O’Leary

Dude, get up.

You’re freaking in there with a soul sucker, man.

GET UP!

Unknown

This is Technomancer SigRyd3r.

Emergency message received. Color Hunters en route.

Welcome home, Triskele.

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Asher

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Thud, thud, thud. “Asher, honey, it’s time to get up. You don’t want to be late on your last day.” Susan rapped her knuckles three more times against the door.

Asher curled into a circle, pulling the covers up to his chin with a sleepy whimper.

“Asher! Come on, son. I need to leave for work.” The door rattled under her insistence. “Give me a sign of life or I’m coming in.”

Asher rolled on to his back sliding one foot out of the covers, “foot on the ground.”

“Atta boy,” the banging ceased. “Have a good day. Oh, and good luck on your exam.”

He heard his mom walking away and a moment later, the front door closed as she headed outside. Exam? That was yesterday. He fumbled for his phone on the bedside table while sliding the other foot out of the covers.

Back on the bed, feet on the ground; he laid there and checked his messages through squinted eyes — nothing new. He was going to fire a text off to Wheeler to say thanks, but he didn’t want to deal with the trolling he knew was coming. Whatever, he could catch Wheeler later.

He threw back the covers and stood, surprised that he was only groggy. He didn’t think he’d ever drank that much, so his hangover should be fierce, but he felt fine. Then he took his first step forward — a wave of dizziness struck. Never mind. Hello, hangover. One hand on his bare stomach, the other pulled up and adjusted his boxers. He shuffle-stepped to the bathroom, left the door open behind him, set his phone beside the sink, and squared off with the toilet.

Not wanting to face full bathroom brightness, he maintained a gunslinger squint. With an exhale, he let fly — or he tried to — but nothing happened. He could have sworn he had to go. While he stood there, chin to chest, he caught a whiff from under his arm and his head shot back as his face scrunched up. Oh, that was rank. He glanced at the stick of deodorant on the counter. Not enough. His best bet was a shower, plus it might stop his head from spinning. He gave his snake, worm — whatever — a shake out of habit, dropped his boxers on the bathmat, lifted his leg to step in, and froze.

Didn’t the mat used to be orange? Wasn’t his deodorant stick red? He squinted down at the gray bath mat, his foot resting on the edge of the gray tub. He scratched his chest with one hand and glanced back at the gray deodorant stick. Yup, that’s not right. Asher forced his eyes open, took in a deep breath, and looked around the small bathroom. Almost everything was gray, except him, his boxers, and his phone.

His eyes were the reason for it. Asher should see his mom at the hospital later today and get a doctor to check them out. The glyphs, or symbols, or whatever — they did this to him. He reached up and touched his lower left eyelid. The glyphs must have healed him, because there wasn’t a scratch. Other memories from yesterday snapped into place. They were distant, like they’d happened to someone else. Yeah, something was wrong inside. He should head to the hospital, could be something wrong with his brain too — none of it made any sense, even with the missing pieces. He needed help, but first a shower.

He stepped into the bathtub, pulled the curtain closed, and grabbed hold of the tap to give it a twist. It wouldn’t budge. “Well, huh?”

Bed springs squeaked.

Asher froze, his head tweaked to the left, so his ear moved closer to the curtain — someone was in his room.

The second story floorboard next to his nightstand shifted with a loud creak, followed by the ‘thunk’ of someone knocking his backpack off his desk chair. It always did that. He didn’t know why he kept putting it there. Whatever, that doesn’t matter right now — think, Asher. “Um, hello?” Asher slapped a hand over his mouth as if he could trap the already escaped sound. Horrible tactics. You told the intruder exactly where you were. Oh, and you’re naked. Asher jumped as something heavy slapped the floor with a loud bang.

His heartbeat was in his ears, the smell of blood, smoke, and oil was in his nose. He could almost see his dad twisted in the front seat again.

Asher shook his head. "Not now. No, please not now."

“Shit,” said a voice in his bedroom. “Someone there?”

It sounded startled, but familiar. Asher reached out to peek past the curtain. It wouldn’t move! The intruder was a step behind: with the rattle of clips on the bar; the intruder whipped the curtain open.

Asher jumped back, slipped, and fell to the bottom of the tub, controlling his descent by grabbing the bar holding his face cloth.

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He heard the screech of tires in his ears, his heart pounded, the smothering feeling, and chills compressed and shook the air from his lungs. Asher felt the seatbelt crushing his chest.

There was a completely colorless, like gray shaded, version of him standing over, well, him — right down to the bedtime boxers. Asher couldn’t get a word out. It was too much effort just to keep breathing. The imposter looked around the bathroom....

Ben was screaming, Miranda mumbled, and his father was still. Then he saw it, a purple spider crawling across the dash — this isn’t real.

He was in control.

Forcefully shifting his gaze, pushing the hallucination from his mind, Asher stared at the bathtub tap, at how rust coated its edge and the scum built-up around it. He was in control. Asher studied its shape, thought about how it worked, and with each moment, his breathing slowed. He was in control.

The imposter had left the bathroom, but Asher could hear him moving about the bedroom.

Asher’s body still trembled, but he needed to know what was happening. “I’m in control.” He took in a deep breath, stood in the tub, and carefully exited. He pulled on his boxers and grabbed his phone. There was an explanation, someone playing a prank. That must be it. He turned and stepped into his room.

His room was gray, only his dad’s old baseball bat stood out. It was light brown colored wood, the Louisville Slugger logo stamped in black, with blue tape wrapped around the grip. It was leaning against his desk. The intruder was pulling on jeans between him and it. With the bat being the only potential weapon in sight, he followed the wall of the room, circling towards it and cringing with every floorboard creak.

The intruder hadn’t reacted to him in the tub and no matter how sneaky Asher thought he was, the other he should've been able to spot Asher circling the mid-sized bedroom. It was like he was in a ninja style video game, enjoying the fun yet terrifyingly inaccurate sneaking mechanic. Nah, this was probably just an act.

The imposter was fully dressed by the time Asher had his phone in one hand, bat in the other.

“I don’t know who you are,” with a twist of the bat and flourish Asher pointed it at the imposter, “but if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to mess you up?” He was trying to be threatening, like in the movies, but there was a bit too much unsteadiness in his voice.

The imposter picked up Asher’s gray backpack from the floor, moved closer to the desk — closer to Asher, and set it back on the chair where he'd knocked it from earlier.

Asher circled to increase the distance between them, crossed his bed, and put his back to the window. If he needed to, he could open it and jump. “I’m serious. I don’t know who put you up to this, but it doesn’t have to end in a fight.”

The intruder looked around, as if he might have heard something, shrugged, and bent over Asher’s desk. He pulled open a drawer, picked up a calculator with a satisfied nod. Then grabbed the chemistry textbook sitting open on its dusty mouse mat covered surface.

“Okay, seriously, WHO ARE YOU?”

The intruder stopped and listened, scanning the room before he turned his back on Asher, walked towards the door, and leaned out into the hallway. “Mom? That you?” No answer. The imposter closed the door and Asher watched as he strode to the desk, bent down, and slid the calculator and textbook into the backpack.

Asher stared. He felt the cool glass of the window against his naked back — it was only two stories. He could survive that. Or he could just head out the door, then out of the house to get help. Jumping out the window before checking the door, yup, those were some awesome tactics genius.

The intruder walked past and headed into the bathroom, where he untied his hair and ran a brush through it before tucking it behind his ears. Asher could hear the imposter start his electric toothbrush. Gross.

Asher headed for the door, not trying to be sneaky quiet, but still trying to avoid the creakiest parts of the floor. He reached out and grabbed hold of the gray knob and twisted — like the tap, like the curtain. It wouldn’t budge. Shit.

He lifted his phone and dialed 9-1-1. Even if he couldn’t speak, they might trace the call and send help. He got the ‘this number is not in service’ message. No, that’s not right. He tried them again, but got the same message. Okay, what next?

The imposter couldn’t see him. It could kind of hear him. The door wouldn’t open. 9-1-1 didn’t work. He was trapped. The window was his only option. That or go toe-to-toe with his doppelgänger. Was it really him? Maybe this was like a Luke in the cave kind of thing. Maybe he should fight it? No, not when he still had options, and whether this was really him? Well, that was for later. For now? Keep moving. He took three quick strides back to the window and fumbled with the gray latch — nope.

A string of whispered curses flew from his mouth in frustration. Anger was better than fear, less chance of an attack, but it would affect his thinking. Asher took in a deep breath and used his 'I'm in control' mantra to get his mind centered, or at least a little closer. Okay, what was left? He tried to escape. Get help. He probably couldn’t hide. The room was small, and the intruder seemed to know his way around it. Fight it is. He slid his phone into the waistband of his boxers and reached his free hand down towards a pair of gray jeans on the floor.

Like the tap, door, and latch — they wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t lift the fabric off the floor. Quick breaths of air shot in through his nose. His hands trembled as they pulled from the jeans. Asher took up the bat in both hands just as the intruder stepped out of the bathroom. Looking exactly like Asher had yesterday morning — before the chemistry test.

The phone in the waistband of Asher's boxers buzzed.

'Good luck on your exam.' he heard his mom's voice again in his mind.

He'd get it later.

“I’m not in control.” He backed up towards the window. The window. He turned and swung the bat. Shattered glass sprayed outwards from the house.

The intruder’s head jerked up and stared at the now shattered pane of glass, his eyes wide.

There, he saw that. “Get out of my house!” There was no quiver in his voice this time as he let the adrenaline take over and raised the bat into a ready position.

The intruder’s eyes narrowed. Then he turned away as if nothing had happened, checked his pockets and said, “Where did I put my phone? Was it over by the window? Yeah, I left it on the nightstand.”

Huh? Asher looked back at the window in time to see the shattered shards lift from the windowsill, the nightstand beside it, and the bulk from the front lawn below. Shards fit back into place, while cracks quickly disappeared. He jumped back, stumbled, and fell. He scrambled back from the window, unable to take his wide eyes off it as he choked on spit and tried to gulp down air. It was repairing itself. The window was fucking healing!