The Janus Project (ONC 2020 - LGBTQ)

14. Consequences

(Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to CynkNapp whose entertaining story, The Last Search for Arlow Tsai in the Multiverse, is well worth a read, though not an entry for the ONC)

The Butcher took a couple of stumbling steps forward into the room before he came to a halt. He stared around at the strange furnishings, keeping a tight grip on Russell and the transporter device. He grinned. Well, what do you know, Delmonico hadn't been lying. The damn thing worked! Wherever this was, it was certainly not the room they had just left.

"Who are you? What did you do with Serge?" asked his captive, trying vainly to pull away.

"He's fine, just taking a little nap in our cell," answered the Butcher dismissively. "He kept going on so much about this 'special project' he was involved with, how he was going to travel to a different dimension. Sounds crazy, I know! I tuned out most of the time, but then he told me about the duplicates. Apparently you have to have a duplicate of yourself in the other world before you can travel there. I gathered Delmonico was going to be part of some sort of experiment, but what really caught my attention was when he told me that world has another me. And that 'me' is not in jail, just your average law-abiding citizen." The Butcher chuckled.

"He'd heard my photo came up with some sort of facial match, but of course they wouldn't invite me to join the program because of my record. Honestly, I still thought it was all a load of crap, but... well, I got to thinking! I thought I'd see for myself. And here I am."

He stared around the room again, resting his gaze on the small wooden desk with a kerosene lamp on top and an inkwell in place. No TV, no computer, no cords leading anywhere. No electric light.

"So what do you call this place again?"

"Gaia. We call it Gaia."

"And this room. Who lives here?"

"I do, when I'm here."

"By yourself?"

Russell nodded before realisation lit up his eyes. Truly not the wisest thing to admit.

"And how long before anyone comes after us? From that building we just left?"

"Any minute," Russell rushed to answer, attempting to hold the Butcher's gaze. "They'll be here any minute. Let me go and then we can both go back. No harm done."

"Really? In that case-" The Butcher smiled and dropped Russell's arm, then gripped his head between two meaty hands. He twisted viciously, breaking Russell's neck as easily as he would kill a chicken.

He let the body drop to the floor, then strode over to the wardrobe in the corner. He needed to get out of this orange suit and put on something that would blend in with this new place.

He flicked through the clothes on the wooden hangers, looking for something loosely styled, anything that might fit his larger body.

He was pretty sure Russell had been lying about the imminent pursuit, but he dressed hurriedly just in case, pulling a large grey woollen coat on over the top of everything, covering the fact that his trousers didn't meet at the waist. Luckily, his own shoes were plain enough, as he could never have stuffed his feet into Russell's small boots. He spent a few fruitless seconds searching the body before he decided that possessing any money or documents from another world would be worse than useless. They would draw attention to him and make him stand out.

Perhaps there would be money from this world in the desk. He wrenched out the drawer and tipped out the contents on top of the desk.

He gathered up the few coins, then flicked rapidly though the papers. Bills, letters, and a list of names and addresses. He slid that into his coat pocket. Still no sign of anyone arriving, from Earth or anywhere else, but he didn't want to hang around.

The transporter device was sitting on the floor where he had dropped it. Now that might be worth taking. Another quick search and he found a leather bag, about the size of an Earth suitcase, on top of the wardrobe. Seconds later, the device safely stored in the bag, the Butcher left the apartment and closed the door behind him.

Now all he had to do was find his own "Prototype".

~~~

As it turned out, that didn't take him long. By asking a few judicious questions at the local beer house on the corner, the Butcher discovered that Gaia had no telephones, and therefore no convenient telephone directory listing people's addresses. However, what they did have was a surprisingly efficient postal system. So called "runners" delivered letters and parcels, either by foot or—in the case of large objects—by steam carriage. Apparently you simply took your letter or parcel to a runners' station, and they delivered it for you.

Despite the various step-fathers he had endured in his life, the Butcher could still remember his birth name. The publican directed him to the nearest Runner's Station, where he was able to purchase a sheet of paper and an envelope.

Unused to pen and ink, he practised writing a few words on a blank piece of paper, then sealed it carefully inside a bright yellow envelope and laboriously wrote "Keith Miller" on the front.

"I'm sorry, I don't have his address," the Butcher apologised, to the woman sitting behind the desk at the Runner's Station. "But it's urgent. Can someone deliver it today?"

"Certainly," she replied, taking his letter. "Don't worry, finding the address is part of our job. That'll be five pence, please, if you want immediate delivery."

The Butcher nodded and handed over the small coin. Then he went outside to wait.

It wasn't long before a Runner left the building, leather satchel over one shoulder. She walked briskly, but the Butcher had no difficulty following at a discreet distance. At the first stop, she delivered a small parcel to the woman who came to the door, but there was no-one home to receive her second delivery. She pushed the letter through a flap in the door, giving the Butcher a brief glimpse of the yellow envelope in the process.

A few minutes later, he broke into the narrow, terraced house to wait for his namesake, and by nightfall, had made himself thoroughly at home. The clothes in the wardrobe were almost a perfect fit.

He'd bury the body in the basement tomorrow.