Chapter Fourteen

Quentin surveyed the void. His map illuminated the X, Y and Z axes in the darkness. He looked to his side. Brooke stood by him, big again.

“Right. It worked. The mad scientist did it.”

Brooke said nothing. She darted in the direction of the vector Dalton had programmed, leading the way toward Dalton’s apartment on the level of the first three dimensions.

“This seems to be workin’, wouldn’t you say? I’m guessin’ at some point we’ll hit a sort of wall or somethin’ where we can travel through time… What was it he said? By cuttin’ through the sixth dimension? He’s probably set somethin’ up so I know where to find that, right? You’re supposed to know, he put all that information inside of you.”

Brooke carried on ahead, ignoring Quentin. He scanned his surroundings. There was still nothing but grids defining the measurements of the first three dimensions, until a shadowy figure walking toward him appeared.

“Hey, Brooke, do you see that? Who the bloody hell is that?”

Brooke did not stop moving, leaving Quentin no choice but to follow her and continue walking toward the figure ahead. As he got closer, he noticed an animal walking just ahead of the figure.

It was Brooke.

He looked at his own rat. Brooke was running straight toward herself. He looked up and the figure’s features gradually became visible.

It was himself.

Only much more proper. He was radiant, his nose was straight like it had never been broken, he didn’t have any tattoos, his eyes sparkled, and he certainly wasn’t transitioning toward a demonic state. He wore a bowler hat and a light grey trench coat over a suit and tie. Proper Quentin smiled at Quentin and nodded to him in a greeting manner.

“A fine day to go out and walk your rat, wouldn’t you say?” said Proper Quentin, tipping his hat as he passed.

“Who the bloody hell do you think you are?” asked Quentin, but Proper Quentin carried along in the other direction.

Quentin looked back at Brooke. Unphased by the encounter, she continued on forward toward wherever Dalton had commanded her to go.

They crossed another figure, also led by a rat resembling Brooke, but its eyes glowed red. As they got closer, Quentin noticed that the other man was yet again himself, but in total demon form. His eyes were completely black, his skin burned red, and it crumbled away into ash with every movement he made.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Quentin said.

“Keep starin’ at me like that and I’ll cut yer throat,” Demon Quentin hissed. Quentin looked away and they walked past one another. Brooke carried on ahead.

As Quentin followed Brooke, he observed various familiar figures walking past him and across from him. A Heavenly Karl wished him “Good day” and a hellish Pope Clement XV called out “Death to the English!” and whacked Quentin with his staff. Darcy, wearing a black wedding dress, ran up to Quentin and slapped him across the face. She demanded to know where her groom went and ran off. Shortly after, Father Peter, wearing an entirely white tuxedo, walked up to Quentin, gave him a hug and thanked him for covering for him.

Quentin looked down and was alarmed by what he saw. Brooke had multiplied into three Brookes, then seven, then more than a dozen Brookes. They started running off in different directions.

“Wait, which one of you is the real one? Who do I follow?”

Some of the Brookes began running up and down the Y axis while others spiralled about the X or Z axes. Some walked up strange angles resembling the line of an exponential function, while others mirrored this motion the opposite direction in a logarithmic manner. Quentin tried to follow one Brooke, and then another, only to find himself completely lost. He stopped and sat down, suspended upside down on a slight angle relative to his original position.

“Fuck.”

* * *

“Fuck,” said Dalton, looking at the screen.

“What is it?” asked Isidora.

“The fifth dimension began to interfere with him, but he got past it by following Brooke. I needed her to guide him to the loophole in the sixth dimension I created, allowing him to travel through the fourth. I think he’s lost somewhere between the fifth and the sixth dimensions right now.”

“What the fuck does any of that mean?” asked Stanley, reaching into his pocket for Quentin’s switchblade. Isidora gave him a stern look and shook her head. He scowled but released the knife.

“In the fifth dimension, you can find a world slightly different from ours, with the same initial starting point, that is, the Big Bang. In the sixth, you can see a plane of possible worlds with the same starting point as ours, at different points in time.”

“Whoa,” said Stanley, picturing himself in the Palace of Versailles living like King Louis XIV of France.

“I commanded Brooke to find the time vector I programmed, which would cut through the sixth dimension to bring Quentin back in time to find me in my flat. But he’s just floating around in there.”

“Can’t you use Brooke?” asked Isidora. “Can’t you do something to her to get Quentin back on the right path?”

Dalton paused, staring at the screen. “The trouble is, I’m not entirely sure which Brooke is the real one.”

“What does that mean?” asked Stanley.

“Whoever hacked my computer doesn’t want Quentin to get to where I need him to go. And they’ve managed to duplicate Brooke an infinite number of times. It will take me ages to locate the right Brooke.”

“Wouldn’t she be the only one to respond to your command?” asked Isidora.

Dalton pursed his lips. “Respectfully, Isidora, you haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about, so please keep your ideas to yourself.” He paused and exhaled heavily. He regretted how he’d spoken to her; she was one of the few people he actually liked. She was rational and hardly ever smiled. When she did, it was only halfway. “I apologize for my tone. You see, the hackers, they’ve… I’ve lost control entirely.”

* * *

“Hello, Quentin.”

Still sitting in an unclear point in space and time, Quentin turned around. Dalton stood behind him. Quentin smiled.

“Oh, brilliant! How did you get in here?”

Quentin’s smile faded slightly after getting a better look at Dalton. His jerky movements and shining eyes gave him an almost metallic appearance. His features seemed almost too symmetrical to be natural, like a doll. It wasn’t the real Dalton, nor was it a heavenly or demonic Dalton. He was artificial, yet transcendence emanated from his expression, which made Quentin feel deeply understood.

“I’ve always been here,” Dalton said, raising his arms and looking around him. “Everyone and everything have always been here.” His voice resonated as though he spoke into a tin can.

Quentin shook his head. “No, mate, I just got here. I know what you’re tryin’ to say, that there’s no bloody time here so I couldn’t have just gotten here or some rubbish like that, but I definitely just got here.”

“Follow me.”

Quentin didn’t move but looked around. The grid of his map slowly folded over and twisted in a bizarre manner.

“Stop fuckin’ with me map.”

Dalton smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. His image seemed to flicker occasionally. “You cannot map out what your mind won’t let you see.”

“No fuckin’ shit.”

“You cannot keep ignoring the other dimensions around you. There is no reason to fear them. Countless opportunities lie before you, should you choose to open your mind.”

“Actually, I’m really just lookin’ for me rat…”

Dalton looked to his side. A luminous crack had formed in the void. It grew wider and wider, until it absorbed the void all together. Quentin felt warm humidity fill the area and a bug buzzed right by his ear. He waved it away. Around him appeared a green and wild tropical environment. Quentin looked up.

“Mate, why’s your sister climbin’ a coconut tree?”

“Fuck, wrong world, hang on.”

Dalton snapped his fingers. Dalton and Quentin stood in a room together. It was the warehouse from the afterlife that Quentin had turned into Buckingham Palace. Isidora sat at the piano and played a joyful Beethoven sonata.

“It’s what you wanted,” said Dalton. “Eternity in the virtual afterlife.”

“I’m just lookin’ for me rat.”

“You have the greatest opportunity ever known to man. Of all the world’s possibilities, here you are, in the midst of it all, capable of choosing which path to go down. Why follow a rat to where someone else is telling you to go, when you can live in whichever world you so choose?”

Quentin shook his head. “It’s not real.”

“What is real? What isn’t? How is this universe more real than the one your conscious mind was born into, without any choice in the matter? You have absolute freedom, Quentin. Why insist on remaining a prisoner? Let yourself be free. Do whatever you want.”

Isidora finished playing her piece and turned around, waiting for a reaction.

“It’s not real,” said Quentin.

“What’s not real?” asked Isidora with a laugh. “It’s a real piano, Quentin. Come over and have a look.”

Quentin walked over to the piano and pressed down on a couple keys. A perfect fifth.

“I suppose it seems real. But I remember this part. The old man will be here soon.”

“What old man?” asked Isidora.

“You know… the unclean one.”

Isidora laughed and kissed Quentin on the cheek.

“I don’t get you sometimes, but you always know how to make me smile.”

Stanley ran into the room.

“Daddy!” he exclaimed and threw his arms around Quentin’s waist.

“What the fuck?” Quentin said to Dalton, pushing Stanley away.

“You have an infinite number of possibilities before you and an infinite number of outcomes. Why not choose the one you like best?” said Dalton.

“If you think this bloody nightmare is what I’d want, you’re mad,” said Quentin, eyeing the affectionate Stanley and doting Isidora in disgust. He missed his stand-offish Izzy and her half-smiles and the Stan who loved beer and switchblades. “I enjoyed my life. Just as it was.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dalton asked. He snapped his fingers and the two were now in a pub in Liverpool, sitting on bar stools. Quentin felt tired, angry, and dizzy. He was drunk. An empty bottle stood in front of him.

“Mate, I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” said a raspy voice next to Quentin.

Quentin looked at Dalton. He stared straight ahead, drinking sparkling water. “You think this is funny?” Quentin asked Dalton.

The man with the raspy voice grabbed Quentin by the shirt collar and shook him aggressively. “You hear me? I’ll fuckin’ kill you for what you did.”

Quentin felt compelled to repeat the words he’d once spoken to that same man, at that same establishment. He smirked. “I’m not the married one. I did nothing wrong, she did.”

“I swear, I’ll do it. I’ll kill you.”

Quentin looked at his best mate. Still holding Quentin’s shirt collar, his eyes were wide open and filled with tears, his brows were furrowed, his teeth were clenched, and his breathing was erratic.

“G’wed. Try,” Quentin challenged.

The man slammed Quentin against the edge of the bar. His nose was crushed and he felt himself inadvertently bite straight through his own lip. He grabbed the empty beer bottle in front of him. The man pulled him back up with the intention of slamming him against the bar once more, but Quentin broke the bottle on the edge of the counter and cut the man’s throat. The man clasped his hands against his own throat, but it did not prevent the blood from spraying out of him in every direction. He fell off the stool, and while panic and chaos broke out in the bar, Quentin watched the man die, mildly irritated by the throbbing pain in his nose and lip.

“You enjoyed your life, just as it was, you say?” said Dalton, still staring straight ahead, sipping his sparkling water. The sound of sirens approached, and Dalton pointed at the pub’s front door, without shifting his blank gaze. “I think this is the part where they arrest you.”

Quentin sprang around and faced Dalton. “Fuck off. None of this is real. Where’s me rat?”

You still feel no remorse, do you, murderer? said an authoritative voice inside Quentin’s mind. You truly have the perfect mind. Now, get out of this little dreamland. Reality is much greater than it appears to be now.  

“How do I get out?” Quentin asked the voice.

Dalton dropped his glass of water, stiffly snapped his head to the side and stared at Quentin. His shining, unblinking eyes somehow communicated a sense of urgency despite being emotionless. “Ignore him,” said Dalton. “It’s a trap. Don’t listen to him. You could have it all, any world you like, if you just stay with me. Beyond these worlds, the laws of physics as you know them will fall apart.”

Kill the scientist to break free of the sixth dimension and see what the world truly could be.

Policemen burst into the bar, coming to arrest him. Quentin didn’t trust the voice inside his head, but he didn’t trust Dalton either. He looked at the bloody, broken bottle in his hand, and looked back at Dalton. He fixed his grip on the weapon and hesitantly raised it. Dalton shook his head.

You killed once. You can kill again.

Quentin sliced open Dalton’s throat. With that motion, he created another crack in reality, and darkness streamed through. The crack grew ever more, taking over the sixth dimension.

* * *

“He went straight past it,” said Dalton, sitting at the computer.

“Straight past what?” asked Stanley.

“Straight past the sixth dimension. I can’t believe it,” said Dalton.

“What does that mean?” asked Isidora.

“It means he went right past where he was supposed to go to get back in time.”

“Where did he go instead?” asked Stanley.

“He’s accelerating through the seventh, eighth and ninth dimensions, discovering a plane of different possible universes.”

“How is that different from where he was before?” asked Isidora.

“The starting point of these worlds isn’t necessarily the Big Bang. They evolved in the most extraordinary ways and are subject to entirely different laws of physics than those which govern the known universe.”

“Can he fly?” asked Stanley.

“Perhaps,” said Dalton.

Meanwhile, Darcy struggled to hold back an exponentially greater number of demons, who were now beginning to flood the laboratory.

“Whatever he’s doing in there, it’s making me job quite difficult,” said Darcy.

Dalton looked at the interdimensional portal. It had grown substantially in size, taking over nearly half the laboratory.

“The other dimensions are beginning to flood the known universe,” said Dalton.

“The gates of Hell are opening,” said Isidora.

“Whatever helps you understand it,” said Dalton. “In sum, the world is about to end.”

* * *

Quentin was in an endless free fall, spiralling through an infinite loop of smoke and flames. His lungs filled with acid, and collapsed, releasing the corrosive fluid which burned everything within him. He felt as though a swarm of wasps was continuously stinging him all over his body. Amidst the blinding and deafening agony, he struggled to grasp at anything that reminded him of the humanity he once had.

Open your eyes, the voice in his mind commanded. At once, Quentin obeyed, and the surrounding air stung them.

Do you see the doom in which He forces us to suffer? Endless fire, endless torture. Suffer in vain for the lie of salvation; fail to be saved and suffer forever.

Quentin did his best to respond to the voice in his mind, despite the pain clouding his reason.

“None of this is real. It’s not that simple. Look, I’m just lookin’ for me rat. She’s quite big for a rat. Have you seen her?”

A thunderous cackle filled Quentin’s mind. Why do you still fight me, Quentin? I am not your enemy. The enemy is the one who has damned you. 

“If this is Hell, I’m pretty sure it’s me bloody sins or whatever that got me here, so I suppose me worst enemy is me’self.”

That’s His lie. He fills you with desires and impulses, asks you to torture yourself your whole life to deny them despite your inevitable failure, and then damns you here to punish you for your failings.

“What a bloody wanker. So, me rat. Where is she?”

Quentin, you must let go of the world you thought you knew. Join us in our revolution and the world will be free. Free of torture, free of suffering. Free of God’s merciless cruelty.

The more Quentin opposed the voice in his mind, the more he felt the acid within him, and the fire blazing around him, fade away.

“I don’t know, mate. It sounds like you’re asking me to suffer, with a promise of salvation in the end. I don’t bloody buy it. I’ll ask you this one more time. Where is me bloody rat?”

* * *

“There has to be a solution,” said Isidora, pacing around, through the growing number of demons filling the laboratory. “Quentin has to go back to the past so that we all forget the last thing I said to him. It’s far too humiliating.”

“It’s not that bad for you,” protested Stanley. “You’re God’s Paladin. You can do whatever you like in the end, side with God, or the Devil, and no matter who wins the war you get all the glory for being the Paladin. It’s rubbish for us because we have to choose sides and if our side loses, we vanish from existence.”

Stanley spread his hand on Dalton’s desk, flicked open Quentin’s switchblade, and repeatedly brought the knife down onto the desk between each of his fingers, each time, faster and faster.

“Stop that,” said Dalton.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done this plenty of times. I won’t cut me’self.”

“I don’t care about that. My desk. You’re wrecking it.”

Stanley stabbed Dalton’s hand. Dalton inhaled sharply, trying not to scream from the pain.

“Why would you do that? I’m trying to save the world!” said Dalton.

“You said you didn’t care if I got cut. Very rude.”

Dalton wiped some blood off his hand, shook his head and resumed coding with his good hand.

“I can’t do this anymore,” said Darcy.

Countless demons held back both her arms, stopping her from fighting. They clawed at her, bit her, and burned her.

“Isidora, do something!” said Stanley.

“I’m not supposed to,” she said. “That’s not my role. There are rules, and I have to respect them.”

“For Christ’s sake, auntie!” cried Stanley.

“Exactly!” said Darcy, her voice muffled by the demons piling up on her.

“I never listen to rules,” said Stanley. “Sometimes I get away with it, sometimes I get scolded. But either way, I get to do what I want. Everythin’ is much better that way because I have loads more fun.”

“And look where that got you,” said Dalton.

Stanley nodded, oblivious to the evident sarcasm in Dalton’s voice. “I have cool friends, beer, ciggies, knives, whatever I want. Just do what you want, auntie.”

Isidora reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one, took a deep, smoke-filled breath, which cleared her head. She exhaled, and the buzz relaxed her into disobedience.

“You know what? You’re right. Fuck it.”

Isidora flicked on her lighter. The fire shone a glorious, divine blue. She stepped into a mass of demons and set them on fire as she made her way over to Darcy. Racing around frantically, bumping into one another, the demons set fire to each other. Isidora kicked away the demons heaped on Darcy, extended her hand, pulled Darcy up and wiped off the green, sulphurous demon bile that covered her face with her sleeve.

“Excuse me,” said a small demon, tugging at Isidora’s shirt from behind. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Life is unfair. Why would death be any different?” Isidora extinguished her cigarette butt on the small demon’s head and it vanished into a pile of ash. She lit another cigarette.

Dalton cleared his throat. “I have an idea about how to get Quentin back on the right track. But it’s risky.”

Isidora rushed back to Dalton.

“Whatever it is, it’s worth trying,” said Isidora. “What can you do?”

Dalton pointed to the screen as if Isidora and Stanley were capable of understanding the code it displayed.

“At this rate, he will soon be in the tenth dimension: the point where everything imaginable will be before him. Worlds like ours, similar to ours, or entirely unlike ours, will all be within his reach.”

“My God,” said Isidora.

“Exactly,” said Darcy.

“Whatever helps you understand it,” Dalton added. “Remember the passage I created through the sixth dimension?”

“To travel in time!” exclaimed Stanley.

“Correct. I believe I could render it visible from the tenth, since all possible universes are within his reach from there.”

“It sounds a little… overwhelming,” said Isidora. “And with that many possibilities before him, what are the odds he happens upon the right one?”

“Have you ever gone into an overwhelmingly large store for only one very specific purchase? You go straight in and straight out, and you don’t even notice all the other rubbish around you. I’m hoping it has that effect.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I get distracted by everything,” said Isidora.

“Luckily, Quentin is a man,” said Dalton.

Darcy shot a divine bolt at her brother’s shoulder, stunning him.

“That was a terribly sexist thing to say. And last time we went shopping together you were the one who got distracted by all the rubbish.”

Dalton rubbed his shoulder. “Excuse me, Darcy, but that was at a comic book convention, and the merchandise was brilliant; it was the complete opposite of rubbish. Very different situation.”

Dalton turned to Isidora. “I got an exact replica of the Third Doctor’s sonic screwdriver.”

Isidora smoked, resisted the urge to insult him for his irrelevance and changed the subject. “You really think that having all the different universes imaginable before you wouldn’t be distracting?”

“Well, the most likely scenario is that it’s far too much for the human mind to handle and that Quentin just bursts into oblivion.” Dalton gestured an explosion with his hands and winced in pain from the wound inflicted by Stanley.

Isidora took his injured hand.

Dalton shook his head. “I understand why you’re attracted to me, but I’m not interested in women. However, if I were heterosexual, I am sure the attraction would be mutual.”

“Shut up, you idiot.” She passed her fingers over his wound and it healed. “Now, get back to work.”

Dalton typed furiously with both hands.