Jeremy Robinson - MirrorWorld

I count seven of them.

A shriek interlaced with frantic clicking turns me around.

Make that eight.

The small creature inspects me, oblivious to the fact that I can see it, too. Its four eyes match the bull’s, two vertical rectangular pupils joined in the middle to form a ragged H surrounded by luminous green. Its body is small but armored, like the bull, and a lattice of glowing veins coat its hide. Is it a baby bull? Did I kill these things’ mother?

The rest of the pack tears around the tree, checking me out.

Then, one by one, they vibrate. They’re trying to frighten me, I think. But why? Do they want me to run? Am I supposed to panic and fall to the ground? Or are they hoping I’ll lose my mind and fall on my sword?

Whatever it is they’re expecting, I don’t do it, and suddenly they’re on to me. They’ve switched from casual inspectors to on-guard watchdogs, each facing me, coiled to spring. But in which direction?

While I have no fear response, I’m careful to not look the things in the eyes. That, I’ve learned, is a dead giveaway. Right now, they’re just confused, but— damn . I turn away from the bunch on the ground and face the pine, where a ninth mini-Dread clings to the bark, upside down, staring straight at me.

I try to look away, but it’s too late. Our eyes connect.

Moving slowly, I take hold of the bow, and nock one of the black arrows. Though none of my movements are aggressive, the small creatures are backing away. If they’re any kind of smart, and I think they are, they’ve put two and two together.

“That’s right,” I whisper. “I killed your big—”

The things grow rigid.

Surprised.

Annnd fuck—they understand me . Good to know.

I draw back the bow and send an arrow into the Dread clinging to the pine tree, pinning it to the bark. The body goes limp. The top half flops to the side, swivels down, and hangs in place.

There’s a beat of silence and then the Dread pugs bolt. But they don’t scatter, which would be smart; they all head south. I nock and fire two more arrows, slaying two more Dreads, but there are too many, and they’re too fast. I sling the arrows over my back and pursue the things up and over a rise.

For a moment, I see just the real world. The tall pines of the forest are replaced by gravestones on the other side of the hill. It’s a cemetery, empty and peaceful, but old and unused for a long time. I shift my vision back to the world between, the pain less severe now. A network of glowing veins cuts across the ground, along with the scattering pugs, but nothing else. Nothing, at least, in this reality.

It takes just a moment this time, focusing on what I can see and feel, expanding it all, like taking a deep breath. The world bends and flexes, like I’m looking through warping plastic, and then it snaps back into focus. The pain sucker punches me and drops me to my knees. The raw pain of changing my perceptions is equally intense, but the duration is shorter… or maybe I’m just getting better at coping.

I look up, seeing the Dread world. My eyes widen. The shrieking Dread pugs race toward a black mound, like a giant wart on the surface of the purple-skied earth. The whispering I’ve been hearing now fills my head, loud but unintelligible. Bulls pour out of the mound’s arched entrance, meeting the smaller creatures, touching noses with them. There is a familial feel to the way they’re interacting, but the differences in their appearance are obvious now that I’m seeing them together. The bulls have longer limbs, barrel chests, and longer necks, not to mention those massive jaws. The pugs have short, thin limbs that don’t seem well proportioned to their wide, squat bodies.

I don’t know if the bulls can see me. If they can see in all frequencies, or only one at a time, or if, like me, they’re able to peek from one world into another. But if they’re not looking now, they will be soon. So I duck down and crawl away, shifting my vision back into the real world. I complete the shift so quickly that the sudden pain knocks me to the ground. It takes all of my willpower to not shout out. Instead, I bury it all, rolling on the pine-needle carpet, clutching my head while the pain subsides. It takes just seconds, but given my predicament, feels like a lot longer.

I might not be afraid, but I’m not stupid, either. Being found by multiple bulls without any understanding of what they really are, and can do, is likely a death sentence. With the quiver of arrows over my back, the bow in one hand, and the machete in the other, I break out in a run. I slow my pace ten minutes later, confident I’m not being followed. Not only have they not attacked, but I’ve looked back, in both worlds, and seen no sign of company. That said, I’m following the trail of blood north, back to Neuro, the same trail of blood those bulls will have no trouble following. The supernatural shit is going to hit the fan, and I’m going to be the only one who gets to see it coming.

“Is it dead?”

I stop in front of Lyons, who is waiting just beyond Neuro’s main entrance foyer. He’s dressed for work, in slacks, a white button up, and a lab coat, split at the middle by his belly. He cleans his glasses with a fold of his coat while waiting for my answer. Two men from Dread Squad Beta flank him, warily eyeing my disheveled state.

“It’s dead,” I say.

Lyons raises his eyebrows. “That’s all? You have nothing else to say?”

“It’s very dead.”

I’m not going to tell him about the pug Dreads, about the world on the other side, or my ability to fully immerse myself in that place. The flow of information needs to come in my direction first.

He watches me for a moment, then puts his glasses back on. “Follow me.” He strikes out, and the guards stay in place, watching the entrance.

We head for the elevator, walking in silence. Inside, he pushes the button for the seventh floor. The doors slide shut.

“Before we start,” I say, “I want you to know that all of the previous unpleasantness could have been avoided if you’d just told me the truth from the beginning.”

“You sound like Allenby,” he says.

“Wisdom must be a family trait.”

I want to see if he’ll be honest about us being family. About his daughter being my wife. I’ve given him the perfect segue, but he just grunts. Or was it a laugh? He could have been clearing his throat for all I know.

The elevator stops with a ding and the doors slide open.

The level outside the elevator is easy to identify. There are bullet holes in the wall, a sheet of black covering the window I leapt from, and a familiar set of doors. While Lyons turns left, I head the other direction, for Maya’s room.

For my wife’s room.

I look down at my ring finger. There isn’t even a hint that I wore a ring on that finger. Assuming we married before having a child, the ring would have been there for at least eight years. But it’s been a year since the ring was removed. There must have been a mark before, but I just never thought to look, and whatever indentation the band created has since faded.

“What are you doing?” Lyons asks.

I ignore him, open the door to her room, and step inside. She’s lying in bed, just like she was the first time I saw her.

This is my wife… The concept is surreal. As distant from me as the solar system from the galaxy’s core. And though the urge to free her remains, I have no memory of her, no feelings for her. How would that make her feel?

A shuffle of feet announces Lyons’s arrival.

“Does she know?” I ask.

“Know what?” Lyons asks.

“That I don’t remember her.”