Vic III

Vic stared at the messages that seemed to arrive unsent from the future. Messages he’d never written, on a phone he hadn’t been carrying, to a person who didn’t exist (at least not anywhere that he could find). Insanity was, at this point, the only rational answer.

Except he felt sure of this morning’s events. Certain that his experiences were real, and not some figment (figment of fractures) of his imagination (cracks in the figment).

He opened his photos. Surely at some point, he’d taken a photo with Meg, right? Maybe a selfie? He needed to prove to himself, if no one else, that Meg had been real.

He stopped scrolling, and clicked on a picture. Two drinks, one toast to the camera, and two people. The moment seemed so arbitrary at the time — a quick snap to send to some friends to wish them well. Looking at the photo now overwhelmed him with a combination of relief and confusion.

Meg is real. She’s right there. Vic didn’t know what to do. If he couldn’t confirm that she was real, if he had believed he’d invented an entire person and started hallucinating their entire relationship, then at least he knew what steps to take next. But this? He couldn’t tell anyone (anyone but Meg). He couldn’t walk into a computer store, show them a bunch of failed texts, and ask them why reality was broken.

That’s okay, there aren’t any computer stores left, anyway.

Vic began to giggle. The giggle turned into laughter, then a roar. There was nothing to do. His job was over. His friend missing, along with her entire office. And the Breach had finally reached his town. Didn’t matter — this area was done, anyway.

The roar of laughter became a scream. Bent down, face toward the pavement, screaming into the earth like a challenge to Hades himself.

Vic dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back. Lying in the middle of the road, in his deserted little town, he didn’t know if he was crying, yelling, or laughing. Probably all three. There was no one around to hear him, anyway.