Chapter 4 – Window
Silence. Throbbing pulse. Blink. Blink. Blink.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The mutilated silence, fraught with the sounds of dripping tea, awoke Phil from a frozen stupor. With sludgy movements he turned to appraise the shattered mugs on the floor. Tea was pooling along the floor and table top. Phil had never seen the kitchen in such a state. Angela would-
Angela.
Phil's hands shot up to cradle his face. He dug his nails into his cheeks, pulling away at the skin until the stinging pain matched how he felt inside. He may have choked, "Oh God," he may have stuttered a gasping breath, he may have swayed in place.
You need to calm down.
His voice of reason, who always guided him in uncertain times, sounded like Angela. Phil groaned as her teary blue eyes flashed before his eyes; a ghostly image of a broken heart. You can't tell her, Phil, the voice told him. She can't know. She doesn't deserve this.
Phil pushed a hand over his shaking mouth and breathed deeply through his nose. Calming techniques. His life was crumbling and he had no way to bind it all together again. You can start with cleaning the kitchen.
Phil squared his shoulders, attempting to evoke some kind of feeling in his numb limbs. He stepped across the puddle of tea and clutched at the fragments of porcelain. With one swift movement he dumped them into the disposal unit. As he watched it whir and disintegrate the rubbish, he noticed red droplets beading on his fingers. He'd cut himself. With something akin to interest, he watched the red swell from the micro cuts on his hands. He brought his palm up to his eyes and stared deeply at the blood. The whiff of iron fascinated him.
Phil, that is a wound. Take care of it.
Phil stuck his hands into the sink and watched as water poured over them. Pink water swirled down the drain. He watched as the nanobots in the supplemented water knitted his skin together. Something that had always fascinated him before seemed lifeless now. Sometimes people want to stay broken.
Phil activated the iDomestic and watched as the sleek robot hovered for a split second, scanning the entire house. It descended upon the splattered tea and disintegrated it, leaving the floor sparkling white. Just like before.
Phil heard the robot whiz into the living room, where the robot was surely straightening the creased sofa. Within seconds it was back, beeping twice before shutting off in its original position.
Now Angela had nothing to suspect, but Phil himself.
Angela opened the front door, nudging the hovercart forward with one leg. It was laden with shopping, treasure from her fruitful day out on the town with her friends. "Phil!" she called. No one answered. She shrugged and went inside to lay down her shopping. She plucked a rectangular package from the heap of goods and went on an exhibition. "Phil?" she called again. "Ph-" He was asleep on the sofa. The holographic TV was playing, muted, on the far wall. Angela rolled her eyes fondly.
"Phil," she whispered as she sat down on the floor by the sofa. "Wake up, honey." She brushed a soft kiss over his stubbly cheek. Phil exhaled slowly, the warm air tickling Angela's lips. "Ang?" he mumbled, shifting slightly and opening bleary eyes.
"Yeah, love. It's me."
Phil's lips stretched into a lazy smile, before freezing. He sat up quickly. "Um," he stuttered.
"What's wrong?" Angela asked, an eyebrow quirking in confusion. Phil laughed nervously. "No, nothing, just feeling guilty that you caught me sleeping," he said, his eyes darting around the room.
Angela grinned. "You work so hard, Phil. You're allowed a long nap now and then. Anyway," she continued, drawing out the word. "I have something for you."
Phil looked wary. Angela could only laugh at him.
"A present, you idiot!" she snorted, before placing the package on Phil's lap. He looked surprisingly conflicted, shooting her an unfathomable look before tearing the paper off.
The book sat in his lap amidst scraps of paper as Phil looked on with the strangest look in his eyes. "You bought me An Eternity of Galaxies," he whispered.
"I knew you wanted a hard copy of your favourite book, Phil. I saw it at Paper Plus today." Angela was watching Phil's face, enjoying the emotions she spotted there. Surprise, happiness, touched… guilty, sad? "What's wrong?" she whispered, placing her hand on his knee. Phil rubbed a hand over his face. "It's just-" he sighed. "You're such a great wife."
"I know," Angela teased, slightly worried at how depressed Phil sounded over it. "But why does that make you sad?"
"I could never be this good of a husband for you, Ang. You deserve more," he breathed.
Angela rose from the floor and sat next to Phil, wrapping her arms around him. "You're absolutely perfect, Phil," she whispered in his ear. "You're the best husband anyone could ever ask for."
When tears shone in Phil's eyes, Angela was overcome with how moved he seemed to be.
Monday dawned. Grey, dreary, and mildly cold. As always. Phil's tablet buzzed at 7 o'clock, pulling him from a whirling vortex of confusing dreams, where blues and browns swallowed him whole. Angela had already awoken and was in the bathroom, singing a song Phil didn't know. Her clear, sweet voice made Phil smile as well as constricted his heart.
He left the crumpled sheets – they had had sex again the previous night – and went downstairs in search of cereal. He sat in silence as he spooned sugary cereal into his mouth. Tasteless. Angela joined him soon after, her hair damp and pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder. Phil stared at her as she bustled around the kitchen. Her bare feet padded lightly across the tiles. She had bright blue toenails. She hummed lightly as she poured herself a cup of tea. Two sugars, milk. She performed a jazzy interlude as she waited for the slices of bread to toast. She gave Phil a sweet kiss over his half eaten bowl of cereal. Her eyes sparkled with love.
She was perfect. Phil had never been less in love with perfection.
When eight ticked nearer, agonising seconds filled with silence, Phil rose from the breakfast table. "Are you off, then?" Angela asked, liberally spreading grape jam on her second slice of toast. Phil nodded shortly and, after a moment of thought, pressed a quick kiss to Angela's forehead. "I'll see you tonight, Ang," he called as he headed for the door. Angela's mouthful of toast prevented her from speaking, so she lifted a sticky hand to wave as she went. The screen by the door beeped as Phil drew nearer. His work co-ordinates filled in automatically. He opened the door and eyed the portal waiting for him. It glowed blood red for a moment, intensely so, before blinking blue. Phil stepped onto the portal and left his black and white house behind.
The BBC building, flashy with gleaming silver design, dominated his field of vision. It rose up, higher than the eye could see, dissolving into the sky peppered with clouds. Phil stepped off the portal, glancing around the plaza he stood in. Hundreds of portals, flashing with incoming workers, surrounded him. The portal he had just come from filled with a greying man. "Out of the way," the man grumbled, and Phil hurried toward the BBC entrance, embarrassment coursing through his veins.
The lobby was filled with crowds of people heading toward a second set of portals. Phil joined the streaming lines. He felt as if his eyes had been peeled- everything was new, and vivid, and shocking. All of the people surrounding him were on their Mn-Chstr regulated tablets, thousands of images consumed in seconds. Phil could see their eyes glinting dully, reflecting the harsh glare of the screens. Phil thought of all the mornings leading up to this day. He had been just the same.
He reached the front of the portal queue. When Phil stepped onto the plate, the portal glowed red and a disembodied voice said, "Identified: Philip Michael Lester. Rerouting destination."
And Phil was in his office.
Perfectly gleaming white walls paired with genetically perfect pot plants encircled a sleek desk. With a deep sigh, Phil sat on the same office chair, at the same desk, with the same iHolo Mac blinking at him. The three screens activated upon his sitting down. The screen on the left, the Mn-Chstr news stream – a government requirement – showed Phil's social media feed. He scanned it briefly, skimming over sordid stories of celebrity Maric Boswell, who had apparently been out drinking past twelve. Phil rolled his eyes.
The screen to his right was dominated by the BBC feed. Phil's workload for the day popped up. It was a standard amount of work. The middle screen, the most important screen, held the editing software. Phil needed to construct slightly terrible reality shows.
With one final, lingering glance at the blank wall, Phil pulled on his headphones and began to work. He shifted uncomfortably in his regulation office chair, which was so perfectly crafted and comfortable it bothered him.
A bit later, in the midst of choosing the best angle to show the losing entries for Galaxy Dancing, a pop-up appeared on the BBC screen.
Phil reached to swipe it off the screen, hardly reading it. A split second before deletion he halted, eyes drawn to the words. "Tune in to BBC Radio at 9 to support BBC's newest radio presenter – Dan Howell!"
Phil's stomach ached. There he was. Dan Howell. The name branded into Phil's eyes until all he could see was brown eyes. Soft lips. Gasps. Broken mugs.
He shook his head lightly. The whispers of Dan Howell, Dan Howell, rose and fell in his mind, driving him insane. Phil bit down on his lip until the pain brought him back down. He stared at his editing program, memorising the features of the girl in a cerulean dress until all thoughts other than editing had left him.
When 9 came, Phil decided it was a complete coincidence that he turned the radio on. It wasn't because of… Dan.
His ears filled with the last strains of a song he didn't know. "And that was Lil Creed with 'Crazy Days'. Hello, viewers! 'Who's that posh voice in my ear?' I hear you say. Well, firstly I would say that it's not posh, it's articulate. And secondly I'd say that I'm Dan Howell, word master extraordinaire, and I'll be dominating BBC Radio from now on – well, weekdays from nine to ten. Which I suppose isn't really 'dominating', is it? But enough of my awkwardness – here's Marci Vikki with 'Exam'."
That didn't sound like Dan at all, Phil thought confusedly. He turned down the volume as the annoying song played – a cacophony of buzzing and beats. Dan was sullen, and sarcastic, and snarky, and a host of other s-words that didn't match the charming voice on the radio.
Dan is in the building right now, Phil realised. For a moment he sat, utterly frozen, tingling as the urge to leap from his chair and find Dan overpowered him.
Several seconds of internal struggle led to Phil calming down. "No," he whispered to himself, rubbing his tired eyes until lights blinked in and out of existence. I shouldn't even listen to this, the voice of reason so reminiscent of Angela told him.
Phil didn't switch the radio off.
Phil had been staring at the clock for six minutes. Every second dragged like an hour – five o' clock felt like a millennium away. A loud ding brought his attention back to the editing screen.
"Uh-oh! It seems you haven't worked for 5:47 whole minutes! Is everything okay?"
Phil selected the 'Yes' button, huffing as he did so. His eyes slid to the clock. Two minutes. His hand shook as he agitatedly clicked around on the editing program. His eyes flickered between the time and screen. One minute.
A bead of agitated sweat rolled down Phil's brow.
The computer beeped. With one swift hand movement, Phil shut off the iHolo and swept off the discomforting office chair. In the blink of an eye he was by the portal, which glowed it's customary crimson before an allowing blue. "Have a nice day, Philip Michael Lester," a disembodied voice crooned in Phil's ear. "Mn-Chstr cannot wait to see you tomorrow!"
A chill rolled down Phil's spine. Hastily, he stepped onto the portal. The lobby was no better; an amorphous crowd of people were leaving work. The rigidity of their movements, the malicious lack of light in their eyes and the set lines of their downturned mouths terrified Phil- encircling him with fear until his feet refused to move. Glued to the spot, he watched as unidentifiable soul after unidentifiable soul marched past him. The white glare of tablet screens dotting the grey scramble of men scalded his vision until all he saw was black and white, grey and white, white, white, white.
Phil stumbled blindly through the crowd. Several affronted, 'Hey!'s infiltrated his stupor but he didn't care. Phil activated his tablet as he exited the lobby and breathed in the outside air. The plaza was buzzing with soulless movements as much as the lobby had been, but the freeing sky above lifted the maniacal lid off of Phil's containment.
Trembling hands found Dan's contact details.
He wanted – needed – to tell Dan. Something? Anything?
"Heard you on the radio today."
It wasn't enough. But it was all his shaking fingers could type.
In milliseconds, a reply vibrated the screen.
"Oh God. I was terrible, wasn't I? I formally apologise for the ear damage."
Phil laughed; an aborted sound equated with a gasp of relief.
"Oh, absolutely awful. Expect a lawsuit."
"You're on."
The plaza was emptying. Phil stood in the midst of an open space, clutching his tablet eagerly, not noticing the furtively curious glances sent his way.
"I never really pegged you as a radio guy."
"I'm not! I am so awkward, I hate it- but it's what Mn-Chstr decided I was perfect for."
"Since when do you care about what Mn-Chstr says?"
"Mn-Chstr is wonderful and cares for us all- why wouldn't I?"
Phil stilled his hand. That didn't sound at all like Dan. Stomach dropping, he made to send a '?' but stopped as a more terrifying message came through.
'Meet me at the park.'
What was happening? Phil was reeling, head spinning as he tried to wrap his mind around the lightning exchange. The whirlwind called Dan Howell had surpassed him again and Phil just couldn't keep up.
He would get to see Dan again, he realised. Whether or not that would be a good thing remained to be seen.
It didn't take long to reach a portal, gasp out, "Alexander Valley Park," and step onto the blue plate. It did, however, take long to step off again. Suspended in inter-dimensional plasma, he stared into the dismal park that held such jarring memories for him. Phil thought of the times he'd played there as a child, or met with Angela there, or gone for walks to escape his mind, or met strange people who tumbled his world upside down. Phil wondered what life would have been like if he hadn't gone to the park that day. He wouldn't be aware; he wouldn't be haunted by the peeled reality of life.
Phil wanted to stay in the portal womb forever.
In the distance, a brown-headed figure appeared from behind a tree. Phil tumbled off the plate, tingling as he materialised. "Dan!" he called, trotting forward. The figure's head snapped around to face Phil. Phil raised his hand to wave, not even attempting to quash the relieved swoop in his stomach to see the same Dan. Dan.
"Not here," Dan hissed as he approached him. The younger boy gripped Phil's arm and dragged him over to the tree. "What are you doing?" Phil asked, bewildered.
"Not. Here," Dan bit out through clenched teeth. He glanced around him, ensuring the park's emptiness, before clutching at the tree's bark and hauling himself up. "Dan!" Phil almost screeched. A hand was lowered from the depths of the tree, which Phil stared at for a moment before grabbing. He was hoisted into the layered branches. "What are we doing?" Phil whispered.
"We're getting out of here," Dan told him, moving carefully across the branches. "There's a wall here," Dan said lowly, pointing at a line behind a smattering of portals. "See how the park is squared off? The portals are the borders. No one ever thinks of passing them. They can't."
"What?" Phil uttered, mouth hanging open.
"There's a barrier. A force-field. What you see beyond is an illusion. It's like that everywhere – no one has ever seen the world. We're all boxed in, like animals."
"Oh my God," Phil breathed. "How has no one ever noticed?"
Dan looked Phil solemnly in the eye. "Mn-Chstr won't let that happen. Look at your tablet."
Phil activated it and saw his timeline filled with streams of messages – from Angela, from the BBC, from his mother. Tweets from his favourite celebrities popped up, all demanding his immediate attention.
"They draw our eyes away from the truth with social media," Dan said harshly. "We're so distracted, constantly, that we never think to look up."
Phil pressed a quaking hand to his dry mouth.
"So we can't escape?"
A devious grin lit up Dan's face. "There is a way."
Dan wrenched the device from around Phil's arm that activated his tablet and hid it in a whole in the tree. "This is tracked," he explained. "As is your DNA when you use a portal."
Phil felt sick.
He watched as Dan clambered across the tree's reaching branches. He stopped right above the line of portals. Dan pulled a small black square from his pocket, the likes of which Phil had never seen before. Dan fiddled with the item until it beeped and he pressed it to his mouth. "Portal 14, Alexander Valley Park."
Phil watched, wide-eyed, as the portal below fizzled red, then blue, and then shocking orange. "Quickly," Dan yelled. He grabbed Phil and they tumbled from the tree, hovering in orange light for a second before everything flashed black.
Phil's stomach was rolling. Bile rose in his throat. Was he lying down? He was pressed against something uncomfortable.
When he opened his spinning eyes Dan was standing above him, hand extended. Groggily he got up, unable to take in his surroundings. "Wha-" he managed to stutter.
"Sorry," Dan apologised. "It's a bit disorienting the first time."
Phil dropped Dan's hand, dazedly taking in where they were standing. "Wh-what is this?" he managed.
They were standing in a darkened room, walls covered in luminescent graffiti. The far wall had crumpled into non-existence and Phil could see outside. A brown world, stretching as far as the eye could see, lay before them. Mind-bogglingly huge blocks were scattered about the earth, shimmering opaque, which hurt to look at. Masses of dirty green tents huddled into the dirt everywhere.
"Dan?" he asked brokenly.
"Phil," Dan grinned. "Welcome to Manchester."