A face to meet the faces that you meet
In EP’s absence, Gradie noticed a change in himself. That other Gradie, who’s life was now melted to the parking lot of a half-empty mall in some millionth alternate Texas, fell away from him. Like waking up from a dream. The fragments of that life, the other office, that other apartment, dissolved into something less than memory. Like a daydream or half-remembered imagined scenario. Stale thoughts that crumpled and flaked to pieces in the rushing wind of experience that was the Otherworld.
Would all his selfs fade like this? How did anyone ever bring back memories from the Hardworlds if they disappeared this easily? He thought back to the meeting at the clubhouse, and found the conversation unexpectedly clear. Each word was preserved, and the whole day, from getting in Michael's Jag to the drunken nap near the pool, stuck in his mind while the other memories faded. Why?
Disappointedly, he found himself missing them, their confidence and ease. Less than a minute back in the Otherworld, and he was already floundering in confusion.
But, as the memory of EP’s touch and glare and echoes of her voice rose again in his mind, the one remembering them asserted himself. The spirit was here, now without a self to shade him.
All right then. Let’s get to work, Hardworlder.
He scanned the glittering surface of the Allworld and his mind got lost in the chaos. How was he supposed to find the office?
“You want some help?” a voice said in his ear. He looked around, but saw nothing but empty void.
“Down here.”
There was a flash on the surface of the planet, a small blinking light.
“See it?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the office. See you soon. Oh, and wear a mask.” He felt the presence leave his head, and a terrifying thought occurred to him. Could anyone speak right into his mind whenever they wanted? How did anyone ever get any privacy in this place? Another question for Michael, unfortunately.
He rolled forward until the humming orb of the Allworld vibrated in his face and took off towards the blinking light. The Allcity rose up and slowly revealed its texture, like a reverse optical illusion unfooling his mind. Things jumped out at him as his sensation-smacked brain fit them into rough categories. Crafts. Hotel/condos. Shopfronts. Giant self-contained spiritual playgrounds. Restaurants?
This time, his flight was controlled, and he batted away the thinking speaking adverts with ease. As he swooped by a mirror-faced tower, he saw himself briefly. A black blur just like all the others. A risen spirit. A freed soul. He laughed into the rushing nonair and flew faster than sound towards the blinking light.
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It was intoxicating, watching all the strangeness that had nearly driven him insane just a few days ago fly by like a mirage. Like any good drug, he quickly wanted more, and racked his brain for ways to go faster. He guessed that his speed was limited only by his imagination. His perception. If he went higher, farther away from the surreal cityscape that betrayed his speed, it might be easier to visualize increasing it.
He took off at an upward angle. In a moment, the sky had gone black and he was rushing off towards a distant curve of darkness. A few seconds later, the light on the surface flashed again, hundreds of miles closer.
“Don’t forget to make a mask.” The voice returned, then snapped off.
He stopped dead still. The voice had been such a shock in the first place that he had forgotten about the mask. But what was the point? He had already been to the office and hadn’t worn one then. Must be another test.
All right. Whatever it takes.
EP’s mask, a masquerade in pearls and black diamonds, came to mind, but he knew nothing like that would suit him. Holding his hand in the air, palm up, he visualized a hockey mask.
Slowly, and only after he had cleared all non-hockey mask thoughts from his mind, it faded into existence.
Jesus Christ! It had taken more effort than he had expected, and he realized the only thing he had ever made in this world was the gun on the rooftop, which had come so easily, and instantly. Why?
Looking at the mask, he knew it wasn’t right. Didn’t match how he felt about this new him. Too 90’s bank heist, maybe. It was wrong in a way that was difficult to express, in the same way it had been difficult to create. He let it fall to the chaos below. Watching it disappear, he felt a sudden sense of awe.
“Everything you see around you was made by someone willing it into existence.”
Michael’s voice rang around him, as if the memory had returned to life.
Someone made all of this, focusing their quasar-like minds on acts of pure creation, not of simple common things, but impossible objects and never imagined worlds.
All he could manage was that mask, and it had taken so much effort he now regretted letting it go. What was wrong with it? What did he want to look like anyway?
A glass fractal tower, like a skyscraper ripped off the ground and twisted, passed by in orbit, and he caught sight of his reflection. Black clothes still glittering with starlight collected from a Texas sky that existed only in dreams. An idea crawled out of the memory. He reached up to the blue sky, closed his fist around a cloud, and grabbed nothing.
The Otherworld must be more solid than the Dreamworlds.
His realization gave him another idea. He flew over to the mirrored tower and ran his hand across its surface. His fingers glided over the glass, slick as ice.
Come on. I’m not destroying you. I just need a little bit.
The tower or his mind yielded, and he peeled off a rough plane of mirror crystal. He floated it in the air over his hands and began to shape it.
It only took a few moments. When he was done, the mask was transparent from the inside but mirrored on the outside, a trick that had taken less effort than he had expected. Working with ready materials must be easier than creating from nothing.
The glass was faceted and slightly tinted in a dark sky blue. He put it on his face and it wrapped itself around the back of his head. His vision was unchanged, and he reached up to make sure it was still there, then examined it in the reflective glass it had spawned from.
The effect was jolting. For a moment, he looked headless.
“Did you get lost?” the voice said without even a hint of mockery.
“Sorry. On my way,” he said out loud.
“You don’t have to speak, sweetie. You can just think.”
A chill rolled over him.
“Don’t worry, I can’t hear all your thoughts. Just focus on my voice when you think them.” The presence left his head again, and he was as confused as ever. Down on the surface,the light blinked impatiently. He took one last look at himself, now just as bizarre as the world around him, and took off toward the light.