With the exception of the seventeenth century polymath Frederick Lovenits—who believed ours the best of all possible worlds—most men would agree that life was imperfect. Some said the flaw was within ourselves, others said the flaw was woven into the very fabric of the earth; there were many disagreements, and, I suppose, there would always be disagreements—but, on one point, there was no dissent. If Paradise existed—whatever that meant—happiness, actualization, salvation, beatific glory—if it existed, it was something worth seeking. It would make us whole.
But how did we get there? What was the road to Paradise? Or, as the Daikenja so aptly put it: how does one pass through a gateless barrier? The “gateless barrier” was the road to Paradise, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. It was the perfect metaphor. Life was so complicated, figuring it out really did feel like having to find one’s way through a gateless barrier.
Past the common acknowledgment that the problem existed, all solidarity fell apart. Different cultures and faiths agreed the gateless barrier existed, but as to the means of passing through, or the nature of what lay beyond it? That was the stuff that drove men to war.
What, really, did it mean to be saved?
There were many answers to that question, and few assurances, aside from a widespread conviction that, whatever it entailed, our ultimate salvation would address and resolve the wrongs of the world. But, if recent events were any indication, I might very well have been on my way to finding out the answer for myself.
It started with Anatole—Anatole being the confused, disheveled phantom of a gentleman who’d appeared right as Kreston had galloped off in his brand new kitsune shape. Fortunately, having just watched a boy put on a mask that transformed him into a kitsune, Anatole readily accepted the fact that he was no longer among the living.
“To make a long story short,” I’d said, “you’re dead, and I guess you could call this the afterlife.”
There was no screaming, no rage—though he did curse once, softly. Anatole had quietly taken a seat on the floor, knees bent, staring out into the distance as he leaned against the wall.
Unlike with Kreston—who’d appeared to me before I’d doubled—Anatole had manifested solely to my non-corporeal dopplegenneth. The part of my awareness that dwelled within my physical body focused on the hospital and being in the moment, perceiving Anatole only because it was part of me. I kept my body moving at a brisk pace, going from one duty to the next. Meanwhile, I’d seated my dopplegenneth self on the floor beside Anatole and explained the gist of things to him.
Unfortunately, the two of us felt increasingly disoriented as our locations changed, following along my body as I moved up and down E Ward’s halls. Anatole struggled with it even more than I. He was rather jumpy, and kept freaking out about the teleportation. We also discovered that being a ghost is no guarantee against motion-sickness.
Trying to keep my body in one place was proving to be impractical. We were just too busy. Patients were flooding into the hospital.
It was unreal.
“You can turn a kid into a yellow fox!” Anatole said. “There has to be a way to stop this goddamn teleporting!”
I had to admit, even my physical body was starting to feel motion-sick.
Andalon floated up off the ground. “I think you can, Mr. Genneth. You can make stuffs. So,” she stuck out her arms, “make stuff!”
“No, not stuff,” I muttered. “A place. I need to make a place.”
So, I had imagination powers, and I could use them to make things.
How does one go about imagining a place into existence? I wondered.
I nearly slapped myself in the face.
Duh! By imagining it!
The first idea that popped into my head was the screensaver on the projector in the room that we’d been using for Ward E’s CMT’s meetings: a sunny afternoon out in the countryside; maple and oak trees scattered among green, green hills that rolled beneath a wide, cloud-wisped sky.
The effect was as impressive as it was immediate. It was like that old saying: “all the world’s a stage”; the stretch of hallway wall in front of Anatole and I disappeared, leaving a wide opening. The scene from the screensaver lay on the other side, brought to life in three dimensions. The place’s afternoon sunlight shone straight through.
Andalon clapped.
“Holy shit…” Anatole muttered. He stood up and walked toward the light.
I followed him, pausing as I stood in the middle of the two realities. Behind me, a framed pastel drawing of clownfish hung on the wall; in front of us, a grassy plain, with hills and trees and chirping birds.
Both of myselves grasped our heads and groaned.
“Moonlight’s mercy!” we cursed.
“Is something wrong, Doctor?”
“N-No,” I stammered. “Just a headache. I’m probably dehydrated.”
I tapped my face-mask. “It’s not easy to get a drink of water when you’re wearing one of these things.”
I laughed nervously.
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“Just a headache!?” I roared—only to immediately regret it.
Ow.
Ow.
Forget double-vision; this was ridiculous!
My interactions with Kreston had helped me acclimate a little to the oddness of existing in two dopplegenneth states at the same time—one corporeal, one not. Both ends of my consciousness had to deal with the disorientation of perceiving two sets of sensory input. So far, that had consisted of two different views of the hospital, as well as Kreston’s—and now, Anatole’s—ghosts. But it was still just the hospital.
That was no longer the case. From my ghost-self’s viewpoint, the countryside occupied a place in space and time that not just defied, but overwrote the hospital’s physical presence. Meanwhile, from my body’s viewpoint, that same location was ordinary space, occupied by the hospital and its innards. The screensaver location overlaid what my body’s eyes saw. The grassy plain bled static into my field of vision. The static twitched and spasmed as my mind tried to make sense of the impossible, imaginary space stuffed into a hallway far too small to contain it. And it hurt!
“Andalon, why is this happening to me? Is it because I haven’t transformed enough yet?”
“Yeah,” she nodded in dismay, “it’s ‘cuz you’re not wyrmly enough!”
Just make it stop!
“Doctor?”
“Andalon,” Ghost-Me begged, “please! There has to be some way I can, uh, decouple from myself?”
“You gotta think it, Mr. Genneths!”
And so I did.
And so I did.
It was the strangest feeling. In an instant, I went from being one mind in two bodies to one mind in one non-corporeal body. The weirdest part? If I focused, I could switch back and forth between the two, though I could only occupy one of them at any given time. Swapping was nearly as disorienting as my headache had been, though at least it was pain-free. Swapping had me entering my body—ghost or physical—in the middle of whatever thought or action my other self had been doing, without any break in my sense of psychological continuity. You know the feeling of losing your train of thought? Well, whenever I swapped, a train of thought found me. Had the world not been in the middle of the apocalypse, this swapping phenomenon would have been a fascinating topic for a research paper.
For the sake of my sanity, wanting to feel as human as possible, I quickly made the decision to spend my time in my ghost-body, at least until I’d figured out how to manage the ghost issue—I definitely needed the practice. Also, loath though I was to admit it, I felt more at home in my ghost body than in my real flesh. My ghost-body was untrammeled by Nalfaric deadness, or the constant frustration of motion lag. It also didn’t have a tail.
It felt… human.
“Mr. Genneth?” Andalon asked.
Slowly, I unclenched my shoulders and pulled my hands away from my head. I was standing in the opening between the hospital’s halls and the imaginary plain where Anatole stood, looking up at the afternoon sky. Stepping onto the grass, I turned around and got to watch the view of the hospital through the opening move around as it followed my body, lurching and drifting like the tide—but of space, rather than water.
Anatole approached me. “Are you alright?”
I took a deep breath and looked around. It really did feel real. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my skin; not having to wear the PPE and the mask was an Angelsend. No more hot, moist breath wafting against my face. No more worries that some part of my PPE was out of place. Just… freedom.
I spread my arms and shook them out.
Darn, that feels good.
Anatole approached me. “Are you alright? I heard screaming.”
I nodded. “I was just trying to do a bit too much. These powers are still brand new to me.” I turned to Andalon. “They’ll get easier to use over time, right?”
Andalon stretched her arms and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah.”
We spent a couple minutes just walking around, feeling the wind tug at our clothes. Anatole definitely grew calmer. Eventually, he turned to me and said: “So, what now?”
Andalon hopped in place. “Anything! Everything!”
I looked up. “Well, I suppose the sky’s the limit.”
Anatole gave me a dubious look.
“I gave a kid a mask that turned him into a kitsune. If I can do that, I imagine there isn’t much that I can’t do.”
“Huh.” Anatole blinked. “You can really do anything here?”
One thing led to another, and it wasn’t long before he asked me some particularly interesting questions.
“Could you give me the power to fly?”
“I…” I nodded, “I don’t see why not.”
I furrowed my brow, focusing on figuring out how to give Anatole the power of flight.
“Actually, wait a minute.” He raised his hand.
“Yes?”
He looked about sheepishly for a moment, wringing his hands in self-consciousness. “Could you give me wings?” He reached around and tapped his back. “When I was a kid, I had dreams of flying with eagle wings on my back.”
As it turned out, yes, I could. It was just a matter of… visualizing.
The disheveled businessman gasped as a pair of eagle’s wings unfurled on his back, his clothes altering to accommodate them. Anatole looked over his shoulder, gawking and reaching as he stretched his wings. The wind caught his spreading wings, rustling his tawny feathers. It was a totally new experience of contact, and it made the man stagger about and yelp, though his surprise quickly turned into elation and laughter.
“Wow…” he said, softly, “this is… really weird.”
“Is that bad?” Andalon asked.
Anatole shook his head. “Quite the opposite,” he said, with a laugh, as he stretched his wings once more.
He pumped his arms in and out as he learned to flex his brand new muscles and tendons. In barely a minute, he was making strong, controlled wingbeats—though I noticed the wings didn’t make a sound when they flapped.
I’d forgotten to add that detail, and I amended that mistake, but by that time, Anatole was already soaring high, crowing in exultation.
I looked up and watched as he banked and swooped.
“I gotta say,” I muttered, “that’s pretty darn cool.” I turned. “Don’t you think so, Anda—”
—She was gone.
“Andalon?” I looked around. Anatole passed overhead, whooping in joy.
“Mr. Genneth!”
I turned toward the sound of her voice.
She was by the “entrance” to the countryside, where the vinyl tide of the hospital’s floor gave way to the grassy plain. For the third time in a row, she wasn’t alone; she had her dainty hand clasped around a newcomer ghost. I walked toward the two of them.
“Mr. Genneth?”
Wait, what?
Though Andalon stood up ahead with a ghost in hand, I heard her voice from behind me.
I turned around again, and then nearly stumbled. My loafers’ rubber soles crushed grass underfoot.
There was a second Andalon behind me, with two ghosts in store, one in either hand.
“Wh-What’s happening?”
“It’s like I tolds you, Mr. Genneth,” the second Andalon said. “Lotsa ghosties,” said the first Andalon—the one now behind me.
“Okay,” I waved my hands, “slow down. Wait a minute. Wait a minute.”
“Mr. Genneth! I found somebody.”
A third ghost.
This was starting to get overwhelming, and I started to feel lightheaded again. And then—
—Oh no…
Right behind my ear, there was a soft pop. I felt the sound more than I heard it.
Yet again, I turned around, only this time, I found myself standing face to face with another copy of myself—another dopplegenneth; Third Me, as long as I was keeping count.
We pointed at one another in perfect synchrony.
"Where'd you come from?"
"Where'd you come from?"
We both gasped.
"Fudge."
"Fudge."