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  “I can’t believe it,” replied Connor. “A single accidental fight in thirty-odd years and now I’m being hit with a baseball bat and you’re setting cars on fire.”

  “I know man. Wild.”

  “Crazy,” said Connor under his breath.

  “What the hell he want?”

  “The usual. Money.” He removed the piece of paper from his pocket and re-read the hand-written note. “His wife said he’d kill us.”

  “No kidding.”

  Connor sighed.

  “What?”

  He shook his head in frustration. “I thought we’d drive here, find Nolan doing some gardening or something, then be on our way.”

  “Guess we chose the wrong side of town.”

  Connor forced a laugh.

  “I guess you’re doing what you wanted now though, huh?” asked Matt.

  “What’s that?”

  “I dunno. Stuff.”

  Connor laughed. “I was expecting to be doing this kinda stuff in Pure Reality, not real life.”

  “It’s more intense though, right? In real life?”

  “I can live without intense.”

  “Na, bro, imagine the stories you’ll tell your kid when he gets older.”

  Connor glanced at him. “James?”

  “See, I knew he was your kid!”

  “Wai— no, I mean, is that who you were talking about?”

  “Well, is he your kid?”

  “I already told you, man, he’s not my kid.”

  “I think I’m gonna need you to prove that on some reality TV show one day.”

  Connor acted casually displeased. After a moment’s silence he said under his breath, “I should’ve just paid him.”

  “Paid who?”

  “That Chad guy.”

  “You kidding me bro?” exclaimed Matt. “That’s the old you talking.”

  “The old me?”

  “For sure, man. The old you would’ve folded immediately. Luckily I’m still the old me so I could get your ass out of trouble.”

  “Your ass was in trouble too.”

  “Na, nobody wants my ass. I look like I’m homeless.”

  Connor laughed. “Yeah, everyone assumes you don’t have anything of value.”

  “These glasses were like two thousand dollars, bro.”

  “Well that’s the point — with your hair and that beard they look about ten dollar’s worth.”

  Matt shrugged. “Anyway, you know, the deeper we go with this, the more we’re gonna have to deal with assholes like that.”

  “Well, we make a good team.”

  “Is that a thank-you?”

  Connor looked at him. “Thank you for being part of this great team of two brilliant individuals.”

  “That’s as good as I’m gonna get, huh,” said Matt despondently. “How’s the knee?”

  “Going off a bit now. I don’t think he broke anything.”

  “You reckon we should call the police?” asked Matt.

  “I was thinking about that but, umm, I dunno. I don’t want to draw attention to anything.”

  “Fair point. At least we got outta there.”

  “They must’ve had it rough.”

  Matt looked disgusted. “What?”

  “I mean, they must have really needed the cash to go to those lengths,” said Connor. “I can’t help feeling bad for them, they must have some kind of problems.”

  “Are you kidding me? He was gonna kill you bro, and me. That was greed. Forget about it man, seriously,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval. He snorted in disbelief. “Seriously?” he exclaimed once more.

  “OK, OK!”

  “I told you, this is the old you speaking, bro,” he said as they turned into the parking lot of a motel. As they came to a stop Connor clambered from the car and limped toward the dimly lit reception. It was shabby and unkempt, lights flickering and water dripping. A woman sat behind a glass screen filing her nails, and as the two of them approached she looked up casually, glancing up and down them both as they reached the counter. Her appearance was as unkempt as the motel.

  “Are you two together?”

  Matt laughed awkwardly. “Not like that.”

  “Shame, ‘cos we’ve only got one double room.” Matt stopped laughing.

  “You… you don’t have anything else?” asked Connor.

  “Do you want it or not?”

  “Umm, I think we’ll try somewhere else.”

  “Well, nearest place is fifty miles of here,” she said, looking up at the clock. “It’ll be midnight by the time you get there and reception closes an hour before that.”

  Connor sighed and looked at Matt, whose expression was a combination of awkwardness and fear. “It’s OK man,” he said with a smile. “It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.”

  “We’re not gay!” stammered Matt in the direction of the receptionist.

  She baulked at his outburst, blinking deliberately several times before opening a drawer in front of her. “It’s a hundred dollars for the night, thirty dollars deposit and check out is eleven. You need to pay now, cash only.”

  Connor fumbled around in his wallet and withdrew the cash, to which she responded by sliding over the key card. She glanced at Matt with the slightest of smiles.

  “What’s that look?” he snapped.

  “Thank you,” said Connor to the woman, grabbing Matt by the shoulder and turning him to leave. As they walked off he shook his head. “She doesn’t think we’re gay bro, don’t worry.”

  “Sorry, just a bit wired from before. Need to go to bed.”

  Connor limped to the room while Matt got the bags from the truck. He swiped the key card and the door unlocked, and as he pushed it open slowly the two of them stood motionless in the doorway. The room was dark, damp in the walls and the threadbare fabrics, dark wooden furniture looking like it was a hundred years old, but not in a good way.

  “Did we go back in time?” asked Matt.

  After a pause, Connor stepped into the room confidently. “It’s a bed. Let’s get some rest and go find him tomorrow.”

  Matt dropped the bags on the floor and slumped down onto the bed. “Holy shit!” he shouted, as the mattress nearly swallowed him whole.

  “I don’t think this place is gonna win any awards,” said Connor, laughing at Matt struggling to get out from the middle of the bed.

  Eventually he gave up. “I’m too tired for this,” he said with a sigh. “I thought we’d be on our way home by now.”

  Connor took out his teeth cleaning device to speak. “Sorry buddy, I don’t think this is a one day thing. Hence why I paid your rent for the next six months.”

  Matt looked up sharply and stared at him for a few seconds. “OK boss,” he said sarcastically, dropping his head back onto the bed.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Nope.”

  Connor limped into the bathroom and swilled with mouthwash. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed with frustration. He hated conflict, especially with Matt. His adrenaline kicked in a little as he re-entered the bedroom.

  “Look, let’s not fall out now. It’s been a long day and we’ve got a lot to do together,” he said. “Tensions are a bit high at the moment so let’s get some sleep and talk about it in the morning.”

  Matt took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

  “It’s OK, it’s not every day you kill a man with a piece of wood.”

  He bolted upright. “You think I killed him?”

  Connor shrugged. He was winding him up but really, it was possible. “Yeah, maybe. He looked in a pretty bad way.”

  Matt’s eyes widened, the color draining from his cheeks.

  “There’s no medical center around here either. Could’ve bled out there and then.”

  “Oh shit bro, you think?”

  Connor smiled. “I’m sure he’s taking it out on his wife right now.”

  “But what if he died? I could be done for murder!”
<
br />   “Look, just get some sleep and we’ll sort it all out tomorrow.”

  “There’s no way I can sleep now,” he said, dropping his head back down. “I’m gonna have to go back.”

  What have I started?

  “OK, I was winding you up. Just, I dunno, just forget about it. He was an asshole anyway.”

  Matt sighed. “True.”

  10

  “He’s… what?”

  Connor and Matt stood in St. Michael’s Baptist Church, Bakersfield, California, in stunned silence. They had followed the brief instruction the woman had scribbled on the scrap of paper that Connor had scrunched up in his pocket, and now they had found the first person who even recognized Nolan’s name. But the news wasn’t good.

  They both walked outside, followed the footpath around, as the woman in the church had advised, then took the next right, through the trees and he was third on the left. They approached slowly.

  “Nolan Berger, 2001 - 2066. He died six years ago.”

  They stood in silence for a few minutes, staring at the tombstone in disbelief. Connor could feel his pulse beating in his wrists as he stood motionless, his short, anxious breaths making him feel light-headed. This can’t be the end of the road. Nolan was their only option, the only way back to Mana and the resistance outside of Silk Corporation. Now, it seemed, that door had closed.

  Matt shook his head. “Na, I’m not buyin’ it.”

  “What?”

  “One, why would those two cranks in that other house be so secretive, then send you here? Two, wouldn’t your friends in the resistance have known he was dead? You know, from the other side?”

  “Not sure. I’ve never looked at a grave and wondered if someone was actually dead before.”

  “I’ve never looked at a grave,” said Matt.

  “Actually neither have I.” They stood there for another few minutes. The church and cemetery was located in a beautifully open area, far out in the fields on the way out of Bakersfield. There were a few people wandering the grounds, chatting quietly while the trees rustled in the wind. The sun warmed their backs as they pondered their next move. “So now what?”

  “Can we dig him up?”

  Connor laughed. “Um, no I don’t think so. Anyway, how would you know it was him?”

  “DNA test.”

  “Oh yeah? And you’ve got one of those on you now, right?”

  “Look bro, I’m coming up with suggestions, yeah? That’s what we’re doing now, right? Suggestions?”

  “A DNA test is only a suggestion when we can actually do one.”

  “How do you know I can’t do one?”

  Connor stuttered, “Bu— it, umm— it doesn’t even matter because we can’t dig him up.”

  “Yeah, well. Where are your suggestions?”

  Connor pointed to an old-looking groundsman. “What about him?”

  “What about him?”

  “Why don’t we talk to him? He looks old, he might have been here when they buried him.”

  They walked over to the man, who was sat on a bench, taking a break in the morning sun. He was completely bald, with a bushy grey beard. His overalls were clean but used, and the tips of his wellingtons that poked out from beneath were perfectly kempt. He peered over his glasses as they approached.

  Matt shouted loudly before they’d even reached him. “Do you know a gu—”

  “Hi,” said Connor, placing his hand on Matt’s chest to cut him off. “May we talk with you for a second?”

  The man paused, still looking over the top of his glasses. “Yes? What is it?” His voice was clean and high pitched, his mouth remaining tight as he spoke.

  “We’ve come a long way to visit our friend’s grave. Are you from around here?”

  “Yes,” he replied cautiously.

  “You look about his age and I was wondering if you knew him. His name was Nolan.”

  The man blinked heavily. After a few moments he took off his glasses and cleaned them with a cloth he’d withdrawn from his pocket. As he did so he nodded calmly.

  “You do? Uh, did?”

  The man looked up and put on his glasses. “This is a small town. Out here at least. You get outside downtown and everyone knows everyone’s business.”

  Connor and Matt shared a quick glance. “Do you mind if we ask a few questions about him?”

  “Who are you with?”

  “The police,” barked Matt. The man frowned.

  “Uh—” stammered Connor, holding up his hand. “We’re… we’re not with the police,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Matt, you, um, why don’t you go over there for a bit and leave me and this gentleman to chat?”

  Matt mooched off as Connor sat down on the bench next to him. “Sorry about my friend, he’s a bit, you know.”

  “So who are you?”

  “My name is Connor Cooper,” he said, holding out his hand.

  The man reluctantly accepted his handshake and spoke quietly, “Patrick.”

  “Irish?”

  “From way back, yes,” he replied, still speaking cautiously and not looking Connor directly in the eye.

  “Me too. What do you do in Bakersfield?”

  “What is this about? If you’re with the police you have to tell me.”

  Connor smiled. “I’m sorry, it looks like we got off on the wrong foot. I came here with my buddy Matt to try and track down our friend Nolan. When we got to Bakersfield we learned he was actually buried here.”

  “Nolan’s your friend?”

  “We don’t go way back, but he once told me to look him up here. Looks like I was too late.”

  Patrick just sat there, staring out into the wilderness.

  “We already tried his old address but, um, well that didn’t go well.”

  Patrick chuckled to himself. “No, I’d imagine it wouldn’t.”

  “Can I ask what you do here?”

  “Me? Well, I tend the grounds, organize social events. Nobody really comes to the church anymore and we haven’t had a burial in years, so it’s really just a hobby for me now.”

  “Were you here when Nolan was buried?”

  “Um hmm.”

  “Was there anyone else here? How did he die?”

  Patrick turned sharply and looked Connor in the eye. “Why all these questions? You can see he is in the ground. I’m not sure what you’re trying to achieve.”

  “Sorry,” said Connor, reacting to Patrick’s sudden show of frustration. “I just want to know what happened to him.”

  “Well if you’re not with the police then I guess I can’t tell you anything,” he said with a humph, continuing to gaze out to the fields.

  Connor sat back and looked down at his feet. He thought for a few moments, then turned to face him. “What if I told you I was working on a project with him?”

  Patrick turned to look at him.

  “And that I would like to continue working on that project with him.”

  “Who sent you here?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who gave you his address?”

  “It was someone who knew him.”

  Patrick looked unimpressed. “Look, if you want to know anything you need to be honest. That’s the only way. Either tell me who it was who sent you here or I’ve no interest in continuing this conversation.”

  Connor was hesitant, but he had no leads. Nothing after this. “OK,” he said cautiously, “He gave me this address.”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  Patrick nodded. “Thought so.”

  That answer didn’t faze him. “You did?” he exclaimed.

  “I doubt he’s the same person now that you met over there.”

  “You… you, know?”

  “I knew the gist of it,” he replied. “Like I said, this is a small town, and once word got out that he was doing secret science experiments on people, well, it was only downhill from there. But all that was a long time ago.”

  “So h
e’s alive?”

  “He got very paranoid toward the end. Sometimes I wonder if he was right,” he said, looking Connor up and down.

  “Look, I know it must be weird, us just turning up here like this, but it’s really important we find him.”

  “I doubt very much that he would want you to find him, or anyone else for that matter.”

  “But he sent me here himself. With his own words.”

  “So you said.”

  Connor sighed. He was out of ideas, but at least now through Patrick he had all but confirmed that Nolan was still alive.

  Patrick continued, “How could I possibly know that your intentions are genuine? Even if he were alive I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing I’d given up a secret that’d taken years for people to forget.”

  Connor was becoming exasperated. “Look, they need him. I need him. Things have gotten bad, much worse than this place. He’s our only hope.”

  “He would be no use to you.”

  “Would you not even let me try?”

  “If you asked anyone around here they could tell you where he is. Go ask them. I’m not having it on my conscience.”

  “Would you want the fate of the entire population of an infinite Earths on your conscience? Because that’s what we’re talking about here.”

  Patrick was unmoved. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with a dismissive shake of the head.

  “Please,” said Connor, almost placing his palms together as he spoke. “I don’t understand any of this. My only instruction, from Nolan himself, was to come and find him. We’ve been travelling for days, I nearly got my bank account emptied by a baseball bat wielding psycho, and now we’ve got to go home empty handed. Please, Patrick, will you help us?”

  Patrick looked at him once more, this time his frown softening. He let out a short sigh. “He’s a hundred miles from here. Downtown L.A.”

  Connor took a sharp intake of breath. “He’s alive, living in L.A?”

  “If you can call it that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s in a shelter. Promise of Hope, off of First Avenue.”

  A shelter. Out of nowhere Connor felt a rush of cold blood fire up his neck as images of his past flashed into his mind. He closed his eyes. It’s just a building. Moth, moth, moth. Think of the moth.

  The only coping mechanism that ever worked for him was to picture a white moth, still, on a black stone wall, wings twitching slightly. He would imagine every detail, each vein, each hair. He recited Jacob’s words in his mind: The caterpillar is gone. All that is left is the moth.