The Fallen Odyssey

As I begin this volume, I can't help but think back to my earlier writings, when I was still convinced this was all a nightmare or a fantasy. For a while, I thought it was purgatory, and at times, it has come close to a kind of hell. Back then, all I wanted was to return to Earth. I spent a long time thinking it was all a dream, praying I would wake up. I wondered if I had gone insane and was trapped in my imagination. Eventually, I realized that this place was real. As real as Earth itself. If I hadn't come to that realization, I surely never would have discovered that there is a way home. Why do I write this? I think it is to help maintain my sanity, because even after I accepted my reality, my fate was not so easy to reconcile. Often, I wondered if I would ever see my family again. Was I destined to die here, in this alternate world so far from my home that the distance could not be measured in miles? I don't know how I got here, and I certainly never expected to become the man I am today. I never would have thought, in my lifetime, that I would need to raise a weapon to defend myself... let alone to take so many lives. I may have discovered the way home, but leaving is no easy matter. Every day, I wake up and wonder, is my time in this world of swords, shields, magic, and monsters finally nearing its end? Will I ever see my family again? Or will I die here, farther from home than any map can measure? *** Justin leaned forward and tightened his grip on the wheel. The little pickup usually did well in the snow, but the plows hadn't been out yet. Several inches coated the roads, and it was still coming down hard. There were no tire tracks. Even the tracks Justin had left fifteen minutes ago driving down Allegheny Hill were already filled in. But he hadn't been thinking about the conditions of the road when he'd left the house. All he'd been thinking about was going somewhere, anywhere, to get the hell away from his dad. Justin flicked the wipers to the highest setting as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again. Probably Dad asking where he was. Justin, you colossal i***t, he thought. You shouldn't be on the road right now. Lighten up, another part of him responded. It'll be fine. You'll make it home. You're a good driver-you've got this! "Sure," he whispered. "Everything will be all right." He hated when he had to tell himself that. He was halfway up the hill when a gust of wind buffeted the pickup and sent loose snow swirling in updrafts, creating a whiteout in front of the windshield. He felt the uncomfortable lightness of his tires losing traction, and as the truck's back end fishtailed, the whiteout cleared long enough for him to see that he had drifted over the center line. He was in the opposite lane, sliding toward a van parked on the side of the street. Holding his breath, Justin steered into the skid. The tires found purchase on some tightly packed snow, giving him just enough control to ease back toward the center of the road. He passed the van with about a foot to spare between it and the truck's grill, and he reached the top of the hill. He pulled into the driveway of the small, white house-one of the few in sight without Christmas lights hanging from the gutters. He parked in front of the attached garage and let out a long, deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "See? Told you everything would be all right," he whispered in the cold stillness of the truck. But he'd gotten lucky that time, and he knew it. He pulled out his phone. The message, to his surprise, hadn't been from Dad after all. It was from Kate. "Hey. Merry Christmas. Missing you today." "Missing you, too," he typed, then deleted it. "Merry Christmas," he typed, then deleted that, too. His thumbs hovered over the screen. Without sending a reply, he slid the phone back into his pocket. He got out of the truck just as a slate-gray SUV rolled up the street, its tires producing hollow crunching sounds in the snow as it passed the Holmes mailbox and pulled in next door. The rear doors slid open, and two boys and two girls, ages three to twelve, jumped out and chased each other into the house carrying toys, clothes, books, and other Christmas plunder. The youngest of the four children, a small girl, brought up the rear of the procession carrying two stuffed Curious Georges and a baby doll while she sang in a tiny voice, "Let it 'no, let it 'no, let it 'no." Cecelia Emerson exited the front passenger door, snuck up behind her singing daughter, and scooped her up in her arms. The girl squealed and laughed, and they finished the chorus together on their way into the house. Jeff Emerson stepped out of the driver's side door. He wore no coat, only a long-sleeved button-up shirt and a stocking cap. He had walked to the rear of the SUV and opened the trunk before he noticed Justin standing in the next driveway. He smiled broadly as he called out in a deep voice, "Well, Merry Christmas, Mr. Holmes!" Justin's tongue turned to sandpaper. Suddenly, he couldn't get the image out of his head: Jeff driving with the kids singing in the back, getting through the whiteout on the hill just in time to see Justin's pickup turned sideways in the road-too late for Jeff to stop... "Merry Christmas," Justin finally managed. Jeff tromped through the snow and leaned against the chest-high picket fence that separated their properties. Snow stuck in his neatly trimmed black beard. "What the heck you doing here?" he said. "I thought you and your dad were visiting your gram'pa today. You're not letting some slippy roads stop you." Jeff was Justin's current science teacher, and his family had lived next door for as long as Justin could remember. Mr. Emerson was a favorite among students at the high school, due mostly to his ripe-for-parody manner of speech. Like many locals, Jeff didn't "wash" the car; he "warshed" it. And the roads didn't get "slippery"; they got "slippy." His heavy "Pittsburghese" vernacular resulted in quotable classroom expressions like, "You kids, quit jaggin' aroun'," and, "I'm telling you, yinz gotta know this stuff." Everyone's favorite, "Time's up, pencils dahn," had attained almost catch-phrase level status among Justin's classmates. "For once, we're the ones staying home," Justin said. "Grandpa and Uncle Paul are coming over here for dinner. That means I have some shoveling to do, though." Jeff looked Justin up and down. "You ever gonna stop growing? What're you up to now? Six-four?" "Six-five." "Jeez," said Jeff. "No wonder the basketball team stinks so bad without you." "Yeah, I watched the first few games," said Justin. He decided to leave it at that. Jeff was not the only one to lament Justin's departure from the team. He'd been the leading scorer last year, and there was not one class photo all the way back to kindergarten when he hadn't been the tallest in the grade. He wasn't good tall, unfortunately, but awkward tall. He'd hit six-foot-five by fourteen years old and then, mercifully, stopped. He was almost eighteen now, and over the past few years, he had bumped his head against so many different things in so many different ways that he'd developed a sort of sixth sense about it. He tended to walk permanently slouched. It was the best defense. "Want any help clearing the driveway?" asked Jeff. "I can handle it," said Justin. "That's not what I asked," Jeff said. "Why don't you tell your dad to get his lazy a*s out here and do it himself?" "He doesn't work on holidays," said Justin. "Government worker, huh?" Jeff said with a smile. "We'll be stopping by sometime this evening, probably, if that's all right. We'll call first. Wouldn't want to be those neighbors." "Dad has a couple gifts for the kids, I think," said Justin. Jeff looked away. He hesitated, then took off his hat and ran a hand through his black hair before blurting out, "How's your dad doing? Really doing, I mean." "Fine," said Justin. He said it the way he always did-quick and a little higher-pitched than normal. "He's fine." "I know he is," said Jeff, "but, you know. I hope... What about you?" "Hey, a lot of people out there are worse off than us, right?" said Justin. "Okay," said Jeff. "Well, good enough, Justin. I guess we'll see yinz tonight." He started back toward his driveway and held one hand up in a wave, calling over his shoulder, "Try to stay warm!" Jeff grabbed some boxes from the trunk of the SUV and walked to the house. Christmas music floated across the lawn when he opened the door. When it closed behind him, all was silent again.