The In Between

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Justin

For what feels like a very long time, I wait for sleep. I guess Damaris was right about the no sleep thing. But I still don’t know if I can trust her. I open my eyes and look around. Something is off. The room feels different, like something is missing. I don’t know what, but the more I look, the more I realize how empty it all seems. Maybe Demaris is preparing me for an even greater loss. Whatever her intentions, the last thing I need is a bunch of mind games right now. I need answers. And I obviously can’t rely on her alone to give them to me.

It’s time to make friends. I need an ally in this place, someone who can help me find a way out.

I get up and walk out into the gray day. I knock on the door of the next hut. An old man with a hump back walks around shakily before settling on the bed. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’m there. He stretches his legs slowly out in front of him, one at a time, rubbing his knees. 

“Old habit,” he mutters to himself. “I keep forgetting they don’t hurt anymore.” He looks up at me. “You must be the newbie.”

I nod, holding out my hand for him to shake. “Justin.” 

He looks at my arm as if it is a foreign object and doesn’t make a move. He looks familiar, but I don’t know why.

“Don’t bother,” he grumbles, nodding to my outstretched hand. “No point here, anyway. I’m not planning on staying much longer. Take it from me. It’s better not to form attachments.”

“How long have you been here?”

“That is a personal question, young man.” He shakes his head in disapproval. “Do you ask a pretty woman her age? Do you inquire how much money someone earns? You young people have no respect for a person’s privacy. You just put everything up on that webby thing.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

The old man softens. “Never mind. You just got here, there’s a lot you haven’t figured out yet. They give you the whole dream spiel yet?”

I stiffen, glancing nervously at the door, worried about who might be eavesdropping.

“Relax,” he says, amused. “They scare you with the whole mind-reading trick but they don’t do it all the time. They scan in and out, seeing what they can pick up on. It’s all a game of chance in the end. Like so many things. So. Who’s your Mission Manager? Who gave you The Talk?”

“Zerachiel,” I say, hoping this old kook will keep yammering and I might actually learn something. 

The old man raises one bushy gray eyebrow, impressed. “Zerachiel himself?”

I nod.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never met anyone he’s taken on personally. Not that I’ve been here long,” he hastens to clarify. “Who are you, kid? You must have been someone important. Politician’s kid?”

I shake my head. “No. No one.” I say. I am Tara’s boyfriend. Ian and Molly’s son. I play soccer. I write songs. I’m 16.

“Maybe you were meant to be someone…”

I shrug. The “what do you want to be when you grow up” question seems moot now.

“Well, there must be some reason,” he mutters.

“Who is Zerachiel, anyway?” I blurt. “I figured he met with everyone here.”

The old man shakes his head, exasperated. “Does the Pope meet every one of his subjects? Does the President meet with every citizen?”