I dropped the deceased coffee cup to the ground and stared at the land around me. It looked to me mostly farmland to me, and few buildings I could see looked like barns and farmhouses.
I stood still for a moment and listened. I very faint intermittent whooshing sound reached my ears. It sounded like cars going by on a road. I turned my head slowly around to orient myself to the faint sound. After a few moments I was fairly certain what direction it was coming from.
So, I turned and headed in that direction.
I stepped off the tracks and over the gravel bed to the grass beyond. Stopping every minute or so to reorient myself to the sound, I finally began to sense it getting louder. As I moved closer, I could tell that the vehicles I heard were moving a quite a clip. I didn't think that the roadsters I'd seen in Irene's world could travel that fast. Just one more clue that I was no longer in their world.
I swallowed hard. I just hoped that I was back in my own.
I climbed a fairly steep embankment and found myself standing on the outside of a guard rail. A bright yellow guard rail. Within seconds a Nissan Versa sped by.
The Tim Horton's cup should have been all the information I needed.
I climbed over the guard rail and sat on its sloping top. I presumed I was back in my world, but I had no idea where I was geographically. If the two worlds were similar in the way they were laid out, then I would have to presume that the rail line in Irene's world was heading towards the equivalent of Truro, which was north of Halifax. That being the case, I was probably stranded somewhere between Halifax and Truro now that I was back home.
I hoped that my logic would hold up.
I watched a few more vehicles whizz past. The speed at which they were going, combined with the width of the road, gave me to believe that I was perched on the edge of Highway 102. That was good to know, because if I somehow collapsed from lack of food and water, at least I knew that someone would see me.
I considered my options. I could hitchhike, but I felt that would be a last resort; the notion didn't appeal to me at all. I could walk to the nearest town, but I didn't know exactly where I was, so I didn't know how long a walk that would be. Then it hit me; I could just pull out my cell phone and call someone.
I whacked myself on the head and reached for my pocket. It was only then that I rediscovered my wardrobe. I was wearing a three-piece suit from the 1940s. I still wore the trenchcoat, and for some unknown reason, I had decided to put my fedora back on when I left the train compartment in search of the bathroom.
I was pretty sure I looked a little bit on the ridiculous side. I doubted that anyone would pick me up even if I did decide to hitchhike.
As I put my hand to my jacket pocket, my blood began slowly to drain from my face. Another memory seeped back into my consciousness, a memory of leaving my cell phone, wallet, and keys in my own clothes. Those clothes were now separated from me by the fabric of the universe. They were an entire world away, back in the land of Irene, Greaves, Charlotte, and no electricity.
I decided it would be a good time for another self-whack on the head.
My options were now severely limited. I had no cell phone, no money, no credit card, no identification, and an anachronistic outfit.
The phrase "I'm fucked" drifted into my mind.
I could hear it now: "I'm sorry, officer. I don't have any ID on me. You see, I left it in my other clothes, which are over this other universe I was visiting. Somebody pushed me through an interdimensional portal, and now I'm back here again. It's the darnedest thing…"
It would be a quick ticket to further psychiatric evaluation.
It was a warm day, fortunately, so I decided to at least remove the trench coat and hat. I might look a little less ridiculous wearing just an outdated suit. Not much, but a little.
I decided to start walking. I didn't know how long I'd last in unfamiliar wing-tips, but I thought I'd at least give it a try.
I removed the trench coat and slung it over my arm. As I reached for the hat, I heard a car horn honking. I turned to look, and a small red Dodge Omni was pulling over to the side of the road.
"Hey, man," someone called. "Are you heading for the convention?"
I blinked, uncertain what he was talking about.
"Convention?" I asked.
The man who had spoken was skinny, with dark tousled hair and a two-day growth of stubble. He wore a t-shirt that bore the number 42 on the front. The driver of the car was a heavy man with a full beard and long, dirty-blond hair. He also wore a t-shirt, but I couldn't see what was printed on it.
Something in the back of my mind began to jangle with familiarity. The look of these two individuals, combined with the word 'convention', brought images to my mind that I wasn't all that happy to see again.
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. The convention."
"Man, that's a killer costume. You just like Kirk out of 'Piece of the Action'. You hitchhikin'?"
Yep, they were headed for a science fiction convention. It never ceased to amaze me how these people continued to perpetuate the stereotype by being the stereotype.
"Yeah. Hitchhiking. Never done it before. Maybe not such a great idea."
"Well, we're here now, dude. Hop in."
There was a tiny slice of space in the backseat. The skinny guy got out, tipped his seat forward, and shoved some duffel bags over to the left. This left just enough room for someone of my general width to squeeze in. If I'd had even a few extra pounds on me, the deal would have been off.
The car smelled of sweat and Doritos, but no so strongly that I felt I would gag. I just resolved to breathe through my mouth for a while, until my senses became accustomed to my new environment.
"My name's Dan," the skinny guy said. "And this is Rick. We live in Truro."
"I'm Jack," I said. "Nice to meet you. And thanks for the lift."
"No worries, Kimosabe. We gotta stick together, right?"
I nodded. "Right." Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. As a fan of many science fiction and fantasy shows and movies, I had met my share of other individuals who shared those interests. Unfortunately, I had met more than a few who did not share my love of social skills, hygiene, and decent manners.
"We're going to run a panel this year," Dan said. "It's on the social customs of alien planets. We're going to draw examples from Star Trek, Stargate, Doctor Who, and Farscape. Well, those are the shows that Rick and I are most interested in."
"Speak for yourself," Rick said.
"Hey, there, big guy," Dan said. "What are you pissed off about?"
"I told you we needed to include BlahBlahBlah," Rick said.
"Are you still on that? It's a cartoon, man. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"It was a good cartoon. And why can't we include a cartoon in the discussion?"
"Because cartoons aren't realistic enough, man. Give me live action any day."
It was at this point that I began to tune out. I'd heard my share of discussions like this, especially during my ill-fated and short-lived tenure as the president of a Star Trek club, and I'd resolved to avoid further such situations if I could at all avoid it.
This time, it was a necessary evil. I needed to get back to Halifax.
As Dan and Rick droned on about their respective views on the validity of animation as a medium for the exploration of fictional alien realms, I put my head back on the seat and closed my eyes.
The vibration of the car and sound of the tires on the road were oddly soothing. I found myself occasionally drifting off, hauled back to consciousness by the sound of "That's lame, dude," or "What are you on?"
Images of the past day drifted through my mind. Scenes from the alternate Halifax passed across my mind's eye. Mostly, though, I found I was seeing images of Irene and Charlotte. The elegant beauty and the saucy, sexy maid. I almost wished I was back there, talking to them rather than to the two buffoons in the front seat of the car.
I wondered why these two women had so captivated me in such a short time. Perhaps it was their interest in me that sparked my own interest in them. I was a stranger, a visitor from an exotic place. Certainly there was intrigue in that, but I was a human just like they were. What made me so special?
And I supposed the reverse was true for me. Both Irene and Charlotte were representatives of an exotic world that I knew nothing about. They were entirely different from each other, but they each had an undeniable allure about them. And, if I really thought about it, I was doing what I normally did. If I found myself in an unfamiliar or unplanned situation, I would usually focus on the women.
I must have actually fallen asleep at some point, because I was pulled to consciousness by the slowing of the car. Rick was pulling us into the parking garage below the Holiday Inn on the corner of Quinpool Road and Robie Street. The entrance to the hotel was actually on Pepperell Street, which was a side street off Robie, but the other two streets met at a major interesection which had come to be known as the Willow Tree, despite the absence of anything even remotely resembling such flora. So I always thought of the hotel as being on Quinpool and Robie.
Dan and Rick got out of the car and stretched their backs. I climbed out and did the same.
"Hey, man," Dan said. "I just realized you don't have any bags."
"Yeah," I said. "I'm staying with friends in town. They have everything I need. And I'm going to buy some stuff. I was due for a new toothbrush anyway."
Dan nodded thoughtfully and reached into the back to pull out some of the bags. I didn't know exactly what they had planned for their panel discussion, but from the way he strained to pull some of his stuff out of the car, I imagined that they had some serious audio visual equipment with them.
"Need a hand?" I asked.
"Yeah, thanks," Dan said. "If you could grab that last one out of there…"
I reached in and pulled out the indicated satchel. Rick had already grabbed two handsful and was heading for the elevator. Dan locked up the car and picked up his share. I tagged behind them with my lone bag.
When we reached the lobby, they dumped their bags beside a sofa and headed for the check in counter. I put the bag I was carrying down with the rest and sat down for a minute. I was still tired, despite my snooze in the car, and I needed to get home. That would be a difficult proposition, I surmised, without my keys. I wondered if the superintendent would let me in.
The issue of my ID was a slightly thornier issue. With no way to retrieve it, I would have to go through the laborious process of finding my birth certificate, filling out a form to get a new Social Insurance Card, then doing the same for my Health Card and Driver's License. Plus, I'd have to cancel my credit card and get the company to issue me a new one.
There was also this small issue of the shadowy organization that wanted to test and interrogate me.
I put my head back again and willed my brain to shut off.
It didn't work.
