Adam
Book 1: New Players in Town
“We live only on illusions. Appearances are infinitely more enjoyable than realities.”
— Henri Jeanson
Wednesday, August 24, 1982, 11:02 PM
Unknown Location
Adam scanned the bar for the woman in red. With each visit, he hoped to catch a glimpse of her. In fact, he knew she would be there. She always was, and tonight would be no exception. The young man made his way through the crowded bar, bustling with patrons at this late hour, and smiled when the scarlet silhouette appeared in his line of sight. The beautiful woman was sipping a cocktail at the counter, perched on a brown leather stool. Lost in thought, she gazed at her reflection in the large mirror across the wall. Her sequined dress sparkled under the spotlights, accentuating the perfect curves of her tall, slender body. Adam never tired of this sight; he couldn’t understand how such a beautiful woman could remain alone, without any suitors around her.
“If they’re all like you, it’s no surprise!” his conscience whispered mockingly.
Adam sighed. He was a handsome guy: thick brown hair falling to his shoulders, a tanned complexion, bright hazel eyes, and a cheerful smile. His warm, captivating voice had already won over many conquests in the past. So why did he refuse to approach this stunning stranger? Was it because of the lack of interest she showed in him? ‘The Beauty’ had never given him a glance or any attention, as if the world around her didn’t matter. He had lost count of the times he had sat beside her, waiting for a reaction, a sign, anything that would show she had noticed him.
Tonight, he would perform the ritual once more. He would order a whiskey on the rocks, leaning against the counter. He would leave an empty seat between the beauty and himself, observing her furtively in hopes of catching her glance turned in his direction. Maybe he’d get lucky this time?
Why not just go talk to her?
Adam could no longer bear that whiny voice. He despised it because it was right. It stated the obvious: of course, he should break the ice. Start a conversation. As if he didn’t know that already!
After a deep breath, the young man positioned himself to the right of the brunette. Despite the distance separating them, he caught a whiff of vanilla lingering in the air. How he loved that scent! It lingered long after he had left the beautiful woman, clinging to his clothes to remind him of his eternal missed opportunity.
Not tonight! When she finishes her drink, I’ll buy her another.
The bartender served him his whiskey; he quickly took a sip. If he got a little tipsy, maybe he would manage to speak to her.
To avoid overthinking, he focused on the music playing from the jukebox at the back of the room. He recognized “Unchained Melody.” As he let the King’s voice wash over him, he noticed a pool game happening between two customers in the mirror. Occasionally, Adam would glance at the stranger: sometimes she would sip her cocktail, but most often, she was lost in her reflection as if it were a window to another world. The scene must have been exceptional, judging by her fervor in staring at that inverted universe.
After what felt like an eternity, the woman in the scarlet dress set her empty glass down on the polished wood of the bar. Adam took a long swig of whiskey to muster courage—his third since he had arrived—and asked:
“Can I get you another drink?”
I did it! he silently screamed. I succeeded.
The Beauty turned on her stool, smiled, and opened her mouth to respond. Adam was hanging on her lips; his heart threatened to explode from the anticipation of the next few seconds.
When the Beauty froze, the music cut off, and the chatter around them faded, Adam felt faint. Who dared to intrude? This was his night, his bar, his woman in red!
Someone settled onto the stool behind him.
“Adam, I need to talk to you.”
Deckard. Of course.
Adam turned slowly, regarding the newcomer with disdain. The visitor, a man in his forties clad in an old raincoat and brown corduroy pants, leaned against the counter with a bulldog-like satisfaction on his face.
“You couldn’t have arrived at a worse moment,” Adam said, annoyed. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Deckard scanned the bar before redirecting his attention to his interlocutor.
“Are you tired of playing the same scene? Move on, old man! That woman slipped through your fingers; you’ll find another. Your ego as a seducer will recover, trust me. You’re young and... relatively attractive.” (That compliment drew a grimace from Adam.) “Now, are you going to listen to me? I didn’t come here to debate your sex appeal.”
Adam pouted. He had finally managed to make contact with that girl, and Deckard had ruined it all.
“You could have waited until she responded before entering the scene!”
Deckard rolled his eyes; Adam cursed his “superior’s” lack of understanding. He didn’t comprehend. No one could.
The young man stole one last glance at the stranger, frozen, mouth agape, then let out a deep sigh before snapping his fingers. Instantly, the Beauty and the bar vanished, giving way to a different environment. The two men watched as a new world was born: a wooded park, fragrant with summer. Trees towered before them, stretching their branches; the scent of flowers and freshly mowed grass filled the air; the sun rose above the horizon and paused in a cloudless blue sky. The operation had taken barely ten seconds.
Deckard cast an appreciative glance at Adam, the sculptor of this new environment.
“You’re improving every day. Maybe we can actually do something with you after all.”
“Thanks... I think. What you’re here to tell me isn’t going to please me, I can feel it. I thought a change of scenery was in order. But there’s still one detail to address.”
The young man murmured indistinct words and touched Deckard’s clothes. The raincoat transformed into a pink shirt, and the corduroy pants became white shorts. Adam stepped back to assess his work.
“Now everything is perfect,” he said, stifling a laugh. “Pink suits you, Deckard, and fits better with the place we’re in. Don’t you think?”
Deckard grumbled under his breath but did nothing to remedy his companion’s nonsense.
“You’re a comedian. But I guess I asked for it...”
“Glad to hear you say that. Besides, your Columbo outfit didn’t suit you.”
Deckard simmered silently but didn’t address his partner’s impertinence. He pointed to a nearby bench.
“Let’s sit there! You’ll be more comfortable for what I have to tell you.”
Adam nodded. Once seated, Deckard wasted no time in stating the purpose of his intrusion:
“The Oracle has contacted Winston. You’ll be going on a mission as soon as this conversation ends.”
If the Oracle is involved, it must be important, the young man thought. No more joking around.
“Alright!” he said. “I’m listening.”
“One of our own has awakened. Alone.”
Deckard paused to allow Adam to absorb this information.
“Alone? How is that possible?” Adam asked.
“As you might guess, the Oracle remained very vague about it. All I can tell you is that this fact is just a tiny piece of a much larger puzzle.”
“OK. What do you expect from me?”
“You will go to Black River, a town in Maine. Your task is to find a young boy named Thomas Bowman.”
“Let me guess: he’s our ‘awakened’ one?”
“Exactly. But that’s not all. You’ll need to train him on-site. He must be ready for what’s coming next.”
“What’s coming next?”
“Yes. According to the Oracle, a group of people will cross a dimensional portal in less than twenty-four hours: the boy will be part of it. The opening of this passage is going to create quite a mess, apparently.”
Adam stared at his superior, bewildered.
“A dimensional portal? Are you serious? What kind of nonsense is this?”
Deckard smiled.
“Don’t worry; I had the same expression when Winston briefed me. Yes, my friend, parallel worlds exist! They even contain entities that we really don’t want showing up around here.”
“And one of those forces is going to arrive at the same time as the boy, is that right?”
“That’s right,” the older man sighed. “The Oracle reportedly said, I quote: ‘If we cannot defeat Evil, the world as we know it will cease to exist.’”
“Is that all? And you’re sending me on this mission? I’m still a rookie, and you know it.”
“Eve will support you. All you have to do is train young Bowman so he has the tools to fight.”
Adam shook his head, disheartened.
“It feels like you’re sending me to war!”
“But that’s exactly it! A war is coming, and you’ll have just a few hours to win.”
“Why me, when more experienced agents could handle it?”
Deckard hesitated. His gaze shifted, fixing on a point over Adam’s shoulder.
“You’re the closest to the objective. The others won’t get there in time...”
“That’s nonsense! You’re hiding information from me, Deckard. At least have the decency to look me in the eye when you lie to me!”
“Fine! Alright. You want the truth? Here it is: the Oracle mentioned your name and that of your Fusäe. It has to be you who does this. No other duo can, according to him.”
Adam turned his attention to a jogger rushing past them, headphones on. He smiled.
His mentor was right; the young man was perfecting his art every day. His creations contained more detail, more life. He closed his eyes and let himself be rocked by the sounds and sensations surrounding him. He felt his world existing independently of him, the wind brushing against his skin, footsteps of walkers on the path, the scent of pollen in the air. He liked this place. He promised himself he would return if he accomplished his mission.
“Alright, Deckard. Do you have anything to add before I go?”
“Just one thing: when you arrive in Black River, look for the house on the hill. The portal is there.”
“Noted. One last question: do you have any information on the ‘Evil’ we’ll have to fight?”
“Not really. The Oracle was vague about the threat. Expect the unexpected.”
“You’re really helping me out here! Thanks a lot!” Adam scoffed.
With that, he stood up, soon followed by Deckard. The latter extended his hand.
“Good luck, Adam. I’ll send reinforcements as soon as possible. In the meantime, you’ll be on your own.”
The young man nodded before disappearing like a ghost. The dream he had created would retain its substance for a few more minutes, longer if Deckard took over. Instead of leaving, the dream traveler took his place back on the bench. He saw a group of pigeons land at his feet. The man smiled. In his hand materialized a plastic bag containing stale bread. He began throwing it to the birds, who eagerly pecked at the miraculous food.
Yes, indeed, Adam is a promising element, he thought with admiration. If only he survives this mission.
“My thoughts are with you, my friend,” he murmured as he tossed the last crusts.
