CHAPTER 16

EARTH

001001011001110

Memories, like a mottled collage of faint footage filled my mind. I knew at once, all that I was, and the universe made sense. It was the perfect plan of a perfect Creator. I was amazed at its simplicity.

I saw the study at the mansion, but it was not the same place. It was clear to me now. The mansion had belonged to my grandparents, Jason and Rebecca Tardin. We stayed with them on weekends when I was young. My brother and I would play for hours in the warm study. It was my safe place. As long as I was there, I would not be harassed by the bullies in the neighborhood. They liked to pick on me because I was different-- because I was smart.

Another memory came to me, sharp and painful. “Becca! Stay away from the street!” My daughter looked back at me in her sweet innocence. Lost in her own world, it took her a second to respond. Hers was the curious age of five, and she was excited to be in the crowded city. I watched until she lost interest in the street and began exploring the various novelties of a nearby vendor.

Her mother joined her to look at some jewelry. She’d been sitting on a bench nearby, tired from carrying the extra weight of our unborn son. “Stay close to me, sweetheart,” said Annie, reaching out with a gentle hand to pull her in.

I turned back to the man I had been talking to. “So how much for the painting?”

“It’s a work of art, man, I couldn’t let it go for less than fifty dollars.”

I looked at the painting, then back up at the man. “Fifty? Tell you what, I’ll give you forty for it. That’s the best I can do.”

The man grudgingly accepted, and I smiled to myself. I knew he would take it. Everything was a game on the city streets. Nothing went for face value.

“Rebecca come here!” Annie's voice was urgent.

Behind me, Becca scurried along the edge of the street in pursuit of a small puppy. I twisted quickly, and, at an awkward angle, barely got hold of the back of her shirt as she jumped off the curb. The puppy darted out into traffic.

Off balance. Tires screeching. A mail truck veered out of control. Everything began to move slowly. If I could not regain my footing, the truck would plow into us! With all my strength, I pushed my daughter from me.

The memory faded, and although I continued upward, there was no sense of movement. Above was a curtain of energy. The Separation. I knew it, and I knew its purpose. I would not be allowed to bring the memory of this place to Earth. It was here, Sam’ Dejal had to stay.

And he did not like it. Not one bit.

A mild current of energy washed over me as I entered. A splitting of identity, and an explosion of anger. I was helpless to stop the forces of eternity as the experiences of Sam’ Dejal were ripped from me, fading and screaming into the darkness, leaving only the memories of my earthly self.

And I was, once again, Thomas Tardin.

I found myself sitting in a boat with a beautiful young oriental girl. The water was as smooth as a mirror. The sun was warm in a peaceful sky. She was smiling. Why was she smiling? There was something familiar about her, but there was no name.

I stepped down from the carriage and turned to help the young woman to the ground. The old western town was deserted, but I paid no mind. I left the carriage and the girl, and entered the tavern in front of me. People moved about inside, sharing in whiskey and music. Several games of cards were going on, but my interest was at the bar. I moved up alongside an old man. He was drunk, and babbling about gods or something.

“You have my keys,” I said to him.

He turned to me and laughed. “You'll have to find them yourself, my boy.” His eyes were red from the liquor, and there was a film of moisture on his lips.

“My wife is waiting for me at home, but I can’t get there without my keys.”

“Why don’t you ask your lady friend for them,” he said, stubbornly.

I felt a pair of hands move in around my waist; they belonged to the young Asian girl. I turned, still in her grasp, and we began moving back and forth to the music. The bar was empty now, and a tranquil melody drifted from the jukebox. I put my arms around her and pulled her in close. She smelled of sweet flowers in the morning dew. The song ended, but we continued to dance. I wanted the night to last forever.

She pulled free from my grasp. “I will be back soon,” she said, throwing her bags onto the black leather seat of the red convertible. I recognized the man in the driver's seat, a strikingly handsome man, with curly blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a faint scar on his right cheek. Where did I know him from? The girl hopped over the door and blew me a kiss. Tires screeched, and the car spun out of sight.

“Honey? What’s wrong?” came Annie's voice from behind me.

“Nothing, just thinking.” I turned to see my wife making breakfast in the kitchen of our old apartment. She broke another egg onto the sizzling surface, and a strange clicking noise began emanating from the pan. Annie’s eyes looked at me expectantly. Her lips were moving, but the voice that came out of her was not her voice. It was the voice of a man.

“Next level, split, jump three, stop, negotiate 250 degrees...” My mind struggled to make sense of the words. But instead, the absurdity of them pushed me from the dream.

I became aware of a noise next to my right ear and attempted to open my eyes. But the room was too bright. What was I just dreaming? I tried to remember, but the images were fading fast. There was a weight on my chest and a tightness at my temple. I tried to move, but something was holding my head in place.

A voice spoke. “We’ve been trying for four days, and my people need some rest. I understand the importance of finding the key, but without proper sleep there are going to be more mistakes.”

“Just get it done!” said another voice. “Work in shifts if you have to!”

“Understood.”

I heard footsteps walking away, then a series of clicking noises intertwined with what sounded like voice commands. “Next level, split, jump three, stop, negotiate 250 degrees.” clickety click. “Next level, skip five, negotiate fifteen degrees.” clickety click. “Stop. Identify.”

“Pattern-- not present-?” He sounded surprised.

“What?” clickety click. “Search, stop, split.”

“Pattern-- not present.”

“Philip come here a sec.”

“What is it, Brian?” Footsteps approached.

“I was finishing up my search criteria, and check this out.” clickety click. “Search, stop, split.”

“Pattern not present.”

There was a brief silence. “Are you saying-- they’re not in the system anymore?”

“I’m saying, one of the patients is awake!”

I cleared my throat and swallowed hard. “Are you, referring to me?” I said in a broken whisper.

“Holy crap!” was the response. (Not a very professional response if you asked me.)

“Where...” I cleared my throat again. “Where am I?”

“Hold on, ah-- Mr. Tardin. I’ll get the doctor.”

A doctor? Was I in a hospital? My eyes opened to a squint, allowing the piercing light in at my retina. Blurry forms began to take shape in the sea of white.

More footsteps approached. There was a faint smell of cologne mixed with fresh air. “Good morning, Mr. Tardin. How did you sleep?” The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“I’m- not sure.”

“We are going to detach you from the equipment now. Don’t be startled,” he said soothingly.

Where had I heard that voice before?

There were hands all over me, a pinch here, a squeeze there, the pressure was released from my temples and chest. I tried to focus on the doctor, but he was nothing more than a hazy shape. The colors were slowly returning, but the definition was yet to come.

“Thank you. That will be all,” he said to the others. “You will be briefed at the next meeting.”

Doctors? Meetings? A memory flickered; terror in my daughter's eyes, pedestrians moving in slow motion, everyone looking at me...

“Do you remember dreaming while you were asleep?” There was a sense of urgency in his tone.

“What?”

“Do you remember dreaming?”

“Vaguely.”

“Do you remember Vrin?”

“--What?” My mind tried to wrap around the word. “Is that a name?”

He sighed. “Do you remember anything of a world called Vrin?”

It was then that it came to me, just beyond my perception and pushing in. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all, but his words brought it to my attention. On the hard olive green surface of a metal arm near my head, was an imprint. I squinted. It read, Virtual Reality Interface Network.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. What is this place?” I tried to lift my head.

He put his hand on my chest. “You’re in no condition to get up, Mr. Tardin. Try to relax.” His voice was soothing. “How do you feel?”

“Like a piece of lead.” I squinted at him, still trying to bring him into focus.

“Are you in any pain or discomfort?” he said, gently pressing a stethoscope on my chest.

“No, not really. Why are you asking me all these questions?” I made another attempt to move, but he reaffirmed the pressure on my chest.

“Please, Thomas. try to be still.” There was compassion in the timbers of his hauntingly familiar voice. “I need to check you over.”

Another memory flashed. My little girl sprawled on the sidewalk. A woman screaming. A truck plowing into me... My heart jumped. “I was, in an accident.” I desperately searched my memory. “Is this a hospital?”

He leaned in close. His friendly face came into focus. It was not a handsome face, but it was kind. And seeing it helped ease my panic. The wrinkles around his eyes were deep from many smiles, but the bags underneath showed that he hadn’t slept well for many days.

“It’s a hospital of sorts,” he said. “Hold still.” He shined a light into my eyes. “How is your vision? Are you able to focus?”

“It’s-- coming back slowly.”

“Good, very good. I’m going to take your blood pressure now.”

I attempted to lift my arm, but it wouldn’t move. I tried again. “Why can’t I move my arm?” Panic gripped me. “Doctor?” I tried to control my voice, and frantically searched his face. “Am I paralyzed?”

He smiled kindly. “No, Thomas. You’re not paralyzed.”

“Then why can’t I move!” Again I tried, and my fingers moved a little.

“I’m sorry, Thomas. It will take some time before you are back to normal, but please try to be patient. You’ve, ah... You’ve been...” He furrowed his brow and a look of compassion crossed his features. “You’ve been sleeping, for a long time.”

I stared at him. “--How long?”

There was a notable silence.

“Doctor-?”

He gave a weak smile, and a look of sympathy. “You’re not going to like this. That is, if you even believe me.”

“What? A week? A month? How long have I been sleeping?”

He sighed, and his eyes took on a look of clinical detachment. “Twenty-one years, Thomas, twenty-one years.”

I searched his face. “You're joking. Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I were.” He looked me in the eye. “You were in a bad accident, Thomas. And you’ve been in a coma, for twenty-one years.” There was no sign of humor in the creases of his old face. Only deep concern.

“That-- that’s not possible!” I stammered. “I- I can’t...” My voice broke off.

“Under normal circumstances, you would be correct, but these are far from normal circumstances.”

I felt his warm hand grip my wrist. He brought my arm up slowly. My hand came into view. The sight of it made my blood run cold. It was the hand of a stranger-- too thick and worn out to be my own. But it had my wedding ring on it. The skin looked rough and aged, the veins disturbingly pronounced. I moved my fingers.

It was mine.

Twenty-one YEARS! TWENTY-ONE-YEARS! I couldn’t even begin to process... Just yesterday I was in the city with Annie. On vacation. My business was booming. Annie had another baby on the way... Twenty-one... Rebecca would be twenty-six, and my unborn son?

It couldn’t be true. Someone was playing some kind of sick joke on me! Emotion welled up, and tears threatened to overtake me. But I bit my lip hard. I would NOT believe it. I pushed the thoughts away, and let my brain shut off.

“Thomas, what you’re going through is perfectly normal, but it will pass and you will once again connect with the things you feel you’ve lost.”

I turned my head away.

“Time has a way of catching up with you. And there will be many people to help you get back on track. It’s not so bad living in 2032.”

My throat tightened.

“Many things have changed, but if you take it slow, you’ll be okay.”

“Though your words are appreciated,” I choked, “I don’t think you can appreciate- the magnitude of my situation.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas. You’re right. I can’t. But I do know the human spirit is strong, and yours is incredibly strong. To have come back from where you’ve been is a miracle! The fact we're even having this conversation at all is unimaginable! By all rights you should be brain dead. That’s something at least, don't you think?”

I remained silent.

He was quiet for a time. Then spoke. “Well, I know this is going to be difficult. But how about getting you up to get your blood pumping. Maybe it will get your mind off things, for now anyway.”

Get up? I didn’t like the sound of that one bit, and my face must have shown it.

“It’ll be okay if we take it easy.” He went over to the wall and grabbed a wheelchair. “Here, I’ll help you.”

It was a long process, but he was patient with me. My limbs were like sandbags, and my head was groggy, but otherwise, I felt completely healthy, much healthier than I should have.

Slowly he helped me to a sitting position. My head pounded, but then things started to level out. I looked down and saw the two wrinkled strangers protruding from the sleeves of my medical gown. They were definitely not the hands I remembered. They were old and ugly. I hated them. Bitterness surged in my gut, but I forced it back. I had faced worse than this! Hadn’t I? This was only a temporary setback. Yes. A setback. I pushed away the introspection and focused on the doctor.

“Careful now. Take it slow.” The floor was cold and painful to my unused feet. He held me firmly as I put weight on my weakened legs. With a slight twist, I fell back into the chair, breathing heavily from the activity.

“Very good, Thomas. Very good.” He gave me an encouraging smile and patted my back. “We’ll have you climbing ladders again in no time.”

What was that supposed to mean? I opened my mouth to ask, but he had moved behind me and was pushing my wheelchair up a ramp to an elevated catwalk, which encircled the room. My vision had almost completely returned, and I realized now, that I was not in a hospital at all, but in a lab filled with computers and sophisticated equipment. It was dark in this upper area, except for the light that came from a myriad of tiny screens lining the walls. They flickered softly, filling the room with an ambiance, which spoke to my soul. Something about the crisp, vibrant glow of the computer screens put me at ease.

I reached out to touch the wall. Each screen displayed a different image and had its own set of glowing buttons. I was careful not to push anything. I only wanted to feel the monitors on the tips of my fingers.

From here I had a nice view of the entire lab. In the center of the room, workstations were positioned strategically around an enormous device, a giant cylinder reaching from floor to ceiling. A number of beds surrounded it, like petals on a giant flower. Patients of various shapes and sizes occupied the beds. As I studied them, I couldn’t help but notice, that one of them stood out from the rest. He was the only child, a young boy of perhaps nine or ten. I could see his nameplate from where I sat. It read, “Fredrick Armadon.”

My mind whispered, Vrin.

“Who are they?” I inquired in a low voice.

“They are other coma patients, like you. Don’t worry, we will come back here soon. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

I nodded silent confirmation.

We approached the exit, and the doors glided open. The long gray corridor was filled with people in lab coats on various errands. The sounds of movement and conversation invaded the peaceful quiet. As we moved through the doors, everyone stopped and stared. Instantly I felt exposed in front of the sea of smiling faces.

“Where are we going?” I asked nervously.

The doctor increased his pace, and spoke with more optimism than I cared to hear. “Rehabilitation!”