. Then, in a blink, he was gone. Clara stopped and stared open-mouthed at the spot Bennet was sitting. Then, she rushed forward for a closer examination. Where had he gone? It had to be some trick like a magician’s illusion. At the table, she gave a close scan to the bench seat then squatted to look under the table. There had to be a trap door somewhere. She tried to pull the table out for a better look at the bench but it did not budge. She searched for a source but detected no manner in which the table was secured to the floor or booth. She glanced around the booth. Bennet must have decorated it with odds and ends he had lying around the house. The two side walls were adorned with paintings of ancient battle scenes and two nutcrackers stood on the back-corner ledges. Clara sat on the booth and slid toward the back where she last saw Bennet. She felt along the smooth bench material then pushed and pulled to find the trap door. No seam or slack in the cushion showed. However he had done the trick it was well made and undetectable. She assumed it locked from underneath. She slid from the booth and sat in a kitchen chair. A glance at the time on the microwave told her she had fifteen minutes to spare before she had to be at work. Where ever Bennet was he couldn’t stay there forever.

Twenty minutes later, she was driving to work. She called his name several times. Playing to his male ego, she itted she was fooled and that he had done a good job on the prank or illusion or whatever. She offered to let him keep his job if he came out then. Nothing. No appearance to gloat. No sound. No scary aftershock. She gave up and walked out. All day at work she stewed back and forth from how he had done the trick, how she’d been fooled about him and that he was fired, though she hoped he was alright. By the time she closed up, she was angry, confused, and worried. She drove back to his house. The sun was setting. The house was dark and gave off a vacant vibe. When she left, she’d purposely left the door open. She entered, scanned the front room, then called Bennet’s name several times. With no response, she walked to the kitchen. The booth was not there. At first, that gave her nervous pause. What had happened? But, as she allowed the analytical part of her brain to take charge, she reasoned Bennet had come out from his hiding spot, saw she was gone and took the booth down. She stepped closer. The area where the booth stood was small. How did he build a booth in that space? It was obvious he covered the door and window. She stepped to where she thought the trap door must be but the floor was solid. She stomped a few times to make sure. After several minutes of pondering and examining, she went through the rest of the house. She studied the office more out of curiosity than for clues. A circuit of the room took seconds. She noticed the safe and the file cabinet. Both were locked. The bottom drawer of the desk was damaged. Bennet must have pried it open. She was about to open the drawer when she spotted something in the desk that caught her eye. A yellow envelope addressed from an attorney with Bennet’s name printed on the front sat all alone in the center of the desk. She shook out the contents and read the enclosed letters. Interesting. She felt guilty reading the personal message from his father but what discovery was he referring too? The letter gave her information but also created a lot of questions. Questions she could not ask without revealing she had read his private letters. It gave her pause however, that something more was going on in this house than she expected. Perhaps Bennet wasn’t as crazy or brain-addled from drug use as she thought. She put everything back in place and went to check the rest of the house.

The bathroom sink was dry as was the shower, so, neither had been used in a while. The other bedroom door was locked. She knocked a few times before deciding she was going to make sure Bennet wasn’t hiding inside. Clara checked the lock. It was old and large. It most likely took a skeleton key. She went to the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers finding a metal skewer—just one which she thought strange, and an Allen wrench, again only one. They usually came in sets. She took them back to the locked room and went to work. The lock was a simple mechanism but it took her several minutes before hitting the right spots. The lock fell open with a loud snap. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. A waft of musty air escaped. She swatted at it as if it was a swarm of bugs. The room was dark. She searched the wall for a light switch. The room was lit by a dim overhead bulb with no covering. Clara stayed in the doorway. Though her curiosity urged her forward the guilt of her actions held her in place. All she wanted to do was ensure Bennet wasn’t hiding inside. That was easy to discern from where she stood. Unless he was hiding in the closet or under the bed. She grabbed the door and closed it, then stopped. In a rush, she entered, opened the closet door, and looked under the bed. Nothing. Satisfied she had been complete in her search, she closed the door and spent even longer to set the lock. Where was he? She replaced the items in the kitchen and moved to the front door. Clara took a long scan of the yard and street as she ran over the letters again in her head. She ran through a list of pros and cons before deciding Bennet might be in serious trouble. She called the police. That had been a mistake. Her explanation had been so lacking in detail because she couldn’t find a way to relay what she saw that the cops dismissed her. After they left leaving her to feel like a fool, Clara shut the door and went home. She’d had enough of Bennet and his mysteries. Too restless to sleep and despite her vow to forget all about Bennet, she found herself driving back to his house. This was not like her. She was too rational to be acting this way. What did she hope to find? She had no answers for her ludicrous behavior but she drove on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

By the time they’d finished their discussion, Bennet had learned a lot. Each dimension was different, they were all various sizes, some quite small, though none anywhere close to the size of Earth, and each have their own specific climate, topography, and life forms. Not all beings from one dimension can cross into another and time ed differently for each. After saying good night to Moreno and promising to return the next day with nuts, Bennet walked around the house to the front porch. His mind was busy recounting what he learned and his head was down. “Bennet,” the voice called, the tone full of surprise. Bennet leaped back startled that anyone was there. “It is you, isn’t it?’ “Cl-Clara, what are you doing here?” “Checking on you. Where did you disappear to? I was worried. You didn’t come back so I thought something happened to you. After a while, I gave up waiting. I had to get to work. I figured it was some trick like you were practicing for a magic show. But all during work I wondered and fretted whether I should call someone. You never came into work, oh, by the way, you’re fired, so I decided to come back and check.” “You were here? I thought you left.” “I did or was going to. I stood outside running through things in my mind. I was getting angry and decided to come back in and tell you off. I entered just as you disappeared into the booth.” “Oh, you saw?” “Yes, I saw. But you planned it that way, didn’t you?” She talked fast and seemingly without pausing for a breath. She inhaled and Bennet thought she was about to continue but she blew out a calming breath and said, “So, it was all just a joke, wasn’t it? You had me hoping you were different but once more I was a fool. I came back after work. The door was still open. I came in, just to check

but you weren’t here. I thought I’d catch you. Maybe in a drug-induced stupor or something equally as stupid. But when you weren’t here, I got worried enough to call the police. What a joke that was. They thought I was as crazy as you were. I think they thought I was on drugs. They did a quick check of the house and not finding you anywhere, said to wait another twenty-four hours before I called to report you missing.” She paused for a breath. “The look on their faces when I told them you disappeared from a booth that had also disappeared. I was humiliated. You did that to me. You—you, oh, you are so fired.” She was breathless. Her face was a bright red that made her face glow. “So, you came all this way and late at night just to check on me and then when you establish I’m alright, you fire me.” “Of course, I did. You didn’t show up for work—again. I guess I should’ve brought your pay, but I forgot. I won’t be back so if you want your money you will have to come to the store and get it.” “I understand that part. What I don’t understand is why make the trip just to fire me?” She eyed him as if taking the time to form the proper response. “In case something bad did happen and I was the last person to see you alive.” “Ah.” “Well, since you’re alright, physically at least, I have serious doubts about your mental condition, I’ll be going.” She turned to leave. “Clever trick. Had me fooled. More ways than one.” Seeing her go had an immediate effect on him. Panic. Fear. Depression. Sadness. Loneliness. As well as a touch of anger. He stepped forward and reached out an arm but stopped short of . “Clara, wait. Please.” She turned and seeing the outstretched hand backed away. “Don’t touch me. I’m warning you.” “I wasn’t—it’s not a trick. I don’t expect you to believe me—I’m still not sure I believe it myself, but it is true. There’s something very strange about this house.”

“You mean other than its occupant? If you expect me to believe you, I need proof.” “Proof?” “Yes, proof. You know the word? Facts talk, bullshit walks.” Her demand flustered him. How could he prove any of it to her? Unless— The idea snapped into his head and with it a burst of excitement and hope. “Wait right here,” he said and ran up the steps and into the house. He found what he wanted on the kitchen counter, snatched it up along with the flashlight, and ran back through the house and down the steps. He hurried past her. “Follow me.” “Where are you going?” He ignored the question, focusing on the garage key. He stopped at the side door unsure if she followed him. Bennet listened at the door, then inserted the key. Only then did he look up. Clara stood twenty feet away with uneasiness showing from her facial expression to her shifting weight and wringing hands. He unlocked the door and paused with his hand on the knob. “If you want proof you have to come closer.” “If you try to shove me in that garage you’ll be in for a beating.” Bennet’s jaw dropped. Her words shocked and disturbed him. Did she really think he was like that? “I’d never do something like that,” he stammered. “Is that what you think of me? I’d never hurt you, Clara.” She didn’t speak but her eyes conveyed her anxiety. Bennet searched his mind for a solution. “Okay. Okay, let’s try it this way. Move so you can see inside the garage but far enough away to feel safe.” “I’m not going in the garage.” “No, neither of us are. I’m not sure it’s safe.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “It’s better if I show you. But we must be quick. I don’t want to risk something

getting out.” “What do you have in there?” “I don’t have anything in there. Whatever it is only shows up after dark.” “This is insane. You’re crazy. The drugs are causing hallucinations.” Her constant return to drugs made him mad. “For the last time,” he said, his voice sterner than intended, “I am not on drugs. But let me ask you this. Are you using drugs?” “What? No.” “Then, if you see something strange in there you can’t blame it on being stoned.” “What is it you expect me to see?” “Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.” He flicked on the flashlight, twisted the knob, and pushed. The sound of insects was strong. The light barely penetrated the darkness of the thick jungle. In the distance, several monkeys became active, their high-pitched cries proceeded a rustling of branches. Bennet kept his hand on the knob in case he had to close it fast. He looked at Clara surprised to discover she was only a few feet away. “What is that? Do you have a monkey in there?” “No, but I think there is a monkey in there, maybe more than one.” “That doesn’t make sense. You either have one or you don’t.” “I don’t, but there is one or more inside the garage.” Something moved the branches that were close. Two round white orbs appeared a few feet from the door causing both Bennet and Clara to take a step back. “Is that the monkey?” Bennet said, “I guess.”

Another set of eyes appeared, then two more sets. “I better close the door before they get out.” He pulled the door shut but something grabbed it and yanked back. Bennet felt the panic rise inside him. He pulled harder but whatever held the other side was as strong if not more so. Bennet placed a foot against the garage wall and pulled hard. He feared the doorknob would rip from the wood making it impossible to close the door. Small brown fingers wrapped around the door. “Take the flashlight.” Clara stepped forward and took it from his hand. Using both hands Bennet began to gain ground. More fingers appeared around the door. Their combined strength was more than Bennet could counter. The door moved steadily toward full open. Clara came up next to him and grabbed the door above the fingers. With her added strength the door swung back toward closed. Frantic chattering and hooting came from the interior. Clara let out a startled scream as one of the monkeys grabbed her finger. She yanked it free but the loss of her muscle caused the door to swing open. From somewhere deep inside, a ferocious roar seemed to cause a rumbling beneath their feet. In an instant, the fingers were gone and the door slammed shut, just as something heavy slammed into the door from the inside. Another roar drifted through the door but sounded as though it was a long way off. With a shaky hand, Bennet fought to slip the key into the lock. His racing heart and rapid breathing didn’t slow until long after he heard the snap of the lock. He staggered back as if suffering a blow from a heavyweight contender. He bumped into Clara. She caught him with a groan, preventing him from falling. Then she tripped and they fell. Bennet landed between her legs back to her chest. They stayed that way for a moment too stunned to move before Clara said, “What the hell is going on?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

After extricating their limbs from each other, they went inside and sat in the kitchen. Clara stood staring at the back wall where the booth had been while Bennet put water in the coffee maker to make tea. He only had the one bag and it had already been used but it was better than nothing. He watched as Clara moved with caution toward the rear wall. Her hand extended in front of her as if afraid she might run into something. She reached the back wall and traced a finger along its surface. A frown creased her pretty face. As the water dripped into the pot she bent and looked out the window. She stayed that way until the water hissed and steam drifted from the top of the coffee maker. He poured two mugs of steaming light green tea and set them on the table. Clara approached the table though she kept her head turned toward the rear wall. “If you’re waiting for the booth to arrive it won’t happen until after six in the morning.” She sat in the wicker back chair but continued studying the rear wall. “If you aren’t playing some huge practical joke on me then where does it come from?” “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Whatever my father discovered or created is a mystery to me. He was aware of what the booth could do because the beings I met on the other side of the booth said they met him.” “Wait. There’s beings, like aliens in the booth that magically appears in your kitchen?” “Yeah.” “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” “Are you kidding? You thought I was a nut job because of the booth. If I told you I met otherworld beings you would have called someone to cart me to the looney bin.” “And rightly so.” She sipped her tea without thought then winced at the heat to

her mouth. She stared at the cup as if unsure of the contents. “What do you think now?” “Now? Now I think I may have to you in the looney bin. What was that? Are you keeping wild animals in the garage? She inhaled loudly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re holding and selling exotic animals. That’s how you can afford this house without a job.” “No. I am not selling exotic animals. Those aren’t mine.” “You’re holding them for someone else then. That’s just as bad.” Losing his temper, he slapped his hands on the table sloshing some of the tea from his cup to the table. “Clara, stop. I’m not doing anything wrong,” his voice was loud and harsh. Clara reacted by backing away. Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared as if readying for battle. Bennet softened his tone. “I’m not selling or keeping exotic animals. I’m not on or selling drugs. I have no idea where the animals or the booth came from. And the truth is I can’t afford this house. I have about ten days left before the bills start coming in and I have no means with which to pay them. “This isn’t much but it’s all I have in the world. All I have left of my mother and sister are stored in boxes in the back room. This is it. The truth is,” he hesitated knowing what he revealed next would be the end of any chance of keeping his job or convincing Clara of his honesty. He blew out a breath of defeat and said, “The truth is I just got out of jail. I was in prison for a few years for an armed robbery I did not commit. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and well, years of my life were stolen from me.” Clara showed nothing on her face. Her smooth skin lacked worry wrinkles, red cheeks, angry or concerned eyes, the perfect poker face. “When I got out, I crashed on an old friend's couch for a week before an attorney tracked me down and told me my father had died. That’s when I found out I had this. The next day I went looking for a job. That’s when I found you. I’ve been floundering ever since and trying to make sense of what’s going on in this house. I’m not making it up. It’s hard to believe I know, but it is the truth.” Clara sipped at her tea. The mug was cupped in her hands and never left the

front of her face. Bennet waited. Her silence made him more nervous and anxious as the seconds ed. His leg began to bounce. The seconds stretched with agonizing slowness into minutes. Still, her face remained ive as she sipped her tea. He wanted to scream, “Say something,” and had reached the point of doing so when she set the mug down, lowered her eyes, and swallowed as if preparing to speak. Instead, she stood and left the kitchen, then the house. Bennet sat frozen to the chair, stunned by the sudden dismissal of his story. Her obvious disbelief in him. He wanted to scream—to rant and throw things. His rage boiled to the point of explosion. Just before he thought he could take no more something popped within his mind. A release of pressure as if an opening appeared in the top of his head to release steam. He slumped in the chair, placed his arms on the table, and his head on his arms, and cried. He stayed that way, lost in his sorrow, confusion, loss, and loneliness. The burden of his guilt and sadness weighed heavily on his body. Guilt over not seeking out his father once he was released, thus never getting the chance to apologize for not having a better direction to his life and to be there during his time of sickness. Sadness over the lost years of his life and being gone in the first place. How much different his life might have been had he chose a different route that day and made it to the recruiting office. He’d never know. They wouldn’t take him now that he had a felony conviction on his record. Maybe his best choice was to enter the dimensions and never come back. That brought his thoughts back to the safe. Before he traveled into the unknown, he wanted access to the contents of the safe. He wiped his face with a swipe of his sleeve and went to the office. He started again on his last grouping of numbers, not confident he’d done a good job on his last attempt. He spent the next hour finishing off any sequence that started with twenty-six and moved to thirty-seven. He was at the end of the first sequence when a sound from the front room drew his attention. Bennet froze, not sure if he heard the sound or was just so tired he’d imagined it. He focused his hearing and was about to give up when he heard the front door close. Someone had broken into the house. He exploded to his feet trying to keep quiet and scanned the room desperately for something to use as a weapon. Footsteps approached. He had seconds to react. His eyes stopped on the desk

chair. He snatched it up surprised at its weight and awkwardness. The office door swung inward. Bennet began his swing. Clara stood in the doorway. It was too late to stop the chair’s momentum. But his swing was so poor and the chair so off-balance in his hands that the wheels hit the wall to the side of the doorway. Two long gouges appeared in the drywall. Clara jumped back and lifted her arms in a defensive stance. Her eyes were wide but showed no fear. To Bennet’s eyes, she looked ready to fight and appeared to know what she was doing. Like she had training and had done it before. He dropped the chair, “God, Clara, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I thought someone broke in. Wait. Why is it you?” Though she lowered her hands, her eyes remained intense. They never left his face. “I’m spending the night. And before you get any ideas, I’m just here to witness this so-called weirdness, nothing more. If you try anything, I will hurt you and believe me, I can.” He did believe her. He swallowed hard and backed away a step. “Okay.” “What are you doing?” “I’m trying to open my father’s safe. I have four of the five numbers and am trying to work through the various combinations.” She nodded. “How far have you gotten?” “I’d say about halfway providing the combination has a right, left, right, left, right sequence.” “She nodded again. “Otherwise, you’re nowhere near close.” “Exactly.” “Alright. Continue.” She glanced over her shoulder at the hallway. “Where’s a bedroom I can sleep in?” “Ah, that’s one of the reasons I need to open the safe. I think the key to my father’s bedroom is inside. There’s only two bedrooms. This is the other one.”

“So what? You been sleeping in here or on the couch?” “The couch. But you can sleep there,” he added hastily. She nodded once more than turned from the room. He heard her moving around in the front room. He felt a wave of emotions from confusion to excitement take turns washing over him. “Get to work,” she said from the front room. Without a word, he did.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

He spent the next thirty minutes running through combinations while Clara explored the house. Her voice from the doorway startled him, mes his latest attempt. “You don’t have much in the way of food, do you?” “No. I’m trying to make it last until payday.” “But you don’t even have coffee. How do you survive the morning?” “Tea.” She made a face. He risked a glance at her. She appeared to be contemplating something. Decision made, she said, “Keep working. I’ll be right back.” Curiosity piqued, Bennet wanted to ask, “Where are you going?” but managed to keep the words to himself. She left without further explanation and he returned to work. By the time she returned he had finished another set of combinations. Rustling plastic bags came from the kitchen followed by the sound of opening and closing cupboard doors. He was curious but decided to stay where he was. A few minutes later the aroma of coffee wafted into the room. The scent made his mouth water. He stood and followed the trail into the kitchen. Clara was leaning against the counter, sipping her coffee and staring at the back wall. He stopped and watched her for a moment unsure if he should enter and break whatever her thoughts were. She straightened becoming aware of his presence and turned to face him. “Tell me where you went yesterday morning?” He entered and pointed at the coffee maker. “May I?” “Help yourself.” Bennet took a mug from the cupboard and filled it. He noticed Clara had creamer and a few packets of sweetener on the counter she must have brought with her. He took a mug down and poured the dark brew. Steam lifted as if seeking his nostrils. Bennet inhaled deeply the aroma-carried euphoria with it.

Clara sipped and studied him. Her steady gaze made him nervous. He avoided her eyes, turned, and sat in one of the two kitchen chairs. Clara did not move to him. He could feel her gaze as if it was boring through his skull in search of the answers she sought. “I’m listening,” she said. Bennet sighed and stared into the dark surface of the coffee. She was not going to be denied her answers but how much did he tell her? He took a sip, thought, took another sip and formed his response. Before he spoke, Bennet set the mug on the table, swiveled in the chair to place his back against the wall and said, “There seems to be multiple dimensions to this house. I’m not sure of how many. I know of three and have been told there are many more. “The three dimensions I have been too so far are all different and don’t appear to have any connection between them. They are separate worlds to themselves: their only connection is that they are attached to this house in some way. I have no idea how or why or when it occurred. Perhaps it has always been that way.” Bennet slid the mug toward him but did not pick it up. “I lived here for a short time before, well, before I didn’t. During that time, I can’t say I ever noticed anything strange about the house. I would have noticed if a booth suddenly appeared each morning. So, something happened from the time I left and now to make this happen. “My father was aware of the dimensions because he spoke with the same beings I did. They have promised to explain what they know about his travels through the dimensions and what they know about the other dimensions.” He shrugged, picked up the mug, and said, “At this point, that’s all I know. I entered the dimension through the booth twice and will go back again if only to learn more about what my father was doing.” He stared off as if unaware the coffee was in his hands. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. His reverie was disturbed by the sudden scraping of the second chair across the linoleum floor. Bennet looked up to see Clara leaning over the small round table, her face two feet from his. Her eyes locked on his daring him to break the connection. “You swear this is all true?”

He nodded. “But, there’s more you’re not telling me.” She said it as a statement rather than a question. “Tell me the rest.” “My father left clues around the house to decipher the combination to the safe. Two of those numbers are hidden in the paintings that hang over the booth. The picture on the left is of an English Lord, Sir John. He has been informative and gave me the number my father left with him. The painting on the right depicts a French officer, Lord Marius. He has not been helpful and refuses to give me the number unless I the two paintings together so they can meet in a final battle to the death. I’m reluctant to do that because I’m afraid the booth will cease coming and I will lose my only entry into the other dimensions.” “So, you speak to these paintings.” “Yes.” “That’s how you know their names.” “Yes.” She blinked twice, drank some coffee, then said, “What else?” “The two beings I encountered through the booth are I suppose some sort of shapeshifters. Each time I see them they look like someone from old TV shows.” “How would they know what they looked like?” “My father brought them DVDs as payment for information.” Did you bring them a DVD?” “Yes.” “And what have you learned so far?” “Nothing.” Her head cocked to the side in an unasked question.

“Things kind of fell apart before I got the answers I wanted.” She sipped her coffee and continued to eye him. “You’re still holding something back.” Bennet set his mug down without having taken a sip. “I think they’re dangerous.” “How so?” “When I tried to ask Chulaterra a question . . .” “Chulaterra is one of their names?” “Yes, he was so engrossed in the TV show that he lashed out at me, sending me flying. He is extremely strong and apparently has a temper.” For the first time since he started his story, Clara looked away. She gulped her coffee but from the distant look in her eyes, Bennet knew she was giving his statement serious thought. From behind the mug, she said, “Have you seen them in their natural form?” “From the quick look I had, I’d say they are feline in form.” Her eyebrows went up. “Feline? Cats?” “Yes, Promontia has a fine fur covering her body. Her face is unmistakably feline. She looked away and when she looked back, she was June Cleaver.” “Why do I know that name?” “From the TV show . . .” “Beaver’s mom?” “An exact replica.” “Oh man, you either have a great imagination or your drugs cause very wild and creative hallucinations.” He sighed. “I told you. I don’t do drugs. I couldn’t afford them if I did.”

“Well, I’ll find out soon enough because, in the morning, I’m going with you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“D on’t you have to work in the morning?” “No, it’s Sunday. I seldom open on Sundays unless it’s closer to Christmas.” “I didn’t know that.” “If you came into work more often you might.” The words and the tone made him cringe inwardly. They finished their coffee and went back to the office where Bennet continued his process of elimination. Clara stood in the doorway and watched for a while. Bennet wasn’t sure how long it was before he looked up again but when he did, she was gone. He fizzled out shortly after that discovery. He got up and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, then stretched out on the office floor. The thought of Clara sleeping in the front room made him nervous for some reason. It wasn’t like she’d given him any indication of interest other than boss/employee. Yet unexplained and unknown feelings swirled beneath the surface of his being. He didn’t dare think of her in that way. Yes, she was attractive, smart, and tough, but he had no right to think of her any way but as his boss. He didn’t even dare to think of her as a friend. But the question remained, why was she here? Curiosity? Sure, but what else? A sense of adventure? A love for the strange and bizarre? One thing he was sure of, her reasons for being here had little to do with him. The various scenarios played out in his mind and eventually in his dreams. From a distance, a voice called to him. “Hey. Hey Bennet. Bennet, wake up.” As the voice penetrated deeper into his subconscious, he heard, “The booth is here.” His eyes opened. The blurry image of Clara stood in the doorway. “Get up, lazy. It’s time to go exploring.” She gave a wry smile and disappeared. For an instant, he thought she was another dream but when he moved his body protested by sending angry pain through an assortment of sore muscles. He groaned, stretched, then sat up.

“Coffee’s ready,” Clara called from the kitchen. Bennet went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. The image that stared back from the mirror looked more like a distant cousin. A knock on the door got him moving. “Okay, I’m coming.” He opened the door to find Clara standing there holding the mug he used last night. She pushed it toward him, turned, and hurried away. The aroma of bacon and eggs hit him like a slap to his taste buds. His steps hastened. He stopped in the kitchen doorway. Clara was scraping out scrambled eggs and chopped bacon onto two plates on the kitchen table. To the right, four slices of toast popped up from the toaster. In a steady practiced and fluid motion, she set the pan in the sink, scooped up the toast, and set them on a plate, then placed the plate and a container of margarine in the middle of the small table. “Let’s eat so we can get started.” She sat facing the booth. Bennet didn’t want to appear too anxious but found it difficult to rein in his legs. In three strides, he was in the chair and reaching for the remaining two slices of toast. “Or should we eat in the booth?” Bennet paused with the toast above his plate to give the question thought. “No. There’s no telling what might happen if we sit there. Let’s eat first, then we can explore.” Clara appeared satisfied with that response and tucked into her meal with enthusiasm. Bennet had to force himself to slow down or risk inhaling the food without the chance to enjoy it. “Umm! This is so good.” “You’re only saying that because you haven’t eaten much in a while.” “That’s true, but it doesn’t diminish how good it is. Thank you for doing this.” “Consider it prepayment for what you’re going to show me.” She pointed her fork at him. “And it better be worth my time.” The next bite caught in his throat. He was forced to wash it down with coffee.

“I looked at the two paintings. The Englishman is on the left, the Frenchman on the right. I didn’t see movement and sure as hell didn’t hear voices. I hope this isn’t some prank or the wild imaginings of a—ah, creative mind.” Bennet knew she was about to say druggie but didn’t comment. The meal was consumed entirely too fast. Bennet found himself looking toward the frying pan that now sat empty in the sink. Disheartened he munched slowly on the last corner of toast. With a burst of energy, Clara lifted off the chair and carried her plate to the sink. “I cooked—you do the dishes.” Bennet finished chewing, drank the last drops of coffee, and set everything on the counter next to the sink. “Okay, enough dawdling. Let’s get started.” An excited yet almost wicked twinkle lit her blue eyes. He moved toward the booth and stood in front of the table. He ran options through his head to determine the best approach. An idea struck. He slid into the booth under the painting of Lord Marius. Perhaps the Frenchman would take a liking to Clara to the point she could coax the number from him. He motioned toward the seat on the opposite side of the booth. Clara slid in, her eyes jumping from the painting above Bennet’s head to Bennet. “Okay, now what?” “I’m going to engage Sir John. Watch the paintings.” “What am I supposed to see?” “Wait. I’m not sure if anything will happen but just keep looking at the painting.” “Sir John, are you there?” He heard the horse whinny first. As he watched, the horse reared up. Sir John waved his sword in the air. “Good morning, Bennet.” Clara slid from the booth so fast she almost fell. Wide-eyed she whipped her gaze from Bennet to the booth wall searching for the source of the voice.

“Sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Her gaze traveled upward until she found Sir John, then her jaw fell open. Sir John slid the sword into the scabbard and tipped his cap to her. “Sir John Wilford at your service.” Clara didn’t know what to say or do. She looked to Bennet for a lead. “Sir John, may I present Clara, ah,” he looked at Clara open-mouthed and swept his hand in her direction. “Oh, ah, Lawrence. Clara Lawrence.” “Well, Miss Lawrence I must say your very presence brightens my day.” He gave a slight bow from his horse. “Ah, thanks?” “You are quite lovely, my dear. Bennet, my lad, you have exquisite taste in women.” Bennet could feel the heat rise to his cheeks. He stopped a glance at Clara, afraid she might be angry. “Clara is not my—I mean, she’s . . .” “. . . a friend,” she finished. “Yes, a friend.” “Well, a good choice of friends then. How goes your interdimensional travels?” Bennet said, “A little slow. Clara is interested in ing me today. Any advice?” “Sit close and hold on to each other. If you get separated you might end up in different dimensions, areas, or times.” “Have you traveled to other dimensions?” “Of course. I wasn’t always stuck in a painting. In my younger years, I traveled quite freely. Now, I’m am stuck here until the war can be brought to a conclusion one way or another.” “What do you mean, ‘stuck,’ Sir John?” Clara asked. “Did someone trap you

inside?” “No, dear lady, nothing like that. I have an obligation to the battlefield which must be met before I once again have the freedom to choose what I do next.” Bennet said, “But how is victory decided?” “In this case, either my opponent, Lord Marius, or I must perish in the battle.” “What?” Bennet said. “Then by bringing the two paintings together I’ll be the cause of one of your deaths.” Sir John smiled. “Yes.” “But if one of you dying is the only way to release you from the painting, why is Lord Marius so intent on having me do it?” “For the very reason you just stated. He wants out. One way or the other. He is tired of this existence. He’d rather perish in battle than live forever in this world.” “I don’t understand,” said Clara. “Why would anyone want to live this way?” Sir John smiled again. This time the warmth did not reach his eyes. Instead, a weary sadness shown with little brightness exhibited. “It is the way of our world, dear lady. If one of us dies and releases the other, two more combatants will take our place. Thousands of us face-off each day.” “But if the loser dies, are there replacements to keep the numbers the same?” “No lad, there are not. Little by little our numbers are whittled down until the final battle with the two remaining survivors.” “That’s horrible,” Clara said. “There must be a way to end this constant conflict.” “There are only temporary lulls in the fighting. It is how our dimension was created centuries ago. Not to worry. As long as I don’t lose, I will be free for a while before having to return. Our struggles have lasted more than five hundred years. I am in no danger of perishing anytime soon. As long as you don’t the

paintings that is.” “Don’t worry. That will never happen.” Then a thought crossed his mind and must have displayed on his face. “What is it, lad?” “I just ed. Lord Marius still holds the one piece of information I need to get into my father’s safe. I guess I’ll just have to do without the last number.” “There’s no other way to find the number?” asked Clara. Bennet shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.” “Of course there is, lad. You have the key standing right next to you.” Bennet glanced at Clara, then back at Sir John. His confusion was obvious, making the military man laugh. “Lord Marius loves women. Maybe your friend can work some feminine magic on the man. I’m sure he’d give up anything for a flirt with her.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Bennet’s jaw fell open . A hand reached across him and closed it. Clara stared at him. “Don’t look so shocked. I can be flirtatious.” “It’s not that. It’s more like I can’t ask you to do something like that.” “You’re not asking. I wouldn’t do it if you did. But this is my decision. Now, show me what to do.” “Well,” he said after a moment of consideration. “I guess we just get his attention.” “Okay, do it.” Bennet moved closer to the painting of Lord Marius. He had his back to them and was in combat with a red uniformed soldier. Bennet waited until the soldier was dispatched then said, “Lord Marius.” The man ignored him. “Lord Marius,” Bennet said louder. Still, he did not turn. “Oh, just turn around, you bloody French bastard,” Sir John shouted. That did the trick. Marius whirled the horse around and jabbed at Bennet with his spear. Bennet backed away as the spear jutted out from the painting. “You will not talk to me, you liar.” “How am I a liar?” Bennet replied. “You swore an oath to me that you would the paintings, then in your cowardice, you stopped.” “I fell through the booth.” “I’ll bet it was that chicken of an Englishman who begged you to stop. So afraid was he that his life would be ended.” Bennet saw that the discussion would get him nowhere. Below the frame of the painting he motioned for Clara to him. As she approached, Lord Marius swung his gaze in her direction. Her presence had an immediate reaction.

“Ah, and who is this beautiful mademoiselle?” He turned his horse to face her. Bennet whispered, “Don’t get too close. That spear does come out of the painting.” She paused, then placed a knee on the booth so she was facing him. Bennet slid toward the center of the booth wanting Marius to focus solely on her yet wanting to be close enough to protect her. “Ah, you are such a flower. You brighten this portion of the world.” “Why, thank you, Lord.” Her voice was soft and demure. Bennet thought she batted her eyelashes at him. “You are so beautiful,” Marius said. Bennet switched his gaze from Marius to Clara and studied her face. Her skin had a slight tan to it which highlighted her blue eyes. Her minor skin imperfections seemed to only accentuate her beauty. For a moment he was enthralled. “But why do you hide your femininity in those clothes? Your wondrous features would show much better in a long gown instead of these men’s clothes. I could dress you like a lady and show you off at court.” He kissed the air in front of closed fingers then extended his fingers outward. “Magnificent.” He dismounted, which shocked Bennet, then strode toward the painting's foreground. “May I kiss your hand, my lady?” A red rose colored her cheek. She lifted her hand toward the painting. “I’m sorry, I cannot reach beyond my dimension. However, you can place your hand through.” “Bad idea,” Sir John said. Bennet moved to stop her as her hand penetrated the veil of the other dimension. Marius took her hand and bent to kiss it as Bennet stretched his arms out to grab Clara. But unsure of how she might perceive the he held back at the last second.

Marius pressed his lips to Clara’s hand, lifted his head showing a wry smile, then yanked back on her hand lifting her from the bench seat. Her legs hung above the seat. Bennet clamped both of his hands around her hips and pulled back but Marius already had her halfway through. He swept his other arm around her waist and pulled her free of Bennet’s grasp and from her world. “You must not let him have her or you will never find her again. I have seen him do this same thing to other women through the years. She will be lost to you forever.” “What do I do?” “Step through the painting.” “And how do I bring her back?” “Scan the horizon. When you see me, run.” Bennet was unsure of what to do but a glance at the painting showed Marius dragging Clara toward his horse. Clara fought but Marius was bigger, stronger, and had a superior position. “Hurry lad. If he gets her on the horse, you’ll never catch her in time” Bennet didn’t know what in time meant but was sure there were no good options. He stood in front of the painting, shoved a tentative hand at and through the painting, then looked back at Sir John. The man nodded and Bennet dove through. The sounds of battle were louder on this side of the painting. Screams of the wounded and dying were all around him. The air was cooler and smelled of copper. He spotted Marius lifting a limp Clara onto the horse. The sight drove him to move. He raced toward the man. Clara was lying across the saddle and not moving. He must have hit her or choked her out. Marius saw Bennet closing on him and shouted in French to the closest man. He waved the soldier forward and pointed at Bennet. Bennet caught movement in his periphery but ignored it. He needed to get to Marius before he mounted. The man had one foot in the stirrup when the foot soldier crossed in front of Bennet, brandishing a long spear.

Bennet stopped suddenly, his feet sliding out in front of him. The slip saved his life as the spear ed inches over his body. Bennet fell and rolled. He increased the speed of his roll until he made with the spearman. The collision swept the feet out from under the soldier. He fell and the spear lifted into the air. Bennet scrambled to his feet, kicked the solider in the head sending pain up his foot, then picked up the fallen spear. Marius was on the horse and swinging it around. Bennet had no hope of catching the man so did the only thing he could. He took two running steps and launched the spear. With all his might. The spear arched high in the air as Marius kicked the horse into motion. The heavy warhorse gained speed with each stride. Bennet watched as the spear began its downward path. If the horse gained more speed the spear would fall short. Knowing if the spear missed, he’d have no chance to catch Marius, so, Bennet sprinted anyway. The spear descended and missed Marius. However, it pierced the top haunches of the horse. The horse cried in pain, stepped sideways, tripped, and fell. Clara was thrown from the beast’s back while Marius had a leg trapped underneath. The horse cried and kicked, grinding on the ground and Marius’s leg. He cried out. Bennet ignored both and raced toward Clara. Afraid she might be dead he spent a moment checking for a pulse and breath. He found both. Relieved he scooped her up and turned to run back. From under his horse, Marius shouted for his men. “Kill the man. Not the woman.” He continued to struggle to free his leg as Bennet hurried past him. Marius clutched the spear and tore it from the horse’s haunch. It screamed and flailed, causing return pain to Marius. Bennet heard shouts and running footsteps closing behind him. He risked a glance back as Marius threw the spear from a sitting position. Bennet ducked as the spear whipped past. The awkward move with his arms full caused him to trip. He went down on his knees trying desperately to hold onto Clara, however, the weight of her created enough momentum to pitch him forward and Clara from his arms. He watched in dismay as she rolled across the battleground stopping next to a dead English soldier. He hastened to his feet as two French soldiers approached at a run with drawn

swords. He scanned the ground in a hurry as he turned to run but no weapon was in sight or reach. He could feel them gaining and feared feeling the sharp cut of a blade splaying open his back or the point piercing through his back and exploding from his chest. A glance back showed either was a possibility sooner than expected. Bennet was about to dive and roll praying the move might extend his life even for a moment when a loud rumbling sound came to him like the sound of stampeding horses. Then the ground shifted and felt as though it was moving. The sudden movement threw him off balance. Instead of diving where he wanted, he was pitched backward toward the pursuing swordsmen. The ground shook beneath him. Did they have earthquakes in paintings? He rolled to his back fearing the swordsmen were upon him but they had been knocked to the ground as well. He scrambled to his feet and ran at the two men. Their shocked expressions told Bennet this was not normal. He found one of the swords on the ground and picked it up. The second man still held his and was trying to rise. Bennet kicked the man in the face. The man was lifted backward then flopped to the ground making no effort to prevent the fall. After the kick, Bennet lost balance and fell. The first soldier got to his feet and reached Bennet. With a lunge, he took flight to land on Bennet. Bennet lifted both hands to ward him off. The man landed with a scream and a sickening sucking and gurgling as the weight of the man’s body slid down the now extended sword. The body slid to the hilt. The man’s pained eyes locked on Bennet. Blood dribbled from his lips, then with a shudder, his eyes closed. Shocked at taking a man’s life even if by accident, Bennet frantically pitched sword and man aside and stood. He no sooner reached his feet than a violent shuddering of the ground drove him to his hands and knees. As suddenly as it began the earthquake ceased. His body continued to vibrate seconds later until he heard a wild cry. He looked for the source to find Lord Marius charging at him with sword raised. With a cry of panic, Bennet scrambled to his feet and took off running just as the blade swept down. He felt the wind created by the downward cut on the back of his neck. “You coward,” Marius shouted. “Stand and fight.” A figure ran past Bennet heading toward Marius. He ran three more strides

before realizing it was Clara. The shock and fear for her safety brought him to a sudden stop. He whirled to run back to her only to see her exchanging cuts and blocks with Marius. He was bigger and stronger but Clara was holding her own. Bennet pulled up short, not sure what to do to help her. He scanned the ground for a weapon. Off to the side, the thundering began to grow. It drew Bennet’s attention. A large herd of charging horses had kicked up a cloud of dust. A cry of alarm brought him back to the fight at hand. Clara had tripped and was on her back. Marius pressed his advantage. With a vicious backhand swing, he knocked Clara’s blade aside and lifted his arm for the killing thrust. Bennet was already on the move when he saw Clara go down. He prayed he’d be in time. He launched into a tackle as the thrust was driven toward Clara’s unprotected torso. Bennet made with the sword inches from her chest. He drove the larger man to the ground but as they rolled and grappled, Marius leveraged his weight to the top. He delivered a short punch to Bennet’s jaw with fist and pommel knocking him near unconscious and defenseless. Through dazed, narrowed eyes, Bennet saw the sword rise, position for a downward thrust and begin its descent. Bennet closed his eyes not wanting to see the death blow. A loud metallic clang sounded inches from his face. The weight was lifted from his body amidst a barrage of curses. Bennet opened his eyes. A figure stood above him on horseback, haloed by the bright sun beyond. He shielded his eyes but it wasn’t the sight that brought recognition. It was the voice. “Lad, you best be up and moving before you get hurt.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Somehow, Sir John had ridden to the rescue. The British officer spurred his horse in pursuit of the now running Marius. Bennet wondered if this was the end for one of them. Sir John had risked a lot to come to his rescue. Hands grabbed him from behind. At first, he struggled, thinking it was an enemy, until a voice in his ears said, “Get up before you get yourself killed.” Clara was alive and aiding him. He rose and whirled and in a rush of emotion swept her into an embrace. “Okay, Romeo, save it for another time.” Huh? “Oh, sorry. I got carried away.” “Unless you want to get carried away on a stretcher, I suggest you run.” Clara turned and sprinted. Bennet followed, but struggled to keep up. In the distance to the right, Bennet spied a small rectangle that appeared to be hanging in midair. As they grew closer, he realized it was the painting. “Over there,” he shouted. “To the right.” He wasn’t sure if Clara heard him until she altered course. A French soldier ran in front of them brandishing a spear. The lone obstacle to their escape stood defiant despite it being two against one. He jabbed first at Clara, then at Bennet to keep them both back. Clara moved to the left. The soldier angled in her direction. Bennet caught on to the move and went right. The soldier was forced to backpedal to keep both of them in view. When Clara was out of range of the spear, she darted for the picture. The soldier whirled then ed Bennet was still there. As soon as he saw Clara take off, Bennet almost followed suit. Instead, he waited a few seconds to allow Clara a chance to get through the painting before he arrived. The spearman advanced, making several feint thrusts. He advanced faster and whipped the spear back and forth. It was time to go. Bennet took a step to the left and as the soldier adjusted, he broke right, running as hard as he could. Ahead he saw Clara standing in front of the frame looking at something. What was she doing? He yelled and waved his hands, “Go. Go. Get through.” She looked back. He was close enough to see her eyes widen which made him think he was in serious trouble. Then she stepped through the frame and disappeared.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. The soldier was ten yards behind. Was that enough lead to get through the frame before the soldier reached him? He also had to allow for the length of the spear which gave him at least another six-foot reach. The frame loomed ahead. It looked so small. In the frame, Clara’s face appeared. She looked concerned, which in turn made Bennet worry more. Had the soldier closed enough to be a threat? She motioned for him to hurry. He pushed harder. With the frame three feet away, she made a downward motion with both hands. He wasn’t sure what that meant but thought it couldn’t be good. Her voice came through clear, “Get down.” Bennet took one more step then dove for the opening praying his body fit. As his hands pierced the thin veil of the painting the frame appeared to widen. Clara’s hands reached for him. She stepped aside as his body hurtled through into the booth. His body slammed onto the tabletop and skidded across. He had to use his hands to lessen the impact with the bench seat. His body dropped off the table as a tiny spear flew between his splayed legs sticking in the wall. Bennet pulled his legs down and turned on the seat for a view of the painting. The angry Frenchman hurled curses at them and shook a fist. He then pulled the sword from its scabbard and shoved it through the painting. The tiny blade was visible but not a threat. Then the man arced backward, his face contorted with pain as a blade ripped through his chest. He fell and writhed on the ground before stilling. Sir John stood there. He smiled, winked, then lifted his sword in front of his face and swept it away in a salute. Then he turned and ran to his horse. He mounted quickly and rode off into the thick of the battle. Clara slid into the booth across from Bennet. Her dazed look mirrored his own. Bennet glanced at the paintings only now realizing they were on the same side above Clara. Somehow, they had ed. That was how Sir John had been there to save them. But how? There had to be another way other than him sitting in the booth with his hands in the table. They did not speak for several minutes then Bennet said, “Believe me now?” She gave him a deep frown then cupped her cheeks with her hands and stared at nothing. Bennet let her be to deal with what she’d seen and been through. He set

his arms on the table and lowered his head. My God, I almost died in a painting. He wondered if he did, since it wasn’t his world if he’d be truly dead. Neither spoke for more than five minutes. Clara got up and went to a cupboard where she took out a glass and filled it with water from the sink. She downed the entire glass then refilled it. Bennet watched her with a new sense of awe. She hadn’t been nearly as afraid as him. On top of that, she picked up a sword and went one on one with Lord Marius. That took courage. If he hadn’t seen her put her life at risk, he doubted he’d have been able to believe it. They had saved each other’s lives. That was an emotional bond that would be tough to break. Her hair was disheveled. Her clothes were dirty and torn in several places, her face had dark smudges that might be dirt or blood, but as he sat there watching her guzzle the second glass of water, he thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. She finished with an “Ah,” then wiped her mouth across her sleeve. As she set the glass in the sink, she emitted a loud belch. Color rose to her cheeks. She faced him, gave a ‘whoops’ look, and said in a dainty voice, “Excuse me.” Yes, she was beautiful. “Fighting makes me hungry. You want something?” Bennet didn’t feel hungry but said, “Yeah, that sounds good.” While she busied herself with his meager food offerings he went into the bathroom and used a washcloth to wipe his face. He stared into the mirror, wondering if he had anything to offer a woman like Clara. He caught a whiff of his underarms and took off the shirt. He used the washcloth to clean his pits, then went to find a clean shirt. As he slid into it, Clara called, “Chows on.” Suddenly he was hungry. Whatever he imagined the meal might be it wasn’t what he sat down to. She had made pasta, which he knew he had, but it had sauce with both sausage and pepperoni as well as onion and mushroom. A container of grated parmesan and Romano cheese sat on the table. He was stunned.

Clara did not wait. She dug in and chewed with enthusiasm. With her mouth full, she said, “You gonna eat or what?” He smiled and sat. he took a fork full, put it in his mouth, and moaned. She laughed spraying droplets of sauce on the table. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, finished swallowing, and said, “You’re supposed to eat it, not have sex with it.” Bennet felt the embarrassment heat his face. “Sorry. It’s so good. But where did all this stuff in it come from?” “I bought it. Figured we were going to need food at some point and I wasn’t thrilled by what you had here.” “Wow! Thank you.” “No problem. And by the way. I do believe you and you’re rehired.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The announcement brought satisfaction and joy to Bennet. He was about to say ‘Thanks,’ when movement above Clara drew his attention. At first, he feared another attack until he recognized Sir John. He was elated and stood awkwardly in the booth. “Sir John. I’m so glad to see you.” The man led his horse by the reins. He looked exhausted but his eyes beamed brightly. “Yes lad, I’m fine. A little battle-weary and a few nicks here and there, but overall, just fine.” Clara leaned across the table and craned her neck to see. “Hello, dear lady. I’m glad to see you are alright.” “And I you.” She slid from the booth for a less strenuous position and stood next to Bennet. “Does this mean it’s over?” “Yes lad, it does. Lord Marius has gone to meet his maker. I can’t say I’m sorry but we’d been adversaries for a long time. I respected him and, in a way will miss him, but life goes on and so must I.” Bennet said, “How did the paintings ?” “As you know I was not as willing as Marius to finish the battle. When you’ve been at war for as long as I have you just want a break. That’s why I was reluctant to have you bring us together. But there are three ways for the battle to be ed. One is by you sitting in the booth in a certain spot. Another way is if both combatants will it so. If I wanted the battle to end as Marius did our wills would pull it together. That’s what happened. Since he had already declared he wanted the battle finished all I had to do was agree. “When I saw what he did to your lady I knew from previous episodes what was about to befall her. I couldn’t in good conscience allow that to happen to such a fine lady. Not again. So, I sent forth my agreement and the battle was ed.” “What’s the third way?” Clara asked.

“Oh, well once the battle reached a certain time allotment without a conclusion the powers that be who created our world’s format have a built-in process where the paintings will move closer together each day until they are ed with or without our consent. Otherwise, the battles might go on forever.” “So, you initiated the battle.” “Yes. I felt I had to.” “Well, we’re glad you did. You saved our lives.” “That was the intent.” Clara said, “Not to mention the fact that with Marius distracted it was a good opportunity to have the upper hand.” Sir John touched the brim of his hat in a salute. “You are very astute, my lady. Yes, that was also a consideration. We were mere weeks from the time allotment and being forced to battle. This was as good a time as any.” “Better,” Clara said. “Yes. Much better.” “So, what happens now?” asked Bennet. “Do you get your break?” “That is my option. Either take a year off or go right back into a battle.” “Why would anyone want to go right back into battle?” Clara asked. “The lone advantage is that you can pick your opponent and the battlefield. You have a century to engage so that’s not a bad option. If I take the year break, I will be assigned the next opponent and placed on a randomly selected battlefield. I’m going to inform them I’m taking the break.” “Does that mean you won’t be in the painting anymore?” said Bennet. “That’s right, lad. This will be my last day with you. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you both.” “The pleasure is all ours, Sir John,” said Bennet. “I will you always.”

“And I you, lad.” “Will there be new paintings tomorrow?” Clara asked. “I don’t know. There will be eventually once new commanders are assigned.” They remained silent for a moment, then Sir John said, “I must be off to see to my men and my horse. Perhaps we will meet again. Goodbye Bennet.” He tipped his hat to Clara. “My lady.” “Bye, Sir John,” they said in unison. Sir John mounted his horse, reared it up and waved his hat, then horse and rider rode off into a vivid painting sunset. They watched him go and Bennet was surprised to feel the lump in his throat. Sir John was a good man and he would miss him. How strange it all was. Then a sudden thought brought a gasp. “What’s wrong?” Clara asked. She put a hand on his shoulder. “The number. I forgot about getting the last number.” Clara relaxed and lowered her hand. “Guess you’re glad I’m around then.” “What?” “It’s fifty-eight.” “How do you know that?” “It was carved in the frame on the other side.” Bennet was baffled, then elated. He rushed to sweep Clara into another embrace. She held up a hand. “Easy now tiger. Only one hug per customer and you’ve had yours for the day.” He stopped and smiled but had to it to himself a little disappointed, too. “Go, try the combinations while I clean up here.”

His face felt tight trying to suppress the extent of his smile. “Thank you.” He ran past her and into the office. It took three tries to reach the right combination. Seventeen, twenty-six, fifty-eight, thirty-seven, and forty-two. The safe opened with a soft hiss, releasing stale air. Bennet stared into the dark interior. The safe had two shelves at the top and a larger space at the bottom. The top shelf held a ring of four keys. The second shelf held loose papers. At the bottom was a shoebox full of papers and a journal. Excited, Bennet grabbed the items with shaking hands and wheeled the chair to the desk. He spread out his bounty and eyed each with the fascination of a child watching his first train set go around the track. He touched each item then sorted through the papers from the second shelf. Each was numbered and had a title. The first read The Morning Room. The page held a drawing of the booth, recording its physical dimensions, eighty-four inches wide by sixty inches deep. It showed the two paintings with the names Sir John and Lord Marius and an arrow pointing to each. Crude drawings of the two nutcrackers were at the rear corners of the booth. The next page was a map with the heading Felinia. It showed a long path running left and right, a large shaded area, and a long rock face with several openings Bennet took for caves. At the end of the path in each direction were words. To the left, it said, ‘To Dimentia.’ To the right, it merely said, ‘Unknown.’ The next sheet was labeled Dimentia and had the look of being unfinished. On the left side of the page was what looked to Bennet to be a graveyard with several tombstone shapes. To the right was a small town showing eight buildings. A half-circle led around the outside of both, connecting them but stopped halfway across the page. Two more paths led toward the center of the page ending at a large mansion. Three paths led from the back of the mansion but didn’t go anywhere. Perhaps his father hadn’t reached that far in his explorations. A fourth page showed a small age somewhere to the left and between Felinia and Dimentia. It was named Xarcdon and the entrance was marked with an X with the words ‘Do Not Enter.’ What was that about? Bennet wondered. He made a mental note to ask

Chulaterra when he returned to Felinia. Clara entered the room and stood over his shoulder. “You got it open, I see. Anything interesting?” “Yeah. So far I’ve found these maps which I’m guessing show other dimensions beyond the one I discovered.” He flipped to the fifth and last page. This one sketched the house and had large circles at the back of the kitchen and back of the bathroom. “What does that mean?” Clara asked. “I’m not sure. This must be the booth,” he pointed to the circle in the kitchen, “but this one looks like it shows the bathtub.” “Haven’t you used the shower since you’ve been here?” Bennet took offense. “Of course, I have. Several times.” “Hey, don’t get angry with me. I’m only asking because if you did, wouldn’t you have gone somewhere?” “Maybe it’s time-related like the booth.” He thought for a moment. “I’ve taken showers both at night and in the morning and nothing happened.” “Guess we’ll have to study it then.” “We’ll?” “Relax, I’m not taking a shower with you.” “That’s not what I meant. You said ‘we’ll’ as in, you’re including yourself in this.” “Yeah, so? Is this by invitation only? Is this an exclusive men’s club?” She made air quotes for men’s club. “Who else is going to believe a story like this?” “I . . .” “Who else is willing to risk their life to watch your back?” “I . . .”

“Who else has saved your life? Huh? Answer me that.” “I might if you ever let me speak.” She pulled back and gave him a quizzical look. “Are you saying I talk too much?” Bennet slapped his face with an open hand. “As if—” She huffed and crossed her arms. “Like anyone else would do what I did for you.” She uncrossed her arms and planted them on her hips. “And don’t go trying to make some sex thing out of that. Like you’d know how to treat a woman. Some first date—almost getting me killed.” “Date?” Bennet sounded confused but felt hopeful. “Stop pressing me. I’ll let you know.” Bennet threw his arms to the sides in a large shrug. “But I . . .” “Forget it. Let’s get back to work. What else you got?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Bennet was glad for a change of direction: talking with Clara or attempting to hurt his brain. He set the maps aside and took out the small leather journal. He unfastened the leather strap that held the book closed and flipped to the first page: A Journal of Discovery—Theodore Wilson If you are reading this (and I pray it’s you, Bennet) then I am either dead or lost in one of the dimensions that are attached to this house and property. If I am lost, you will know because of a lack of body. I have left instructions with my attorney, Winston Crawford, to perform a search of the house should I fail to him weekly. He has a key to the house but not to the safe. If you are reading this you have already figured out how to open it. I first discovered there was something strange about this house when I heard the voices. I followed the sound one night until I was in the bathroom. The voices appeared to be coming from the bathtub drain. The voices were clear though the words were in a foreign language. It was not a language I recognized, so one late night I recorded the conversation of what sounded like three distinct voices and brought them to an old colleague of mine in the language department at the local community college. He told me it was no recognized language and wanted to know more about where I heard it spoken. I lied and told him it was on a bus. He was intrigued but if I told him the truth, he’d think I’d gone off the deep end. So as a note, I believe there is a dimension attached to the bathtub somehow, so be careful when you’re showering, as you may end up in another world completely naked. I never got the chance to explore the possibility though, because it was the next day that things got interesting. Day 1: The Morning Room The first time I saw the booth appear made me think I was still asleep and dreaming. I had to go out of the kitchen twice and reenter to make sure I was actually seeing it. I have no explanation for its arrival or for why it showed up at that moment, but it was real. I thought I was going mad. How had I not noticed the booth before? After a while I got up the courage to touch it, then sit in it. The nutcrackers in

the back of the booth depict the two main characters in the paintings mounted on the sidewalls. One is Sir John Wilford, an English lord, and a great soldier. The other man is Lord Marius Falshone, a devious man who you must watch or be taken advantage of. If you watch the paintings for a while you will find that they move. That’s right, move. The pictures are alive. You can meet and have discussions with both Sir John and Lord Marius in one of two ways. Getting up close to the paintings which can prove to be dangerous, or opening the mouths of the nutcracker, which allows you to them from a safe distance. Each man will answer within a few seconds. Both have rich histories. I encourage you to have long discussions with them before attempting to travel through other dimensions. Over the course of a week, I came to learn much about these alternate realms both by doing research and talking to the paintings. From what I can tell, these are not alternate realities. You will not find a variation of yourself in any of these dimensions. These are independent worlds with their own life forms and particular rules of living and survival. Though each may have a connecting point they exist entirely as a free entity ed together like soap bubbles in a bathtub. However, some dimensions are not safe to enter. Do your research before entering a new world. It may save your life. Day 7: Felinia After learning what I could, I gathered my courage and entered another dimension. The entry point is the center of the booth bench seat. Place your hands on the table for ten seconds then lift them over your head fast. It’s like descending a steep drop on a roller coaster. Be careful about how you land. The surface is hard. Felinia is a small dimension with as far as I can tell, two residents. Chulaterra and Promontia are two interesting beings. They have the ability to shapeshift into whatever they see. I have struck a bargain with them where I bring them videos of various shows and movies or books on a variety of subjects and they in turn give me information about the various dimensions they are familiar with. They are very nice but obsessed with our videos. Chulaterra especially gets upset if you don’t bring him something new or are late in your delivery.

Note, time does not the same as back home. An hour in Felinia is equal to six in our world. After my first journey, I was curious if any other portals had been discovered. My research took me to dark, secret places, eventually leading to a dark-web chatroom site simply titled Travelers. There I discovered there are supposedly three other such locations where if you know what you’re doing you can enter alternate worlds. One is in Antarctica, one is in the Himalayans, and one is on some uncharted island in the pacific. The people I conversed with did not use real names. I have no proof their statements were true and no way to their claims. I did however find it interesting a chatroom existed with the same criteria I was searching for. I made no mention of there being a portal in our house. I wasn’t sure I wanted an assortment of lunatics arriving for a trip through our house. Some of the people in the chat room were definitely not right. Day 20: Dimentia From what Chulaterra has told me, Dimentia is exactly like it sounds. Everyone there is a little eccentric as he calls it. Insane is what I took from our discussion. Still, my curiosity is piqued and I must explore. Knowing how time es in Felinia and how demanding of my time Chulaterra is, I decided to sneak through Felinia. I was at the entry to Dimentia when he found me. I had to promise to stop by on my return to proceed. Though a nice being, he is not one to make angry. The entry to Dimentia is a raised circular stone. Another stone stands twenty feet to the right but I was warned not to take that path. I know nothing else about where it goes. After stepping on the left stone, a long, dark, narrow age opens. Entering gives a feeling of claustrophobia but not to worry. The age adjusts to the size of the person ing through and remains constant. Upon exiting the age, you find yourself in a small town of humanoid beings. It looks like something out of a nineteen fifties black and white movie set. To the left is a graveyard that lists the name and the various disorders that person was inflicted with when alive. To the right of the town is what could only be described as a haunted mansion. Though no ghosts surround the property the look alone is enough to give me the creeps.

Each person I met was friendly but had their specific idiosyncrasies and personality disorders. They will only speak to you for a short time before moving on often abruptly in the middle of a sentence. Some could not stand still while they talked. Some avoided direct eye . Others ranted more than talked, their hands flying everywhere at once. You will not get many answers from them but they will give you directions. I was directed toward their Department of Records and Travels where I formed a hypothesis about the various forms of behavior. The inhabitants of this dimension were at one time normal, whatever that might be, but had their personalities altered through what they call dimensionhopping. They wear their dysfunctions like a badge of honor. The more trips they take, the stranger their behavior and the more they rise in a very weird social structure. The person currently at the top of that ladder is a man no longer able to form words. He sits on a throne on the front porch of the mansion and mumbles incoherently and drools constantly. I was able to look up locations of travel that have an insanity rating. Though I didn’t catalog them all, there had to be over one hundred alternate dimensions they were capable of traveling to. There is a list in my papers. I highly advise against traveling to any of them as it is unknown what causes the mental breakdown. It’s either something in those dimensions or the Dimentians have fragile minds that are easily broken. I’d rather not know which. Day 47: Xarcdon This is a frigid world. If there are inhabitants, I was unable to see them in the thirty minutes I was able to sustain the cold. Wind whips and snow swirls, making it impossible to see far or for long. I almost perished attempting to find the portal out. If I try it again, I will be better prepared. Day 53 I have heard tell of another dimension. I was unable to discern the name but am traveling there today. I’ve been told by unreliable sources in Dimentia, that it is a world inhabited by beings that look like me. Perhaps I was wrong to assume all the various dimensions were not alternate realities of earth. The fact that this new dimension does not appear in the Department of Records is encouraging. If it is deemed too safe for the Dimentians then it must be a good choice for me. I

shall soon know, but the way is treacherous. I must through a dimension the Dimentians use on their travels to the bizarre worlds they like to visit. It is called simply Station X. An ominous name to be sure but I should only be there for a short time. Bennet flipped the page. It was blank. He fanned through the remainder of the book but no other notations were found.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“W ait, that’s it?” Clara asked. Bennet shook his head. “There’s nothing else. That doesn’t make sense. He would’ve made an entry when he returned. Why didn’t he?” He was suddenly aware of the quiet that descended on the room. He swiveled the chair to face Clara. Her lips were pinched together. She averted her eyes. “What?” She shook her head and turned toward the door. “I still have a few things to clean in the kitchen.” Bennet stood. “Clara. What?” She stopped but wouldn’t look at him. “Please. Just say what you were thinking.” She turned to face him with obvious reluctance. She inhaled, released it, then said, “Could that be the day he died?” Bennet could feel the color drain from his face. He sat without looking. The chair rolled and he almost fell. Could that be true? He’d have to call Crawford. It was Sunday. He doubted the attorney would be in his office but he was going to try anyway. He pushed up from the chair and brushed past Clara. In the kitchen, he fished the card from his wallet and picked up the phone. To his surprise, Crawford picked up on the fourth ring. After stating who he was, Bennet said, “Can you tell me the date my father died and where he was?” “You know, I don’t often answer the phone on Sundays. I usually come to relax and get a little work done in peace. But for some reason, I had the feeling this was important. Yes, I can tell you those things. Your father and I had an arrangement. He checked in once a week. If I didn’t hear from him, I was to check the house. It had been ten days since I heard from your father by the time I

ed to check on him. I sent one of my staff to the house. As you know I had a key. Your father’s body was on the kitchen floor and had been there for days. His body was white and his eyes bulging like he’d been terrified of something but other than that no cause of death could be found. The coroner ruled it a heart attack, although he itted the heart showed little signs of trauma. Still, it was the only possible conclusion. He did note a grayish hue to his skin that he had no explanation for. You sometimes see that in cancer patients but your father had no signs of cancer. The date we found him was May tenth. The exact time of death has been estimated as three days earlier. Does that answer your question?” “Yeah, I guess it does. Thanks for your time.” “I’m not sure it’s important but I should tell you the coroner had some questions about his body and his appearance. We had no one to make a positive identity so he asked for a recent photo from the house. I did some digging to discover who his family doctor was. After checking through his medical files, he concluded it was your father but noted a few minor discrepancies.” “Discrepancies? Such as?” “Well for one, according to his medical records your father did not have his appendix. It had been removed when he was in his twenties. Yet he had one at his death. The coroner had no explanation for this. Your father also had a series of long scars on his back similar to what you might see on someone who has been whipped. They were estimated to be a good ten to twelve years old. His family doctor does not ever having seen them and swears if he had, he would’ve made a note in his records. And lastly, your father’s dental records show he had two wisdom teeth pulled more than ten years ago but somehow they miraculously grew back.” “What? How is that possible?” “I wish I had answers to give you but alas, a mystery it shall remain. You could of course the coroner but I’m going by the information he gave me, so I doubt you’ll get anything more.” Crawford cleared his throat. “Sorry, Bennet. I’m not trying to cast any doubt on if the dead man was your father but a DNA test came back positive, so there isn’t any uncertainty that it was him. Are you having doubts that it was your father?”

“No, nothing like that. I found his journal and the entries stopped suddenly. It made me realize I don’t know much about his death.” “Ah, you got his safe open then?” “Yes.” “Is there anything else I can help you with?” “Is there anything else about my father or anything he said that you can ?” “No, other than a feeling during our last phone conversation.” “What feeling?” “That it was the last time I was going to speak with him.” “What gave you that feeling?” “He reminded me about checking on him if I didn’t hear from him, then said to make sure I ed you if something did happen to him.” “And something did.” “Yes. It did.” After hanging up he stared at the kitchen cabinets for a long while until Clara said, “Bennet. What?” He told her. “So, what does that even mean?” “I don’t know. Perhaps whatever happened to him in that last world caused the changes.” “Seriously. Something can cause an appendix and teeth to regrow?” “I’ve got nothing else.”

“What about the scars?” “I’ve seen my dad with his shirt off. I don’t any scars. Unless he got them somehow during his travels.” “But the coroner said they were old, right? So . . .” “So—what? What are you trying to say?” “Didn’t your father say the last dimension he was visiting might be an alternate reality?” “Yeah, but what’s that got to do . . .?” A light switched on in his brain. “Oh my God, you’re thinking if it’s an actual alternate reality that there might be an alternate version of my father.” Excitement exploded within him. His mind whirled at hyper-speed, racing through possibilities. He looked at Clara unaware of how near he had moved. Clara nodded. Eyes beaming and wide like they were about to pop from their sockets. “My father . . . “ In unison, they said, “might still be alive.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“W hat are you doing ?” Clara said. Bennet hurried to the office, stopped and looked around as if confused. He had trouble focusing his thoughts. “Bennet, what are you thinking?” What was he thinking? He had to know for sure about his dad. “It’s Sunday, so I doubt we can the coroner.” “Not necessarily. Death doesn’t take the weekend off.” “True, but if you were the boss would you choose to work Sundays?” She frowned at him. “Exactly. So, I need to gather things I might need for an extended trip to the noname place.” “I’m coming too.” He stopped. “What?” “I’m going with you.” “Why? It might be dangerous.” “Then why are you going?” “I have to. It’s my father.” That stymied her for a moment. “I don’t care. You won’t survive out there, down there, wherever there is, alone.” “I have so far.” “Think how easier it will be with someone to watch your back.” Bennet had a brief flashback of Clara wielding the sword. He had to it she

might help, not to mention he’d just like to have here around. But no, that was being selfish. “You won’t be back in time to open the store.” She hadn’t thought about that. She sucked in her lower lip as she pondered options. Bennet took advantage of having her on defense for a change. “Besides, if something does go wrong while I’m down there no one will know. You’ll be my only hope of rescue.” And with that, as sad as it made him, he had her. She frowned and left the room, upset over her loss. Bennet doubted Clara lost often. What did he need for the trip? A backpack. He had seen his old school backpack in the box he took from the garage. He pulled the bag from the box. What next? Clothes? He didn’t have much but stuffed one of his clean t-shirts inside. Then, in a panic, he rushed to the kitchen. The booth was still there but for how long? It was nearly eleven. He tried to if he ever saw what time the booth disappeared. Clara sat at the kitchen table with several sheets of tri-folded paper in one hand. An envelope lay on the table. She wore a strange, expression. Her eyes watered as if sad but her lips, though pressed tight were upturned in a smile. Was she that upset because he wouldn’t let her go? “What?” he said it quickly. He didn’t have time for another argument. He glanced nervously at the booth. He wondered now if once the booth left if he’d ever see Sir John or the booth again. Or, for that matter, Clara. She held out the paper. “You should read this before you go.” “I don’t have . . .” She rustled the papers at him impatiently. He took them and skimmed. Private detective, wait, what? He took a quick breath and went back to the top to start over. It was from a Dave Schwall, a private investigator. Mr. Wilson, I have spent quite a bit of time with the group I told you about on the phone. After many discussions, a few threats, and finally the exchange of money, I was able to determine that Ronny Bartlett, of 23563 Montrose Rd, did indeed commit the robbery your son was accused of. However, Mr. Bartlett was killed two months prior during the commitment of an armed robbery.

The end result of my investigation convinces me that, though I believe your son to be innocent of the charges brought against him, there is little evidence to prove that innocence. I will, of course, present this information to the DA, but with little corroborating evidence, I’m not sure how that will play out. I may, however, be able to convince the people I spoke with to give testimony to the claims but I doubt they will do so without recompense and that amount may prove high. I can dig deeper if you wish but at this point, I have nowhere else to go with my findings. Let me know at your earliest convenience as to how you want me to proceed. My bill is included. It was signed by the investigator. The second sheet was an itemized bill for $2,235.00. Bennet lowered the papers stunned by what he just read. His father had believed him. He believed Bennet to the point of hiring an investigator, and not a cheap one. He may never be able to prove his innocence but knowing his father knew the truth at the end was all that mattered. He thought he was about to cry—felt his face begin to crumble and turned away from Clara. Before the first tear rolled, his eyes landed on the booth. His father. He might still be able to rescue his father. “Bennet, your father proved you were innocent,” Clara said standing and moving behind him. He was too emotional to reply. Heart racing, adrenaline pumping, everything seemed to speed up. He looked at the paintings. Sir John was nowhere to be seen. No battle was being fought. It was mostly empty ground with a few soldiers in the background moving away from the battlefield. “Sir John.” Nothing. “Sir John,” he called louder but the man did not come. Bennet ed what his father wrote and crawled to the back of the booth. He worked the nutcracker’s mouth, waited, then tried again. With a sinking feeling, he sat back. But he couldn’t wait. He had little time to get through the portal to Felinia. He jumped from the booth and was moving away when Sir John called. “Bennet, are you there?” Bennet pivoted and hurried back to the booth. Clara ed him. He was back in

his painting. “Ah, there you are. What can I do for you, lad?” Bennet spoke fast. “Sir John, I just found out my father may still be alive. I need to go through the dimensions to find him. I need to know two things. What time does the booth disappear? And, now that the battle is over will it continue to appear each morning? “I can’t answer either of those. We exist whether the booth is visible to you or not. I will be gone within the next few days though, so I may not be in the painting. Since this is a portal, I imagine it will continue to appear though as stated there’s no assurance I’ll be back. It might be someone else or it might not appear until another duo is assigned.” “So, if I go through, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to get back until the portal returns. I could be trapped down there for a long time.” “I’m afraid so, lad. If you’re going, plan for the long haul.” Bennet stared unseeing at the painting. From a distance, the call of a horn sounded. “I’m being called home. I must be going, lad.” He offered his hand. Bennet slipped his through the painting and the two men shook. “I wish you well in your travels. Until we meet again.” “Good-bye and good luck, Sir John.” With that, Sir John waved and once again, disappeared. “What are you going to do?” Clara asked. He looked at the time. Eleven-ten. He had to decide and now. He ran for the back room, rifled through his box until he found the old multi-tool in its belt sheath. He crammed the maps and the journal into the bag, slid in a flashlight, grabbed two random science fiction novels and ran back to the kitchen. To his relief, the booth was still there. Eleven-fifteen. What else did he need? With an internal clock ticking down, his brain found it difficult to function. Come on. What else? The tension became a compressing force limiting oxygen. Food. Water. Fingers flying, he grabbed the peanut butter and bread and quickly slapped a sandwich together. He didn’t know if his father had plastic baggies but didn’t feel he had to time to search, so he wrapped the sandwich in paper towels

and slipped it into a side pocket of the pack. Water. He scanned for something to hold water without it leaking. His head whipped back and forth across the kitchen in a desperate effort to locate anything to solve the problem. His eyes ed over Clara twice without seeing that she held a sealable coffee mug in an outstretched hand. He stopped and gazed from the mug to Clara’s face. “Water.” He nodded, took the cup and set it cautiously inside the pack. “Thank you.” With one last glance around the kitchen, he said, “I have to go.” She nodded but didn’t speak. Bennet noticed something brewing behind her eyes but he didn’t have the time to discuss it. He stepped past her, slid across the booth, and stopped in the middle. As he placed his palms on the table his eyes locked on Clara’s. There was something in her eyes. Some thought or perhaps words she wanted to say to him. In a sudden rush, words smashed together in his mind, fighting their way to his tongue. Things he should say. Emotions he wanted to convey, but before he could speak, he noticed the booth begin to fade, and then he was falling.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

This time, knowing what to expect, he landed in a squat but on his feet. He looked up but even if the booth was there, he couldn’t see it. He brushed himself off as he walked. Questions he needed to ask ran through his mind, but the most important question was whether to speak with Chulaterra or by him and use the map. He could certainly use his input if he ever got to it, but he didn’t want to delay his mission to find his father. Bennet feared getting caught up in a lengthy discussion about TV shows, yet he also was afraid of angering the man. He’d seen and felt firsthand his quick temper and raw power. On the move, he pulled out the maps and flipped to the right one. He needed to get to Dimentia and from there to Station X. He folded the maps and slid them back in the pocket of the backpack and increased his pace. The road in front of him appeared endless. The unchanging surroundings made the hike feel as though he made no progress. Still, he trudged on. After a while, he thought he noticed a change on the horizon. What it was, he couldn’t be sure, only that something was different. But having traveled so far with nothing changing, perhaps the alteration was his mind playing tricks on him or that he wanted there to be anything different so he created the change himself. He had to know. He hurried even faster but no sooner had he done so then he heard a voice call from somewhere to his right. His pace faltered for a moment, then he continued. Had he heard the voice? “Bennet,” the voice called again. This time he was sure. He slowed gazing down the path. Yes, he was sure the path ahead was different. He longed to continue but as he looked back, Chulaterra leaped to the ground from someplace high up and landed on his feet without having to crouch to absorb the impact. “Were you ignoring me?” Though the tone was friendly, an underlying current of tension came through. “What? No. Were you calling me? I only heard you once.” “I saw your step falter when I called the first time.” “I wasn’t sure I heard you.”

He eyed Bennet with penetrating and untrusting eyes. “Were you just going to through without saying hello? That’s rather rude, don’t you think?” “I’m, ah, I’m on a mission.” “Oh, a mission is it? How wonderful. Why don’t you come up and tell us about it? Promontia is preparing a meal for you. It would be rude and unforgiving,” he placed extra emphasis on the words, “for you to not partake after all her work.” From what Bennet had witnessed he doubted it took her much time at all. “Since I didn’t tell you I was coming how did she know to prepare something?” He lifted his hands in a you know women sort of gesture. Then said, “Well, I told her you were here, so she had a little heads up. Seriously, she’s busy right now making something she saw in the latest episode you brought us. Something called pot roast. I’m not sure what’s in it or how you cook a pot but it smells divine.” He put an arm out and motioned with his fingers. “Come.” Bennet looked down the path then sighed. It was better to do it and get it over with. At least now he could ask his questions. He walked toward Chulaterra. The man beamed a smile that fell short of his eyes. They ed through the black veil and reached the mountainside. Immediately Chulaterra started up a long narrow trail. Bennet followed, less sure-footed than Chulaterra. “I have to say, Bennet, I’m disappointed you were going to us by without the courtesy of a visit. That’s not how friends treat each other.” Bennet didn’t know what to say so remained silent. Chulaterra stopped abruptly and whirled on Bennet. His eyes held no sign of friendship. “You have nothing to say?” Bennet crumbled beneath the hard glare. He mumbled incoherent syllables, then had a vision of his father being subjected to all sorts of inhumane tortures, and steel-strengthened his spine. He met the hard eyes with a glare of his own. “I’m sorry, but I have more pressing issues that require my immediate attention.” Chulaterra took a step back, his large eyes widened and for a moment his image and persona faltered, revealing a glimpse of the green fur hidden beneath the human façade. Stunned, Bennet tried not to falter in his stance but his throat had

gone dry. “And what is so pressing that it causes this insolence?” Bennet made an effort to speak but had to swallow twice before his throat was lubricated enough to emit words. “My father.” “Your father? But I thought you said he was . . .” “Dead. Yeah, that’s what I was told. But some things have come to light that leads me to believe he may still be alive and trapped in some alternate universe.” Chulaterra mulled those words over before saying in a softer, almost caring voice, “Then you must come with me. You will need my knowledge and guidance if you are to find and rescue Teddy.” Without another word, he pivoted and hastened up the path. They entered the cave and Chulaterra called out in a Ricky Ricardo voice, “Honey, I’m home.” Promontia poked her head out of the kitchen and beamed a broad smile. “Bennet, I’m so glad you stopped by. I’ve been preparing a meal especially for you.” She motioned with a long slender arm for him to come. Chulaterra swept an arm in an ‘after you’ motion. Bennet entered the kitchen where a table had been set with fine China plates, shining silverware, and rolled cloth napkins. No food was on the table nor was there an aroma of anything cooking. Once more Promontia appeared as Samantha. Chulaterra was a mix of characters that Bennet could not distinguish. Bennet wondered if his harsh tone had caused Chulaterra to be distracted. “Please, sit,” Promontia said. “Dinner will be ready in a minute.” Once both he and Chulaterra were seated, Samantha stood at the end of the table wearing a smile she could barely contain. “I’ve been practicing. I hope you’ll like it.” “Ah, like what?” he faced Chulaterra. “I thought you said she was preparing a

meal.” “Patience, boy. Don’t be disrespectful. Promontia has gone to great lengths to make this a memorable meal.” Samantha's features pinked. “Is there a problem? Are you not hungry?” Bennet wanted to say ‘no,’ but held back. He wanted information. He wanted to get going. He wanted to find his father. He didn’t want to eat. Though roiling, Bennet found calmness deep inside and brought it forth. He didn’t want to upset Promontia. To do so was to incur the wrath of Chulaterra. He much preferred him as an ally rather than an enemy. “I apologize for my abruptness. Yes, I’m hungry and very much want to see what you have prepared. I just didn’t see or smell anything cooking.” “Oh! Oh dear, I never thought about that. I’m sorry if I disappointed you, Bennet.” Chulaterra stepped in. “You see, Bennet, Promontia’s preparation is all in here.” He tapped the side of his head. Bennet noticed his illusionary image had stabilized into Darren to match Promontia’s Samantha. “Oh, I see,” he said. Then forcing and brightening his features and tone, said, “I can’t wait to see what you have prepared.” Promontia’s face beamed again, now excited and anxious to show off her culinary talents. Bennet watched as she twitched her nose back and forth. The little jingling-like sound created on the TV show sounded above the table. With a bright flash, the table was full of aromatic food. On a platter in the center of the table was a large pot roast surrounded by potatoes, carrots, and onion. Suddenly, Bennet’s appetite was revving at high gear. His recent meager meals held no comparison to the feast set before him. He glanced up to see a carving knife and large meat fork pointing at him. For a moment he was concerned. “Care to do the honors?” Ah, she wanted him to carve the meat. “Dear, I think it’s less threatening if you hand him the handles first.” Chulaterra

took the tools from his wife. Confusion covered her face until she saw him turn the sharp ends away and hand them to Bennet. “Oh, I’m such a minny.” “That’s ninny,” Chulaterra corrected. “and no, you are not.” Flustered, Promontia sat and crossed her arms. What was a moment of joy and pride was about to become a disaster. Bennet had to lighten the mood. He carved a slice of meat. It flopped to the platter, steaming and oozing juices. “Wow! That looks good.” The compliment served to bring the smile back to Promontia. She uncrossed her arms and leaned on the table. Bennet sliced two more pieces then said, “ me your plates.” “Oh, none for us,” Chulaterra said. “It’s not our thing.” “I just cooked it for you,” Promontia said. “I wanted to please you.” “Please,” Chulaterra said, “Don’t let that stop you from enjoying the roast.” “Ah, okay. I didn’t want to be rude and eat in front of you.” “It’s alright, Bennet,” said Promontia. “We get enjoyment from watching you.” Bennet slid a slice of meat onto his plate then added some carrots and potatoes. He leaned over the plate and inhaled the aroma. Though his mouth watered, a note of something unusual wafted through his nostrils. Not necessarily unpleasant, just different. He cut the meat, aware of the intense and expectant scrutiny. It made him nervous. The first bite fell from his fork before it reached his mouth causing a chuckle from Chulaterra and a giggle from Promontia. He tried again, this time with success. The meat literally melted in his mouth leaving a thick ashen residue on his tongue. A faint sourness assaulted his taste buds. He paused afraid the meat was spoiled. He was caught between not wanting to offend Promontia which in turn meant offending Chulaterra and swallowing something that might make him sick. What was the lessor of two results?

He held the smile on his face in place, chewed a few unnecessary times, and swallowed. It didn’t have the repulsive taste of spoiled meat but he waited for the inevitable revolt by his stomach. It dawned on him then to wonder where did his hosts find a cow? Did they even know what one was or looked like? She most likely had created it out of the air, however, she did that, so it might be digestible. It certainly wasn’t beef. They watched him expectantly. Beads of sweat burst on his forehead. He lowered his gaze as he sliced a second bite. “Hmm!” He smiled at Promontia. “This is good.” He raised the fork toward his mouth. For a moment he thought it might refuse to open. Just as his lips parted to reluctantly accept the morsel a sound near the mouth of the cave drew their attention. Both Promontia and Chulaterra shot to their feet. Their eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and Chulaterra’s hands were extended with what looked like claws protruding from the tips. A hiss left Promontia while the low growl of a predator rumbled from Chulaterra. Bennet swung his head toward the sound and to his shock found Clara standing there. “Clara. What are you doing here?” He knew it was a dumb question as soon as the last word left his mouth. “It’s okay. She’s my friend.” Bennet stood. “Chulaterra, she’s with me.” The muscles tensed in his jaw, but his body did relax a bit. Promontia was the first to move. “Well, welcome to our home, Clara is it?” Clara nodded but looked too afraid to speak or move. Bennet followed Promontia toward Clara while Chulaterra stayed back, perhaps waiting to ensure the new intruder was safe. Promontia went right up to Clara and purred, “Welcome, dear lady. Any friend of Bennet’s is ours as well.” She embraced her. Clara’s eyes bulged from the strength of the hug. Her stunned face stared at Bennet as if begging for rescue. Promontia stepped back but kept her hands-on Clara’s shoulders while her eyes roamed up and down her body. “Other than the images on your TV shows, I have not seen a real live female of your kind up close. You are marvelous.” She slid a finger into the collar of her shirt, pulled it out, and gazed down. “You must let

me examine you to ensure I’m getting it all right.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Clara As soon as Bennet dropped from sight, the resentment she felt after being dismissed began to boil over deep in her gut. “‘It might be dangerous,’” she mimicked. “Like I can’t handle myself. I’m certainly more qualified than you.” She paced in a vain effort to restore calm to her roiling gut. She served two tours in the army and retired as a sergeant. Once out, she wanted nothing more than a peaceful life. She created just such a life when she opened her second-hand store. For the most part, it was a laid-back existence; that’s why she was surprised when Bennet’s story piqued such interest. It was the first time she realized she craved the adventure and excitement the army offered. Now, she had a chance to fill that desire and she was sidelined. Why? Because her peaceful, non-threatening and boring existence prevented her. She didn’t blame Bennet but with his words still echoing through her mind, he became the focal point of her wrath. She stared at the booth all the while a voice kept repeating, “Go,” in the back of her brain. The volume grew. It became a chant. A battle cry. As it advanced it became a lifeforce of its own. Something burst within her. She snatched up her carry-all bag and slid onto the bench seat. She quickly slid to the back as she noticed the solid form of the booth begin to waver and fade. She reached the mid-point and did exactly what Bennet had done. Nothing happened. The booth was dimming. She held still but her brain screamed, “Come on. Come on. Come on,” until the words became verbal and both demanding and desperate. Then, as the booth became faint, she ed to raise her arms. Instantly she felt herself falling. Fear had her rethinking her decision. She was such a fool. In a panic, she flailed arms and legs in hopes of finding something solid to slow her descent. She found it a second later in the form of ground. She smacked into the dusty bottom with a thud that drove the air from her lungs and pain into her brain. Clara lay stunned, unable to move and barely able to think. She took a mental inventory of the body parts that hurt most. Back, elbows, back of the head. Slowly, she moved her hands to explore each region but found no blood, just sore spots.

She rolled onto her stomach and caressed the back of her head. It hurt both inside and out. She wondered if she had a concussion. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like there were hospitals here. She stirred, lifted her head and caught the final footsteps of who she thought must be Bennet before they disappeared into darkness. Clara hurried to her feet, ignoring the mild headache. She dusted herself off as she walked. Bennet was still not in view, so she quickened her pace. To each side was what she assumed to be a re-creation of a western town, but she was in too much of a hurry to take in specifics. After a while, the town ended and a black wall . . . no not a wall, more like a curtain covered everything to the right. To the left was nothing but open space as far as she could see. Wherever she was it wasn’t big on detail. She wasn’t sure yet if she wanted Bennet to know she was there, but it didn’t matter if she couldn’t find him. A good five minutes later, with still no sighting of him, she broke into a jog. Minutes later, she heard voices and slowed. “I’m sorry, but I have more pressing issues that require my immediate attention.” It was Bennet’s voice, but she still couldn’t see him. He sounded close but it was difficult to determine. “And what is so pressing that it causes this insolence?” a second voice said. This one sounded older and angry. Bennet might be in trouble. Clara advanced with caution. “My father,” Bennet said. “Your father? But I thought you said he was . . .” “Dead. Yeah, that’s what I was told. But new information makes me think he may still be alive and trapped in some alternate universe.” A hazy image of legs appeared in the distance. Two sets. She crouched and edged closer until she could make out Bennet and another man. “Then you must come with me. You will need my knowledge and guidance if you are to find and rescue Teddy.” He pivoted and hastened through the black curtain. She advanced and followed, at first tentative about penetrating the veil.

Inside was black. Impenetrable to her eyes. Though she couldn’t see her path she continued. If Bennet was in here it had to be safe. With growing anxiety, she finally breached the veil, coming to a rock wall. The man with Bennet led up an inclined path in the rock. Bennet followed. Clara waited until they were almost out of sight before tailing them. The haze cleared revealing a rock face with a trail leading up. Bennet and the second man disappeared around a bend in the rock wall. Clara took the opportunity to hasten after them. They reappeared twenty yards ahead. She kept at a distance not sure if she wanted to risk being seen. If the man was trouble for Bennet it might be better to stay back, in case he needed a rescue. Ten minutes later they went around another bend. This time they did not reappear. She moved slowly not wanting to kick any loose pebbles that might announce her presence. Several minutes later she spotted a wide cave mouth. She crept carefully to the front corner and squatted to peer inside. She heard voices. A new one sounded female. They were not in sight so she crossed to the opposite side of the opening and hugged the wall as she entered the cave. Clara paused when the voices became clearer. “I just cooked it for you,” the female said. “I wanted to please you.” “Please,” the man said, “Don’t let that stop you from enjoying the roast.” “Ah, okay. I didn’t want to be rude and eat in front of you.” “It’s alright, Bennet,” said the female. “We get enjoyment from watching you.” What the—? Were they feeding him? Maybe he wasn’t in danger at all. She poked her head around the corner and was shocked to see the cave was furnished. Other than being in a cave the furnishings looked as though they could be in anyone’s house back home. Without thinking she walked forward. The sound of a fork on a plate caused her to look right. Bennet was sitting with two other people having dinner. His two companions leaped to their feet and whirled toward her. They looked ready to attack. Bennet looked up. “Clara. What are you doing here?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

They sat on the two sofas, Chulaterra and Bennet on one with Clara stiff and wide-eyed next to Promontia who kept questioning and probing Clara. “You’ll have to excuse my wife’s exuberance. Her curiosity is legendary.” “Ah, that may be,” said Bennet, “but where we’re from there is what we call our personal space, and we don’t like that space invaded without permission.” Promontia gazed back at him. “You mean what I am doing is not socially acceptable?” “Yes. Our space and our bodies are off-limits to others.” “So, I am being what? Rude? Disobedient? Disrespectful?” “Yes, and overly aggressive. Touching her body the way you are doing is considered harassing and abusive. On our world, you could get arrested for acting as you are.” A look of shock elongated her features. “Oh Clara, I am so sorry for my misconduct. Please, forgive me. I meant no insult or injury. I was so excited to see another female I got carried away. Please forgive me.” “Ah, it’s alright. Just don’t do it again.” “Okay,” she pouted. Then brightened again. “But will you just let me see you without any of these garments on? Just once. Please.” Clara looked at Bennet for help. “Promontia, that is not proper behavior. You are making her uncomfortable. She may never want to come back if you continue.” She crossed her arms and sat back. “Phooey.” Chulaterra said, “Clara, again I apologize for Promontia. She truly means no harm. She just loves to get the details right. Promontia, will you get our guest a beverage?” “Of course, dear.” To Clara, she said, “What would you like?” Though cordial

her face showed her disappointment.” “Just some water, please.” Promontia swept from the room in dramatic fashion. Bennet thought Clara didn’t so much want the water as much as she wanted Promontia to leave her alone. He decided the best way to help her was to change the subject. “Chulaterra, what can you tell me about the different dimensions down the path?” “Quite a bit, but it will take some time. Can you narrow your question down to a specific one?’ “I can try but I don’t know much more than what my father put in his journal.” “Let’s start with that then.” Promontia sauntered back carrying a glass of water. She handed it to Clara and merely gave a nod when Clara said, “Thank you.” She then sat on the arm of the sofa next to Chulaterra and ran a hand through his hair as she gazed coolly at Clara. Chulaterra continued. “Tell me why you think your father is still alive.” Bennet ran through the clues. “So, the last place he visited was an unknown world he thought might be an alternate dimension.” “And you’re thinking your father’s alter ego escaped from his own dimension and found his way to your house on your world where he died, mistaken for your father?” “Yes. At least that’s my theory.” “It’s unlikely, especially if the other Teddy has never been to your world before. He would have no way of knowing how to get there. Each world has its own specific entry point unless he had been there . . .”

“Or had been given or taken the information,” Bennet said. “Yes, perhaps, the chance of that being finding his way to your house is rather slim.” “But possible.” “I’ll grant that it is possible.” “Do you know how to get there?” “I have never been but have an idea where it is based on what you’ve told me. Back in our exploring days, we ventured in that direction more than once but always chose paths we thought led to more adventurous worlds. Back then we liked to hunt. That world did not offer much of a challenge.” Bennet was tempted to ask what they hunted for but decided he didn’t want to know. “Can you show us on the map?” “I can but it may be best to take you.” “You’d do that?” “Of course. For friends.” He eyed them. “You are our friends, right?” Bennet glanced at Clara. “Yes, we’re your friends.” Promontia harrumphed. Chulaterra squeezed her thigh. She rolled her eyes and looked away. “That means not trying to sneak past us.” “It wasn’t anything personal. I wanted to find my father. You can understand that, right?” The response was delayed for a few seconds. “Yes, I can understand that.” Bennet opened his backpack and withdrew the two books. He hadn’t even looked at them when he shoved them in the pack. He hoped whatever they were held interest for Chulaterra. “I even brought books. I did plan on stopping on the

way back. I was in a hurry to get here so grabbed them without looking. I hope they’ll offer some entertainment.” “Thank you, Bennet. That means a lot to me.” “Not to me,” Promontia said. “Dear, stop pouting. It’s beneath you.” “I can’t help it. She has a nice body and won’t let me see it. I just want to copy it. Isn’t that supposed to be the best form of flattening?” “That’s flattery, dear.” “Huh? Oh, sure—that.” She looked at Bennet. “You’ve seen it. Isn’t it wonderful?” Bennet blushed so hard his face hurt. He was incapable of uttering words. Clara stood. “Is there somewhere private we can go?’ Promontia shot to her feet. “You’ll show me?” “As long as you promise not to touch.” She bounced and clapped. “Oh, I’m so excited.” She reached out, took Clara’s hand and led her at a jog through the cave toward the back. They disappeared around a rock edge that Bennet had never noticed before. “I apologize for Promontia. She doesn’t hear ‘no’ often enough. Please, apologize to your friend for me, too.” Squeals and giggles came from the back of the cave as Chulaterra and Bennet hunched over the maps. A few minutes later, they came back huddled together and whispered. “I was right. She has a marvelous body and fur-lined.” Clara flushed and said, “Promontia, you promised.” Promontia put a dainty hand in front of her mouth. “Oops. Sorry. It’s just so exciting. She said I could copy it after she’s gone. Don’t you think she has a wonderful body, Bennet?’

Now it was his turn to blush. He wanted very much to agree but feared for his life if he did so. “You’re a smart man for withholding comment to that question,” Chulaterra said. “Got that right,” Clara said. “He’d be a dead man otherwise.”

CHAPTER FORTY

They said good-bye to Promontia and left the cave. To Bennet’s relief, the meal was not mentioned again. Though he felt no ill effects from whatever it was he consumed, he had no desire to test his stomach further. “Clara, please forgive my wife,” Chulaterra said as he led them down the path. “She does not mean to insult or show disrespect. She truly is just curious. She loves to see and learn new things.” “It’s alright. I’ll get over it. I’ll know what to expect next time.” “Next time? So, you’ll come back?” “As long as I don’t have to disrobe again.” “That will make her so happy. I promise to rein her in. I may not succeed, but I will try.” They walked for what felt like a mile before slowing. In front of them, a football field length away was a dark wall. Its construction was unrecognizable. Though it had the look of stone it was tall and smooth like someone had carved and polished the finish. They walked right up to the wall and stopped. “This ends our dimension. To get through the wall you must stand on one of those two elevated stones. You do not want the one on the right, at least not until you have explored other worlds. The inhabitants tend to be aggressive and unpredictable and even more so to strangers. The one on the left will lead you to Dimentia. “The path that way,” he pointed left, “leads to a world where you will freeze to death in a very short time. I do not think your bodies are built for that sort of extreme cold. Once you are through the age to Dimentia, go left immediately. You will a cemetery. Keep going. A narrow and winding ageway will open before you as you walk. You will find the entry to six or seven dimensions down that age. First, you will have to enter a transfer station. You can ask questions there, but be careful. Many unsavory characters hang around the station looking for novice travelers who they can take advantage of. You will recognize the entry points to many of them by a glowing spot. Touch it and the entry will appear.”

“How do we get back?” asked Bennet. “You will have to find the same transference spot or risk being sent to another world. It is easy to get lost. Once inside, mark the location somehow. Good luck. I hope you find your father and make it back. Promontia and I will be sad if we don’t see you again.” He offered his hand and both of them shook it. Then Bennet stepped toward the elevated stone. “Can we both transfer at the same time?” he asked. Chulaterra said, “No. The second person cannot go until the wall closes. It will reopen once the first person is through to the other side. Oh, I almost forgot. If you stand on the stone the age will open and you can walk through on your own. If you stomp on the stone you will be whooshed through and will never touch the ground.” “Good to know. I think for my first time, I’ll walk.” Bennet looked at Clara. She didn’t appear as confident as before. He smiled and said, “See you on the other side.” He laughed. “I always wanted to say that.” Clara rolled her eyes. “Okay, funny man. Get going.” He stepped on the stone and studied the wall. Nothing happened. He looked back at Chulaterra for an answer when he heard a soft hissing. He looked back at the wall to see a long dark age had opened in front of him. Bennet stepped down and entered. He’d gone ten steps before he stopped and glanced back. All he saw was darkness. He walked on. The age was longer than he anticipated. By his estimation, he’d been walking for fifteen minutes before exiting onto a cement walkway that ran left and right. He was in a village. As described by his father, a row of buildings ran down the street in front of him. The cemetery was on the left and the large mansion that truly did look haunted was to the right of the town and about fifty yards back. He moved forward a few steps so Clara didn’t run into him when she came out. A man walked toward him. His finger went up and down over his vibrating lips, spraying spittle in front of him and down his soaked shirt. He stopped a few feet away. A sound came from his mouth as he sprayed. It took a moment for Bennet to realize he was speaking. Bennet concentrated and picked out, “How are you today?”

“I’m fine.” The man said, “What?” Bennet repeated louder, “I’m fine.” Again, the man asked, “What?” Bennet frowned. He was about to turn away from the man when a thought struck. He placed his finger to his lips and vibrated, “I’m fine.” “Ah, that’s good.” Then he walked past continuing to spray as he went. Bennet stepped back to avoid being the recipient of the droplets. He scanned the streets of the town. Many people were out walking. They didn’t appear to have any purpose or direction, they just walked. Some moved fast, some slow. Many fidgeted or had their arms flailing wildly. A few shouted obscenities, while others laughed or cried at the top of their lungs. It was a bizarre yet intriguing scene. A minute later, Clara exited. “Are you okay?” he asked her. She nodded while taking in the strangeness around her. Screams and insane cackles were the music of this world. A man ran down the village street with wings strapped to his back crying out, “I’m flying. I’m flying.” A topless woman walked along the storefronts with a baby pressed to a breast. “Oh, dear God. Don’t tell me these people reproduce,” Clara said. They stood mesmerized by the complete insanity displayed everywhere. Unable to absorb any more Bennet said, “This way.” He turned left and walked toward the cemetery. As they ed the road leading to the village a woman skipped toward them. Her eyes were wild and constantly moving. Her clothes hung in long tattered strips, yet somehow the pieces hung together. “Did the bad people cut off your hair, too?” Her hair was short and in uneven clumps like she’d cut it herself. Without

pausing she reached Clara and clamped her hands on each side of her head. “Hey,” Clara said pushing the woman back. But the strange woman pulled closer. “They did cut it. It’s as short as mine.” Bennet stepped in to separate the two. He stood ready to fend her off should she decide to attack again. Instead, she glanced furtively around then in a whisper, said, “They came for me. Cut my hair and did monstrous,” her eyes lit, “but fun things to me.” She covered her mouth with a hand and looked around again. “Don’t tell them. Was it fun for you?” She spun and skipped away calling over her shoulder. “I like your hair.” “What the devil just happened?” Clara said. “You just made your first friend in Dimentia. Maybe the two of you can have fun together.” She punched him in the chest and not playfully. Though he didn’t cry out, it hurt. As they started walking again, she caught him rubbing it. He could see the smile she fought to contain. They ed the cemetery. A dark wall blocked any further progress. Still, ing what Chulaterra said, they kept going. Just when it seemed they’d run into the wall, a section receded allowing them to continue. They walked on now surrounded by the dark wall. As long as they kept moving the corridor continued to open. It ended in a semi-circular white door with a large glowing letter X displayed over it. “Station X,” Bennet mumbled. The door had no handle. Bennet examined it then the wall around the door, but found no way in. “Guess we forgot to ask Chulaterra how to get inside.” “Maybe you just ask it to open.” “Be serious. We’re stuck here.” He tapped on various spots around the frame. Then knocked. When nothing happened, he stepped back and stared at the door with hands on his hips. After a minute, Clara stepped in front of him and said, “Open.” The door slid open. Clara turned, raised her eyebrows twice, and entered. “You’re welcome.”

Bennet was stunned. “I can’t believe that worked.” The door slid closed. He stepped up and said, ‘Open.” It did and he ed through.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

They were in what looked like a bus station back home. The once white walls were now dingy. A counter with a flabby uniformed creature blob-like in appearance, was behind it, spread out on a table. To the right was a mismatched assortment of seats. A dark brown creature with three hands but only two arms was in one chair perusing a pamphlet. The third had jutted out from its chest. Its flat-nosed, humanoid face looked to be deep in thought. Two other male creatures sat three chairs away and leered at Clara. Their sleazy human appearance suggested trouble, as did their narrow nine-inch tongues that flicked suggestively from their wide mouths. Clara stood at the counter staring up at a board that listed various dimensions. He approached, keeping an eye on the two oglers. “Don’t look now,” Bennet said, “but you’ve got some irers.” Clara glanced over a shoulder and gasped. “Yep, I think they’re interested. Those tongues are longer than a dog’s tongue.” “Ah, I see that. Just need some peanut butter.” “What?” “Nothing.” She turned back to the counter. “If you’re hungry I brought a peanut butter sandwich.” “Shut up,” she snapped. “What did I do?” “Nothing. Forget about it.” “Okay, but don’t get mad at me. You’re the one who mentioned peanut butter.” “How can we tell where anything is?” Clara asked with a note of concern in her voice. The sign showed three sections, numbered one, two, and three. Below the

number was a list of names Bennet guessed were destinations. “Maybe we should ask the, ah, attendant.” Clara shrugged. “Worth a shot.” They stepped to the counter. The gelatinous shape did not move. They looked from it to each other and back. A high-pitched voice said, “Well, what’s it gonna be. I got things to do.” Though the blob didn’t move they had no doubt the voice came from it. Bennet stammered before saying, “We’re looking for a world where the people look like us.” “Well, first of all, we don’t do worlds here. That’s something entirely different. We only do dimensions. Secondly, there are at least ten dimensions with people who look like you on this side of the dimensional universe. Can you be more specific?” “I don’t have more to go on.” “Geez, humans. They’re always the most trouble. I’m glad we don’t get many of them traveling.” “I’m sorry. We’re not trying to be trouble. We just don’t know where we’re going.” Clara stepped in. “You said you don’t get many humans. Would you one who ed through here a week ago?” “A week? That should be easy.” An appendage snaked out and grasped a ledger. With more dexterity than Bennet thought possible, the attendant flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here it is. I had two on the same day. What’s the name?” “Wilson,” Bennet said feeling the excitement grow. “Teddy Wilson.” “I’ve got a Teddy Wilson, but not a Wilson Teddy Wilson.” “That’s him,” Bennet slapped the counter. The blob jumped.

“Hey, go easy. No need to get violent.” “Sorry. Where did he go?” “I can’t tell you the destination but whatever he was seeking was through door one.” “Thank you.” Bennet turned to go. The attendant said, “Hold on a minute. Humans are so impatient. Before you travel, I need your names.” “Why?” asked Clara. “Well, for one, for the reason you’re here. To help find lost travelers. Secondly, because that’s the rules.” They gave him their names. While Bennet scanned the list of possible destinations through door one Clara asked questions. “Is there a dimension with beings like us?” “Not really. Not in that direction.” “But that is the way Mr. Wilson went?” “Yes. That’s what I’ve got noted.” “How many different dimensions are there?” “Too many to count. There is the basic two hundred and eleven that make up the interdimensional council but there are always new ones popping up, so giving an exact count is impossible.” “Do the inhabitants of those dimensions all speak English?” “Oh, hell no.” “Then how do you communicate with them?” The station has built-in translation for all known dialects. It scans you as you enter and automatically adjusts the boards for your language. It also translates my words so you can understand me. I don’t speak English. I speak eleven languages but only the ones with the most travelers.”

“Well, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” “You’re welcome, kind human lady.” The attendant leaned forward and whispered. “Be careful of those two in the chairs. They’re trouble.” “Thanks for the warning.” It leaned back. “Most of the dimensions in that direction are on the right. Safe travels.” She moved toward Bennet, sending a furtive glance in the direction of the tongue lizards. “Did you hear any of that?” Bennet said, “Yeah. I’m trying to decide which one dad took. I’d hate to have to check them all.” A sing-song voice said, “Maybe we can be of assistance in that regard. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lizzo, my brother’s name is Camleon. We are expert guides. We know and understand the different dimensions and their languages. We can get you where you want to be with ease.” “For a slight fee, of course,” Camleon said. The two snickered with far too many S-sounds. Bennet looked at Clara who looked at the attendant. The blob appeared to gyrate from side to side in what she thought looked like a head shake. “Ah, that’s alright,” Clara said. “We’ve got this.” The two guides looked startled by the refusal. “Dear lady,” Lizzo said. “Going on your own would be a huge mistake.” “Yeah,” said, Camleon. “You might get lost, or attacked, or even eaten if you make the wrong decision. You need us.” Lizzo said, “Your lives depend on us.” “As the lady said, We’re good. Thanks anyway.” He took Clara’s hand and led her to door number one. It slid back and they ed through. For a moment they were hit by a heavy gust of wind and carried on air. Several seconds later,

the wind died leaving them to take running steps to slow their speed. “That was interesting,” Clara said. “You know where you’re going?” “I guess we keep moving until we find a floating spot. He said it was on the right, so keep focused there while I watch where we’re going.” He took her hand again. He felt initial resistance, then her hand relaxed. He placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let go,” he said. Her fingers squeezed his shoulder as the tension grew. He needed to calm her though he wasn’t feeling quite serene himself. “So, why did you decide to me?” “What?” He stopped and looked back. Her face appeared as a radiant orb floating in the air. Little details were apparent but he recognized the fear in her eyes as if he were looking in a mirror. “You heard me.” “And you want to talk about this now?” “What else do we have to do?” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t like the idea of being left behind.” “I wasn’t leaving you behind. I was thinking about you not making it back in time to open your store. I know how important it is to you.” “Yeah. It is. But maybe that was another reason to follow you. The store is all I have. It’s all I do. I work and go home. I seldom go out. I’ve lost with my friends. Many of them are married now anyway so I just don’t fit in anymore. I’m a homebody living a boring existence. I saw the chance for an adventure and in a rash moment, took it.” Bennet barked a laugh. “And now what do you think about that decision?” “This is weirdly exciting but terrifying too. I’ll let you know if we make it out of here and back home.”

“I’m glad you came. I’m not sure I’d have the courage to face this alone.” “So, you’re glad you might be leading me to my death? Real nice.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Bennet didn’t know how to respond. He was never sure if Clara was joking or not. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. “There,” she said. To the right was a glowing dot that danced in midair like a circular flame. The spot was about eight inches in diameter. They stared at it for a while before Clara nudged him. “Well, go on. Touch it.” It looked hot and painful to Bennet. “Ladies first.” “This is no time to be a gentleman. I’ll hold your hand and you touch it.” “I don’t want to touch it.” “What are you afraid of. Your buddy Chula-whatever said it was safe.” “Maybe it’s safe for him but it might not be safe for us.” “Oh, for God’s sake. I’ll do it. Hold my hand.” Bennet took her hand and before he could resist, Clara lifted and pressed his hand into the dot. Bennet screamed as a white light flashed. Chilled air whipped past them and a roaring sound like a distant train surrounded them. Then, as suddenly as it began everything ceased and a bright warm light fell over their faces. They lifted their free hands to shield against the brightness. Slowly, their senses returned. Sounds came. Birds, cars, chatter, like being home. A slight breeze brought the fragrance of lilacs. As for touch, what Bennet felt most was the warm, somewhat moist hand that held his. For a moment the sensation brought joy, comfort, peace . . . then the memory returned. He flung her hand away. “I can’t believe you did that.” “Relax. It worked didn’t it?” “But you didn’t know it would—or that my hand wouldn’t be burned.”

“Yeah, but at least I’d be here to help you through your suffering.” He stared unbelievingly at what he heard from her. However, she was busy taking in the surroundings as if no longer aware of his presence. “It’s amazing. It’s just like home.” Bennet turned his attention to their surroundings. It did indeed look like a town from their world. He wondered if it was just this microcosm of the planet or the entire world. For the moment this was all he had to explore and judging by the size that might take some time. “People are pointing at us,” Clara said. “Maybe we shouldn’t stand here gawking like tourists.” “Let’s get around that corner so we’re out of sight,” Bennet said. They walked away from the pointers, made the corner and turned right. The street sloped downward. Bennet glanced back to ensure no one was following them. “That felt weird, like we were alien invaders.” “Aren’t we?” “Yeah, I guess to them we are.” They went to the end of the street and turned left. A row of small, but nice-looking condos lined one side while the other was a string of older brick businesses. New meeting old. Bennet wondered if there had been a redevelopment project here to draw more people downtown. Overhead a voice boomed like a public address system. “Attention all residents. We have new arrivals. Check your devices for images. Those who are next on the list should arrive at the terminal for departure within twenty-four hours.” “Do you think they’re talking ?” Clara asked. “That’d be a good bet.” “What do you think they meant by those who are next on the list?” “I have no idea.” But a thought came to him. “Maybe it means the two people in this world who look like us.” “More like who we look like.”

They continued walking. “If this is a replica of our town, have you ever seen these buildings before?” “No, at least not that new.” “Do you recognize the street names?” “Yes, ah, no. I know Culver but that one should be Grant. Instead, it’s Jackson.” “Huh! Interesting. So, whatever happened here altered the choice of street names.” “I wonder what it could be?” They continued to the end of the block then stood on the corner scanning all directions for a clue as to where they should go. Then Bennet shielded his eyes with his hand and tapped Clara with the other. “I think maybe I discovered the cause of the alternate names.” He pointed. In the distance was what in their world was a post office. Perhaps it still was here. But that wasn’t the difference. The flag that flew over the building from a long pole attached to the facing was Confederate. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Does that mean the south won the war?” “That’d be my guess.” He searched for any other revelations. “Somehow we have to figure out where my father is.” “Any idea how to accomplish that?” “No.” He put his hands on his hips and performed a slow complete turn. “Uhoh.” “What?” Clara asked. “I think we’re being followed.” Down the street, a man was stopped. As Clara looked, he turned his body in an obvious manner and patted his pockets as if looking for something. “Is that trouble?”

“I don’t know. This isn’t our world. I might not think much of his following us if not for the announcement about visitors. There’s something strange about that and I believe it has to do with us.” “What do you want to do?” “You got your running shoes on?” She smiled and without a word took off at a sprint. “Guess that’s a yes,” Bennet said to himself and took off after her. He followed her lead. She sprinted one block then cut right down a residential street of older condos and apartment buildings. Clara zig-zagged through the streets. Bennet followed as best he could but it became obvious to him early on that he was no match for her. He sucked air through a raspy throat. His chest felt constrained, preventing him from getting the oxygen his body craved. Finally, he could go no farther and grasped on to a fence for . Clara raced ahead another block before noticing his absence. She paused to look back then motioned with an arm for him to come. They were now on a street lined with storefronts. It was busier than the ones they just left with a multitude of vehicles on the four-lane road. He caught up to Clara and she set a fast walking pace. “Hurry, my store is just around the next corner. Maybe we can find me there and have a place to rest.” A door opened and a man poked his head out. “Hey.” Clara and Bennet pivoted, ready to flee in the opposite direction. “Wait.” His voice was whispered but carried to them. “If you want a chance to escape, come with me.” That made them stop. Clara said, “What do you mean, ‘escape?’” “Just that. If they catch you, you’ll be stuck here. Possibly forever.” The man was thin and nervous. His eyes never stopped flitting from side to side.

“Why? What’s going on?” “Quick, get inside. I’ll explain everything once you’re off the street. If they catch you, you’ll be a prisoner here.” Clara and Bennet exchanged looks, neither sure of what to do. “Look, I can get in a lot of trouble for helping you, so either come in or move on.” Bennet moved toward the door. Clara grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?” “This may be our best chance of getting the information we need.” He walked past the man into a narrow hall with stairs leading up. Clara entered on his heels. Their benefactor peered left and right to make sure no one saw them, then closed the door. He hurried past them and climbed the stairs. He was dressed in dark slacks, an unbuttoned blue short-sleeve dress shirt with a dingy white t-shirt underneath. The stairs creaked beneath his steps. The way was dark, lit only by a lowwattage bulb at the top. A section of the wood-grain ing bowed, no longer attached to the wall. They reached a worn wooden landing with a door to the left and right. The man went left and used a key to unlock the door. On the other side was a dimly lit, carpeted hallway with four doors on each side. They entered and the man searched through his keyring until he found the right one, then stopped at the second door on the left. He unlocked it and stepped through. Clara and Bennet followed. The man closed and locked the door, then proceeded to the two windows. He peered out checking the street in both directions. “I don’t think you were spotted.” Clara and Bennet exchanged glances. “What’s going on?” Bennet asked. “You’re a new arrival, right?” “Well, yeah. Why?” “Then you’re in extreme danger.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Even if they hadn’t already been feeling somewhat threatened, the announcement still stunned them. “What?” Clara said, tension mounting in her voice. “Why?” “Because your presence here means your local version is now free to leave.” He must have seen the puzzled look on our faces. “The rules here are lax for the most part, just like back home, that is until it involves interdimensional travelers.” “You said ‘back home,’” said Bennet. “Does that mean you’re not from here?” “Yes. I’m from Earth, which is where you’re from, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I only ask because you could be from a lot of different places where the inhabitants look like us. Some of them are other versions of Earth.” Clara said, “How many other versions are there?” He shrugged. “Who knows. I’m not sure anyone’s been to all of them and had the chance to map them.” “Are you here by choice or are you saying you can’t leave?” Bennet asked. The man blew out a frustrated breath, rubbed his face with a hand then said, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s sit down and I’ll explain everything.” He walked past them and sat at an old kitchen table with a yellow swirl pattern and chrome around the edges. Clara and Bennet took the other two available chairs. A fourth sat in a corner with a stack of books and papers on it nearly three feet high. Their benefactor placed his elbows on the table and placed his face in his hands. He stared at the table for a few seconds as if composing his words. When he looked up at them his eyes went from distant to focused. “I’ve been here for over three years.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I originally came here through a portal I’d heard about on a dark website chat room.” “Travelers?” Bennet asked.

“Yes, you know it?” “No, I heard it mentioned.” He kept where he heard it to himself until he knew more about what was going on. “I thought it was a hoax but it intrigued me enough to at least check it out. I was wealthy so hired a team of professional bodyguards, a wilderness survival guide, and a few Brainiac scientist types. I wasn’t sure if what I learned was true or not, but wanted to be prepared in case it was a robbery or something. “We traveled to an uncharted island in the Pacific. It took a long time to find it. Once there I had a crude map and directions ed to me through the chat room. It took four days to find the portal and another two to discover how to enter it. No one wanted to be the first person through so I went first. Only the survival guide and one of the three Brainiac’s followed.” He shook his head at the memories. “Once through we decided to explore. We entered several very strange worlds but never had a real problem until we arrived here.” His eyes went distant again. “My God, it’s been three years.” He went silent lost in past events. “Hey,” Clara said, “Focus.” “Huh? Oh, sorry. Anyway. We stepped into this alternate dimension. At first, it seemed nice. It was the first place we’d been to where the inhabitants appeared human.” Clara interrupted. “Appeared?” He held up a finger. “Give me a minute. So, we explored. The same announcement you heard upon your arrival was made. We didn’t think much about it so proceeded into the city. People all around us stared. Some whispered, some pointed, but it was obvious they saw us as different, though we couldn’t see it ourselves. “We walked the streets, asked questions, entered businesses, heck, we even ordered food. Burgers and fries of all things. So, we relaxed thinking this was a long-lost version of our people. Wrong.” He frowned. “Man, we were so wrong. We found an old hotel where we could stay for the night. I had money and credit cards but guess what they take?”

“Confederate dollars?” Bennet said. “Confederate dol—, huh, how’d you know?” “We saw the flag over the post office.” “The post, oh, the government building. You don’t want to go in there for any reason. It does house a lot of government departments but that includes the Department of Travel, which let me tell you, is not a friendly travel agency.” “And—?” Bennet prompted. “We managed to exchange some of our money for confederate currency and got three rooms. We settled in, thinking we’d spend the next day exploring. That never happened. They came for us that night. The door opened with a key and a group of men rushed in and subdued me. The evilest looking woman I have ever laid eyes on sauntered in once I was cuffed. Her sinister expression was enough to freeze the blood in my veins. “I demanded to know what was going on. She slapped me, then grabbed my chin in an iron grip and said, ‘I’m the welcoming committee. Enjoy your stay. It’s going to be longer than you anticipated.’ And, she was right.” “What happened?” Clara asked, anxious to hear more and unwilling to wait through his pauses. “I heard a scream and a commotion next door. That was Miss Amy’s room, the Brainiac. I never saw what happened to her, but from the sound, she was being welcomed, too.” “What about the guide?” Bennet asked. “Dixon? I’m not sure. I haven’t seen or heard from him in three years. The night they took me however, the evil woman and an officer were whispering until she slapped him and ordered, ‘Find him. Now.’ So, I think he escaped that night. I have no idea if they ever found him. Leastways, I’ve never seen him again.” “Well,” Clara could no longer contain her patience. “What happened?” “They took me into the basement of the Department of Travel. There they

strapped me to a bed and attached all sorts of electrodes to my head. They started an IV and as I was being prepped for their diabolical plan, the sinister woman, Dr. Margo Benbach, explained, ‘As a visitor to our world you must follow our laws.’ I explained I wasn’t aware of breaking any of their laws. Her reply startled me. ‘Oh, you haven’t broken any of them, you are just bound by them. Our laws state that no inhabitant of the city may leave until a suitable replacement can be found. We have a very delicate balance here. One person arrives, one may now leave.’” Clara said, “So, you were made prisoner. But you’re free now. Why not leave?” He held up his finger again. “I’m getting to that. The machine I was strapped to pulled basic information from my brain. Enough that the being taking my place could access that information and discover how I arrived, how to get back to my world and how to take my place and survive in our world. In fact, he became me.” “How can that be?” Clara said. “Surely someone would notice the difference in appearance.” The finger went up again. Bennet wasn’t sure which annoyed him more, Clara’s constant interruptions or his wait a minute finger. “Let him speak,” he said with too much annoyance. Clara glared at him and he withered in his seat. “That’s the second stage of the process. These beings are not human. They are humanoid in appearance and can be adapted to look like anyone else. In short, I was cloned. Evidently, they can copy most species in the vast multiverse once they get adequate DNA. “Once the process was complete, I was placed in recovery. When I woke, Dr. Benbach was hovering over me. She stared hard at my face then turned to examine someone else. When satisfied, she backed away and allowed my clone to be seen. He eyed me as I stared, horrified at him. “Mr. Archer,“ she said, “meet Mr. Archer.” “What is happening?” The clone said, “What is happening?”

“You can’t do this. I have rights.” “You can’t do this. I have rights,” the clone mimicked. Dr. Benbach said, “That’s perfect, Mr. Archer. Pick up the belongings you arrived with and report to the discharge portal at five.” He said, “Thank you, Doctor,” and left. Then Dr. Benbach sat on my bed and gave me the most unpleasant smile I’ve ever witnessed. “Here’s what’s happening, Mr. Archer. You are now one of us. The Mr. Archer you just saw will be leaving to take your place in your world. You will stay here for another day to recover from the procedure. I understand it can be quite draining.” She laughed like a braying donkey at this. “Of course, I protested vehemently. Then she laid down the laws. I was not to attempt to leave. The portals, I discovered there are two, are watched and an alarm will sound if we near them since we are not of this realm. The sensors pick up alien DNA. I told her I had no wish to stay. She said after a waiting period I could put my name on the list of travelers and when my turn came up, I could leave, just not as myself. I asked how long the waiting period was and was told two years. After those two years, I went to the Department of Travel and they did indeed allow me to get on the list.” “Well, that’s good. You’ll be able to go home then,” Clara said. She whipped her head at Bennet, challenging him to say something to her. “Yeah, if I’m still alive by then. The list has over ten thousand names on it. Only about twenty people leave each year. I guess this place isn’t a popular tourist destination for interdimensional travelers.” Bennet’s mouth dropped open. He noticed Clara’s was in the same position. “Have you ever tried to escape?” “Sure. Twice. Both times the alarm went off. The first time I was captured immediately before I got the portal open. The second time I got in but was caught before I exited. The beings they send in pursuit are both fast and fierce.” “You haven’t tried again?” He shook his head. “I was warned. My next attempt means incarceration. Five

years. A fourth failed attempt is ten years, a fifth means death. The other bad thing, although it won’t make a difference in my case, is I now have two strikes against my name so when it comes up to the front, they can deny me leaving and send me to the bottom of the list.” Clara and Bennet were speechless. “They will be hunting for you. By now they may have the area cordoned off. I wouldn’t put a building by building search for you past them. With visitors so scarce each one becomes extremely valuable.” “How do you survive here?” “The normal way people do. I was assigned the job of my clone. After a brief training period, I was expected to perform at his level. If you do a good job you can be promoted. That comes with your choice of two benefits. Either extra pay or being bumped up on the waiting list. A year ago, I was at ten thousand. Through hard work and some deviously cunning moves, I am now near nine thousand. That’s a big jump here.” “We can’t let them catch us,” Clara said to Bennet. Her jaw was set, her nostrils flared. Except for the fear in her eyes she looked ready for battle. “We have to get out of here.” “Since you haven’t been captured yet, they will have guards posted at the portals.” Clara touched Archer’s hand. “Is there anything you can do to help us?” He sighed. “How determined are you to get back?” “We’ll do what’s necessary,” she said, her voice cold and hard. “I am, but I came here to find my father.” Archer cocked his head. “Your father? Why do you think he’s here?” “He left a journal and directions here. His body was found in my house, but I’m convinced it wasn’t him. And now, after hearing your story I’m positive.”

“What’s his name?” “Theodore Wilson.” “Teddy is your father?” Bennet was startled to hear Archer knew of him. He seemed to speak to himself. “Maybe it is fortuitous that they have arrived.” “Why?” Bennet said. His eyes locked onto Bennet’s. “Because your father and I and a few others have been planning an escape. We were waiting for a good time.” “Now is good,” Bennet said. “It is indeed.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

“I ’m going to speak to your father. It’s very important you stay here. Do not leave. Do not stand by the windows. I will return as soon as I can. Feel free to make something to eat.” He got up to leave. “Although I now know my neighbors, only one is an alien like us. Please do not make noise to draw attention. If someone knocks on the door, do not answer. If you are taken, there will be nothing I can do to help you.” He unlocked the apartment door, gave them one last look, then said, “Lock up after me,” and was gone. Clara and Bennet looked at each other neither knowing what to say. Finally, Clara said, “At least you know your father’s still alive.” She moved to the door and set the lock. “Yeah,” was all Bennet could say. He was happy his father was alive but the concern of possibly being trapped here with him was overwhelming. He stood and paced. “Stay clear of the windows,” Clara reminded him. “What? Oh, yeah.” He sidestepped closer to the kitchen. Clara stood and began rummaging through the kitchen drawers. “What are you doing?” Bennet asked. “Looking for a weapon.” The answer took Bennet by surprise. “A weapon.” “Hell yeah. I’m not getting trapped here without a fight.” He hadn’t thought about that but she was right. He opened his pack and pulled out the multi-tool. It had a saw blade and a three-inch knife, as well as the usual assortment of tools. It was not designed to fight with. The knife blade didn’t even lock in place, making it as much a danger to himself as an attacker. Still, it was better than nothing. He unbuckled his belt, slid the holder on and then refastened the belt.

Clara was hefting a rusted chef’s knife. She seemed satisfied with her selection then reed him at the table. He pulled out the peanut butter sandwich. “Want half?” She gave him a disgusted look. “How can you eat?” “Because I don’t know if and when I’ll have another chance. Plus it will keep me occupied for a few minutes and keep me from wearing a hole in the carpet.” She looked at the floor. “Doesn’t look like it will take much to wear through.” She wiggled her fingers toward the sandwich. “Need something to cut it.” She whipped the chef’s knife down. It thumped into the table cleaving the bread. “Rusty but sharp,” she said with a smile. She then reached over and snagged the bigger of the two halves. They ate in silence. Just as they finished, heavy pounding came from the hall. An authoritative voice boomed, “Police. We are here searching for new arrivals. You have sixty seconds to open the door.” “What are we going to do?” Bennet asked. They scanned the room but in such a small space there was no place to hide. “Quick, get in the bedroom,” Clara said. She shoved him down the short hallway. To the right was a bathroom. To the left was the lone bedroom. She pushed him through the door and said, “Get undressed and under the covers.” “What?” “Do it.” She turned to leave as she pulled her t-shirt over her head. Bennet waited under the covers trying to keep his body from shaking like he was on vibrating fingers. The pounding came and his heart stopped. When he could feel the beat again it was thunderous and painful. Once more the booming voice called out, “Police. We are searching for new arrivals. You have sixty seconds to open the door.” Bennet didn’t know what to do. Then he heard the door open and Clara said, “I’m sorry sir, we were a little preoccupied.”

Bennet was confused by the voice until he realized she was speaking with a heavy southern accent. “Sorry for the, uh,” he cleared his throat, “interruption, ma’am. Have you seen any strangers today?” “No, sir.” “I apologize but I must search the apartment.” “No, I understand. Come right in. Honey, make yourself presentable and come out here.” Bennet hadn’t fully undressed, keeping on his socks and underwear. “Coming.” He stood, about to put on his pants then decided to use the blanket instead. He wrapped it around him and went into the hall. A large man in a grey police uniform with a confederate flag on the sleeve stood in the front room. To Bennet’s surprise, Clara stood just behind him wearing a towel. The officer shot furtive glances at her checking out the bare leg and portion of her left butt cheek that peeked out from the gap in the towel. Bennet sidestepped into the room to allow age for the officer. He nodded at the man as he walked past. Bennet could not prevent his eyes from drifting up the shapely leg but by the time he got to the butt, Clara clamped the towel closed with the hand not already holding it to her body. The officer came back and she released the grip exposing the leg anew. Bennet realized it was part of her ploy. That made sense because the towel was plenty large enough to cover her body and wrap around half again. The officer gave a quick salute and tipped his head, not fooling anyone as to the reason. Seeing he was looking she allowed the towel to open a fraction more keeping the man’s eyes locked on her body rather than her face. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a good, uh, day.” With that, he exited and she closed and locked the door. As soon as he was gone, she pulled the towel tighter covering any exposed areas. She whirled on him. “Don’t you say one word.” She wagged a finger in his face. Though his eyes fought to look downward his common sense won out and kept

them focused on her face. It was then he noticed the fine line down her cheek like a scar and the darkened circle around her left eye like she’d been punched. “Don’t ever even bring this up or I swear you’ll spend an extended time in the hospital.” She stormed past him. “I promise. I won’t say a word. But if I did, that word would be magnificent.” She spun so fast the towel swirled like a ball gown. Her face flamed with anger. Before she could speak Bennet raised both hands in front of him. “I meant your idea and your performance. It was truly magnificent and probably saved our lives. Good job.” He gave a soft mock clap. Her eyes said she didn’t believe him but the red faded from her cheeks. She turned and went into the bathroom giving the door a solid push closed. Bennet returned to the bedroom trying hard not to recall the image of Clara in the towel but failing. When they were both dressed and back at the table Clara had trouble looking at him. The handmade scar had been washed away as had the black eye. It was a brilliant idea and done under extreme duress. The facial adjustments, and her naked and somewhat exposed body kept the policeman from giving either of them more than a cursory glance. If it had been him, he’d have done the same thing as the policeman. In fact, did. It was not an image he wanted to forget. He called it up again. A slap landed on his cheek stinging and stunning him. “What was that for?” “The silly smile on your face. I know what you were thinking about. It’d better not happen again.” “Okay. I promise,” then to himself added, to picture you always in a towel.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

It was several hours before Archer returned. He hurried in, locked the door, then went to the window to check the street. Satisfied no one was tailing him, he came to the table and collapsed in a chair. He looked haggard. His face looked as if it had gotten thinner, but his eyes blazed with fire. “Did anything happen while I was gone?” Bennet told him but when he got to the part about the towel, Clara took over making it clear he was not to speak. When finished, Archer said, “Wow! You were lucky. If I believed in omens that would be a good one.” “So, what’s going on?” Bennet said. “I called an emergency meeting of our little group, though with you two, it’s not so little anymore. We met, discussed the situation and decided if we’re going to go it has to be today—tonight, in fact.” “You spoke to my father?” “Yes, he was very excited about seeing you but worried as well. He hadn’t meant for you to come after him. Of course, he also planned on going home, too.” “How is he?” Archer’s face clouded. “The ordeal has been hard on him. He says he’s fine but in truth, he doesn’t look healthy. Hopefully, it’s just the strain of living here.” That brought new worries about his father. Bennet wanted to see him and now, but knew better than force the issue and risk them getting caught. “What’s the plan?” asked Clara. We will leave here separately tonight about five minutes apart. You will leave first,” he said to Clara. “They’re searching for a man and woman. You’ll draw less attention alone. Don’t worry, I’ll give you directions. One of the females in our group will meet you down the road. You and I,” he said to Bennet, “will leave five minutes later. We will take a different route. It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the portal. One of our group will be near the portal. When we

make our move to go through, he will arrive first and have it open for us by the time we get there. We must move with haste. The pursuit will be fast. Although they won’t kill you because they need your memories, the rest of us can and will be eliminated if we resist. This will be the last attempt for some of us.” That was met with silence. A minute later, Bennet said, “How many are going?” “Counting you two, nine. Five humans, two humanoids and two alien beings. Not meaning that they’re from outer space, they’re just different.” “Will we all be able to get through?” Archer did a kind of twitch with his lips. “Hopefully.” He sighed. “What else?” Clara’s tone was sharp. “Clara,” Bennet said. “He’s not telling us something. I can see it in his eyes. Tell us. Now.” “Here’s the thing. It may not sit well with you but it’s the way it has to be.” “What?” Clara said leaning closer to him. Bennet wondered if it was to be within striking distance of Archer if what he said warranted a physical response. “Four of us are on our last chance. If we are captured it will mean serious jail time or death. With that in mind, us four will go through first to lessen the chance of being caught.” Clara glared at him for a while, her gaze never leaving his. Satisfied with whatever she saw, or didn’t see, she relaxed and sat back. “We can accept that.” We can. Since when did she negotiate for him? He let it go for the moment. “Where will my father be?” “He’ll be up front with me.” “Does that mean he’s on his last chance too?” “No, he only tried once. I want him up front because he won’t make it on his own. This way we can help carry him.”

Bennet nodded. “Then we can accept that.” He glanced at Clara. She ignored him. “Do we need weapons?” Clara said. “We don’t have guns. No one other than the police or licensed pursuers have guns. Most of those are tasers. They will want to subdue you, not kill you. If you’re caught it will go better for you if you just give up. They won’t hurt you. If your body is damaged the injury will transfer to the recipient of your identity.” “Yeah, no,” Clara said. “That’s not going to happen. I’m not spending any more time here.” “I understand, but your aggressive behavior may also endanger the others in our party.” Clara didn’t respond but Bennet could see the muscles in her jaw tightening. She may not agree with Archer but she wasn’t about to give him a chance to leave her behind. “What should we be doing to get prepared?” Bennet asked. “You have your packs. We’ll strip the cupboards of any food we can carry. I’ll cook up whatever else I’ve got and we’ll eat that for dinner. We have no way of knowing how long we may be stuck between dimensions so we should fill up on protein now.” He rose and went to the refrigerator. As he rummaged through it, Bennet leaned close to Clara. She shook her head and put a finger to her lips. She didn’t want to discuss their escape in front of Archer. “You should find a way to alter your appearance. Everyone searching for you will have your picture on their phones. As soon as you came through and your DNA was analyzed as visitors a photo was taken and sent out to everyone in the city with a phone. Check in the bathroom. I might have some things you can use.” They got up and walked to the bathroom. Once inside Clara turned with the most intense look he’d ever seen on a person. “I don’t care what he or anyone else says, I’m not going down without a fight. I will not be held here like a prisoner for what sounds like the rest of my life. Are you going to fight with me or am I doing this alone?”

The question sounded like a gauntlet had been dropped and she dared Bennet to pick it up. He held her eyes. He knew he didn’t return the intensity, but he was determined not to back down from her. “I’ll do what is necessary to get my father out of here. If it means sacrificing myself so he can be free so be it. I’ll fight as long as there is a reasonable chance to escape.” “I guess that will have to do.” She turned away clearly not happy with what he said. She rifled through the medicine cabinet pulling out a variety of items. Then she picked up an old tin of brown shoe polish. Bennet did not like the way she studied his face. He especially didn’t like it when she nodded and said, “This will work.” She opened the tin and leaned over the sink. “Rub some of this through my hair.” Relieved, he took the tin, dipped a tissue into the smooth polish and rubbed it into her hair. It instantly turned her short blond hair brown but in splotches. He repeated the process a few times before she looked up. “It needs to be all the way through not just on the outer layers. Here, let me have it.” She dipped her middle three fingers into the polish then instantly smeared it on Bennet’s face. He cried out and backed up, but she stayed with him and pressed him into the wall. “Hold still.” “You said it was for your hair.” “Relax, you baby. I knew you wouldn’t do it on your own so I got it started for you.” She spread the polish across both cheeks, the end of his nose and his forehead. “They’ll be looking for a man and a woman, both white. You’ll be brown instead and I’ll be a man.” She stepped back. “Look in the mirror and smooth the tones out.” With reluctance, he smeared the goo over his face as she wiped the remainder from her hand through her hair. Satisfied, she dug through her pack and pulled out the pencil she used to create her scar. She went to work drawing a larger one. Bennet had to it it would be difficult for anyone who didn’t know him to recognize him from any picture the pursuers might have. Clara ran the water and washed her hands and the edge of her hairline where the brown polish ran over. She examined herself in the mirror. “That’ll work.”

The aroma of cooked meat reached the bathroom. Bennet’s mouth watered. He couldn’t the last time he’d had a real meal. He only hoped it was better than Promontia’s pot roast. “Foods on,” Archer called. They walked to the table surprised at the amount of food. A large steak sat in the middle of the table surrounded by dishes containing four hot dogs, two chicken breasts, two burgers, and a pork chop. The sides included steamed broccoli and cauliflower, two ears of corn, a bowl of baked beans and a vegetable medley containing squash, peas, carrots and green beans. “That’s everything I had in the frig that might go bad. Everything else is canned or boxed. Someone will be able to use them. Go ahead. Sit and dig in.” Archer dragged the steak toward him. Bennet was disheartened until he saw Archer cut the meat into three sections. He placed a section on each of their plates. “Everything else is up for grabs.” Bennet picked up knife and fork and carved off a piece. He set it in his mouth gently as if it was part of a sacred ritual. The meat melted, exploding flavor throughout his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned with appreciation. When he opened them, he found Archer and Clara looking at him. “Thanks for the compliment,” Archer said, then he and Clara laughed. Unlike Bennet, the other two filled their plates before indulging. Bennet set down his knife and fork with reluctance and added a hot dog, burger, and a spoonful of each vegetable to his plate before resuming his assault on the steak. It had been well over three years since he tasted beef that wasn’t ground. It was a treat he hoped to for a long time. They ate in silence; the only sounds came from the silverware as it clattered or scraped across the plates and chewing. After a while, Archer said, “As a possible last meal goes, this is pretty good.” “It is good,” Clara said. “Thank you.” “Yeah, thank you,” Bennet said around his mouthful.

“It’s funny, but being stuck here with survival in my own hands has taught me a lot. I never knew how to cook. I always had people to do that for me. I was a spoiled rich kid with no skills or training other than being bright enough to make more money. “Though I’m anxious to leave here, the experience has made me a better, more evolved and assured version of my former self. I’ll be forever grateful for that alone.” “So, how did this become a confederate town?” Bennet asked. “Did the south win the war?” Archer grunted a laugh. “No. One of the residents here left when it was his turn. He returned having survived the Civil War and brought the flag, his uniform, and some souvenirs back. He told stories of the war and the south. Eventually, he rose to power and convinced the people to use the flag as their own. They copied many of the things he brought back thinking it would make this place more familiar and welcoming to new human arrivals. They never knew the south lost the war. By the time they found out no one cared to change to something new, so they left it all in place. They figured if a new arrival was insulted by what they saw it didn’t matter since they weren’t leaving anyway.” “That’s incredible,” Bennet said. “Tell us more about you,” said Clara. “I lived in Hawaii. I created and ran a tech company. Some of what I developed made lots of money which allowed me to pursue wild and strange adventures. The portal I entered is on the far side of the city. Once we make it through, I’ll have to rely on you to help me find my way home.” Clara nodded. “Yeah, we can do that.” “Good. Thank you.” Though ravenous, it only took about five minutes of shoveling food for them to slow their pace. By the time they called it quits, much of the food had disappeared but so much was still left. “You sure you can’t eat anymore?” Archer asked.

“Oh, hell no,” Clara said holding her stomach. “I’m not sure I’ll fit into that narrow age as it is.” Bennet stifled a belch. “No way. I’m done.” “That’s a shame but at least we managed to eat most of the meat.” All that remained were two hotdogs, a burger, and half a chicken breast. Archer stood with a groan and walked into the kitchen. He returned with a sealable storage bag and placed the meat inside. “I’ll take it with me just in case.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The wait was maddening , like having an itch you can’t reach. Bennet paced, sat, and paced again. Within thirty minutes all three of them were pacing and displaying nervous behaviors. Archer chewed his nails. Clara cracked her knuckles, and Bennet began talking to himself in whispered tones. When they all turned at the same time and collided it brought them to an angry halt where they all stumbled to say something hurtful or insulting then broke into loud laughter. It was finally decided they all sit a distance apart to allow their thoughts to work unencumbered. As the light faded Archer stood to scan the street through the window. “Anything?” asked Clara. “I’m not sure. There might be a man watching the street in the opposite direction we need to go.” “Is that bad?” she said. “If he thinks you’re who you are, yes. He can call ahead and have someone waiting in front of you to check you out.” Bennet said, “Is there a back way out?” “Yes. It will exit on the street behind us but if someone is watching this street there most likely will be a watcher on that street as well.” “What are the options?” asked Clara. “We go and hope for the best.” Nervous energy was replaced by muscle clenching tension. Archer pulled from the window and leaned against the wall. He studied the carpet for several minutes before saying, “Three people leaving the same building within a few minutes of each other may cause the watcher to sound the alert. I hate to do this but we have to alter our plans.” He pushed off the wall, paced back and forth once, then stopped in front of them. “Here’s what we do. I’ll go out first and move toward the watcher. Clara, you wait one minute to allow me to get close to

him, then exit and go left. Don’t look back. Even if you hear someone calling you. Meet up with Amy.” “Your scientist friend?” Clara asked. “Yes, she will guide you from there.” He faced Bennet, “You will have to travel farther and faster and will have no one to guide you. I’ll show you how to get out. Once on the street, you’ll be on your own. Turn right, go to the end of the street where it dead-ends into another street. Turn right again and keep going. The portal will be five blocks in front of you on the left. You should see at least one other person there. You may also see guards. They aren’t always there but since they haven’t found you yet, I’m betting they’ll have at least two guards on duty. Can you do it?” Bennet nodded absently, his brain still processing what he heard. A hand touched his. “Bennet.” He looked up to see Clara’s eyes, wide and bright blue, gazing into his. “You can do this.” He realized his lack of response had been taken for doubt or fear, or both. He said, “I know.” He placed his free hand on hers. “We’ll both be alright.” She blinked once, her cheeks pinked, then she pulled her hand free. Archer spoke to Bennet. “I’ll take you down to your exit now. I’ll need you to carry my pack to the portal. You stay here until I get back,” he said to Clara. Bennet picked up his pack and followed Archer. At the door, he motioned for Bennet to stand back. He opened the door and poked his head out. “Okay, let’s go.” He scooped up his pack and the two of them left the apartment. They walked to the far end and took the stairs down. It ended onto a small vestibule with two doors, one leading into the building, the other led outside to the rear of the building. They hadn’t seen anyone. The building was quiet as if everyone had settled in for the night. Bennet wondered if everyone had been told to stay inside but as a resident, wouldn’t Archer have been alerted too? Archer set his pack down and peeked out the door. He closed it and faced Bennet. “You exit and go right. Near the middle of the building is an alley that leads to the next street. Go there and try to act normal. Glance around quickly but don’t look like you’re being sneaky. The packs will already alert anyone watching that something is strange about you. If someone calls to you, don’t

acknowledge and don’t run. Continue on your way. At the end of the street, you’ll have to decide whether to go left or right.” Bennet interrupted. “Didn’t you say to go right?” “Listen. The portal is to the right. But if someone is calling or pursuing it might be better to turn left. That might show them you are not trying to escape. Once out of sight, wait a minute, check the position of the pursuer and if clear, cross the street fast.” Archer picked up the pack and handed it to Bennet. He slung it over a shoulder. Archer’s pack wasn’t nearly as large or heavy as his own. Archer said, “Once you reach the portal if it’s open and pursuers are closing in on you, don’t wait for me. Get through. I’ll find a way to reach you. Tell Amy not to wait for me. Make her go through. She needs to get through more than I do. She has a child back home and not being able to see her is driving her mad. Promise me you will get her through.” “I promise.” Archer placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Bennet. Good luck.” “And to you, ah, I don’t know your first name.” “Collin.” “Good luck, Collin. See you on the other side.” Collin smiled, then started for the stairs. “Give us five minutes before you leave.” After Archer was gone, Bennet stood nervously at the door. He started a mental countdown by seconds. Two minutes in a door opened somewhere above. Was it Archer? Had something changed? He waited, hearing the footsteps echo in the enclosed space. They grew louder. What if it’s not Archer? Bennet moved under the stairs and pressed as deeply into the shadows as possible. The footsteps came closer. Bennet crouched into the descending angle. The steps hit the main floor and Bennet heard a door open. It wasn’t the one in front of him. Whoever it was went into the building.

He blew out a long, relieved breath and began to step out of his hiding space, then thought better. If the person came back, he might not have the time to hide without making noise. If another resident came down, he’d already be in place. He squatted and tried to estimate where his count should be. He decided to start at the four-minute mark and countdown sixty seconds. In the end, he stood, shook out his legs from their cramped position and cracked open the door. He peeked down the alley to the left. He had never noticed a sun but whatever light source rotated in this world’s sky had settled below the horizon, casting a reddish-green sunset. The sky was still bright enough to see. By his estimate, darkness was still a good ten minutes away. If he reached the street now whoever might be watching would still be able to see him. He had no choice. He craned his head around the door to look right. With no one in sight, Bennet exited and turned right.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Clara Clara couldn’t help herself. As soon as Archer and Bennet left, she stood and paced. She wrung her hands as if she had something sticky on them and was unable to rub them clean. With minutes ing, she went to the window but it took all her restraint to keep from peering through. Another two minutes went by and Clara’s nerves could no longer take not knowing. She touched the curtains with the intent of separating them just enough to get a look down the street. Just as she pulled them apart, the door opened and Archer entered. She released the curtains, stepped back and moved her hands behind her back like her hands alone showed evidence of her breaking the rules as if the sudden movement of her body had not already done so. “I told you not to look out the window,” Archer onished. “I didn’t,” Clara said like a child denying with an ‘it wasn’t me.’ “Honest, I didn’t. I was tempted but didn’t.” He gave a bemused look then said, “Ready?” “Yeah.” “I’m going to leave now. Wait a minute before you leave, then do as instructed. You what I told you?” “Yes.” “Good luck to you.” He opened the door and left her alone. There wasn’t much that scared or intimidated Clara. She had been in combat. Had engaged in battle when her convoy had come under fire. She had killed. But this was different. Combat was a known entity. You trained and performed as necessary. This was an unknown and though she didn’t believe she’d back down if confronted, the thought of being held captive here was more frightening than if she’d been taken prisoner in the war. She knew what to expect then. Torture, rape, death. But here, being held alive in an alien world with no hope of returning home—there was just something unnerving about the notion.

The second hand on the wall clock ed the one-minute mark. She took a deep breath and left the relative safety of the room. She walked briskly to the center stairs and prayed she didn’t encounter anyone. She made it five steps above the bottom floor when someone entered the door and started up the stairs. It was a woman, taller than her with dark hair pulled into a ponytail. “Hi,” she said when seeing Clara. “Hi.” “I haven’t seen you here before.” “Ah, no, I’m, ah, just visiting a friend.” “Oh, really? Who?” She was curious but with a hint of something deeper. “My friend, Archer.” “I just saw him walking down the street.” “Yep. He had somewhere to be. I had to use the bathroom, now I’m returning home.” Clara walked down two more steps before she heard. “Where’s home?” The persistent woman made no attempt to climb higher. Clara reached the bottom and moved toward the door. “I live across town. I wanted to get home before it got dark but, oh well.” She reached the door. “Nice talking with you,” and pushed through. Outside she found she was short of breath. The encounter had taken its toll on her usual calm. Though instructed not to, Clara glanced down the street in the direction Archer went. It was still light enough to see him. He was a few feet from another man she assumed was the watcher. As the watcher looked up to see her, Archer shuffled sideways to block his vision. Behind her, she heard the door creak open. She didn’t look but could feel the curious woman’s eyes on her back. Clara walked to the end of the block and crossed the street. Doing so allowed her to look both ways for traffic, although now she realized she had seen very few vehicles of any sort. She hadn’t seen many people either. It wasn’t like a typical city back home. There were always

people on the street and cars running at all hours. As she looked right, the man Archer was speaking to was walking toward her. He waved an arm overhead to get her attention. She pretended not to notice. What she did notice though was the woman she encountered standing outside the door watching her intently. Stay calm, she told herself. She reached the other side of the street, stepped up on the walk and increased her pace a bit. She reached the next street and someone called, “Clara?” The sudden call made her jump to the side and clutch at her chest. Her heart raced like a miler on his last fifty yards. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Amy.” She was short and stocky with light brown frizzy hair and thick glasses. Relieved, Clara moved to her and out of sight from both the watcher and the woman. “I’m being followed we have to hurry.” “Run to the next block and go left.” Amy took off running. Despite her size and short legs, she could move fast. Clara caught her easily and they angled across the street and down the first side street. There they slowed to a fast walk. “Are you sure someone was following you?” “Yes. It’s a woman I met as I was exiting the building. There’s also a watcher at the far end of the block. He called for me but I pretended I didn’t hear.” “We have about five blocks to go to get there. Is Collin coming next or is he taking another route?” “Collin? Oh, you mean Archer?” “Yes. Collin Archer.” “I didn’t know his first name. He chose another route and will meet us at the portal.” She didn’t reply but carried a worried look. They reached the end of the block and turned right. “It’s three more down and one more left.”

Amy kept looking over her shoulder. “Do you see anyone?” “No, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.” They crossed two more streets. With less than one to go, Amy said, “Stop at the corner. I want to check things out. We’re meeting a lot of other people. The timing has to be exact. If anyone gets there too soon it might cause a problem for everyone else to get through.” They stopped at the corner. Clara held back while Amy did a quick peek. “As expected, two guards.” “How do we get past them?” “We have a plan. Just be ready to move when I give the word. Don’t slow down or stop. Just keep going.” They spotted movement across the street. Two bodies were pressed against the wall as they were. “That’s Babeen and Eltor. They’re with us. They’re from a different dimension than ours.” Clara studied them. “How can you tell?” “You can’t from inside this world. Everyone looks human. It’s something in the atmosphere. You may still be you but appear human to everyone else. The truth is the residents here have no detail. They are featureless. Specific traits are assumed under the transformation process and are added when they assume another’s image. It creeps me out every time I think about another me running around out there somewhere. I pray she never made it to our world. I can’t function when I think she might have replaced me and is with my baby girl— pretending to be her mother.” She wiped at her eyes. “No, I can’t allow myself to do this now.” Clara placed a hand on her arm. “You’ll be home soon.” “Yes. I will. We all will.” She sniffled. “Thank you.” “What happens now?”

“We wait for Reggie to interact and distract the guards, then we make our move.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Bennet reached the street and squatted for a moment in the side alley to ensure he was alone. Complete darkness was minutes away. He debated waiting for that to occur but decided he couldn’t sit still any longer. He opened his pack and jammed Archer’s inside. Neither had much in them, though Archer’s had a few canned goods. Carrying one pack was burden enough, especially if he had to run. He slid it over his shoulders and turned onto the street and walked, keeping his ears focused on anything behind him. It came five steps later. “Hey, you. Stop.” The voice was loud and clear but he ignored the call. He didn’t alter his speed nor look back. He thought he heard the echo of running footsteps on the street. Whoever it was wore hard sole shoes. That might be important in a race. His shoes were rubber and offered both speed and traction as well as silence. From the sound, his pursuer was still a distance back. Maybe he could get him to ease up by doing what Archer suggested. He crossed the street on an angle in the middle of the block. It might have been hope but he thought the footsteps sounded slower. At the end of the street, he turned left moving away from the portal. He was supposed to go all the way to where the road ended before doubling back but if he waited the man might catch him. He didn’t want to go hand-to-hand with someone. Once he was out of sight from his pursuers, Bennet took off running. He ran on his toes to lessen the impact on the street. The packs sweeping back and forth on his back made more noise than his running steps did. He reached the end of the block and turned right. At the end of that street, he turned right again. He was now on the road that led straight to the portal. There was a sidewalk across the street but beyond that was an unending wall. He preferred to stay on this side where he still had options. He kept close to the buildings. It was strange how quiet they were. Were they open for business or did the entire city close down at dark? When he reached the end of the last building, he peered around it. The man who called to him was standing in the intersection of the next block looking down the street Bennet had run down. Bennet stayed put. The man was too close to try to outrun. He could do it, but if

the portal wasn’t open the man would catch him. He also had to keep in mind they did have phones in this dimension. If his pursuer called ahead, well, as they said back home, you can’t outrun a radio or cellphone. He heard a commotion in the distance. Even with the sporadic streetlights, it was now too dark to see that far. It sounded like a chase. One man called for help. The pursuer close to him turned and when he heard the word ‘help,’ took off running. Bennet now had a clear path to the portal. He hurried across keeping his eyes focused down the street where the man was running. He caught sight of him as he ed under one of the two lights on the street. As Bennet found the cover of the next street he wondered if it was Archer they were chasing and if so, had he been discovered or had he given himself up to protect someone else? Clara came to mind. He hoped she was alright. Ahead, under two lights hanging from the massive wall, stood two large, muscular men. Bennet assumed they were guarding the portal. He slowed and stepped into a recessed entry of a building. A light shone somewhere in the back but he didn’t see anyone inside. He focused on the guards. No one else was in view. Wasn’t someone supposed to be there to open the portal? Maybe the plan had been blown before it began. If so, where was Clara? He retreated to the corner he just ed. Movement to his right drew his attention. A woman was crossing the street one block away. Her body language and attempt at stealth told Bennet she was sneaking up on someone. The only someones he knew in the area were allies which made her the enemy. As she moved toward the corner building, he broke cover, again running on the balls of his feet to lessen any sound. He stopped at the opposite side of the same corner and peeked around. The woman was creeping down the street and was a building ahead. Bennet craned his neck to see past her. At the end of the block were two women. Only one streetlight stood in the middle of the block spreading its cone of light far enough to make out images but not details, but he had little doubt one of the women was Clara. He slipped around the corner and stalked the stalker. Because of the threat the advancing woman posed, Bennet was forced to move faster than he wanted. He closed to half a building distance when the woman stopped and raised her cell phone. She’s taking a picture of them. Alarm bells

went off in his head. If she sent it out the escape would be in jeopardy. He hurried. The woman appeared to take several pictures, then lowered her head toward the screen. Bennet arrived and chopped his arm down across hers. The phone went flying and the woman let out a short cry of surprise. He shoved her against the wall, not sure what he intended to do. Her angry defiant face glared back. She sucked in air for a scream. Bennet gripped her throat tightly holding it in. She struggled, dragging her nails along his arms and hands. A lance of pain in his hand caused him to slacken his grip. The woman kicked him in the balls bending him over. She lifted a knee into his face and he staggered back. Now free, the woman drew in a deep breath to scream. Bennet lunged at her but was hip-checked out of the way. He stumbled, fell and rolled, coming to a sitting position in time to see Clara deliver a staggering right punch to the woman’s face. A second one sent her to the ground, unconscious. She looked down at Bennet, the adrenaline from the quick fight still coursing through her veins. Her nostrils flared and for a moment he thought Clara might hit him next. Instead, she extended a hand. He took it and she hauled him up. Portions of his body still ached but he tried not to show it, although not quite standing erect might have been a giveaway. “You afraid to hit a woman?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Next time just punch her.” She walked toward Amy muttering, “Guess I’ll have to teach him how to fight, too.” Bennet ed Amy and Clara. Amy said, “Have you seen Collin?” “Yes, he’s ah, coming.” Her eyes darkened. Before she could question him further a woman ran down the street toward the guards. She glanced over her shoulder as if someone was chasing her. “Please. Help me.” A man came into view running after her. “Elsbeth, please. Let me explain.” The woman ran to the guards and hid behind the one on the left. Seeing the advancing man, the guard on the right placed a hand on the gun on his belt. Bennet said, “I thought guns were banned here.”

“It’s not a gun,” Amy said. “It’s a taser but it has settings for stun or kill.” The advancing man slowed upon seeing the guard’s hand on the weapon but he did not stop. He raised his hands. “It’s just a misunderstanding, officer,” he said. He kept moving until the guard said, “You need to stop right there.” The man complied. He was still ten feet from them. The frantic woman talked fast. “He attacked me. He hit me. He was going to rape me.” The guard she clung to tried to turn but she refused to let him go. “Please, miss. We’ll handle this but you have to let me go.” The free guard glanced at his partner, allowing the suspect man a chance to move forward two steps. When the guard noticed he pulled the taser. “I told you to stop right there. Move again and I will drop you.” “Okay. Okay. I’m not moving. I’m just concerned about her. She got a little drunk and fell. I reached to catch her and in her dazed mind she thought I had knocked her down.” Suddenly, the guard on the left made a gurgling sound. The other guard turned to see the woman had slipped a garrote over his neck and was pulling him backward. The free guard reacted fast, moving to get in position to fire. The woman kept her guard between the two. The man moved with surprising speed and was almost on the guard when he turned and fired point-blank into the man’s chest. The man spasmed and collapsed. Another man approached from the far side. He dove at the guard knocking him back into the wall. The two tangled and went down. Babeen and Eltor ran out from the opposite side. Clara ran around Amy. Amy hesitated and then followed. Bennet was close on her heels. The woman struggling with the guard was losing ground. He had managed to throw elbows back that connected enough to slacken her grip. The first man and woman ran to help the man rolling with the guard. Clara ran straight at the choking guard just as he managed to duck his head from the garrote. As he straightened to engage the woman, Clara arrived fist first, driving it into the guard’s face. His head snapped back, his knees went rubbery, and Clara hit him twice more, so fast the strikes were blurred. He went down. Amy helped the

other woman up and she went to the tased man. The three grappling with the other guard stood after delivering a barrage of blows that rendered him unconscious. The man and woman stripped the two tasers while the other man went to the portal. Bennet recognized him as his father but before he could speak, an alarm sounded from somewhere near the center of the city. The streetlights increased their illumination, brightening everything around them. In seconds, a space opened in the wall. “Hurry,” the man who opened it said, “they’ll be on us in seconds.” “But what about Collin?” Amy said in desperation. “We can’t leave without him. It wouldn’t be fair. He was the one who brought us all together.” “I’m sorry,” his father said “but we’ll never get another chance.” He helped Elsbeth to lift their stunned comrade. They entered the portal as a group. The other man and woman who held the tasers stood ready to defend. The woman said, “We only have about a minute before the portal closes again and none of us know the code.” Bennet said to Amy, “Collin told me if he wasn’t here you were to go without him. He made me promise that you would go. He wanted you to see your child again.” Tears welled and fell in streams. “Oh, Collin.” She sobbed and looked to be on the verge of collapse. Both Bennet and Clara grabbed her and held her upright. “We have to go now,” the woman said. From down the street, a group of people ran toward them. They were five blocks away and closing fast. “They’re coming,” the man said. “It’s too many to hold off. We have to go.” They turned to leave when Bennet said, “Look. It’s Collin.” From around the near corner to the right, Collin came at full speed. A few seconds later, two men chased after him. “Take Amy through now,” Bennet said to Clara.

“Maybe you should take her,” Clara said. The between the words statement was clear. I’m better in a fight than you. Bennet said with more confidence than he felt, “I’ve got this. Go.” She met his eyes, nodded, and dragged Amy into the portal. The other couple did not wait. When Bennet turned to tell them what he was going to do he was surprised to find they were already gone. His confidence, what little there was, evaporated. He stood nervously waiting for Collin to get close while shooting glances at the approaching horde. They had closed to three blocks. Collin was twenty yards away. He was losing ground to the closest pursuer. It was obvious to Bennet that Collin was fading fast and would be overtaken. He wanted desperately to turn and flee to have at least a chance to escape but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Collin, a man who had taken them in as strangers and gave them at least the chance to escape, to fend for himself. Besides, the longer he delayed them the better chance of Clara and his father getting away. As the first chaser reached Collin, Bennet ran forward and without thought, drove his fist into the side of the man’s head. He fell away and rolled across the street. Collin stumbled and fell. Despite the pain racing up his arm from the punch, Bennet grabbed Collin by the arm and hoisted him up. He was more dragging the man than allowing him to run. Collin’s legs had given out. The second man reached them and grabbed Bennet from behind. He punched Bennet in the cheek. Since they were both moving, the blow was glancing but it was enough to stagger Bennet. He had never been much of a fighter. In prison, he was forced to defend himself several times but unless someone stepped in to protect him, he seldom won. The man swung again. This time Bennet managed to get an arm up to block it. As he’d learned in jail, he immediately snapped a jab at the man which took him by surprise. He had been so aggressive on his attack he left himself open. The blow jarred him. Bennet wound up to throw a haymaker, but his legs collided with the fallen Collin. He tripped and fell. His attacker, seeing his advantage, drove a kick into Bennet’s hip. The pain was everywhere. Still, he could not give in to it or he’d be dealt much more severe pain. He rolled. The attacker bent, grabbed Bennet by his belt and his hair and lifted him to his feet causing excruciating pain.

He drew his fist back to deliver the knockout punch. Suddenly something shiny protruded from the man’s neck. He squeaked out a gasp, then fell as a reddishblue liquid poured from his neck. A man raced up, withdrew what Bennet now saw was a knife and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go,” he shouted and shoved Bennet toward the waning portal. He then bent and picked up the just rising Collin and threw him over his shoulder. “We have to get through before it closes.” Bennet didn’t argue. He ran. A look behind him showed the mob was less than two blocks away. The man stopped inside the portal, allowed Bennet to him, then tossed something out. As the portal closed behind them an explosion occurred. Though the walls around him vibrated, the concussion from the blast did not reach them. A hand pushed Bennet from behind. “Hurry. That bomb won’t slow them down for long. We have to be out of here before they reopen the portal.” Bennet wanted to ask why but held it in and increased speed. What felt like an hour later, they exited into the corridor that led from Station X, however, no one else was in sight.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

“T hey left us,” Bennet said. He thought about Clara and felt betrayed. “I don’t blame them,” the large man said. “We should be gone as well.” Bennet rescinded his opinion of Clara’s leaving. Their savior was right. She should have left. He set Collin down and held him upright by the shoulders. “Dixon, is that you?” “Yes, old friend, it’s me.” The long lost third member of Collin’s party had arrived. “Can you move on your own?” “Yes, I was just winded. I’m not used to all this exertion.” “Then we must be away. They will come soon and they will be faster than us.” He held Collin’s arm for the first few running steps, but then released him when it was apparent he could move under his own power. Bennet followed keeping up a steady pace and swinging constant glimpses behind them. They reached the entrance to Station X. The same attendant was on duty as were the two so-called guides. Dixon spun around, unsure of what to do. “Which way?” Archer shrugged. Bennet stepped forward. “This way,” he pointed to the door marked three. He burst through the door hearing, “Hey, you have to sign in,” behind him. By the time they reached Dimentia, Bennet began to feel more relaxed. Once in the town area, they slowed to a fast walk. Many of the residents noticed them. Some were already on the walkway toward the portal. They were abuzz with nervous energy. Something must have just happened to have them so riled, which Bennet guessed was from the sudden appearance of the lead group. A small mob of crazies stood in their path. Most babbled at them. Those who could form words did so with phrases running from, “What’s going on?” to “I was on the moon, you know.”

Hands reached for them. Dixon swatted most away. Some reacted with cries of pain while others became violent and swung back. For the most part, their blows had little power and were more an annoyance but then their behavior went to totally crazy and they began swinging and roaring with a madness filled with the desire to kill. Bennet covered up to avoid some of the hits but others landed on his arms and back. The accumulation was draining. Collin took a punch to the back of the head, sending him sprawling. Bennet helped the man up while Dixon meted out punishment of his own, dropping each person he hit. Then two bruisers closed on him and a true all-out brawl began. They exchanged punches hard enough to knock a bull over, though none of them appeared fazed. A woman slapped at Bennet’s nose. “Bad doggie. Bad.” He shoved her away. Another man clucked at him like a chicken then attempted to peck his arm. A woman sunk her teeth into his calf. He screamed and kicked until she rolled away. More of them ed in. An enormous mob formed around them, all shouting, ranting, cooing or making other strange noises. Bennet couldn’t take the closeness anymore and went berserk, flailing arms and legs outward connecting with anyone within reach. One of those times it was Collin. He connected with a flying backhand knocking him into the wall. He hung there for a second than slid to the ground. Bennet created a three-foot circle around him and bent to lift Collin. Just as he bent, the man nearest him emitted a banshee scream and his body did a spastic dance, strange behavior for even these people. Seconds later he slumped to the ground. As Bennet stood with Collin, he discovered the source of the strange behavior. The man had been tased. About twenty beings from the world they escaped from were bearing down on them. Bennet pointed and shouted. “Bad doggies. Bad people. Get them.” A host of those behind him broke from the group to assault the new arrivals. Bennet stayed against the wall and forged forward. Dixon managed to knock down one of the brutes he faced and the second stood at a distance snarling at him with his teeth bared. Dixon’s nose was twisted sideways and blood flowed

from both nostrils. His lower lip was swollen and he had a cut on his forehead that dropped blood into his right eye. He moved in front of them like a shield wall. More and more of the crowd moved to the new group. Several of their number had already been jolted to the ground. It appeared most of the pursuers had tasers, one aimed at Dixon. Bennet released Collin, grabbed a Dimentian from behind, and held him in front of Dixon. The electric charge buried into the man’s chest. He went rigid and vibrated. Drool ran from his mouth though Bennet had a feeling it had already been doing so. He reached the portal stone and set Collin on it. They needed to get through fast, so Bennet stomped on the stone. In a whoosh, Collin was gone. He took his place. The advancing horde was closing in. A few fired their tasers but missed. They didn’t have much time. Though Chulaterra said only one could go at a time, Bennet reached out, grabbed Dixon, and yanked him back as the whoosh came again. They were deposited in the tail end of Felinia. Collin was getting to his feet but Dixon slumped. Smoke rose from his chest. He’d been hit as they transported. How long would it take for the shock to wear off? He couldn’t leave him there; he’d never recover in time. “Archer, run. I’ll hold them off as long as I can. It’s a straight path from here. Amy and the others will be somewhere ahead.” “What about you and Dixon?” “Drag Dixon as far back as you can and then run. If I hold them back long enough maybe he’ll recover in time to get away.” Archer looked like he wanted to argue. “Run. Now,” Bennet shouted. Archer grabbed Dixon by the arms and dragged him. Bennet stood two feet from the transport stones. His plan was simple. Attack as soon as they arrived. That way he only had to face one at a time and would have the initial advantage of surprise. He had to make those precious seconds count. A prolonged fight would mean battling more than one and he had to it even fighting one at a time was no guarantee of victory. He bent at the knees, clenched his fists, and worked up a violent rage. As the

first whoosh sounded, he roared and plowed his fist into the middle of the man’s face. Only he didn’t look like a man. He had no facial features, just a mass of formed gray, what? Flesh? Bennet stomped on the stone and the being rocketed backward as if carried by a tornado. The body disappeared. The sound of two things colliding came through the portal and instantly Bennet knew what happened. He knocked the being on this side back into the portal where it met the next person traveling through. The thought of the possible carnage made him nauseous. Would that stop the transporting or would it shut down? Perhaps others would enter and crash into the other two. Seconds later another whoosh sounded followed by a wet smack and a scream. Whoever had gone through was hurt but still alive. Moaning reached him. Bennet felt bad for the person but that only lasted a moment as he ed what they wanted to do to him and the others. He thought about what he saw. Was that the natural form of the inhabitants of that world? If so, it wasn’t truly an alternate dimension of earth. Perhaps it was just depicted that way to lure humans into their world, but other than the two arms and legs, a head and two indentions where the eyes should be, the being had no humanlike details. It was a hairless blob of gray matter and not the brain kind. A minute ed with no other whooshes. The minute stretched to three, then five and ten. No one else came through. Behind him, Dixon stirred. Hurry, he thought. He backed toward the fallen man then thought better of the move and returned to his position. To be sure they had a chance of escaping Dixon had to be on his feet and strong enough to run. He had begun to relax the tension in his arms and legs when a whoosh took him by surprise. He listened for the collision but instead, a being appeared on the stone. Bennet was slow to react. Though he got in the first punch, the being had time enough to duck. Bennet managed to drive him backward but his opponent recovered fast and was on him. Bennet sidestepped the attack, grabbed the man’s arm and swung him around. The being grabbed him in turn and pulled him into a bear hug as another whoosh came. Panic crept into his brain. He had to keep calm and think. He bent at the knees, jumped into the air and twisted to bring the man around to the stone. It

had been the right move and just in time. His opponent went limp in his arms then fell. The new arrival had fired into his partner's back. Before he hit the ground, Bennet grabbed and thrust him back into the new arrival. The new being was about to fire the taser again. The pitched him backward and off his feet. The two beings struggled to disentangle as another whoosh came. Bennet didn’t take a second to realize three against one did not bode well for him. As the new arrival tripped over a leg, Bennet kicked it in the blank face and took off. He searched for Dixon but the man was not there. That annoyed him. He stayed to protect him and the ingrate rewarded Bennet’s efforts by leaving him alone. He ran harder than he’d ever run before. A strange electrical discharge told him they were firing at him but since he didn’t go into convulsions and fall to the ground, he knew they missed. Still, the thought of being struck and spasming uncontrollably spurred him to sprint even harder. Bennet did a few sudden course alterations to ruin any aim his pursuers might be taking. Doing so allowed their more direct course to shorten the distance between them. As he ran, he plotted, but with fear driving his actions thought was difficult. One thing he did know, he didn’t want to lead them to his portal. He couldn’t risk them knowing where he was and sure didn’t want to let them loose in his world. Somehow, he had to take them in a different direction but the only one he knew was to Chulaterra and Promontia’s cave. Briefly, he gave that consideration but decided he couldn’t do that to them. His lungs were on fire. Breathing became painful but he dared not slow. A glowing dart shot past him like the glowing embers of an exploded firework as it tracks back toward the ground. He risked a look back, knowing it slowed him a pace or two. He had to know where they were. To his dismay, he found one of the men not twenty yards behind. Two more were five yards past him and another half dozen were forty to fifty yards back. Escaping was hopeless. He had to do something and now. He thought about stopping, about making a stand if only to protect the others. He was going to get caught anyway. He might as well go down fighting. As he ran, he slid the backpack from his shoulders. He should have done that long ago. Perhaps he’d have run faster and created a bigger lead. He blamed the lack of thought on his panic and not himself for that. With the canned goods in Archer’s pack, it had some weight to it giving him an idea. He slid the pack further down

so he held the straps in one hand. Then slowing, he stopped, turned and whipped the bag into the oncoming being’s head. The being raised a hand to deflect the bag, though, on the run and twisting, the deflected blow was enough to send him sideways. He stumbled and fell but had a grip on the pack and ripped it from Bennet’s hand. Now, unarmed, sucking hard for air and alone, he stood to face the rest of his pursuers.

CHAPTER FIFTY

As the first being hit the ground, Bennet readied for the second. He didn’t have long to wait, the next being was on him in seconds, barreling into him. Bennet latched on as he fell to ensure he went down with him. He tried to twist before with the ground but was only partially successful. They each hit hard on their respective shoulders. The jolted them and sent the taser skidding across the smooth ground. The being was stronger than Bennet and held him tight, but Bennet was faster to react. He freed his hand and drove it palm down into the side of the thing’s head, bouncing it off the ground. The blow stunned his opponent, slackening the grip. Bennet crawled free, gripped the fallen weapon and spun onto his back as the next being dove for him. The taser was a small, silver, L-shaped device similar to an old ray gun from some science fiction show. He found the trigger and fired. A glowing electrical charge about three inches long shot out and struck the airborne being in the chest. What features he possessed contorted, showing the reaction to the electrical current pulsing through him. It drew in on itself like it was shrinking. Unable to stop its progress, it landed on top of Bennet, its somewhat soft head smacking into his jaw. He shook off the effects and shoved the still convulsing body to the side. Then, he sat up as the next pursuer arrived. This one stopped and aimed its weapon. Quickly, Bennet grabbed the vibrating being and hoisted it in front of him. The electrical dart drove into the being. It arched backward emitted a high-pitched keen, then slumped into his arms. Bennet raised the taser and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Either it was out of electrical ammo or it needed time to recharge. Whatever the reason, his new opponent didn’t shoot either. Instead, it charged at him. Bennet had just enough time to get to his feet before being driven back to the ground by a tackle. The being landed on top and straddled Bennet’s chest. It rained down punches on his nearly unprotected face. Though they did damage and he felt each impact he was surprised the punches hadn’t rendered him immediately unconscious. He fended as best he could with his left hand, blocking some but letting too many through. He was beginning to feel woozy and his vision clouded. He had to do

something fast. Though his right hand was pinned beneath his attacker's leg, his wrist had enough mobility to turn the taser in and up. He took a massive strike to the middle of his forehead dazing him. He had to act now or it would be too late. He pressed the barrel to the being’s calf and pulled the trigger. This time the weapon discharged and his attacker began vibrating on top of him. A glob of what he guessed was drool plopped on his face. Bennet began feeling a tingle of electric current run through his opponent’s body and feared he’d be incapacitated as well. He rolled to the left, dislodging the being, then scrambled to his feet while other beings fired. Electric darts whizzed past him. Bennet didn’t bother shooting his. He doubted it would work so soon after firing the last round. He took two steps forward and as the nearest being lifted its head, drove fist and taser into the center of its face. His hand seemed to sink into the soft flesh if that’s what it was, before the being was repelled by the blow. He looked up ready to face the oncoming horde. He was surprised at the number. He had thought there might be six to eight others, but he only saw five. One of them stepped to the side and raised its weapon. Bennet was about to dodge when a blur from the right took the being down. Bennet retreated a few steps until he heard a sound behind him. The first being was upright and preventing his escape. The remainder of the pursuers slowed and formed a half-circle in front of him. The being directly in front of him said, “Either walking or slung over a shoulder, you are coming back with us.” “Where are the others,” the being behind him demanded. Bennet was trapped and knew it but he would not give up his friends. “I won’t go back.” “You are going back.” “It’s not fair you subject me to your rules. I’m not a part of your world.” “The moment you crossed into our dimension you become a part of it. The fact you are dimension-hopping means as soon as you enter our world you

automatically accept and agree to our rules. It’s our way of life. You can’t alter that or deny the being whose turn it is to leave with the use of your form and knowledge.” “You don’t have a right to my body or my knowledge. They are mine. I have earned that knowledge through my experiences. You cannot take it from me.” “We can and we will.” “Where are the others?” the being behind him said. This time his tone was enraged. Bennet whirled toward him fearing an attack. “I’m second on the list,” he growled, spittle flying from his mouth though the mouth never opened. The only way Bennet knew its location was due to the circular impression the skin caused over the space as he spoke. “I’m not leaving without them. I will not let you deny my chance to leave. Tell me now or I promise you extensive pain.” Bennet’s mouth went dry. He found it difficult to swallow yet had a desperate need to do so. The group in front closed in. Bennet’s heart pounded like a jackhammer. The angry being clenched and opened its fist. Bennet prayed that whoever the blur was, came back fast. But prayers were wasted. He was on his own and he would not go back without a fight. What were they waiting for? He decided not to give them the advantage. He attacked the first person to the left. He ran straight at him. The being was slow to respond but instead of taking a defensive stance, he merely lifted his weapon and fired. Bennet saw the taser come up and dove at the being’s feet as the weapon was discharged with a sizzle. He wrapped his arms around the squishy legs and pulled, toppling the being on its back. He crawled up the body and delivered a punch to the face, then was hauled to his feet by the others. The being clenching his fists, kept them that way and drove one into Bennet’s gut. The air erupted from his lungs. His body attempted to double over, but those holding him upright did not let him. His head was yanked back by his hair and held in position as his attacker plowed a punch into his face. Bennet’s head rocked backward connecting with one of the

beings holding him. Blood leaked from his nose. His upper lip puffed. On the verge of blacking out, he had little left to give. He watched as the being’s fist was drawn back as if in slow motion. However, before it was launched a thundering roar reverberated around them. From somewhere above, a large, green feline leaped into the middle of the group of gray beings. The catlike creature landed on two paws, roared again, then with blinding speed whipped its sharp claws first to the left, then the right, decapitating one gray being and tearing long gouges in the chest of the other. Buoyed by the interruption of his beating and the fresh spike of adrenaline the appearance of the terrifying specter created, Bennet kicked out, striking the stunned being about to punch him in the midsection. As he doubled over, Bennet snapped his head back. The strike missed but combined with the fierce attack from the cat-man, was enough to be released. Free now, he launched himself at the doubled-over being. Bennet fired a flurry of punches, knocking his opponent to the ground. He beat him until he was lying motionless on the ground then turned to find another foe. Suddenly, bodies were everywhere. A tall blue creature with apelike long arms, wrapped a gray being up and lifted it off the ground. He slammed it down. The body bounced but not a second time. To the left, Dixon was swinging a chef’s knife at another, knocking the taser from a hand with several fingers attached. To the other side was Clara performing a series of martial arts kicks and punches that pummeled her opponent into a heap. A smaller, lighter green cat person tore a gray being in half with razor-sharp claws. It was the last enemy combatant to fall. The cat people whirled and faced the others snarling and hissing. The blue man, Clara, and Dixon faced them ready to continue the fight. Bennet stood to the side swinging his gaze from group to group. Something about the smaller cat person was familiar. As the sounds elevated and the tension grew to exploding level, it came to him. Promontia. He had caught a brief glimpse of her in this form when he surprised them for a visit. He looked at the other cat person. On his first arrival in Felinia hadn’t he seen a green man?

Unlike this creature, that one had a human face. It had to be. He stepped quickly between the two groups. “Chulaterra, is that you?” The roars and growls lessened. Both of the cat people’s aggressive stances relaxed. Bennet faced the other group. “Stand down. These are my friends.” Promontia stepped forward. “I’m glad you recognized us, Bennet.” “I’m glad you thought enough of me to come to my rescue.” “Of course. After all, we are friends.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Bennet made introductions but stopped when he came to the blue man. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.” His yellow eyes blinked rapidly a few times before he spoke in a high-pitched melodic voice, “I am Eltor.” “Okay, nice to meet you Eltor. Where did you come from?” “From the Mestup Dimension.” “Is that far from here?” “Yes.” “How did you get here?” “The same way you did.” Bennet was confused and must have shown it. Clara touched his arm. “I’ll explain later.” A low rumble came from Chulaterra. All eyes swung his way. “I apologize. I haven’t eaten yet.” His eyes swept toward the carnage strewn across the ground. If Chulaterra meant what Bennet thought he did his stomach threatened to heave. “It was nice to make all of your acquaintances. Please, come back for a visit soon. If you’ll excuse us, we must see to the cleanup of our land.” “We’d be willing to help,” Clara said. Chulaterra whipped his head toward her and emitted a low growl. “I apologize for my mate’s behavior,” Promontia said. “What he means to say is thank you for the offer but we’ll handle it on our own.” “But . . .”

Bennet touched Clara’s arm. “I’ll explain later.” They said their goodbyes and walked toward the portal. Exhaustion weighed heavier on Bennet’s body with each step. It took a lot of energy to raise his arms and leap toward the portal. After the third attempt, he whooshed through and was seated in the booth behind a haze. Clara helped him out and they walked from the kitchen. In the front room, Archer and Amy were asleep on the couch. Eltor was wrapped in the arms of a lighter colored blue female. Clara told him her name was Babeen. Their arms were long enough to wrap around each other and back to their own bodies. It made them appear bound together. Perhaps that was the intent. Dixon was collapsed in the recliner snoring. His father and the other woman, Elsbeth were missing. Bennet assumed they were in his father’s room. He was too tired to think about what that meant. Was someone else missing too? He couldn’t focus. Morning. He’d figure it out in the morning. Clara led him to the office where they staked out floor space and laid down. He was surprised at how close she was to him. He wanted to believe that meant something. She turned her back. Inwardly, he sighed and did the same. Exhaustion did not allow him to dwell on what any of it meant. Assorted sounds pried their way into his subconscious, eventually forcing his eyes open a slit. He took in the room from floor level but nothing ed until he realized Clara was gone. In slow and painful increments, he pushed from the floor to a sitting position. He pulled his legs up, placed his chin on his knees, and stared at the safe. Movement drew his attention to the door. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee invaded his nostrils, springing his eyes open and evaporating the haze from his brain. Clara stood in the doorway with two mugs in her hands and a mischievous smile on her face. “I thought that might get you to stir.” She stepped forward and lowered a cup to his slightly shaking out-stretched hands. “Oh, that smells so good. Thank you.” She watched him as he took the first sip and winced from the heat against his

still swollen lip. Even that little bit had rejuvenating qualities. Bennet glanced up and noticed a wide smile on Clara’s face. “What?” “You moaned.” “What? No, I didn’t.” She laughed as glorious a sound as the coffee was to taste. “Oh, yes you did. And now you’re blushing.” Bennet mumbled. “It’s the heat from the coffee.” “Whatever.” They both took sips. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake.” “Who’s we?’ “Everyone. Well, except for Eltor and Babeen. I’m not sure what they’re doing. They seem stuck together.” “What time is it?” It’s a little after eleven.” “What day is it?” She shrugged. “That I don’t know.” “Don’t you have to get to the store?” “Yes, but it will wait a little longer.” Bennet set the mug on the desk, then used the desk to pull himself up to a standing position. His legs ached. His chest ached. Everything was stiff. He shook out his legs then picked up the mug. With a jolt, something occurred to him. “The booth.” He hurried to the door, barely keeping the coffee from splashing over the rim of the mug. From behind him, Clara said, “It’s still there.” He entered the kitchen ignoring a few “Good mornings,” from the front room. His father and a woman he recognized as Elsbeth, were sitting at the two chairs

at the small round table. Dixon was seated on the booth. “It’s about time, Sleeping Beauty,” his father said. The woman smiled at him. Dixon nodded. His father stood and embraced him with more strength than Bennet thought he possessed. They held each other for several moments. “My boy,” his father said into his ear. “I am so glad to see you. Thank you for rescuing us. I’m happy you figured everything out. My God, what you must have thought. We’ll take some time after everything has settled down to have a long talk.” “I’m glad you’re alive and yes, we definitely need to talk.” As they broke their embrace, Bennet focused on the booth. He walked toward it noting the missing nutcrackers. The paintings still hung from each side but were now blank. The sight caused a disheartening feeling in his core. Sir John said it might happen but Bennet hoped that wasn’t the case. “They’re gone, son,” his father said. “That must mean one or both have perished.” “Sir John is the survivor,” Bennet said. His father nodded. “I will miss them. Especially Sir John. His friendship and counsel were very important to me.” “Yes. Sir John was a good man,” said Bennet. “Not so much Lord Marius.” His father chuckled. “No, not so much.” Bennet turned to face him. “So, you found my journal. Did you know to look for me or was that an accident?” “I, ah, we went looking for you.” “How did you figure it out?” “We pieced it together from some of the papers you left, then I called Mr. Crawford and asked about how and where your body was found and about the condition of the body. Things didn’t match up.” “I never wanted any of this for you but I’m glad you came.” Silence settled over the kitchen for a moment. Then his father said, “Bennet, I

want you to meet, Elsbeth Dupount.” The slender, dark-haired woman smiled. Her dark eyes gleamed as she extended a hand. He took it and they shook warmly. “Thank you for rescuing us,” she said with the hint of an accent that Bennet did not recognize. “I don’t know if I rescued anyone,” Bennet said. “You set everything in motion,” she said. His father added, “If you hadn’t come when you did, we might have been stuck there the rest of our lives.” “From what I’ve heard,” Elsbeth said, “you risked your life to allow us to escape. I can never thank you enough.” As she spoke, Bennet became aware of fine lines that ran across her eyes. Bright lines that branched like little lightning bolts. They faded away and were gone, leaving him perplexed. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened and blinked rapidly. He did not see them again. Was he seeing things? Elsbeth noticed his scrutiny and averted her gaze. He regrouped his thoughts and said to Clara, “I wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t come back for me.” “We might not have made it if not for Chulaterra and Promontia’s intervention,” Clara said. “My God, they were both brutal and beautiful all at once.” The memory returned to Bennet. They were extraordinary killing machines. He made a strong mental note never to make them angry. He shook the thought away, not wanting to dwell on the fierceness of their bloody assault. “How did you happen to be there, Elsbeth?” Bennet asked. Elsbeth shot a glance toward his father. He answered. “Elsbeth entered through a different portal.” She said, “I’ve been there for over three rotations.”

Rotations? His father anticipated Bennet’s unspoken question. “That’s what years are called in that realm.” He reached across the table and squeezed Elsbeth’s hand. There was something strange about Elsbeth, Bennet thought. He moved his gaze from one to the other. He saw happiness there. If his father was happy wasn’t that what was important? Then he saw the tiny lightning bolts dart across Elsbeth’s eyes. He was about to ask about the anomaly when Clara placed a gentle hand on his elbow. “There’ll be time enough to discuss everything later.” She set her mug down on the counter and pulled Bennet from the kitchen. “I need to get back to work before someone thinks I abandoned the place.” Bennet glanced back at the two. Their eyes were locked on each other and didn’t seem to notice them leaving. They stood near the front door. “Don’t question things too hard. From what I’ve seen, your father and Elsbeth are close. Let them be happy.” Bennet was confused by the statement and wanted to question her. Perhaps sensing this, Clara lifted on tiptoe and gave Bennet a quick peck on the lips. Whatever he was going to ask was lost within the sensation and surprise of the act. “You sure know how to show a woman a fun time.” She pulled the door open. “Will I see you at work later?” “Ah, I . . . sure.” She smiled, further mesmerizing him. “Good. Take your time. I know you and your father have a lot of catching up to do.” With that, she exited, closing the door behind her. Bennet stared for another minute at the closed door, then his fingers caressed his lips as if searching for remnants of the kiss. He turned in a euphoric daze and came to face to face with a mound of blue. Startled, he stepped back and looked. It appeared the two beings had merged as one. They looked as though they’d been wrapped in a cocoon. That was either the way they slept or some form of alien sex. Whichever, it was best to allow them to do it without an audience.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Bennet returned to the kitchen. Dixon was standing by the table. “It’s a shame about Marco,” he said. His father looked down and shook his head. “Yes, quite a shame. He’d been there longer than any of us.” “Who’s Marco?” Bennet asked. “He was the last member of our group,” his father said. “They caught and tased him.” “They took him back? I don’t seeing anyone go back, let alone carrying anyone else.” Dixon said, “He didn’t make it back.” Bennet was confused. “Then, where is he? Did we leave him down there?” No one spoke for a moment. His father drew a breath as if to speak but it was Dixon who explained. “He’s dead.” “They killed him?” The big man shook his head. “No. I did.” Bennet was stunned by the confession. His father explained further. “We all entered a pact well before we made this attempt to escape. None of us wanted to spend the rest of our lives in that dimension, so most of us agreed that if any of us went down one of the others would try to kill them. We’d rather die than be subjected to a life lacking hope.” Dixon said, “I didn’t know about the pact since no one even knew I was alive, but when Marco went down, Archer told me to either save or kill him. I went to save him but there were too many of them. I barely eluded their tasers twice. As they closed on me, I found an opening, darted through, and drove a knife into Marco’s heart.”

Bennet’s father touched Dixon’s arm. “It’s what he wanted. You had no choice.” “Besides,” said, Elsbeth, “he didn’t feel a thing. You made a valiant effort but that end was better than what awaited him back there and you may have been taken as well.” A tear tracked down the big man’s face. “Still, he deserved better.” “He’s at peace now,” his father said. “He’d have been tortured, imprisoned and who knows what else if he was returned. It is what he would have preferred.” Dixon nodded glumly and left the room. His father watched him leave and then turned his attention to Bennet. His eyes clouded with tears. “My boy, it is so wonderful to see you. I wanted to be here to welcome you home. I never expected things to turn out the way they did.” The tears overflowed and ran down his thin, pale face. He stood abruptly and embraced Bennet, holding him tight. Bennet was surprised at this display of emotion. He put his arms around his father. His throat felt tight. His vision blurred. They held on for a while before he felt his father’s embrace slacken. He stepped back. He sat again and Bennet stood awkwardly looking down. He cleared his throat. “So, now what?” His father wiped away the tears and smiled. “Now we get everyone home.” They spent the day recuperating and talking about their ordeal and what they had discovered during their interdimensional hopping. They all had interesting stories from the places they’d visited. Each person’s path had been different except for Archer, Amy, and Dixon, who had arrived together. Bennet was amazed at the number of dimensions that existed. The fact they were connected to this tiny house was mind-blowing. Excitement coursed through him hearing about the many wonderful places to visit. His blood chilled, however, when learning about the worlds that were not so inviting. They ordered pizzas, salads, subs, and pasta from a local restaurant and ate while each person took a turn recalling their most and least favorite experiences. Three

hours later the stories continued. His father had taken out his journal and some paper and busied himself making notes and mapping out the various dimensions to visit and avoid. Then they got serious and began planning how to get everyone back to their own homes. That was fairly simple for Amy, Archer, and Dixon, who were from here, but Elsbeth was not from this world and no one knew what to do about the blue mound in the front room. When Bennet questioned Elsbeth about where she was from, his father cut him off and they moved on to other topics. Bennet checked the time, then excused himself, citing a need for fresh air. As he walked toward Clara’s store, he thought about her. Was there something developing or was it just the emotions of their shared experience and lifethreatening situations? Perhaps one was stimulated by the other. Did it matter? He was going to the store, not to work, but to see her. The thought excited him in ways he never imagined were possible for a loser ex-con. An angry voice screeched from behind. “Hey. You.” Thinking some irate person was about to attack, Bennet whirled ready to defend. Moreno flew into view. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, butthead. Where’s my nuts?” “Nuts? What are you talking about?” “What am I—you nitwit, I’m talking about nuts. You promised to bring me some. Are you too senile to or do you go around making and breaking promises to everyone?” “Oh, those nuts,” Bennet said as the conversation came back to him. “I’m sorry, Moreno. I’ve been a little busy. I’ll get some for you now.” “A little busy? What could be so important that you forgot my nuts?” “Ah, finding my father.” “Your father? But I thought you said he was dead.” “I was wrong. He was trapped in another dimension and couldn’t get back. I went to find him.”

“Oh, well, as reasons go that’s a pretty good one, but you’re not off the hook. You promised me nuts and I want them.” “Okay. Okay. Settle down. I’ll pick some up on the way back.” Bennet started walking again. Moreno landed on his shoulder. “Oh, no you don’t, bud. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get my nuts.” “Fine, but I’m on my way to work.” “I don’t care. I’m going to sit right here and nag at you until I get my nuts.” They arrived at the store and Bennet entered through the front. “What the hell is this?” Moreno said. “I don’t see any nuts here.” “I do,” Bennet said, “and it’s sitting on my shoulder.” “What? Where?” Moreno looked down then craned his neck to get a view of the other shoulder. “I don’t see any—oh, I get it. I’m the nut. As in crazy. Very funny.” He thumped the side of Bennet’s head with his beak. “Hey,” Bennet said, recoiling. “You deserved that for picking on a poor, starving bird.” Clara came from the backroom and spotted him. Her face brightened which in turn lightened his heart. “You made it. How are things at home?” “Crazy.” “Hey, don’t start that shit again,” Moreno said. “Not you.” “You talking to that bird?” Clara said. “It’s beautiful.” “What do you mean, ‘it?’ Do I look like an it?” Moreno scowled. Clara’s eyes widened from the shock of hearing Moreno speak. “Clara, this is Moreno. His dimension is inside my garage. Moreno, this is my,

ah, boss . . .” “Friend,” Clara said at the same time. The word had an emotional reaction within Bennet’s chest. “Yes, my friend, Clara.” Moreno whistled. “Wow! She’s a beaut, too. Hey, you got any nuts around here?”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

While Moreno walked along the shelves hunting for his precious nuts, Bennet and Clara stood at the front counter. “How’s everyone doing?” she asked. “They seem to be recovering. How’s everything here?” “I don’t see any problems and as far as I can tell I only missed the morning. We weren’t gone that long.” “That’s good.” “Are you here to work or just to jaw?” “I don’t know. Do you need me to work?” “Not really.” “Does that mean I have a job or not?” She smiled, though not the devious smile he anticipated. “Yes, you still have a job. Take the day off and come back tomorrow.” “Okay, boss.” He didn’t want to jinx whatever was happening by talking about it but there did seem to be a warm connection between them. He also didn’t want to take the chance he was wrong. If it was only his imagination, he didn’t want to lose the job. “Is everyone still at your house?” “For the moment. When I left, they were making plans to get everyone home. I’m not sure when that will happen.” “Do they have to go through the dimensions to get home?” “Not for Archer, Amy and Dixon. Archer and Amy live somewhere in Hawaii. I’m not sure about Dixon but it has to be close to there.” “What about the blue people?”

“Not sure. They haven’t come up for air yet.” “And Elsbeth?” “I get the feeling she’s not really human. My dad seems to like her though so who knows where that will go.” “Any plans to go exploring again?” He laughed. “We just got back.” “So?” He turned more serious. “And we barely made it back at all.” She nodded and matched his somber tone. “I know.” They didn’t speak for a minute, then Bennet said, “You came back for me.” “Yes.” “You probably saved my life.” Her cheeks pinked a shade. “Yes. So, you owe me.” “Why?” She blinked as if confused. “What do you mean, ‘why’? I couldn’t leave you down there to die. No man left behind.” “A military motto.” “Yes. It’s how I was raised and trained.” “Thank God for that.” An unusual feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. “You were amazing.” “You’re only just now figuring that out? And there’s no ‘were’ about it. I am amazing.” She winked. “Was that, I mean, the no-man left behind thing, was that the only reason you

came back for me?” Her playful look vanished and the sparkle in her eyes changed to something else, though he didn’t know what. “Let’s leave it at that for now. Okay?” Not the answer he hoped for but he was alright with that. “Sure. I just wanted to say thank you.” “You’re welcome.” “Hey, now that the lovey-dovey stuff is over,” Moreno said from a nearby shelf, “can we go get those nuts now?” Bennet and Clara laughed. “Fine,” Bennet said. “You pain in the ass. Let’s go.” “Yippee!” “See you tomorrow,” Bennet said. “You’d better see me tomorrow . . . and on time.” “I’ll do my best.” “Don’t make me fire you—again.” He laughed and turned to go. Her hand grabbed his arm. “And don’t go exploring again—at least without me.” “You sure about that?” “Absolutely.” “Okay.” They left but the final exchange created a new line of questions. Did she like him or was she just excited about the chance for more adventures? He wanted to run down the possibilities but Moreno wouldn’t stop chattering about nuts. “So, what kind of nuts do you have in this world? How many different kinds are there? Are they in or out of their shells?”

“Don’t you ever quit talking?” “You know the best way to shut me up?” “Nuts,” they both said.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Ray Wenck taught elementary school for 35 years. He was also the chef/owner of DeSimone's Italian restaurant for more than 25 years. After retiring he became a lead cook for Hollywood Casinos and then the kitchen manager for the Toledo Mud Hens AAA baseball team. Now he spends most of his time writing, doing book tours and meeting old and new fans and friends around the country. Ray is the author of thirty-six novels including the Amazon Top 20 postapocalyptic, Random Survival series, the paranormal thriller, Ghost of a Chance, the mystery/suspense Danny Roth series and the ever popular choose your own adventure, Pick-A-Path: Apocalypse. A list of his other novels can be viewed at raywenck.com. His hobbies include reading, hiking, cooking, baseball and playing the harmonica with any band brave enough to allow him to sit in. You can find his books on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other favorite spots. You can reach Ray or sign up for his newsletter at raywenck.com or authorraywenck on Facebook

Other Titles

Random Survival Series Danny Roth Series

Random Survival Teammates The Long Search For Home Teamwork The Endless Struggle Home Team A Journey to Normal Stealing Home Then There’ll Be None Group Therapy In Defense of Home Double Play Playing Through Errors

The Dead Series Pick-A-Path Series

Tower of the Dead Pick-A-Path: Apocalypse 1 Island of the Dead Pick-A-Path: Apocalypse 2 Escaping the Dead Pick-A-Path: Apocalypse 3

Stand Alone Titles

Warriors of the Court Ghost of a Chance Live to Die Again Mischief Magic The Eliminator Twins In Time Reclamation A Second Chance at Death

Short Stories

The Con Short Stop -A Danny Roth short Super Me Super Me, Too

Co-authored with Jason J. Nugent

Escape: The Seam Travelers Book 1 Capture: The Seam Travelers Book 2 Conquest: The Seam Travelers Book 3

The Historian Series

The Historian: Life Before and After The Historian: The Wilds The Historian: Invasion

Jeremy Kline (Coming Soon)

The Invisible Village