The Other Side Of Midnight

He walks to the west wall, pushes the panels in a certain pattern, and part of the wall slides away to reveal what looks like elevator doors. I look at the boxes.

“What’s in them?”

“Treasure. If someone gets as far as this room, the gold and silver will distract them and stop them from searching further,” he replies, as his fingers move quickly over the keypad by the side of the doors.

The doors open and we step into a metal pod. The doors close soundlessly. I don’t know what I thought, but it seems only seconds pass, before the doors swish open to a marble room full of light. I look at Rocco in astonishment. “I thought you said we are miles deep.”

“We are. The system is built with technology still undiscovered by the humans currently inhabiting earth. Remember, we have lived through many planetary destructions and during some of those civilizations ancient humans rose to greater heights than they enjoy now.”

He takes my hand and I follow him. We go out of the marble room into a beautiful house. There are servants walking about and they greet us politely, showing no surprise at our presence. I feel instantly that there is something… off about them. I cannot put my finger on it, but something is wrong.

We leave the house and go out into a sort of Japanese garden. Made out of small, perfectly raked white stones and a few well-placed brown rocks. There is a bridge and a pretty fountain that makes a soothing noise. I notice that the air is not cold, but just warm enough for me to be comfortable. It also feels clean and fresh, as if mountain air is being piped into this space.

We get to a street with rows of shops on either side of it. Everything is so clean and pretty. There are no cars, but lots of bicycles and a kind of tram on rails goes past us. We meet people who immediately smile and wish us a good evening, but again I have the same sense of disquiet that there is something not right about them. And it’s not the ubiquitous leather anklets the women wear, or the leather bracelets the men sport. It is more profound than that.

They seem to be without depth, like NCPs in a video game.

There are no annoying traffic noises, no dirt anywhere, or people behaving badly, but there is such a cardboard quality to the order and tidiness that I can’t help feeling as if I am taking a tour of a fake town built in a movie studio. A woman carrying her small child approaches us from the opposite direction. I see her glance at Rocco, and a flash of fear passes in her eyes. Then she quickly schools her face, and with a smile wishes us good evening. As she hurries past us, I notice she clutches her child closer to her body.

“Want to have a drink? They made good margaritas when I used to come here,” Rocco says, pointing towards a bar. Music is coming from it. I recognize it to be a track from the seventies.

Feeling bemused, I nod, and we walk over to it.

Inside, it is clean and pretty. There are people seated at the tables. There is no one talking loudly, laughing or looking like they may have had too much. When we walk up to the bar, the barman smiles at Rocco. Even though it is a small community where everyone must know everyone, and Rocco and I are clearly strangers, the barman displays more NCP behavior. He shows neither surprise nor curiosity and instead utters the line he must have uttered thousands of times before.

“What can I get you, Sir?”

“Two margaritas.”

The barman nods. “Two margaritas coming up.” He turns away to begin making them. I look around me and to my surprise I see a riot of red curls. My heart stops. Sam! Then she stands and I see that it is not Sam. Of course, it isn’t. Her friend stands too and they start to make their way towards a sign that says, restrooms. And I suddenly realize she is not wearing a leather anklet or bracelet.

I look at Rocco. “I need to use the restrooms.”

It is as if he can read my mind because he frowns. “There are hidden cameras everywhere so be careful what you say to anyone.”

I nod, and follow the girls. When I open the door to the restroom, the other girl is in one of the cubicles and only the redhead is at the mirror. Her eyes slide over to me.

“Good evening,” she says, smoothing down her unruly red curls. Now that I am so close I can see she looks nothing like Sam, even so, I feel close to her. A desire to protect her fills my chest. She must be about the same age as me.