MirrorWorld

Eyebrows furrowed, she looks up from the cabinet peepshow. “What?”


“Means I’m not going to die in this table.” I try to lift myself out of the granite slab, but the hole is perfectly conformed to my waist. I can’t squeeze my butt up or my ribs down. “What’s beneath us?”

She looks down. “The floor?”

“On the fifth floor.”

After a moment of thought. “Living quarters for the security teams, I think.”

“Thanks,” I say, and then slip into the world between, stretching that elastic band until I’m snapped into the mirror dimension. The whole process is fast now. Gravity yanks me down. I let a second pass, reenter the world, and brace for impact. My legs hit the squishy surface of a top bunk. The rest of me hits nothing. I’m flipped over backward, spinning to the floor and landing hard on my ass. Hurts like hell but is nothing compared to the ache of snapping between frequencies so quickly. I’m not sure if it’s doing any permanent damage, but I don’t think so. The pain fades fast enough once I’m settled in one reality or another.

The bunk room is empty, which is probably a good thing. I’m not sure the guards would be as receptive to a naked man as the bespectacled scientist had been. I sit up on the side of the bed feeling like I’ve just gone for a run. I wipe my arm across my forehead and it comes away wet. I’m sweating. Using my Dread … self is a physical thing. And it’s currently out of shape. But it gives me hope that, with a little exercise, I can reduce or remove the pain associated with shifting. I head for the door, think about leaping through, and then remember how that had worked out last time. I turn the handle and step into a hallway.

Several people turn my way. Some of them gasp. One hurries away.

“Which way to the elevator?” I ask.

The distant chime of an arriving elevator beckons me past the onlookers, who turn and point to the opening doors. My scientist friend from the sixth floor leans out, spots me, and waves me toward her. She holds the door for me as I enter.

“You know,” I say, “most people would have brought something for me to put on. A blanket or towel or something.”

She clears her throat with a smile. “Seventh floor, right?”

“Don’t get out of the office much?”

She pushes the button. The doors shut. “I’m Stephanie, by the way.” She holds her hand out. “I’m a neurologist.”

I shake her hand. “They call this place Neuro for a reason, right?”

The elevator ascends as Stephanie nods.

“Are you aware of what Neuro really does?” I ask.

“You mean, like why you’re able to fall through floors?”

I wait for an answer.

“No idea. We’re all kept pretty separate. My expertise is memory, but I don’t think that’s high on our management’s priority list. I’m pretty far out of the inner circle.”

“You knew who I was,” I point out.

“My predecessor is the one who…” She taps my head. “I’ve studied your file. What they did to you. Your photo was in it.”

“When did you look at the file?” I ask.

“They gave it to me a week ago.”

“Why?”

She pauses, unsure about whether she either can or should reply. “They wanted to know if it could be undone.”

The idea of having my memory returned has never occurred to me. Sure, I’ve daydreamed about it. Wondered who I was. But, realistically, I thought memories, once lost, couldn’t be regained. The trouble is, I’m not sure I want to remember. Seems like all I knew was pain, anger, and death. “Can it?”

“I don’t know. My access was pulled two days ago. I was given a new assignment…” She lowers her voice like someone is listening, which could be the case. “But I think the answer they were hoping for is no.”

Huh, I think, and then the elevator stops.

“So there is no way to access that file now?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not for me, but all my results were inconclusive. You wouldn’t learn much about yourself that you don’t already know.”

“You might be surprised,” I say.

“Right.” A sheepish smile emerges. “No memory.”

The doors slide open. I take a step toward the waiting hallway and stop. “You seem like a good person. Not afraid to look where you want. Didn’t lose your mind when I fell through the ceiling.”

“And the floor.”

“I respect that. We friends?”

“You available?” she asks.

“Married,” I say. “Not that I can remember it.”

“Then yes,” she says. “We’re friends.”

I lean closer to her. “Then as your friend: get the hell out of here. I don’t think it’s going to be a safe place to be for much longer.”

“O—okay…”

“Now.”

She takes off her white lab coat and hands it to me.

“I don’t think it will fit,” I say.

“Tie it around your waist.”