Thanks to the lovely Faye Dartmouth for being awesome and beta reading this chapter for me.
Chapter One "Travels of the Undead"
It's one thing to say "let's change the past" but quite another to go about doing it. For one thing, there's no research on the subject. Everything is first hand experimentation. Which can be very dangerous. Less so if you're already dead.
That raises a whole other set of questions.
The moment Stephen and Cutter step through the doorway, they find themselves on the streets of London. Except it isn't the London they know. It looks the same as the place they left, but something is very wrong. Stephen watches carefully which has always been a gift of his. He notices that the people don't interact, don't even seem to see each other. He looks through store windows and sees clerks staring blankly past customers. He watches as people on the street brush against each other and don't seem to notice. Cars drive aimlessly around the block in circles.
No one sees the two men in dirty, torn, bloodstained clothing. No one cares.
"What is this place?" Cutter wonders aloud.
Stephen shrugs even though Cutter isn't looking at him. "I don't know."
Cutter stops on the pavement and turns to face Stephen. "You never left the cage room?"
Stephen meets Cutter's gaze. "I never had a reason to. Until you showed up I thought it was some kind of purgatory."
"You mean to say you spent all those months just sitting there?"
Stephen looks rather like a scolded child. "It didn't feel like months," he mumbles.
Cutter doesn't say any more, and Stephen doesn't expect him to. They carry on down the street, looking out for something they aren't yet sure of.
The truth is, Stephen doesn't really know why he didn't leave the cage room. Part of him doesn't think he deserved to, but when Cutter had showed up, it seemed like a good time to try. Maybe Stephen's co-dependent. That would explain a lot. Even though it didn't feel like that long in the cage room, he's had plenty of time to think about it. He never seems to do anything on his own. In the past, he waited for Cutter to make a decision and then carried it out. Things seemed to work best that way. Until he started to disagree with the decisions Cutter was making. Or thought he did. Then Helen took the opportunity to assert her influence over him. She knew he would fall for it all over again.
Stephen just wishes he could trust one person. Or that one person would trust him. He knows he doesn't deserve it, and now that he's dead, he probably shouldn't even be worried about things like this, but he is. He spent those months in the cage room thinking about everything that went wrong and how he could have done better. It wouldn't have fixed his relationships with Cutter and the rest of the team, but it might have kept him from alienating them completely.
Now, Stephen's not quite sure where he stands with Cutter. He died for the man—would do it again in a heartbeat—and that seems to have had an impact, but Stephen has always struggled to read the man he called his best friend.
Stephen isn't even sure why he suggested trying to get "back." He doesn't have anything to go back to. But Cutter does. And that's all that matters. Stephen can focus when he's working for Cutter because Cutter has always seemed worth the effort. Maybe Stephen doesn't have to be happy or even alive as long as he can help Cutter fix things. He can make amends. He can try.
Eventually, they find themselves at the edge of the city. There are no more people. They keep walking to nowhere in particular. Stephen wouldn't normally mind the silence, but normally, they aren't both dead.
But Stephen follows Cutter's lead. If Cutter doesn't feel the need to talk, Stephen doesn't either. Yes, he's beginning to wonder more and more about that co-dependent hypothesis. He's always relied on Cutter to tell him what he should do. That hadn't changed when Helen decided to ruin his life. Except that Cutter wasn't there to tell him what to do any more. Not really.
Maybe Stephen just needs to get out of his own way. He's never really known how to do that. He figures he might as well start trying though.
"Do we have a plan?" Stephen asks as they hike through a patch of woods he doesn't recognise, which is odd because he's been all over this area. Well, in his own time line, but he's dead now, so he shouldn't be too worried about it.
"This was your idea," Cutter replies, a hint of teasing in his tone.
Stephen has missed the teasing. "Was it?" He honestly doesn't remember. This universe, or whatever it is, seems strange that way.
"You said you thought there might be a way back. Where did you come up with that idea, anyway?"
"We're dead." That's enough explanation for Stephen, but Cutter seems to expect more. "There must be a reason we're both here."
"You could be right about that. But what if this is all there is?"
"Then why can we see each other, but no one else here seems to?"
"Good point. We should keep looking."
Stephen hadn't realised that's what they had been doing. "Are we going in any particular direction?"
"Yes."
~oOo~
Cutter wishes walking were more tiring. As it is, he doesn't seem to expend any energy at all. He doesn't feel hungry or winded from the long day. He doesn't even know how long they've been walking. The sky maintains a sick, greyish tint. Time is standing still. It may well have something to do with being dead.
He tries not to think about that.
If only he were exhausted, Cutter would have a reason not to talk to Stephen. Over the past few months, he had come up with long lists of things he would have said if he had the chance. Now that he does, the words won't come. Cutter knows this is what drove them apart in the first place. His indifference had left Stephen vulnerable. He knows it now. He knows he should start the process of working their way back to some semblance of friendship.
He just can't seem to get the words out.
Stephen doesn't exactly help. He's too comfortable with silence, and Cutter has always used that as an excuse not to work out their issues. They're two grown men, after all; they don't have to talk about their feelings.
But Cutter can't help thinking Stephen died because he wouldn't talk to him, and he can't take that again. Maybe they're dead now. Maybe they'll never get back. Cutter can't take the risk.
"I don't blame you, you know," he says, not quite sure what he means by that.
"For what?" Stephen asks. He sounds almost hopeful. If Stephen has the capacity for hope.
"Any of it," Cutter says. It's not enough, but he doesn't really know what he's trying to say. "I know you meant to do the right thing."
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions—and adverbs."
"Obviously. We're here, aren't we? And was that Stephen King?"
"True. I think so."
"I don't think this is hell, though." Cutter stops walking. They're so deep in the forest, he doesn't know where they are now. "I don't think we'd be able to have this conversation if it were."
"Fine. Purgatory. It's not as catchy."
"That could be good for us. I have a feeling death doesn't want us."
"What exactly is this feeling based on?"
"You said you thought there was a way out. Now why would you say that?"
"I have no idea."
"Exactly my point. Nothing here makes sense. But we remember. We know we're not really gone."
Stephen looks absolutely miserable, and Cutter is confused. Stephen shouldn't be upset by these things.
"What's the matter?" Cutter frowns.
"You remember," Stephen says. "But I've started to forget things. Little things that come back after a bit. I don't know why. I can't remember how long I was in that room before you came. I can't remember the things I said to you. I'm starting to forget how we even got here. Wherever here is."
Cutter's eyes widen a little. "That could be why the people in the city didn't see us or each other. Something about this place makes them forget. Which means we need to get out soon."
"How?"
"I think your proposition of jumping through the next anomaly we find might be the best idea."
"What if there are none, and we're stuck here?"
Cutter shrugs. "No one will be able to accuse us of not trying."
Stephen's eyebrows knit together. "No one will know the difference. We're dead."
"You keep reminding me."
"Did you forget?"
"No, I—let's just keep moving. I think we're getting close."
"Close to what? You have no idea where we are."
"I do too know where we are." Cutter seems a little offended at Stephen's doubt. "The Forest of Dean. Somewhere. I was looking for the original Anomaly site."
Stephen gives Cutter an exasperated look. "Then you were going the wrong way."
"I thought you said you forgot."
"It comes back periodically. I said that, didn't I?"
"Something to that effect, yes. Lead the way then."
Stephen starts off in the opposite direction they had been travelling, and Cutter thinks this is a lot like the old days. He used to follow Stephen all over the place, in the woods, in the city, even in large buildings. He can't help the small measure of hope that wells up in his heart as they walk thorough the misty, grey woods.
~oOo~
Stephen is used to waiting. In this world where nothing ever seems to change, it's almost easier. He doesn't get hungry or thirsty or tired. He just sits and waits.
He might be more comfortable if this place didn't hold so many painful memories for him. After the last time, he had hoped never to return to the Forest of Dean. That was the time everything started to fall apart for him. Or maybe Stephen had been falling apart all his life.
The absence of sleep creates an awkward silence. The sky never gets dark. There are no birds or insects. Stephen knows that's wrong. There's something frightening about this world, and he can't wait to get out of it.
As time wears on, if there is any time here, Stephen begins to feel an indefinable dread. What if they never get out? What if this is death?
He's starting to forget again. Forget the cage room, forget what led him there. Yet he still knows how important it was, how it defined him, even in death. Stephen rubs his eyes and wishes he could blame the confusion on exhaustion.
Cutter has been sitting beside him for hours, days—Stephen doesn't know. They don't speak as they watch the middle distance between themselves and the trees further off. Stephen tells himself he doesn't mind the silence. He likes it. He's used to it.
In truth, it feels like dying all over again. He remembers now. He didn't hear the screeches of the predators as they feasted on him. But he felt the blood pouring out all over the floor. He remembers pain. This feels like that.
Cutter shifts his position, and Stephen can't remember how long it's been since either of them moved. "Are you all right?" he asks.
Stephen looks at him in shock. "What?"
"Your breathing was becoming more rapid, and you hadn't blinked in sixty seconds."
Stephen stared for a long time. "I was thinking about dying." There's no need to lie.
"Why?" Cutter sounds alarmed.
"Just that it was a lot like this."
Cutter looks about them, confused. "A quiet forest?"
"Quiet. It was quiet."
"Oh." Cutter almost leaves it at that. Then he suggests, "We could talk about... something."
Stephen laughs humourlessly. "What's there to talk about?"
"I suppose you haven't been doing much lately."
"You have."
"Right. Well, there's... Oh, we hired an archaeological expert. Dr. Page. You'd like her. Um... Connor was trying to build a device to close anomalies."
Stephen brightened a little. "That could be very useful."
"If it works. It wasn't finished when I... died."
"You'll get used to it. Being dead."
"I'm not so sure about that. This whole thing is—peculiar."
"How nothing changes? How we forget things?"
"All of it. No wildlife. The silence."
"Maybe people don't come back from the dead. Maybe we stay here."
"But there are so many things that don't make sense. Why did you end up in the cage room? Why did I? I didn't die there, not for lack of trying."
"Are you really sore at me for not letting you die?"
Cutter laughs, and Stephen smiles back at him. This can't be hell if they can talk like this, if they can joke and feel camaraderie again. Stephen realizes he doesn't forget that. He doesn't forget the important things.
"I guess not," Cutter says. "I was furious at you for a moment. But what you did—it's what we'd all hope to if called upon. Did I thank you before?"
"I don't remember."
"Then I will now." Cutter puts his hand on Stephen's shoulder. "Thank you, Stephen. For dying for me."
Stephen doesn't know what to say, but thankfully, he doesn't have to say anything. The anomaly opens, and they turn to face it, wide-eyed, and somehow, not surprised.