MirrorWorld

“What worked?”


“The drug you destroyed and then used on yourself. Bravo, by the way, hats off.” Her sarcasm is biting. “From the moment you woke up this morning, you were tested. No one knew things would go quite as far as they did—Maya and your dashing escape were not part of the plan—but the results, in the end, were predicted. All the while, your psychological and emotional states were being assessed, not to mention your physical abilities, which don’t seem to have deteriorated.”

“Whose horrible idea was that?” I ask. “I could have killed someone.”

“You nearly did, and I’m afraid Lyons organized the tests. I argued against it. Katzman, too. Though I think he was more concerned about himself.” She looks back at me. “They knew you’d do it, by the way. Inject yourself. All they had to do was convince you the contents were important. They just didn’t think you’d leave in a blaze of glory first.”

“Lyons didn’t have a heart attack, did he?”

She shakes her head. “He’s a decent actor. Knew you wouldn’t kill a man who was already dying.”

“They were shooting to kill.”

She nods. “There’s no other way to test a man who is as hard to kill as you. Lyons’s words. But his confidence in your abilities seems to have been well founded. Frankly, I’m surprised that you didn’t burn this place to the ground.”

“It was on my to-do list.”

“And now?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then let’s make you sure.” She motions to the window. “Surreality awaits.”

I stand and step around the breakfast table. With a tug, the shade launches up, slapping against the window frame as the powerful spring turns it too many times.

The window is vertical, part of the story-tall steps running down two sides of the building. The view outside is what I remember. New Hampshire in summer. Green and blue. And …

Something else.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at the parking lot below. The lot is fairly empty now, and all signs of the previous day’s battle have been cleaned up.

Allenby steps up beside me. “What do you see?”

“Someone in the parking lot.” There’s a shadow moving among the cars, but I can’t make out who it is. “Is that a bear?”

Allenby shrugs. “I don’t see a thing.”

I point. “It’s right there.”

“The lot is empty. I don’t—” There’s a slap and her voice cuts off.

I glance toward the sound and find my hand clutching her wrist. That’s unusual. But it’s not fear. It’s surprise. “What’s happening?”

“Look again,” she says. “Try to see more. When you feel it, push.”

When I look back to the window, my eyes feel strained. Like I need glasses. Something tickles my eye, and I fight the urge to blink. Following Allenby’s advice, I push forward. I can feel the stretch, like some newly formed muscle in my eye, and I will it to flex. And then, with a twitch, it does.

Blinding pain comes in waves, flowing from my eyes and down into my torso. My stomach clutches, pitching me forward with a grunt. My muscles spasm, the pain becoming systemic. “What’s happening?”

“It will get easier,” she says. “Look again, when you can.”

Fighting the pain, I turn my eyes up.

The parking lot is gone.

New Hampshire is gone.

The land is dark, mixed with veins of shimmering green light. The sky appears as a dark purple hue. There’s movement in the dark. Indistinct. Revealed by shifts in the green light. My vision flickers, pulsing pain throughout my body.

I see the parking lot.

And then it’s gone. Or not. It’s just dim. Less focused. And the veins of green remain.

I rub my eyes and the two views—the real and surreal—strobe back and forth. I close my eyes again. “I’m still hallucinating.”

“No,” Allenby says. “You’re not.”

“Then what am I seeing?”

“The world. But in a way no one else can.”

“There’s a shadow in the parking lot. Moving. But there’s no source. It isn’t connected to anyone.”

“Just the one?” Allenby asks, suddenly tense.

I scan the lot and see nothing else moving. “Yes.”

“That shadow,” she says, “is your enemy, our enemy, hidden from the world but present. Always present. They are the shifting air that makes hair stand on end. The monsters under the bed. The sense of impending doom, great depression, and panic that has no source. Most of us feel their presence—fear without tangible cause—on a regular basis. You, on the other hand, Mr. Fearless, have never felt them.”

The pain lessens and I open my eyes. The view is back to normal. Shifting movement turns my eyes back to the parking lot. The moment I see the strange shape skulking around the cars, the world goes black and green again, bringing a fresh wave of nausea-inducing agony along with it. “Dammit.” I turn away from the window. The apartment and Allenby look normal.