D. MacHale - The Reality Bug

A long moment went by. The man kept staring at them. Finally he asked, “Why do you care?”

Mark and Courtney exchanged confused looks. “About what?” Courtney asked.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” the man said. “Why do you care?”

Mark said, “W-We got your address-“

“I know that,” snapped the old man. “You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t. What I want to know is, why?”

There was no nonsense about this guy. He didn’t care about being polite or pleasant or anything else that would have put a visitor at ease.

“We’re here because we want to help our friend, Bobby Pendragon,” Mark said.

“Good,” said the man quickly. “Why?”

“He’s our friend,” Courtney chimed in. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Depends,” answered the man.

“On what?” Courtney shot back.

“On whether or not you’re willing to die for him.”

Whoa. The tension in the room had just jumped a few dozen notches. The old man didn’t even blink. Mark and Courtney didn’t know how to respond.

And then Mark’s ring began to twitch.

He quickly looked at his hand. Courtney saw it too. The gray stone was beginning to change color. Mark shot his other hand over the ring to hide it.

Too late.

“Take it off!” ordered the old man.

Mark looked at him, his panic rising.

“I said take it off! Put it on the table.”

Mark didn’t have a choice because the ring had already begun to grow. He pulled it off his finger and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. Bright light blasted from the stone, dazzling the apartment. The ring quickly grew until it was the size of a frisbee, revealing the dark hole inside. Then came the musical notes. After a final blast of light and music, the ring returned to normal.

Mark and Courtney looked to the table to see what the ring had delivered. Sitting there was another small, silver hologram projector. Bobby had just sent his next journal. It was a totally awkward moment. Mark grabbed his ring, swiped up the journal, and stood up.

“This was a mistake,” he said nervously. “We’re outta here” Mark turned for the door. Courtney didn’t know what else to do, so she followed him.

“Stop right there!” the old man demanded as he struggled to his feet.

Mark turned and faced him head-on. “L–Look, mister,” Mark said with passion. “We came here for answers, and all we’re getting are questions. Well, you know what? I don’t trust you. Why should I? If you think we’re going to sit here and get grilled and threatened, then you’d better give us a good reason why, or we’re gone.”

Courtney gave Mark a quick look, as if surprised he had that in him. She looked back to the old man and added, “Yeah!”

The old man held their gaze, then slowly nodded. He turned away from them and walked over to a cabinet that was built into the wall.

“My name is Tom Dorney,” he said firmly. “I’ve lived in this apartment for near fifty years. I’m not married. Never was. I have two sisters and three nephews.” Dorney took a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the cabinet door. He swung it wide to reveal several metal boxes, each about two-foot square.

92 101 “I served in the military for twenty years,” he continued. “Saw action in World War Two. South Pacific.” He pulled one of the boxes out of the cabinet and carried it over to the coffee table. It looked heavy, but neither Mark nor Courtney made a move to help. He didn’t look like he wanted or needed any.

“These boxes are fireproof,” he explained. “This whole place could burn to the ground and nothing would happen to what’s inside.” Dorney took another key from the ring and unlocked the box. He gave one more look to Mark and Courtney, as if debating whether or not to open it.

He then said, “And I’m an acolyte. You want proof of that?”

Mark and Courtney nodded dumbly.

Dorney lifted the lid on the box to reveal it was full of papers. Some were in folders, others were rolled up scrolls that were tied with twine. Mark and Courtney stared down at them in wonder.

Mark said, “Are those?…”

“They’re the journals of a Traveler,” Dorney answered.

“Which Traveler?” Courtney asked.

“They were written by my best friend, Press Tilton.”

Dorney then raised his hand to show he wore a ring just like Mark’s. “I brought you two here because I’m getting old, and need help. Now, my question still stands. Why do you care? If I don’t get the right answer, you can walk right back out that door. I don’t care what that Pendragon kid thinks about you.”

Hey, guys. Getting used to watching me like this yet?

It’s weird, after Lifelight, the idea of recording myself as a hologram seems pretty low tech. Lifelight is an incredible invention… that’s also incredibly dangerous. The thing is, I’m afraid Saint Dane knows that, and we may not be able to stop him from taking advantage of it. I’m serious. We may already be too late to save Veelox. But I’m not ready to give up yet. Aja and I have come up with a plan. To pull it off I’m going to have to jump back into Lifelight. To be honest, it scares the hell out of me because this time it won’t be the wonderful, fantasy visit back home like before.

This jump is going to be hairy.

I know, I’ll bet you’re thinking: How hairy can it be if it’s all taking place in my mind? Well, the mind is pretty powerful. So is imagination. Trust me. I’ve just seen what can happen when things go bad. It isn’t pretty. I don’t want to risk jumping again, but I don’t see any way around it. I’ve got to go back in. I know what has to be done.

I think.

Let me tell you what brought me to the point of having to make this insane trip back into Lifelight…

After my first jump I was thinking Lifelight was pretty cool. Going home and spending time with my family and kicking some serious butt against Easthill High was excellent, even if it was just an illusion. I’m sure this is hard to understand, but while I was in Lifelight, I sort of forgot that it was fake. The experience was so real, my brain wanted to believe it actually was. Or at least my heart did. Does that make sense? It would if you had been there.

But then I left the jump and witnessed the death of a fellow jumper. That made it pretty clear that Lifelight wasn’t without risks. When Aja found me after her debriefing, I began to learn what those risks were.

“I’ll take you to my home,” she declared as she hurried into the office where I was recording my journal. “We’ll have something to eat and I’ll continue your education.”

Education. Wow-wee. Aja really liked showing me what a brain she was. Lucky me.

D. J. MacHale

The Reality Bug

“What happened to that jumper?” I asked. “Why did he die?”

“It happens,” she said quickly. “There are a lot of people in the pyramid.”

“But you said it’s happening more often.”

“It was an accident, all right!” she snapped. “I told you, things are under control here.”

Yikes. She was a raw nerve. Things didn’t seem like they were under control at all. But it wouldn’t help to argue. Without another word, Aja left the office. I guessed she expected me to follow, so I did.

We left the Lifelight pyramid and went back to the three-wheeled vehicle that had brought us here. We climbed aboard and started pedaling along the quiet street. There were a 104 million questions I wanted to ask about Lifelight and how it worked and why she was so sure Saint Dane’s plan was doomed to failure and, for that matter, what the heck Saint Dane’s plan was. But I didn’t think it was a good time to grill her. She looked pretty upset. As she pedaled the odd bicycle, she stared ahead with a vacant look that told me her mind was miles away.