Home > While I Was Away(6)

While I Was Away(6)
Author: Stylo Fantome

She had to know how much her big brother loved her.

“Do you hear me, Adele Diana Reins? You need to come back. I need you,” he breathed, grabbing a hold of her hand. “You come back here, right now.”

5

I wish ... I wish I was home.

Adele had no way of knowing when the tunnel would end. Her eyes were closed, after all. What did ... what was his name? Johannes. What did he expect her to do, hold her breath until she passed out? She finally gasped out her lungful of air.

“Are we clear?” she asked, opening her eyes.

She wasn't on a train. There was no ridiculously handsome man holding onto her. She blinked her eyes a couple times, then sat up. She was in a bed. She felt around in the dark and her hand bumped into a lamp, almost knocking it over. She gripped onto it, then pulled on the light chord.

She recognized the comforter on the bed instantly. She whipped her head around, taking in the room around her, and she started laughing. She fell onto her back and clapped her hands, then started cheering with joy.

“I knew it! I knew it, it must have been a hallucination,” she sighed as she slowly sat up again.

She was in her bedroom. Not at her home in Los Angeles, but the room in her parents' house, in Philadelphia. The one she'd grown up in. She swung her legs over the mattress and jumped to her feet. Laughed again as she came upon her favorite Penn State sweater that she'd left in the room during her last visit.

It was all a dream ...

What she was doing in Philadelphia, Adele didn't know. She'd had a trip scheduled for later in the summer. She must have bumped the trip up, then gone out to party with the guys, and someone had slipped her some acid or something. She'd gotten so messed up, she couldn't remember anything.

The thought was pretty disturbing, but not half as disturbing as thinking she was dead and in some sort of warped heaven, so she accepted it gladly. She pulled on the sweater, moaning a little when she smelled the laundry detergent her mother always used. Then she smiled big and hurried to her door, yanking it open.

“Mom! Mom, what time is it?” she called out.

“Good job! Most people can't hold their breath that long,” a voice said from behind her.

Adele just about jumped out of her skin. She screamed and whirled around, tripping over her own feet as she spun. She fell down hard on her hip, then immediately started crawling backwards, all while still shrieking.

“No! No! This can't be happening! What is going on? God, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead,” she started sobbing. The man from the train, the one who'd helped her out of the poppy field, followed her out into the hall.

“You're not dead, Adele. Now please, stop shouting. Nothing ever gets accomplished when people shout,” Johannes informed her.

She sniffled and followed his instructions. Wiped at her nose and blinked up at him. He looked so real. Was he a ghost? Was she a ghost? He'd said she wasn't dead ... did she believe him?

“Okay,” she hiccuped, trying to catch her breath as she pulled herself to her feet. “Okay, I'm calm. I'm not shouting.”

“Good. Calm is good. C'mon, let's go downstairs and -” he started, reaching out a hand to grab her arm. She slapped him away.

“Don't touch me! Don't you touch me,” she hissed. “I don't know who you are, and I don't know where I am, and you won't tell me anything. So you know what? Just don't goddamn touch me.”

His mouth was still smiling at her, but his eyes looked ... sad. He worked his hands into his pants pockets and took a step back.

“I won't touch you. Let's just ... go for a walk, okay?” he suggested. She glared at him for a moment.

“Fine. But don't touch me.”

Adele led the way downstairs. It was surreal. It was definitely her parents' house. The same squeaky eighth stair, the pictures of the boys hanging in the same spots on the wall. When she got to the bottom step, she poked her head into the living room. All the drapes were drawn shut, which was a little unusual, but otherwise everything looked exactly the same. All the old, floral furniture. Her dad's desk in the corner, covered in the engine parts from the ceiling fan. The coffee table was coated in her mother's scrapbooking supplies. Adele smiled, happy to be surrounded by familiar things.

“Your parents seem nice,” Johannes said from behind her. She lost her smile.

“They are. They're probably very worried about me.”

“I'm sure. And your brothers – they look like good guys,” he continued, and she turned to find him looking at the pictures on the walls.

“They're the best guys. Look, Joe, can we just cut -”

“Jones.”

“Huh?”

“Jones. Not Joe. Call me Jones for short,” he clarified.

“How does that make sense from Johannes?”

“It doesn't have to make sense, it's just what you should call me. Open the door, Adele.”

His words were almost like a spell – she didn't even hesitate after he spoke. She just immediately turned and grabbed the door knob. It felt bigger than she remembered, and it took a lot of effort to turn it. She hoped her dad would replace it soon, before it locked them in the house.

But then she remembered they weren't really in her parents' house.

With a yank that required all of her strength, she pulled the door open.

Smoke rolled over her, obscuring her vision, and Adele started coughing. She tried to wave it away, but it seemed to get thicker, instead. Then she felt a hand on her lower back. Johannes. Jones, he'd said. He was breaking her no-touching-rule, but was obviously trying to guide her, so she allowed it. When he applied pressure, she started moving forward.

“There's a fire!” she shouted back at him, though why she was yelling, she wasn't sure.

“No fire. Keep moving,” he assured her.

“But all this smoke! There has to be a fire,” she argued, holding her arms out in front of her as they walked.

“No fire. Wanna get a drink?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I'm thirsty, and a cold beer sounds good.”

“Where exactly are we gonna get a cold beer? There's smoke every -”

The smoke cleared in an instant. As if huge fans had sucked it away. Adele froze, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“Sometimes, where there's smoke, there isn't fire,” Jones whispered in her ear, then he brushed against her as he continued walking.

She had absolutely no idea where they were. The streets were cobblestone, but there was something wrong with the texture. For a moment, she wondered if they were in Disneyland. The stones were too shiny and too perfectly imperfect. The buildings were all made out of stone, as well, and she wondered if she'd stumbled into some sort of medieval reenactment town.

Jones was strolling down the street ahead of her, about to turn a corner. Adele couldn't imagine anything more horrifying than being left alone in that place, so she jogged after him. She still didn't want to touch him, but she stayed close to his side.

“Are we ... is this America?” she tried to venture another question.

“Just relax. Enjoy yourself for a moment. Remember, breeeeathe.”

She glared at him. He never answered her questions, at least not the way she wanted him to. Figuring more questions would get similar answers, she decided to take in her surroundings while they walked. Maybe she could figure some stuff out on her own.

There were people walking around, but it was strange. She would look at them, make eye contact, smile even. Then, as soon as they were past, their faces were a blur in her mind's eye. She couldn't recall them. And the longer they walked, the more people they passed by – the streets grew more and more crowded. Yet still, she couldn't see their faces. Any sort of calm she'd collected before looking around was quickly slipping away.

“Hey. Hey, uh ... Jones. You said something about a drink?” she asked, finally linking her arm through his and hugging herself tight to his side, desperate not to get swallowed by the crowd.

He squeezed her arm, then took an unexpected turn, leading them through the next door they came across. She braced herself for more strangeness, and wasn't disappointed.

They were in some sort of pub. Everything, literally everything, was wooden. The stools, the floors, the tables, the bar itself. Dark wooden slats, everywhere. She felt like she'd just stepped into the belly of Noah's Ark. Torches burned in sconces along the wall, providing the only lighting, and Adele found herself wondering less where she was, and more when.

“Beer?” Jones asked as he sat her at a table.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

She expected some large, thick, glass steins, or maybe even cups whittled out of wood, so she was shocked when he returned with two bottles of Stella. He put one down in front of her, then took his seat.

“I needed this,” he groaned after he took a long pull from his beer. She stared at him for a second, then chugged half her drink.

“Tell me the truth,” she panted when she finally put her bottle down. “Am I dead? I'm dead, aren't I.”

Jones laughed before shaking his head and reassuring her.

“No, Adele. You're not dead, I promise you. You are very much alive.”

“Are you sure?”

“You're just visiting here. Think of it as a vacation.”

“Some vacation, if I can't ever leave.”

“Look, honestly, it will do your head in if you analyze it too much. Trust me. I can't explain it, not in anyway you can comprehend. So maybe try some easy questions,” he suggested.

That's not what she wanted to do, but they'd been talking in circles for what felt like forever. For ... shit, how long had she even been there? She glanced at her watch only to find she wasn't wearing one.

Time feels so strange now. Did it always feel like this? Like it's going by so fast, and yet we're standing still.

“Okay, can you tell me how long I've been here?” she tried.

   
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