“You know, there’s only one way to really appreciate this marvel of modern science,” he said, smiling through his crooked yellow teeth. I never realized how bad his teeth were until that moment. There’s a nickname for the way his mouth looks: meth-mouth. His gums have deteriorated exposing a good chunk of the few teeth he had left lining the front of his mouth. The teeth that were missing either left gaping black hole embedded into his gums or were broken at the root, leaving a small nub of a tooth still sticking out of his rotting gumline. I was so fascinated by how bad his mouth looked I completely forgot his name. To this day, I can only refer to him as Meth-Mouth. If he knew this is how I still refer to him, he’s either laugh heartily and agree with me, or stab me. More likely the latter. After all, he didn’t wind up with meth-mouth because of gingivitis and loss of enamel. It was meth. Meth’s fucking gross.
At this moment, though, he wasn’t offering me meth. In the name of total honesty and transparency, yes, I’ve done meth. Once. And I hated it. I dug drugs that mellowed me out. Relaxed me and helped me sleep or made sex feel better. Meth didn’t do any of those things. The high reminded me closer to the one time I did crack. Again, just one time, never again. But that weird buzz like you just swallowed twenty shots of ultra concentrated espresso just wasn’t fun to me. That wasn’t an experience that opened up my mind and helped me reflect on my own existence or helped me appreciate how awesome Pink Floyd or Salvador Dali is. It wasn’t my bag and I always tried to make sure Meth-Mouth knew that. So whenever I went to buy LSD or Molly from him and he tried to introduce me to something new, I asked a lot of questions about what he was telling me to snort or shoot or drop or smoke. And he always fed me that fucking line about modern science. Fuck modern science.
“Don’t give me that shit,” I told Meth-Mouth. “Seriously, what the fuck is that shit? What kind of high does it give you?”
“It’s your bag man, I swear,” Meth-Mouth nodded, his greasy hair brushing back and forth along his shoulders. The weird sores on the top of his head started to gross me out too. I swear one was open and pussing out while I was talking to him. At this point, I decided it was best to finish this conversation without looking at him. I looked over my shoulder, back and forth, and tried to make it look like I was looking out for cops. No cops every came through this neighbourhood, though. I had no idea if Meth-Mouth knew that, but he didn’t seem to pick up on that I thought his face was fucking disgusting. Someone really needed to take a shovel to that fucking face. Would have done it some good.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “That’s what you said about the fentanyl. I was in the hospital for a week after that shit.”
“You can’t deny it was a good high,” he said. “And that shit was your bag, man. I bet you never slept better than you did when you took the fentanyl.”
“That’s cause I was in a fucking coma,” I spat back. “I’m surprised no one’s tried fucking ending you for selling off that shit as a mellow stimulant.”
Clicking. Around some of the buildings we were standing in front of I heard clicking. In this part of town, that’s the last sound you want to hear. The clicks come from the doors. Lookouts. They watch over the pusher in case there’s an unruly customer. You hear the clicking, you knew that doors were unlocking and being opened a crack. That was your first warning. Your second warning is the red laser dot, usually on your shirt. Sometimes on your forehead. Sometimes on your arm if they want to make you suffer. I had a red dot on me once. I got the message really quickly. I haven’t had a red dot on me in a long time now.
“Alright, anyways,” I mellowed out, making sure that the lookouts knew that no red dots were required. “What’s this new stuff do?”
“Buddy, you want to talk about mind expanding?” Meth-Mouth started to get excited. “You’re going to see shit you never knew existed. I swear to god, one guy told me he saw a colour he had never seen before. Couldn’t even described it to me. Said it wasn’t on the colour spectrum. I had no idea what the fucking guy was talking about. But he seemed to love it. He’s like you, into all that weird shit. The books and fucking shit.”
The flicking of a cheap lighter told me Meth-Mouth was lighting a cigarette. This was the procedure Meth-Mouth went through. Every time. Step by step. You asked for your PCP or H or whatever, he tells you about what new product he has, gets you interested, lights a cigarette, then tells you the price. Every time.
“Alright, how much?” I asked.
“For you?” he blew out a cloud of smoke that danced past me like a stripper looking for a dollar. “First hit’s free. You’re a repeat customer, I knew you’ll be back for some other product, even if you’re not into this new shit, I like you, and really, you’re probably right about the fentanyl. It was a dick move. You got off easy, though. Had a few kids OD on that shit. Damn shame. They bought a lot of grass. High markup too.”
Meth-Mouth never gave anything away for free. Somehow, this shit was different. He was acting different. I should have said no, I didn’t know anything about this shit. But it’s hard to say no when it’s free.
“What’s the shit called?” I asked.
“Dalek,” he said.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I asked.
“No clue,” he said. “Some people said it’s some combination of letters from the periodic table. The mix of chems or whatever. Some people said it was some sci-fi shit. With all the books you read I figured you would know.”
“Nah,” I said. “Don’t really like sci-fi. Not believable. No metaphors.”
“That just means you read shitty sci-fi,” he said.
“And what fucking sci-fi have you read?” I asked. “You don’t come off like the book reading type.”
“You’d be shocked,” he said. “I was super into Dune during the ’80s. Loved the idea of the spice. Control the spice, control the world. Or whatever the fucking line is. It’s a pusher’s mantra.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t figure dalek’s from Dune,” I said. “Anyways, how do you take this shit? Do I need a sober person to watch over me?”
“Nah,” he said. “Do it in a room by yourself. Preferably an empty room. Not even any furniture around. Totally empty room, place one dalek on your tongue. Close your eyes. And you’ll be in a totally different world.”
Following the advice from a guy dubbed Meth-Mouth might seem insane. Well, typically it is. You’re literally taking advice on how to best get high on something you’ve never tried before and you have no idea what’s going to happen to you or your body when you take it. But, at least when it comes to getting high, Meth-Mouth is pretty trustworthy. He explained to me one time that if he screwed over his customer, gave him a bad high or caused him to OD really bad, it would be bad for business. Either the customer would be pissed and not buy from him ever again (and frankly, would probably try to beat the shit out of him, he only ever had protection when he was pushing; the rest of the time, he was as fair game as anyone else), or they would be dead and wouldn’t be buying anymore. So it was in his best interest to give good highs. I honestly believe he didn’t mean to give me a bad high with the fentanyl. But still, the damage was done and I was apprehensive.
“OK, I’ll take one tonight and let you know how it is,” I said. “I hope this shit doesn’t kill me.”
“No kill guarantee,” he said, smiling. I looked back over to his face and it was even worse than I remembered it those few moments ago when I looked away. He was in his 40s, or so he said. But he looked closer to 60. Meth will do that to a person. “I can one hundred per cent say no one who has tried it has died yet. As harmless as a joint.”
Back at my apartment, I didn’t exactly follow Meth-Mouth’s advice to the fullest. I moved all the furniture out of a room, but I wasn’t alone.
Earlier that day, I got the last voicemail I would ever get from, well, I’m not going to use her name. In the case of Meth-Mouth, I honestly don’t remember his name. In her case, though, she doesn’t deserve to have her name written or spoken or thought or anything. As far as I’m concerned, this is her fault. If she didn’t leave that voicemail, I wouldn’t have been willing to try something from Meth-Mouth that he was giving out for free.
“Curtis,” the voicemail said. “This is the last time I’m going to try and get a hold of you. You’re avoiding my calls, but you knew this was coming. This weird perpetually 22 years old thing you have going on isn’t healthy. And you refuse to see that or try to grow or see things any other way. You can’t be in a relationship, a real serious relationship, if this is how you’re going to act. Especially at your age. You throw away so much, so many opportunities, and why? I don’t know. You don’t think it’s legit? Or something? I don’t know. But I don’t want to be around it anymore. I’m changing my number after this call. I’m moving to a friend’s place for a while. I’m not saying who. I’m not giving you my new number. You and those gross people you hang out with and buy drugs from scare me. I don’t want this. I’m done. Goodbye, Curtis. Deep down you’re a decent person. And maybe one day when you realize that and you grow up a bit, maybe then you can have a really great relationship with someone. I know you’re better than this. And that’s why I’m done. Goodbye.”
That last part hurt the worst. It’s her way of trying to make me feel good or motivate me to do something she wants me to do while still driving in there’s no fucking hope for us anymore. Whatever. Fuck her. I’m not changing for her. Never will.
Which brings us back to the room. No, I’m not alone in there. And no, her dead body isn’t lying in the room with me while I get high. I’m not a completely sick fuck. Though, it might make for a more interesting story. But no, she’s alive and well. As far as I know at least. Couldn’t tell you if she’s been hit by a bus or anything like that. One can only hope, though.
I had a few extra bucks after I scored from Meth-Mouth. And, well, narcotics aren’t the only thing that’s easy to find in that part of town. I mean, I already mentioned that the drugs I take make sex far better. If this new thing Meth-Mouth gave me was going to be my thing, then a few hours (full disclosure, probably more like minutes) with a hooker would be magical and help get rid of all my troubles. Or at least forget them for a bit.
Though she wasn’t keen on leaving her part of town. With good reason. Once you left this little slice of criminal heaven, every street corner for the next hundred kilometres in every direction had CCTV cameras set up. Wonderful selective security surveillance. Can’t say it doesn’t work. Pretty much all the crime stays in one area now. The one area with no video feeds to law enforcement and government agencies. Easier for everyone to manage.
Can’t say I remember much about the hooker. Teased bleached blonde hair. I remember that much. I think she had sunglasses on too. Probably coming down from her own decent high. I knew she needed the money for her next fix. She had track marks all along her arms. Fresh ones too. She was a regular user and would be easy to drag out of the shady area of town and back to my place. I was only ten blocks away. And the amount I walked in and out of that part of town, I still haven’t been questioned or arrested for anything. No one’s paying attention to me and no one’s about to. She finally shut the fuck up and followed me back to my place.
She wasn’t too sure while she watched me move all the furniture out of my bedroom. I didn’t have much in there, a bed and a bookcase. But she watched me with a constant expression that read, “What is this fucking weirdo doing? What the fuck is he into? What the fuck did I get myself into?”
We’re lying on my floor and I’m working my pants open. She told me it’s extra for her to take her clothes off. I figure I don’t need her to go that far. All I really wanted was a blowjob anyway. I’m lying on my back and she’s sitting up, leaning to one side and watching me get my pants open and pulled down. I tell to her to wait a second while I popped the dalek. It was a small pink pill, but it wasn’t grainy like ecstasy. It was really smooth and I could see through it, like a round pink ibuprofen. I popped it on my tongue and waited for it to melt.
I closed my eyes, waiting for her to start working me so I could find out what the body sensation was like. My limbs started feeling dumb, like when I take PCP. And the ground felt like it dissolved from under me, and I was floating in mid air. Then, like when you have a dream that you’re falling, I felt a sudden drop and the shock through my body when you have that sleeping sensation. Only I’m not waking up. The shock keeps running through my body and all I can think about is how fucking Meth-Mouth fucked me over again with another bad high. I couldn’t even feel the hooker. It was a total waste. I thought I might have been convulsing.
But I’ve had seizures before and I know you’re not cognizant enough to wonder if you’re having a seizure when you’re having a seizure. This was something else. For a moment, I thought I might actually have been falling, like the hooker threw my doped up body out my window so she could rob me. But there was nothing around me. No room, no light, nothing. Just black and falling.
“And… and I think he’s coming around,” I heard a voice say. “DK112 is coming to. Mark that on the charts at 3:08 a.m. He’s been out for a while.”
Shit was blurry. I couldn’t make out where I was. I knew I was lying down still. But I definitely wasn’t in the same room I started out in. And the hooker definitely wasn’t around either. My vision started to clear up and I saw two guys in white coats, each of them holding a clipboard and writing things down on them. Beside me were medical machinery. I recognized some of the same machines from having my tonsils out when I was a kid. None of that weirded me out; it must have been a pretty bad high. Maybe the hooker called an ambulance when she noticed something wrong. All of that would have made sense, except for one small detail. Well, pretty big detail. I was in completely different clothes. It wasn’t even as if I was in a hospital gown or even something else I recognized from my closet. I was in completely different clothes. I was in a fucking tuxedo. I’ve never worn a tuxedo in my life. Not even at my high school grad (mainly because I didn’t go). What the fuck was I doing in a tux lying in what I could only assume was a hospital bed?
“What day is it?” were the first words to finally escape out of my mouth. I don’t know why I asked that. I knew the time, it was around three in the morning (the one guy in the white coat just said that). But asking what day it was just seemed like the right thing to ask. Like it was the first step to figuring out why I was in a tux.
“Thursday,” the one guy in the white coat said and smiled. Perfect white teeth. This guy probably never even had a cigarette before in his life. He was clean shaven, his dusty brown hair hug just over his eyebrows, his glasses were a thin wire frame. The guy must be a doctor or something, I figured.
“Thursday?” I blurted out. “I bought that shit on Monday. Holy fuck, I lost three days!”
“Oh, you want to know in relativity to how long you’ve been, well…” he stuttered and shrugged. “Well, put it this way, it’s August now.”
I bought that shit in May. “Three months!?” I screeched. “I lost fucking three months?! How the fuck does that even happen?!”
The doctor guy put down his clipboard and walked over to me. “Ok, I know this seems scary, but I can explain and it will all make sense soon,” he said. I didn’t really believe him. I knew he wasn’t lying, but the way he told me he could explain I didn’t believe. He said it like everything was about to make perfect sense. Nothing about losing three months of your life will ever make any sense.
“So, you’re familiar with the drug’s name, right?” he asked.
This was the first point when I realized that the dalek I took and this guy were somehow deeply connected. I realized I wasn’t in a hospital, but a lab. I realized I wasn’t a patient; I was an experiment. “Wait, you made that shit!?” I spat. “What the fuck was that shit? What did it do to me?”
“I know you have a lot of questions,” he continued. “But, again, I have to ask. Do you know the name of the drug you took?”
“Dalek,” I answered.
“Right,” the doctor smiled. “Do you know what a Dalek is?”
“No,” I shook my head
“Well, Daleks, the drug’s namesake, aren’t real,” he explained. “Have you ever watched Doctor Who?”
“What the fuck is that?” I asked.
“Longest running science fiction show in history,” he said. “Been on the BBC in some form or another since the 1960s. Anyways, I wasn’t expecting you to know this reference, so far none of the subjects have. In short, Daleks are one of the main bad guys in the show. The show’s namesake is a time traveller, he comes from a race of time travellers, and one of the only other races in the show that are known to time travel are the Daleks. Please, bear in mind, this is a very gross over-simplification of a very sophisticated show.”
“Uh huh,” I grunted. “So, why the fuck is the shit I took called dalek then?”
“I’m getting to that,” he said. “So, well, we developed a drug that works within the brain’s pineal gland to actually stimulate a whole other gland that we didn’t even know existed. We don’t even have a name of it yet. With any luck, we’ll call it the dalek gland. Anyways, when stimulated, different people do vastly different things. The typical reaction to this gland being stimulated is seeing things that aren’t particularly there. It’s why when we released it to public commercialization, we marketed it as a hallucinogenic –”
“Released it for commercialization?” I sat up. “You gave it to some drug pushes. You’re using junkies as guinea pigs. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I know this can seem very bad,” he stammered. “But believe me, we’re on the path to something really fantastic. The next stage in human evolution. I know this all seems quite trite, but believe me, you got to be a part of something very important. Especially because your reaction to dalek was categorized in the anomaly group.”
“How am I a fucking anomaly?” I grunted.
“Of our one hundred-fifty international subjects, so far only one per cent have exhibited your same reaction,” he said. “Transcendence of time and space.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I scowled.
“It means, you travelled in time and through dimensions,” he said, smiling. “Like a fucking dalek.”
It sounded like some shitty sci-fi b-movie, but there was something in this guy’s voice that told me he wasn’t messing around. I just lost three months of my life and I needed to know where the fuck they went and what happened to me in those months. Things around me made less and less sense and I didn’t know whether to believe this guy or whether to chock this up to a bad trip I would wake up from soon. But I wasn’t about to wake up from anything. I was stone cold sober at that point. All I could do while lying on that bed was keep asking questions to try and make sense why all of this was happening and how I fit into it.
“So, uh…” I had no idea how to ask this. I just went for it. “So, where did I go?”
“What do you mean?” the doctor asked me.
“Well, if I travelled through time and in like other dimensions over the past three months, I obviously went somewhere,” I said. “Where did I go?”
“Oh…” the doctor stammered. “Oh, I see, well…”
“You kind of just wound up here,” the other guy in the lab said. He was a lot bigger than the doctor that first spoke to me. He was tall, big all around, had a bushy beard, thick glasses, and a hooked nose. I got the impression that this guy wouldn’t be as polite or excited as the first guy to talk to me. He seemed more annoyed that I was in his lab. “Typically, our one per cent of experiment subjects remember where they wind up when they travel in time and space. The fact you just woke up screaming about losing three months tells me you just jumped from whenever you dropped dalek right to here. Which is odd.”
So all I did was jump three months into the future. I think. They didn’t exactly specify any actual year or anything. Now that I think about it, I probably should have asked that. I probably should have asked a lot of things while lying there. Your brain does odd things when it tries to process things like… well, however the fuck you would categorize this. Shit you never knew was real, I guess? I guess this is what they mean when people talk about having your mind blown. But I never imagined there would be this much panic to go along with that feeling as well.
“So,” I tried to get my next question in order. I had a lot on my mind. I decided to try and keep my questions simple, knowing there won’t be a single simple answer. “Where am I?”
“Our lab, of course,” the first doctor said to me.
“Obviously,” the second guy said.
“OK,” I nodded. “But where is your lab? What city am I in? What country? And who are you guys?”
“Ah,” the skinnier guy hopped up. “All very good questions. All great pieces of information that my associate and I tend to forget to tell people who wind up here, even though they’re probably the most basic building blocks to understanding everything going on around you. I’m Doctor Douglas, and my associate here is Doctor Ericson.”
“I figured you both for doctors,” I said.
“Why?” Doctor Douglas asked.
“The lab coats, I guess,” I shrugged.
“What an odd thing to assume,” Doctor Douglas said. “I’ve had this same lab coat since I was an undergraduate, years from my doctorate.”
“Mine’s pretty new,” Doctor Ericson shrugged. “And I do feel more doctory in it.”
Doctor Douglas gave a long sigh. “Anyways, to pull us back from our tangents, you are in our lab. Our lab is located in Hammerfest, Norway.”
“Where the fuck’s Norway?” I asked.
“Seriously?” Doctor Douglas’ eyebrow shot up. “Northern Europe. The Scandinavian region. Next to Sweden and Finland.”
I had no idea where the fuck this was. I could put together what generally this country was probably like, log cabins and giant beer steins and bar wenches with giant tits. Neither of these guys seemed to be the types to wear those goofy yodeller outfits. “None of you guys have accents,” I said. “Why here?”
“Killer research grants for one,” Doctor Ericson chimed in. “And Hammerfest sounds totally metal.”
“But mainly the research grants,” Doctor Douglas interrupted. “Plus it only has a population of around seven-thousand, which means our cabin laboratory on the mountain remains quite undisturbed.”
“OK,” this, sadly, was about as normal as our conversation would get. “You said, only one per cent of people who take dalek actually travel through time. What happens to the other ninety-nine percent?”
“Mainly they just see stuff,” Doctor Ericson said.
“Not just stuff,” Doctor Douglas piped up. “They see things not of this dimension. You see, the pineal gland that dalek stimulates actually helps the brain to perceive a sort of doorway to other dimensions. Or, more simply, they see into that other dimension. I haven’t heard of anyone seeing beings or creatures or anything like that. Most just talk about all the colours they see and how they can’t really describe them. Which is why most people chock up dalek to being just a strong halluncinogenic. But, those rare and wonderful people like you, can actually walk through it. And once you enter in, time actually flows differently for you. It’s quite marvelous in fact. It’s like being next to a black hole. All of relativity becomes completely warped. It’s just fantastic!”
“But most people who fall into this category actually remember walking through it,” continued Doctor Ericson. “Either it was so traumatic for you that you don’t remember a thing or, and this is the more likely answer and remains my quasi hypothesis about you, you actually walked straight through from wherever you took dalek to our lab. Which, like I said, is odd.”
“Does everyone who takes dalek wind up here?” I asked.
“Yes and no,” Doctor Douglas answered. “For the ninety-nine per cent, we just monitor the online chatter. You’d be shocked at the number of social media groups already forming to talk about what it was like to take dalek. With no consideration for putting all over the internet that they’ve been taking illicit and, from what they can tell, hallucinogenic drugs. Humans are fascinating, aren’t they?
“But, the one per cent-ers,” Douglas continued. “Well, we didn’t discover dalek first. The first thing we discovered, which spurred all of this research, was that.”
Douglas pointed to a door. It looked like a completely normal wooden door. But as I looked at it I realized that the door was in the middle of the door. I could see either side of the door. By my own eyes I could see that the door kind of went to nowhere. But just looking at the thing made me uneasy. Like I was staring at a face that had all been rearranged. It just wasn’t right. My brain kept trying to put it together and make sense of it. But it just wasn’t right.
“What’s through there?” I asked.
“We have no idea,” Douglas said. “Not exactly. I’m part of the ninety-nine per cent group. But Doctor Ericson here is part of that majestic one per cent. He’s walked through that doorway. If I tried to walk through that doorway, even if I was on dalek, I would just walk through. When Doctor Ericson, and evidently when you walk through, you wind up somewhere else.”
“What did you see when you went in?” I asked Doctor Ericson.
“Just colours, actually,” he said. “Blinking colours. But not normal colours. And not just random blinking either. Every colour blinked in a succession of prime numbers. One, two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, and so on. Those are all very specific numbers. It wasn’t happening by accident.”
“We think the colours blinking are a form of communication,” Doctor Douglas continued. “It’s a bit of a pie-in-the-sky guess on our parts, but right now it’s our best guess. Whatever exists on the other side of that doorway may not be a physical form like we understand it. We have five sense to perceive our surroundings and communicate with each other. This other dimension may not actually exist in a physical space the way you and I understand physical space. Doctor Ericson even talked about how he wasn’t even sure his body was wherever the doorway took him to. And when the dalek wore off, he was back in the lab.”
“So why out dalek out on the streets then if you just want to figure out what’s in that doorway?” I asked.
“So we can get more people to walk through it,” Doctor Douglas answered, shaking his head like I just asked a dumb question. “Why do you think we’re telling you all this? Seems like a pretty big dump of information if all we wanted to do was get you kind of high, don’t you think? Obviously we want you to go through there and let us know if your experience in any different from the others.”
The others. The idea of there being others was suddenly all I could think about. I looked all around the room, got up from the table and started wandering around, looking everywhere I could. It was only three of us in the lab. The entire lab was only a one room cabin, rounded in shape with the freestanding door in the middle of the room. I could see through every window to outside, where all I could see was snow.
“You said there were others,” I said. “Where are they?”
The two doctors looked at one another. Neither spoke. Neither blinked. It was as if they were playing a mental game of paper-rock-scissors to see who would continue the conversation.
“They walked through the doorway,” Doctor Douglas said. “And they didn’t come back.”
My mind raced to try and keep up with the information being thrown at me. I thought about how if dalek makes you travel through time and space, then how do you walk through a doorway after you take it? I thought back to my experience taking dalek, that feeling of weightlessness that started to take over and was the last thing I remembered before ending up in that lab. Were those few moments of the drug taking effect enough time to walk through that doorway and enter another dimension? Or were these two simply playing with something they had no clue about and were just throwing as many guinea pigs into the hole that they could find just to see what would happen?
This is when I decided I would perform my own experiment. I wasn’t about to be some lab rat for a couple of mad scientists. But I had to make sure they thought I was going along with everything.
Doctor Douglas dropped another dalek into my palm, but this one was blue. I asked if there was any difference between this blue one and the pink one I dropped before. Doctor Ericson laughed as he stood by the doorway, saying something about how I took some of the old stock and that this new batch was a lot more potent.
“Really gets that pineal gland moving,” he said, as he typed a few things on his laptop. He was standing by one of those ergonomic stand-up desks, peering up occasionally to look at the door they were expecting me to walk through.
I took stock of the room as I prepared to drop some of this new batch of dalek. My eyes peered between all the pieces of lab equipment, the computers and monitors all showing graphs and stats and wavy lines. Finally, I spot it. It was right behind me on the far side of the lab. Another door. The only other door I’ve seen. The way out.
I popped the dalek into my mouth, and then I turned and ran for the door out of the cabin, away from the door into the other dimension containing who knows what kind of nightmares for me. I could hear both doctors shouting at me, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I was just running for that door.
Then the door swung open. Someone was coming in. All I saw on the other side though was a mirror. I caught a quick glimpse of my reflection as I started to feel that weightless feeling again. The dalek was kicking in. And it was in those couple of moments I realized that my reflection looked shabbier, beaten down like he had been lost in the woods for weeks. I thought this may have been what I looked like now, seeing as I was missing at least three months of my life. But my reflection wasn’t running either. He stood there, and stared at me. He was watching me run. And it felt like I was a single step away from his face when my surroundings all around me completely changed.
It was quicker than a blink. Like a camera cutting from one scene in a movie to another. My brain adjusted to the surroundings and immediately, simply processing that now I was standing by a creek on a sunny and warm afternoon. Part of my brain knows I was just in a cabin in the middle of Norway with nothing but snow outside. But now, I was watching the water flow past through a few smooth rocks and listening to birds chirping and the wind rustling through leaves as if I had always been standing right in this spot.
Running alongside the creek was a trail. Dust floated in the air as if someone had just walked across it. I wasn’t sure if these were my own forgotten footsteps, for all I knew I had wandering around these woods for hours and only just now started really perceiving and understanding my surroundings. Or, was this dust kicked up by someone else who just walked past or away from me? I looked in either direction down the trail and decided to follow the trail to the right, where the dust was still dancing highest.
The sound of my own footsteps drowned out any footsteps I may have heard ahead of me. I kept looking all over, peering between the trees and staring across the creek, trying to find any semblance of another person who may be nearby. As I continued walking, I noticed the trees were changing. Changing colour? I think so. Were they getting darker? Maybe. It’s hard to piece together what I was seeing. I know the trees weren’t the typical spring green I remembered from walking through woods when I was a kid. I stared at the trees, tried to give a name to the colour I was looking at. I thought back to the wooded area behind the house where I grew up, where I would walk on my own for hours on end, thinking constantly because there was no one else to talk to. I could grasp what colour those trees from my childhood were. That bright popping green. Fresh and alive looking. These trees? The ones in this new woods I found myself in, following a trail next to a creek. I wish I could say what colour they were.
“Hurry up!” a voice echoed out. I couldn’t tell from what direction. I looked back out across the creek and noticed the water was moving differently. It was flowing in the opposite direction now. Before, the water flowed in the same direction as the path I was walking down. But now it rushed the other way. It looked like it was rushing harder and faster too. Like the water was panicking and running back where it came from before it was too late.
“Come on! Keep going!” the voice echoed out again. It still had no direction. It was like it was being dropped directly over top of me and surrounding me all over. I didn’t know which way to look to follow the sound and I just kept looking all over as the trees and the grass continually changed colours around me. All colours I had never seen before.
“Curtis, let’s go!” I heard her voice. It was coming from directly in front of me. Suddenly, the forest was gone and I was in her apartment. She was staring at me. No, glaring at me. That look she gave, when I was thinking about something and she just wanted me to say something or go somewhere or do something, that look that told me how little patience she really had for me, that was the look. It was definitely a glare.
She was wearing a dress. A black slip. I remembered the last time she wore it. I remembered how her freckles looked along her shoulders, sticking out between the black straps. I remembered the cut she had on her shoulder from the glass vase that fell off the top of her fridge and broke on her. She was trying to get it from the shelves above the fridge and it slipped out of her hands. She was too short to reach it. I was tall enough, but didn’t bother offering to help. She was lucky that the cut on her shoulder was all that she got. It could have been so much worse.
As I stared at her glaring back at me, looking at her dress and thinking about that last time, I saw the cut on her shoulder. The same cut. Still fresh. Not bandaged, it had healed up enough to leave open. But still as red as her hair. I wasn’t remembering the last time she wore this dress, this was the last time she wore that dress. I was reliving it.
“What were you thinking about?” she said. “Whenever you get lost like that you’re always thinking about something. What was it?”
“I… uh…” I tried to remember what I would have answered then. And whether it was the right thing to say. And if I could fix it. And how if maybe I said the right thing now I maybe could have saved whatever we had. Maybe then she wouldn’t have left me with only a voicemail. Maybe this time, she’d have the decency to leave me after a face to face conversation.
“Are you high again?” she said. I realized that I was thinking about this for way too long. “I thought you were done that shit!”
I don’t remember if I was high during this situation. This second time around, I knew I was high. I was still reeling from the effects of the dalek. Part of me wanted to tell her I wasn’t high, I was just thinking, that’s all. But I would have been lying. In either case, or point in time, or time this happened, or however the fuck you rationalize living out the same moment again only on a different drug this time. And maybe lying was the worst thing I could have done at this moment.
“Yeah, I am,” I said. “I’m really sorry.”
“No you’re not,” she said. Her tone dropped. Monotone and defeated. “Whatever, let’s just get going. Try to act fucking normal. This is important to me.”
I don’t remember where we were going. This was important to her. But apparently it wasn’t that important to me. At that moment, I never felt more like a shitty person.
We walked to the door and it wasn’t the same door I remembered in her apartment before. Her door was white with a peephole too high for her to see through. It had a chrome handle that she hung a vintage cafe sign from. I loved that sign. We found it together at a small town antique shop. I don’t remember what town or if we bought anything else from the shop. But I always remembered that sign. And it wasn’t there.
The door was plain and wooden. At least, my brain registered it as wooden. It wasn’t the colour of wood I had ever seen before, at least not since I took dalek. And as we walked closer, I recognized this door. It was the door from the lab. The one that Dr. Ericson walked through to that other dimension. The one where so many other people on dalek walked through and didn’t come back from. I wasn’t about to go through at door.
“Why are you stopping?” she asked. “Seriously, are you having a bad trip? Today, of all days?”
I stood petrified, not moving and not speaking and I don’t even think I was breathing. All I knew was I wasn’t about to walk through that door.
“Seriously, what’s wrong?” she said. But she wasn’t her anymore. And as I looked to her to try and answer, I saw that she wasn’t her. But brain tried to hold on to the idea that it was her. But it wasn’t. It was my mom now. And we were sitting at my family’s kitchen table. Like we always used to. For family dinner. I locked eyes with my mother, her eyes were so light blue they almost looked silver. She shook her head as she spun the spaghetti around her fork. “You’ve been staring off into nothing since you sat down. What’s going on inside that head of yours?”
She’s smoking still. She hadn’t lost all of her hair yet to the chemo. She even had her wedding band on still. This must have been a really long time ago. Judging by the giant black box of a TV I could see while I peered into the living room, I’m guessing this was back when I was still in high school. Or maybe earlier. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to where in time the dalek was taking me.
My best guess was that it had something to do with whatever thought came across my mind at any given time. When I was back to that time I was stoned and about to go out to that very important thing that I still can’t remember, I was thinking about my mom and how her nagging kind of reminded me of her. And then there was the voice that voice calling out to me in that forest. The voice sounded like her voice. But I was having trouble placing where that forest was. Where in my timeline was that forest? When would I have been wandering around the woods like that? I’m not exactly a nature loving type. I tried to think about what I was thinking about while I tried to run out of that research cabin. I remembered seeing myself. And how odd it felt to look at yourself. Not a reflection, but another version of you, stepping in front of you and staring into your eyes. It feels incredibly weird.
“Curtis, I swear to god!” my mom belted out. “Are you stoned? You’re staring out into nothing like you’ve never seen your own damn kitchen before! What’s gotten into you?”
I was getting really sick of people asking, or rather accusing, me of being stoned. I mean, I was stoned, I had no idea how long the dalek was going to run through my system for, so I guess it was fair to ask or accuse me of being stoned. But it didn’t feel great. People always judge that kind of shit. They need to shut the fuck up. It’s no worse than eating shitty food or not exercising.
“No, I’m fine,” I finally answered. “Sorry, just a long day I guess.”
“Hm,” she grunted as her attention moved away from me and back down to her plate of spaghetti. As she rolled some noodles around her fork, I continued trying to place that forest. It started to feel like somewhere important. Like I should have known it. Like when you watch a cartoon that you saw when you were a kid. Part of you remembers seeing it, and you start to remember the house you grew up in and the couch that was in the living room and even what the spoons were like when you ate cereal on Saturday mornings. Everything around it comes back, but the specific thing that brought on all these memories and emotions kind of eludes you. The cartoon itself isn’t very important, you’ll probably forget about it again by next week. But everything around it feels so right.
“Hey mom,” I decided to break the silence. If anyone would remember something happening in a forest, it would be her. “Did we ever visit a forest while I was growing up? Like for a picnic or something?”
She continued spinning her spaghetti. Like she didn’t hear me. Like I wasn’t even in the room anymore. Just kept spinning and spinning.
“Mom,” I barked over to her. “Hey, Earth to mom. Over here.”
Part of me thought she was trying to teach me a lesson about zoning out by zoning out herself. But then I looked at her fork. The wad of spaghetti wasn’t getting any thicker. By now it should have been huge. It started to remind me of a CD skipping. My mom’s head nodded as the noodles wound around her fork, in a perfect hypnotizing rhythm. But it was just the same motion over and over again. Like an endless loop of a single insignificant moment.
I looked down at my own plate and noticed that most of my noodles were being eaten by maggots. They crawled all over my plate, squirming in the sauce and I could have almost sworn I heard them making noises. Not just the noises of their movements. But almost like cries or screams. The sound filled my ears and made me nauseous and I was ready to puke right there. I covered my ears and closed my eyes tight, almost feeling like I was screaming too.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and there was Meth-Mouth. Looking more like a rotted corpse than ever before. Standing in the same alleyway he always stood in. By the same windows he always stood by. He looked at me, but it almost seemed like only one eye was moving or looking at me. The other floated, staring off into nothingness.
“You okay pretty boy?” he asked, chuckling at his occasional nickname for me. “Coming down from a good time?”
“That shit you sold me,” I said. “That new stuff. It’s really fucking me up.”
“Which?” he crooked his head. “The fenatyl? I haven’t even sold it to you yet.”
“No, no,” I shook my head. “That other stuff. That dalek stuff. It’s got me all whacked out. I think I’m time travelling.”
He chuckled a little bit more. “Maybe I shouldn’t sell you the fenatyl,” he said. “Looks like you’re right fucked up already. I don’t think you need it.”
“Seriously,” I snapped back. I waited a moment, for me to calm down and to make sure no red dots were about to appear anywhere on me. It seemed ok, Meth-Mouth looked more worried about me than he did scared or angry at me. Odd, a dope slinger with a conscience. “The last time I saw you. You sold me something called dalek. It was something new. A psychedelic or stimulant or something. You said it was new and that I would like it.”
“Did I?” Meth-Mouth scratched his head. “Never heard of anything called dalek. You sure it was me? You sure you’re not buying from anyone else? If so, I’d be real sad about that. Loyalty means a lot to me, y’know.”
Loyalty meant a lot to Meth-Mouth. I may not still be able to remember his name, but if I know anything about this pusher, it’s that loyalty is important. He doesn’t like competition, mainly because he’s convinced everyone he sells to are his friends. And if his friends are buying from other people, in his eyes he sees it as the buyer not taking the friendship seriously. Which Meth-Mouth takes personally.
I nervously shook my head and repeated over and over, “No, man, I’m not buying from anyone else, I promise. I swear man.” Meth-Mouth wasn’t hearing it though. He raised two fingers, like he was giving the building behind him the peace sign. Then two red dots appeared on my chest. Just before I took the two slugs to the chest, I wondered if my changing how this simple drug deal went would change how all the rest of these things turned out. I know things seem like they started when I tried the dalek, but really they started when I bought the fentanyl. That’s when I lost control. That’s when she left me. That’s when I went back to tell off Meth-Mouth about the fentanyl, ultimately leading me to trying dalek. Maybe these two slugs to the chest would be the best thing that ever happened to me.
Despite how traumatizing it probably is to be shot, I don’t remember what the bullets felt like. I remember feeling like I got pushed back, hard. Like a hard shove right in the centre of my body. I kind of always imagined bullets burning as they tear through your skin. I don’t remember feeling that. I remember feeling pushed, falling back, and landing on the concrete. I only had a second to process lying on the concrete before I blinked and found myself lying in some overgrown grass.
Sitting up felt good, like I just had a long nap in the sun. The fresh air that hung around me was cool and the smell of dew wafted through my nostrils. I was back in that same forest. The same one I was in when I first ran through that door out of the lab.
The creek was directly in front of me. It was rushing in one direction. No more changing and flowing every which way. Just smooth elegant, flowing like how nature intended it. I stood and walked to the creek to get a closer look. What I saw told me exactly what I needed to know about where I was. Where in time, at least. That the reason I don’t remember ever being here before is because I never was. This is the first time I stepped through to the future. What would will be, or had will be, and would should be, or something like that. But some iteration of my future, whether I had taken the dalek or not.
How did I know this was the future? Because she was there. She was in the creek. Bobbing, somewhere just below the surface of the water. Her eyes were open, but they weren’t looking at anything. They were frozen open, constantly staring in one direction. This was her body, but she wasn’t there anymore.
I don’t know if I just didn’t see her in the creek the last time I went through the forest or if me taking those two slugs in the chest somehow changed this future moment, leading to what I can only assume is me killing her and dumping her into the creek. Either way, despite what I might think of her since she decided I wasn’t worth the effort anymore, she didn’t deserve this. And I needed to change this.
Without even me blinking, I felt the icy wind blow past me and I was in the middle of a snowy field, with nothing but white all around me for as far as I could see. In the distance I could see the side of the mountain and a small brown spot. I walked toward that small brown spot. I knew what it was and that’s where I wanted to be.
The wind blew harder and it cut through me and I felt sharp pains all through my body. I couldn’t stand this cold anymore and so I ran as fast and my freezing legs would take me through the snow. My body wanted to collapse but I pushed it as hard as I could. My back seized and my arms stiffened, but I kept pushing. I knew there was a better future for her and I wanted to give it to her.
The brown spot grew larger and larger and finally I could tell it was the same cabin I was in before. I finally made it to the door and threw it open and caught a glimpse of my own face. It was the me that first took the new strain of dalek. And as quickly as he was there, he was gone again. But it wasn’t just him that was gone.
Stepping into the cabin wasn’t what I was expecting. I expected the machines and equipment and the two doctors still working and possibly curious and excited about my arrival. But they weren’t there. No one was there. Nothing was in that cabin. Nothing except for the door. It was still standing in the middle of the room. I walked around it, looking at it from both sides. Everything about it told me it was a simple door. But there was a reason why it was the only thing that was left in this room. And it scared me.
I had a second thought about going through the door. I looked around the room to find anything I could bring in with me. Just in case. Just to have some piece of the reality I know in my hands while I walked, or floated, or existed, or whatever it was I was about to when I went through that door. As I looked around, I noticed that the door I walked through to get back into the cabin, the from door that led outside to the frozen mountains, was gone. As I thought about my hesitation, I realized my choices that this point were either go through the door or spend an eternity sitting in this room, alone, until I died. Or if I ever died. For all I know, those rules around existence and reality had totally changed.
But then I thought about her. I thought about her face under the water in the creek. Her eyes staring off into nothing. And how wrong it felt to see that. And how she deserved better. And how maybe my no longer existing in this plane of reality would help her to live a normal and fulfilling life. Something she almost completely lost being with me and something I know I can never have anymore. Not after taking dalek. Not after all that I had been through since taking it.
I stepped up to the door, grabbed the handle, and twisted it. The door swung away from me to open. It looked only black inside. I wanted to stop and look in before I took my first step, but it was as if my legs were reacting to a reflex I never knew I had. I immediately stepped forward into the darkness. And I could have sworn, for a moment, I could see stars.
“You know, there’s only one way to really appreciate this marvel of modern science,” I heard a voice say before I knew where I was. And I immediately knew. It was even the exact same smile as he was giving me before. Seeing his crooked yellow teeth. Having that moment of realization as to how bad his teeth were. Everything about this moment was the exact same. Even as I didn’t answer him and just stared at him, not knowing what to do next, like a perfectly timed script, he continued. “It’s your bag man, I swear.”
The same alleyway, the same drug deal, the same crooked yellow and rotting smile. I wondered for how long I was going to be repeating these points in time. I wondered when the dalek was going to finally wear off.