Digital Dreams: The Secrets of Cyberia

Chapter 12

I open my eyes to the dimmed clubhouse. The normal roar from the pods slowly dies down. Slowly, but begrudgingly, my mind readjusts to the familiar surroundings in the room. From the increasingly sharper background appear the cluttered shelves with old board games, sporting equipment, and various relics from my childhood. Each worn and a little dusty item gives me small comforts of remembrance of all the countless hours I have spent here with my friends, getting away from the world.

When the focus in my eyes finishes clearing, they lock onto a yellow object stuck to the glass dome of my pod. The bright shade contrasts dramatically with the tone of the colors in the dark wooden room. Something is most certainly wrong.

I step down from the pod, and the warm wooden floor bears my weight, rooting me as I move closer to examine it. It turns out to be a sticky note, curled at the edges just a bit, almost as if it's waiting for this moment exactly to be pulled off.

I gently peel it off the glass, leaving some glue trail behind just to evidence the fact that it used to be there. I stare at the perfect cursive writing, which I have become quite familiar with, particularly under the duress of copying answers from previous homework to be turned in. My heart skips as my eyes move over the words scrawled in cursive across the yellow parchment:

Meet me first thing in the morning. – Morgan

I hold the paper in my hand. It feels dense and heavy, like the gravity of the words is pulling into my palm, nailing me in place upon the wooden floor. She slid in and out while Grayson and I were in Cyberia, rather than joining us inside. My guilt shoots up for a millisecond. If I'd only known she was here, maybe she could have come with us. My frenetic brain spews on, each notion colliding with the other in a churning storm of worry. We need to talk. The words repeat in my mind, their intent mysterious but portentous.

Is she all right? Could this be related to the attack? Is Emma all right? My mind starts to race with thoughts, and each question feeds into the next to build an overwhelming sense of unease. Not even that there's something off, but that this note is some small tip of the evidential iceberg lurking beneath the surface. Tendrils of anxiety wrapped around my ribcage, pulling the knot tighter and tighter with growing insistence.

I try to breathe normally, focusing on the room around me to ground myself in the familiar chaos of the clubhouse. There's a dip in the middle of the couch, of course, because we would always wrestle for the best spots. The pile of half-played board games stacked hastily next to it attests to our propensity for restlessness whenever something interesting happens. Even the old basketball propped up against the wall, a relic from so many games of horseback in the driveway, should be able to reassure me of the normalcy of the situation. Instead, the note in my hand drains away all normalcy and heightens my dread. I continue to stare at the words again to find any latent meaning, anything at all that will clue me into what Morgan might want to discuss.

The only other note I can think of was the last one Morgan left, around finals week last year, stuck to the back of my history book, telling me not to waste my time with Grayson playing video games but to stick my nose in my books. That brings a feeble smile to my face, but the warmth of that moment is quickly eclipsed by the coldness of the present. This note is very heavy. I can't shake it off.

A loud creak shocks me back to reality as Grayson steps out of his pod. The drone of the machinery follows him out. He blinks a few times, rubs his eyes, and stretches as if one foot is still in Cyberia. I think of sharing the note with him, spilling out all my worries, and letting him help shoulder the weight. The words catch in my throat, and I find myself hesitating. I should be a leader. I'm supposed to be strong enough to handle anything that worries me. I don't want to bother him with my anxieties. I force myself to smile, hoping it's convincing enough to mask the turmoil brewing inside of me.