This is elseworld, p.12
This is Elseworld, page 12
His mother's eyes widened in shock. “What do you mean, is he here? Of course he's here. He’s with Abby right now. Where else would he be? Aaron’s been just as worried sick about you two as I was. We stayed up all night waiting to see if you’d come home.” She loosened her grip on her son. “But you, Matthew, you don't look well at all. Your face is pale, your eyes haunted. Please, tell me what happened to you and your sister last night?”
Matthew struggled to make sense of his mother's words. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the sudden sound of a gunshot cut through the air.
They rushed to Abby’s room and discovered the little girl standing over her father, holding Matthew's gun. Their mother let out a bloodcurdling scream, but it fell on deaf ears. Abby's expression was empty and her eyes blank. Matthew tried to reason with his sister, but the gun was already aimed at their mother. A single shot was all it took, and the next thing Matthew saw was his mother's brains splattered across the wall. His legs buckled beneath him, and he emptied his stomach onto the floor.
Matthew crawled to his mother's body and wept uncontrollably. The scene before him was like something out of a horror movie, but unlike everything else that had happened over the past few weeks, he knew this was all too real. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, and the only sounds were his own sobs. “Why, Abby? How could you do this?”
Abby's eyes remained fixed in a blank stare. “The boogeyman made me do it.”
Matthew recoiled in horror. Then, without warning, his sister lifted the gun to her own head. Before he could react, she pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot rang in Matthew's ears as he fell back.
For a moment, he just laid there on the floor, staring at the ceiling in stunned disbelief. Numb and broken, he realized he had just lost everything that had ever mattered to him in one terrible instant. His own sister, his flesh and blood, had killed his mother and then taken her own life. And all because of some imaginary boogeyman. Slowly, Matthew got to his feet and stumbled over to Abby's lifeless body. He knelt down beside her and looked at her face. It was still twisted into that same blank expression, as if the horrors she had just committed had left no mark on her soul.
Matthew wrapped his sister’s body in a blanket. He sat in blood and vomit and cried for most of the day. Later, when it was dark and no one would see, he carried his baby sister over his shoulder into the woods in search of the special place the man in black had revealed to him, where the dead were said to come back to life.
Upon arrival, he realized the ground was solid instead of the soft soil he had expected. As he looked around, he noticed a message scrawled in blood on the tree where he had fallen asleep twice before: “I told you your sister was dead.”
And then, from out of the shadows, it emerged. Tall and thin, with spindly arms and a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Its eyes glowed with a malevolent intelligence, and Matthew could feel its gaze boring into his soul. Matthew knew at once the man in black was the Boogeyman. It had been playing him all along. Matthew wasn't sure what had been real and what had been this thing playing tricks with his mind.
He no longer had faith in what was real and what wasn’t, all he knew was this thing that stood in front of him was something that defied reality. Matthew tried to scream, but no sound came out. He was paralyzed with fear, rooted to the ground as the Boogeyman closed in. And then, just when all seemed lost, he heard a strange humming. The Boogeyman seemed to hear it too and stopped in its tracks.
Matthew Russo turned and saw an opening in the trees and made a break for it. He ran and ran, the trees seemingly creating paths for him to follow. All the while, the humming never left his ears, a tiny noise in the back of his head that sounded strangely of his sister.
Chapter fifteen
Downtown
Asher
The Deeps was separated into two distinct areas; there might not be any markers on a map, but the division was real and felt by everyone. You had the version of The Deeps the tourists visited, called Downtown, which was scenic, safe, and walkable. Then you had the rest.
The Deeps has had other names too. The Diasporiam, that's how the run-down section of Downtown was referred to on television once, and the name sort of stuck. Though no one who lived there could form their tongues to pronounce it, let alone spell it. On the streets they simply referred to it as The Deeps, and eventually it came to be called The Deeps by everyone.
It wasn’t just the state of the people that had clued Asher in; another reason he knew he was in The Deeps long before checking his map was because of the enormous towers stretching above the fog and disappearing into the endless brown mist of the sky. Asher had never seen such enormous structures in person before. They were taller than he could have ever imagined.
He had seen these ancient structures in movies and still pictures. Had read about them too, but to see one in person, to be this close to one of these majestic monuments, was like nothing he could ever have described.
He gasped when he first spotted them. Even from miles away, they looked taller than anything he had ever set eyes upon before. These skyscrapers had long since lost their original purpose. Asher couldn’t comprehend how anything could be so tall and upright without tumbling down and crushing everything in the vicinity.
The closer he got to being near one, the more cautiously he approached.
Some of the towers looked ruined, with caved-in walls and charred exteriors, but most were structurally intact. At night, the towers shined so bright that even the dead gray sky lit up like a Christmas tree under the florescent lights emanating from the skyscrapers’ interiors. Even the buildings with broken walls that appeared in a ruined state had been repurposed and were still in use. These grand structures were simultaneously beautiful and yet utterly frightening.
His neck became sore from looking up for so long. Asher just couldn’t take his eyes away, but at the same time, he tried to keep his distance. He felt torn in two; the gigantic structures pulled him in yet repelled him.
One of the dilapidated towers he neared sat at a lean, just slightly, but it was twisted out of place just enough that it appeared likely to tip over and crush everyone nearby at any moment. This realization stopped Asher in his tracks, and he went to turn around, but before he could finish the motion he was bumped from behind. Then bumped again before he could even react to the initial hit, and bumped again, and then again. The last hit thrust him forward with so much momentum he was back in motion moving forward with no way of turning around.
Only he walked slower now, all the while looking around him, and then up, and then back at those walking near him. He wondered why no one else seemed as concerned as he was about the tower falling down on top of them. He felt slightly silly then, but he knew his reaction couldn't be just an irrational fear. What type of architecture could allow a structure to exist in such a state and still be secure? Better to not think about it, so he just continued onward.
Once, when he’d been careless, Asher passed closely by another one of these ancient structures. He hadn’t realized he was walking on the inside of the rickety chain-link fence that surrounded a nearby skyscraper. He must have inadvertently stepped inside of one of the gaps where a portion of the fence had been destroyed.
Several men and women had made some sort of camp for themselves on the street corner. Loud music boomed out, assaulting his ears. A few hard faces looked up as Asher passed by. Some of these people were sitting on metal benches, but most were standing. All of them had cans of alcohol or glass bottles clutched tightly in their hands.
Those standing were huddled around a half-dozen fire pits burning in rusted metal barrels. Upon closer inspection, some of the barrels were old trash cans, and they roared with fire. Only, it wasn’t cold enough outside for this to be necessary for warmth. These people had created a makeshift barbeque.
Maybe it was the aroma of grilled meat that attracted Asher; he hadn’t had a hot meal since he’d left that place he once called home. One of the men, the tallest of them, standing over the flames with a skewer of meat, glowered at Asher in between bites. Asher tried to look away, but it was too late. He had already made eye contact.
“You lost or something? Don't look like you're from around here, ese,” the tall man said.
This man was the first person who had said anything at all to Asher since he’d left home. The tone wasn’t entirely threatening, but the man had an unkind face.
Asher put his head down and kept walking.
The man stopped eating, but he didn't follow. “Really? You just going to ignore me like I’m some nobody?”
Asher increased his pace.
“Really? Really? Okay. Okay. I see how it is. Clearly, you’re not from around here. Guys, this punk ain’t from around here.”
Asher wasn’t looking at the man, but he could see him in his peripheral vision as he passed by. The tall man had moved away from the fire pits and was facing Asher. He looked infuriated, but he was the only one. The hard faces of his friends had transformed into smiles.
“Yeah, get your scrawny ass out of here. You’re lucky we’re having a celebration, ese. Otherwise, I’d mess you up real good.” The man postured like a professional quarterback and threw something at Asher. The aim was good; it hit Asher right in the back of his head.
It was unclear what was thrown, but the impact was hard enough to momentarily daze Asher. He felt the back of his head where he had been hit and the spot was wet. He assumed it was blood but when he looked at his hand Asher discovered it wasn't red and his fingers smelled strongly of alcohol.
“You better make sure I never see your disrespectful punk ass ’round here again.”
Some of the other men were laughing; they had been laughing the whole time the tall man was talking, but now it had reached a furious roar. A woman spoke. “Leave that boy alone, Shane. Why you always have to be so mean? This is so unnecessary.” Then she laughed too.
Someone farther back, probably from among the crowd sitting down on the benches, was laughing so hard he was snorting like a pig. At this point, Asher couldn't tell whether they were all laughing at him or the tall man they referred to as Shane. Either way, he didn't want the situation to escalate any further than it already had. The laughing only seemed to egg the tall man on.
Asher’s head ached. It felt like he had been hit with a brick, but apparently it was just a beer can. He could still hear muttering from the crowd behind him, but no one appeared to follow. He created as much distance as he could, quickly crossing the street and disappearing, slipping away into a sea of pedestrians.
He needed to find a place to rest.
Previously during his travels, finding an abandoned home to claim for the night wasn’t too difficult. He even found some places that were in decent shape, with the word “free” written on sticky notes with useful items left behind for fellow travelers to take. But without electricity and running water, he was better off scavenging what he could and moving from place to place. That was also the best way to stay out of trouble and not attract too much attention.
The towers all appeared to have electricity and it could be assumed they had running water. Even the buildings that looked ready to collapse had lights on, but they came with their own set of problems, as he’d just gotten a taste of by simply walking too close to one.
Besides, Asher wanted to stay on the move. He needed something temporary, an undisturbed place to lay his head down and recharge for a few hours, a place where he wouldn’t be noticed, where no one would bug him. To do that, he needed to be among people like him. Whatever type of people lived in those towers, they weren’t his people. They weren’t like the blind fish among whom he’d felt so accepted.
But before he could find a place to sleep, he needed food. No matter how tired he was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep with his stomach turned inside out. Asher checked his backpack. Sure enough, the last of the stale bread and crackers he had scavenged was all gone. There was money in his account, but he had to be extra careful with it. He would need to scrape together almost everything he had to buy a ticket for the Transit.
In the distance, Asher could see the beginnings of a small crowd. Or maybe he was looking at the outer edges of a much larger crowd, it was hard to tell from his current vantage point. As he approached, he noticed people were shuffling to and fro with bags of merchandise and groceries, lines of people stretching out as far as he could see. They looked like tiny ants carrying home their fragments of whatever they had picked up.
Some of these people had cars, even vans, where they loaded their merchandise. There was also row after row of large, armored buses, with wheels as tall as he was. Asher knew what those behemoth buses were for. He didn’t own a vehicle, but even if he did, driving from the northeast section of the District and through the inner boroughs surrounding The Deeps would have been impossible.
Many skeptics, Asher included, held the opinion that the reason the center of the District was largely cut off from the rest was to keep the poor corralled into one large area where they could be more easily controlled. Where they could be caged and isolated, just like the wild animals they were perceived to be.
There had been no attempt to fix any of the major roads that had been destroyed during years past. There were bridges that were unsafe to drive over, collapsed buildings, and entire neighborhoods that were nothing more than rubble. Only specialized vehicles such as the armored buses could navigate the roads and travel from The Deeps to the outer boroughs.
Asher watched their smiling faces as these people got on and off the buses. The people with cars must have been from the inner boroughs and not true locals, as they had the same smug looks on their faces. These people were cleaner and much better dressed than the residents Asher had encountered while walking the crowded streets.
As he got closer, a familiar sense of anxiety poked at him. He could sense their suspicious eyes boring their way into his soul. His skin prickled under the pinch of their harsh stares and a sense of resentment bubbled within. His better judgement told him to turn around. It shouted at him, told him to run and not look back. These weren’t his people; they were his enemies of old, the ones he hated. The ones that hated him.
They had judged, ridiculed, and cast him out. He had travelled so far to get away from them and now here he was amongst them all over again. But he couldn’t turn around, couldn’t stop at all; curiosity, but most of all hunger, urged him forward.
Against his better judgement, Asher passed through one of the invisible barriers in The Deeps and entered the tourist section of Downtown. The difference between where he stood and where he was only five minutes before was profound. This area more closely resembled the community marketplaces in the borough he was from, where farmers and retailers, both large and small, would gather and sell their products. Only, this was on a much grander scale.
Everywhere he looked was so lively, busy, and industrial. Even the sidewalks moved, the metal walkways like flat escalators that ferried people around. Asher stayed in the streets where he could walk at his own pace. He had never seen this many well-dressed people before in one location. Everyone stood shoulder to shoulder. He could barely move without bumping into another person. They pressed up close, sometimes too close, their breath almost hot on his skin. He was bumped and bashed and battered from every side, hurried and jostled, pushed and thronged.
Guards with electric crowd-control sticks were posted on every corner, and some mingled within the crowds. There were cameras everywhere. Up in the sky, security drones circled the streets like birds of prey, only a faint hum or whirr alerting to their presence, but their electronic eyes burned into the soul and missed nothing.
There were traditional indoor shops, but just like the marketplaces up north, most of the retailers had their food carts, temporary kiosks, and popup markets set up on the streets. Various fruits and vegetables were on display. Mountains of meat, both hot and cold, were offered for sale. Nearby vendors were selling oversized hotdogs, sandwiches, and buttered popcorn. The scents were delicious.
Asher wanted to follow his nose, but that had gotten him into trouble just a short while ago, so instead he went into the only storefront he saw that wasn’t wall-to-wall people. Inside, a woman hugged close her bag of merchandise and held her son even tighter, pulling him away from an object that had caught his attention.
The child moaned loudly. “But, Mommy, you said I could pick something out. I want this toy.”
“Shush, boy. I’ll get you something else. I’ll get you two things. But not from here.” She guided her son away with a firm hand on his shoulder, and they made a wide turn in order to avoid getting too close to Asher.
She must have thought Asher was a local. He was used to being stared at, but no one had ever mistaken him for a thief or a troublemaker just because of how he looked. He didn’t touch anything as he circled across the store. Most of the people had cleared out except for a man behind the counter with his arms folded across his chest; a man who didn’t look happy to see Asher there.
Asher wasn’t happy to be there either; he discovered he was in a storefront that sold useless knickknacks and other junk to clueless tourists, ones who threw away their cash on cheap items that they didn’t need and would later only regret.
He left and rejoined the crowds outside.
These people were certainly no blind fish. Their eyes seemed to stick to him like glue. Most of them stared at Asher as he approached, gazes fixated, following—always following, always there. The others practically ran away to avoid him. But he didn’t care.
His stomach had taken charge again, and he had been ordered to follow his nose. His nose led him to a food truck selling large steak sandwiches smothered in cheese, grease, sauce, and even more grease. The men in line watched as Asher approached, their faces glowing with anger.
