Interdimensional

It had to be safe. It had to.

That was Andrew’s thinking as he knocked again, this time with less hesitation. Part of him wished he had bad information, but the door opened to show a familiar face who did not recognize him at all.

“Yeah?” Ivory greeted, not very welcoming. “Can I help you, guy? You got the right house?”

Even though the tone might have been charged with suspicion, the voice was recognizable. Nostalgic. So much so that Andrew couldn’t help but smile.

“You don’t recognize me, huh?” Andrew asked, turning his face slightly up to make sure his hat wasn’t covering his features. “I guess it has been a while.”

Ivory’s unwelcome eyes flashed with recognition. His ears very slightly nudged in surprise, knowing before the mind that he knew Andrew’s voice. He watched Ivory closely, as he had learned to do with anyone he met. From the crease of the brow to the shift of the lip, and of course, the million different glints cutting across the iris, betraying every thought and intention.

Loose recognition, memory searching, familiar people, people he liked, people he had forgotten.

“Andrew?” Ivory asked, and Andrew widened the smile just a bit. “Andrew! Oh my God, man. What the hell are you doing here?”

Andrew chuckled in response, knowing how weird his appearance would be. He shrugged. “There’s no convenient reason, man. Just felt like catching up, so I came by.”

“Well, damn, man!” Ivory grabbed Andrew’s hand mid-route to shaking his and pulled him into a hug. “Damn, man! I just. Wow. How many years?”

“Decades,” Andrew said, forcing himself to pull away. His appreciation for the intimacy was many degrees above what was acceptable, and the last thing he wanted was to be weird by extending the embrace.

“Yeah, no shit,” Ivory responded, laughing at a loss. “Wait! Aren’t you like a serial killer or something?”

Andrew shivered, his heart squeezing tight. Nervously, he scoffed. “Man, it’s not like that. It’s… it’s compl-- it was self-defense. They’re framing it like I went after them, but they came after me.”

Ivory frowned with confusion, trying to judge Andrew’s face.

“Listen, you can check me out,” Andrew said, opening his jacket as if to show how he was harmless. “I don’t have anything to.” he began to say, but giving the situation a double-take, Andrew shook his head and closed the jacket again. He looked aside a bit ashamed. “I dunno, this was a bad idea.”

“No,” Ivory said, a bit upset. He always got heated when he was worried. “Screw that, man. I know you ain’t a killer. I’d kill to know what’s up, though, it sounds huge. Come inside, we’ll talk, you can tell me what the hell really happened. Just come inside.”

Andrew hesitated, wondering whether Ivory intended to call the police as soon as he could. It was a risk to go in, but then again, there was no decision or action available to him that wasn’t incredibly risky.

“Really?” Andrew asked, preparing to analyze the response.

Ivory scoffed and walked inside, leaving the door open. “I’m not calling the cops. I got drugs in the house. C’mon, just get in.”

That made sense. Logically and historically. Andrew took a deep breath, thanked him, and made his way into the ill-lit house.

The place was about what Andrew expected it to be. It was messy, disorganized, and pretty ill-kept. Andrew knew Ivory was still living with his mother. Since she would be getting on the years and likely lacked the stamina to housekeep as dutifully as she had in the past, the unkempt look of the place would be due to Ivory not picking up the slack.

Again, that made sense from what Andrew knew of him.

“Mom! You’ll never guess who just showed up! Sit over here, Andrew,” he said, pulling up a chair to the half table that had been set against the wall of the small living room. “I’ll get you a drink or something.”

“Thanks, man,” Andrew said, guessing that Ivory’s mother was now wresting awake and getting up. It was, after all, eleven in the evening. He had hoped Ivory had grown to become a bit more considerate, in the years they had spent apart, but clearly, the teenager had never really grown up.

“I gotta ask, man,” Ivory’s voice came from the kitchen. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but this is super weird. You’re in a lotta trouble? Did you come for my help?”

Away from prying eyes, Andrew sighed, swallowing a million evil truths.

“Help? No. Trouble? That’s putting it mildly.”

“Shit,” Ivory said, walking back into the room. “Sounds heavy. What’s up, man?”

Andrew smiled, beyond grateful to hear the concern. He looked around the room, nostalgic for the memories he had acquired in that place. Long lost memories.

“Just been having really rough times… for a really long time. Wanted to. I dunno, I was feeling nostalgic for better times,” Andrew said, wanting to close his eyes for a good minute.

He couldn’t, though. Not while he was out in the world.

“Haha. No better times than when we were kids, right?” Ivory asked, walking in with two beers in hand. “Never been that happy again.”

Andrew looked at him in surprise. Actually, he looked at him with concern. “I… I don’t drink beer.”

“Argh,” Ivory said, giggling. He shook his head and pulled back. “Really? Still wimpy, huh? What do you want, then, bud? Water or tea?”

That interaction felt too familiar, but at the same time, it made sense. Why would Ivory remember that he hated beer? There would be no reason for him to assume that preference had lasted into Andrew’s adulthood, even if he did remember.

Then again, why hide that he forgot? Ivory was too straightforward to react like that.

“Andrew?” Ivory’s mother greeted, from the other end of the living room.

Andrew shook away the paranoia and looked over.

“Hey, missus Rock,” Andrew greeted.

“Mom, where do we keep the tea?” Ivory asked.

“Oh, look at you! The same place I keep your other herbs, Ivory,” she said.

“Wait, what? You got the tea next to my weed?!”

“Oh, don’t call it that,” she whined, wobbling around the table with effort.

Laughing, Ivory walked out of the room. “Man! Have I been getting high on tea leaves? That’s hilarious. I gotta check that out.”

Andrew followed Ivory’s exit with increasing concern, and all the while, his mother, Esther, approached to greet him. They hugged gently, and she kissed him on the head.

“Oh my. You look so tired, Andrew,” she said, grabbing him by the chin to take a good look.

Andrew scoffed. “I am.” It seemed as though Esther had not watched the news in a long time.

Esther grunted, displeased, and let him go. She wobbled back to the other end of the table so that the seat next to him would remain empty. “Why are you showing up so late? Are you staying the night?” she asked.

“Yeah, are you?” Ivory asked, over clanking noises. It should have been teacups, but Andrew’s hearing was far too practiced to make that mistake.

His face fell, and he gulped and forced himself to hold back the tears. Andrew knew he heard cutlery, but still, he hoped against hope that it was just paranoia getting to him. That he might be wrong.

“Tell me, missus Rock,” Andrew asked. “Is Ivory taking good care of you?”

“Oh,” she replied, clicking her tongue as she sat down opposite to him. “I always said he should follow your example, but he won’t even follow his brother’s example anymore! You know Phil has a family now?”

“Really?” Andrew asked.

“How can my youngest still be living in my house!?” she complained, purposefully out loud.

Ivory laughed pleasantly. “C’mon, mom. At least let him get out of his coat before you start whining,” he said.

That was when he knew. That was when Andrew knew that his fears were real. They always were, really, and for the life of him, he had no idea how he could even expect otherwise.

Andrew slipped a hand down and into the holster strapped to a belt inside his shirt.

“Phil takes out the garbage all across the city,” Esther continued, nodding proudly. “His wife, Lin, always makes me laugh. I like her a lot. They named their daughter Esther, Andrew. After me!”

“That’s really nice,” Andrew whispered, eyeing her playfully

The poor old woman was so exhausted and forlorn that she did not sense his worry, nor did she notice him gulping. “Yes. Ivory could well do the same. He always did what Phil did, but not when it comes to all these things! Oh, he gets worse every day, Andrew” she complained, leaning against her chair. Tired. “Last week he went and bought a gun. A gun, Andrew!”

Andrew blinked, and a tear squeezed over the corner of his eyelid.

He knew it wasn’t really safe. It never was.

It should be. It had to be.

But it wasn’t.

“I had to get rid of it before someone called the police,” she argued.

“You… you got rid of the gun?” Andrew asked, actually surprised by that development.

“Which is why I’m not even gonna try, this time,” Ivory said from the door.

They both looked over to find him holding a large knife. It likely had seen no use for years, since Ivory didn’t cook and his mother would’ve turned away from any hard cutting. Still, he stood on the narrow entrance to the very small living room. The light casted a large shadow behind him.

Esther waved her hand at him. “Ivory! Put that back in the kitchen.”

“I would,” Ivory said, staring daggers at Andrew, and every single one was sinking deep.

“Please,” Andrew stuttered, no longer worried about upsetting Esther. “Please, don’t. They’ve got nothing to--“

“But Andrew is here,” Ivory explained, smiling. “And I’ll never get him with just a knife. I thought I’d use our neighbors to trap him, but everyone around here’s as old as you are, Esther. We’ll never get him.”

“Ivory!” his mother complained, unable to see that her son was gone. “Don’t just talk about people like that, that is so rude! They’re my friends -- and put that knife down, you look crazy!”

Andrew was softly shaking his head at Ivory, pleadingly.

There was nothing he could do. There was a one in ten chance that Andrew could get the knife out of Ivory’s hands, and then he might be able to subdue him. However, that would do nothing to improve the situation.

That would accomplish nothing because Ivory had been thoroughly taken.

“Mom,” Ivory said, smiling. “Don’t look away, and remember. This wouldn’t happen if Andrew had never shown up.”

“What are you talking about, Ivory?” Esther whined, clearly a bit too used to seeing her son behave unreasonably. “Stop being crazy and put the knife down!”

In response, Ivory sunk the knife deep into his belly.

At once, his mother shrieked like only a desperate old mother could. “IVORY!!!?!??”

“AUUUUGGGHHH,” Ivory yelled, but mostly laughed all while retching blood. “THIS HURTS SO MUUUUCH. OOoofff. He feels it! AUGH. HE FEELS ALL OF IT, ANDREW!” she said, laughing maniacally with what little strength Ivory’s body allowed her.

“NO!” Esther screamed. “What are you--” rushing for Ivory, she tripped over herself and crashed onto the floor with a hollow thump.

Whining, she tried to reach for her son.

Andrew watched as Ivory knelt, blood streaming out the wound. He watched Ivory tearing the belly open with the knife to spill out the intestines. His mother squealed in helpless horror, and then passed out. She was luckier for it. Andrew continued to watch as his old friend, his best friend of his younger days, fell over to slam his face into the floor, his strength all gone.

Only then did Andrew get up to approach. Kneeling next to Ivory, Andrew turned him around to meet his eyes. He grabbed hold of his hand, too.

As always, the last moment was genuinely Ivory’s. He was too weak to form words, but the weird eery smile soon twisted into a horrified expression. His natural face.

The glints in the eyes sped through with every thought, now truly his. It wasn’t a dream. He was dying. Andrew was really there. It was his fault.

But better Andrew than alone.

Andrew shed controlled tears and kept Ivory’s gaze for as long as it was alive, squeezing his hand in the hopes that his friend could feel it. Andrew saw in his eyes that he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew said, hoping he could hear it, but he saw in his ears that he didn’t.

After it was over, Andrew swiped his hand across Ivory’s face, covering his eyes. Heartbroken, he rubbed his bloody fist gently against his forehead, seeking a shred of solace.

He didn’t find it, so Andrew turned his thoughts to Esther.

Ivory’s mother was not taken, but would be if he left her there. Yet, she might be taken on their exit from the neighborhood, through a neighbor. Andrew couldn’t take her back since the creature could not know about his safe-houses. His only idea was to take Esther to a mental institution under a false identity, and then hope that she would never be found, but that was wishful thinking. It was even more improbable than the kind of thinking that had brought him there that day.

“This is what you wanted,” Andrew said to Ivory’s corpse. “You can’t kill my body, so you kill my soul. So that I make mistakes like these. If Esther hadn’t gotten rid of your gun, you probably would’ve gotten to me.”

Andrew looked up at the ceiling, crying his heart out, however quietly. She had taken so much. Nearly everything and everyone Andrew had ever held dear.

“I will kill you,” Andrew said, without menace or hate.

It just hurt. The agony was almost too much. Andrew just wanted it all to end, but that’s what she wanted, so he refused. Gnawing at empty frustration with his tired jaw, he walked out of the house to abandon that terrible day.

Andrew had gotten good at abandoning terrible days. It hurt a great deal but there was something stronger than that pain. Something stronger than every pain that he had to endure on a daily basis.

“I’ll find you,” Andrew whispered, speaking it like a mantra. “I’ll find a way to find you, and I’ll kill you.”