Upon opening his eyes Mike saw that Eloise had gone. He hadn't heard the door though which meant that either he'd been incredibly intent on scratching the back of his head, or Eloise had left extremely quietly.
He suspected the latter.
“I did know about the planned beverages, I just don't know that I did?”
Mike shrugged and got to his feet. Whatever it was that was going on, he'd already decided that he didn't like it. The whole thing from Mars Incorporated and everything that went with it, to Sandra and the kids and Darren. It gave Mike an extremely uneasy feeling indeed.
“I'm going to get some air,” he said to no one in particular, which was a good thing considering that no one was actually listening. Few people were around and those that were appeared to be very busy doing very important things.
He headed for the elevator.
The Truth About the Dark Chocolate Muffin
Now Mike was certain he'd pressed the button for the lobby which is why he was so surprised to find, as the elevator doors slid silently open, that he was on the roof.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” he said, chuckling as he looked upon the rooftop garden. There was grass at his feet, a gravel path was but a few steps away, and he could hear water babbling somewhere.
As there seemed to be little else for it, Mike followed the path.
After about a mile he figured that there must be something very wrong, because although he couldn't say for certain, Mike was fairly sure that the rooftop of Mars Incorporated wasn't large enough to facilitate such a vast garden.
Even though he'd not seen anyone else since alighting the elevator Mike could hear voices, and had been able to do so since he'd first stepped foot upon the path.
Then through a break in the shrubbery, he saw Eloise on her back with her legs spread, whilst her dark chocolate muffin...
“Oh,” said Mike, quietly. “That'll be why there were no crumbs then.”
The Mating Habits of a White Russian
At the sound of a throat being cleared behind him, Mike turned around to see someone whom he could only describe as being very much like a museum tour guide.
“Can I help you?” Mike asked, only to be immediately shushed by the man who put him in mind of Bill Oddie. Spectacles behind which two beady eyes sat, and a podgy face bottomed with a white bushy beard.
“Quiet voices, please,” the man whispered. “We don't want to scare away those mating birds.”
“You mean Eloise and her dark chocolate muffin?”
“Exactly. Now if you don't mind, I have a tour group wanting view the love birds in their natural habitat.”
“How rare it is to see an interracial pairing such as this,” one of the group commented.
“You and I obviously haven't seen the same DVDs,” said another, chuckling.
All the time the Bill Oddie lookalike and his tour group were there Mike had his back to Eloise and her partner, but as they moved on in search of the next exhibit he turned back around.
The women were in exactly the same position, though both appeared to be a little sweatier than they had been. Moisture glistened upon exposed skin and Mike was certain that both were panting.
“Eloise!” he said, pushing through the shrubbery.
“Oh, hello, Mike,” she replied without looking up. “Would you care to join us? Cassandra goes both ways you know.”
“I'm fine but thank you all the same.”
“Your loss, sugar,” said Cassandra, turning to wink as she spoke, giving Mike much more of a view than he'd expected. “Give me a couple of minutes and this White Russian will be with you.”
“I didn't realise Eloise was Russian,” said Mike, quietly.
A Flickering Rose By Any Other Name
“You appear confused, Mike.”
He whipped his head around and saw Rose smiling at him.
“To be fair, you're not far wrong,” he replied. For the briefest of moments, Mike swore that Rose, flickered...
“Perhaps it would be best if you tried not to think about things too much,” she said, still smiling sweetly. “I'm certain everything will become clear soon enough.”
“You're sure?” Mike asked, “because to be perfectly honest I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.”
“Oh, Mike,” said Rose. He was certain he could detect pity in her voice. “You need to lighten up a tad.”
“Is that right?” Lightening up was the last thing Mike wanted to do. He could feel every muscle in his body tensing and he was fairly convinced he was sweating profusely.
She flickered again, he was sure of it.
“What are you?”
“I'm the key, Mike,” she replied, her physical presence flickering between each word spoken. “I'm the key. Follow the black cat. Find me and set yourself free.”
R&R
Rose flickered once more and disappeared before Mike's very eyes. He almost jumped out of his skin when Eloise tapped him gently on the shoulder and he flung himself around.
“Are you all right, Mike?” she asked, licking her lips as she straightened her attire.
“You know, I really don't think I am,” he replied. “I think I might well be going insane.”
“Don't let Human Resources hear you say that,” said Eloise, quietly. “That's exactly the reason your predecessor disappeared.”
“But... what is this place?”
“Mars Incorporated, Mike,” she replied, puzzled. “You should know that. You're CEO.”
“I mean, what's this place?” he said, opening his arms wide to demonstrate he was actually talking about the rooftop acres.
“It's the Rest and Recreation department,” she replied. “I told you, we're all about having fun here at Mars Incorporated.”
“OK,” said Mike, sighing a little.
“Don't forget you have a meeting in an hour,” she said. “With Rose.”
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
Mike only just made it to his meeting. It took him almost an hour to find his way to the elevator upon the roof. He eventually found it of course, between a rock and a hard place, and by the time he stumbled down the corridor towards his office he was a little out of breath, slightly sweaty and in desperate need of a stiff drink.
He didn't notice that Rose was already in his office until he'd closed the door behind him and having seen her, he was extremely pleased to note that she didn't appear to be flickering at all.
“Hello, Mike,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I took the liberty of pouring myself a drink. One for you, too. Something tells me that you're going to need it.”
Without saying a word Mike took the glass from her hand and downed its contents in a single gulp before taking a seat behind his desk.
“...” Mike began, but Rose cut him off with a slight hand movement.
“Please, let me speak,” she said. “We don't have much time.”
“OK...” said Mike.”
“First and foremost... I'm not really here,” she began. “That is to say whilst I'm here a physical sense, I'm actually elsewhere. I can affect my surroundings to a point – I can drink, for example.”
She stopped talking when she saw the look of confusion upon Mike's face and smiled sweetly. She stood and poured him another drink, and sat down again before she continued.
“You're not really here either, Mike. Nor is your wife, your kids or Darren.”
“But...”
“Trust me, Mike,” Rose said, quietly. “I speak true.”
The Real Me
“I still don't understand,” Mike said, persisting with the argument that'd been raging for almost twenty-five minutes. “How can I, you... we, everybody... not be bloody well here?”
Mike found it an incredibly difficult concept to get his head around, mostly because his head refused to accept the insinuation that he didn't exist, or at the very best was a figment of someone's imagination.
“I
refuse to believe that I don't exist,” he said, voicing his thoughts. “To suggest that I'm nothing more than a mere dream is preposterous!”
“Believe it or not,” Rose said with a heavy sigh. “It's the truth, sort of... I wish it wasn't so, but it is.”
“There's no way we can all be figments of somebody else's imagination,” Mike insisted. “It doesn't make any sense!”
“I know,” she replied, shaking her head. “I know.”
“But assuming that is actually the case,” he said with pursed lips. “What can we do about it?”
“That's the spirit,” she replied with a smile.
“Wait, didn't you say something about you being the key?”
“I did,” said Rose. “Find me, Mike. Find the real me. Then and only then, can things be put right.”
Ten-Gallon Head Gear
Rose flickered like one of those ghosts in the movies no one believes and disappeared. That left Mike alone and he wasn't particularly happy about that.
He wondered if anyone else knew. He hoped they did because he'd no idea what the bloody hell he was doing.
OK so assuming I accept that what Rose said is true, he silently began, what the bloody hell does that mean? How am I supposed to find the real her if she's the figment of someone else's imagination, stuck in a bloody dream?
Mike looked up at a knock on the door and something rather odd occurred. Despite its off-centre position to his left, the door became the focal point of the room. Everything else became fuzzy including the pool table that Mike was certain hadn't been there before. No, the only thing he could see with any clarity, was the door.
“Yes..?” he ventured. A second later Eloise entered, followed by Cassandra, Darren and Sandra.
Without so much as a word they walked towards him in single file, keeping within the confines of the tunnel of focused vision.
It seemed to take them an age to reach his desk but when they did it was as if they'd always been there.
“So now you know, Mike,” said Sandra. “We're not really here, and yet we're trapped here.”
There was something slightly off about Sandra, but Mike realised that was most likely the fact she was dressed like bloody Lara Croft. Darren and Cassandra appeared to be wearing cowboy get-up, complete with ten-gallon head gear. It was Eloise's attire that really threw Mike for a loop though, as she appeared to be Catwoman.
The Best Massage Ever
“Follow the black cat...” Mike half-whispered, and Eloise smiled.
“Rest your head back, Mike,” said Sandra as she slid across the desk with such skill that the guns strapped to her thighs were never in danger of scratching the polished wood surface. “This will only take a moment.”
Doing as instructed Mike rested his head back. Sandra placed her hands on either side, massaging his temples with her supple fingertips.
“God... that's good,” he muttered, pretty sure his eyes had rolled back so all that was visible were the whites. “Blimey, Sandra... if I'd known about this talent of yours, I'd have...”
Those present never found out what Mike would've done had he known about Sandra's talent - though they were probably able to guess well enough – for an explosion went off inside Mike's head whilst he was mid-sentence, an explosion so powerful that for the minutest fraction of a fraction of a second, he died.
'Sup, Mike?
During that fraction of a fraction of a second, Mike experienced things of which he'd never had the capacity to conceive.
Life and death, love and hate, fear and fearlessness. Absolutes that although the human mind is unable to process are ever present nonetheless.
During that fraction of a fraction of a second, Mike's mouth tasted like tin. After the event if you were to ask him, “hey, Mike. Why tin?” he wouldn't have been able to tell you but during that fraction of a of a fraction of a second Mike knew exactly why his mouth tasted like tin.
If you'd asked him, during that fraction of a fraction of a second exactly why his mouth tasted like tin, Mike would've answered thusly.
“My mouth tastes like tin for the very same reason that my hair is made of blueberry jam,” he'd have said and he'd have been right, for the reason that during that fraction of a second his mouth tasted like tin and his hair was made out of blueberry jam were one and the same.
There were many more things of much greater importance though, of which Mike was aware during the fraction of a fraction of a second that he was dead.
He knew the numbers for next weeks' lottery – in fact he knew the winning numbers for every possible lottery for all of eternity – and he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, bourbon creams were what God originally intended all biscuits to be modelled on. Speaking of which he knew beyond a all reasonable doubt that God actually existed, a definite conundrum for an atheist such as he.
“'Sup, Mike?” said God, during a very brief conversation that lasted for all of eternity, during the fraction of a fraction of a second that he was dead. “Break a leg, yeah?”
More importantly than all of that though, during that fraction of a fraction of a second, Mike knew exactly where the real Rose could be found.
Rebirth
Mike felt his consciousness re-enter his body, having been away for quite some time yet simultaneously not really that long at all.
It's a bizarre experience when one's consciousness re-enters one's body. Somewhat of a downer to be honest, considering the fact that when one's consciousness is free to roam the nether, one has no need to worry about the physical aspects of life which is why Mike sighed heavily when he felt the gammy knee he'd barely noticed before, and the ingrowing toenail that he definitely had noticed prior to his death and was, if anything, more painful than it had once been.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, buddy,” said Darren, though he spoke with the kind of drawl you only ever really hear in Westerns.
“Yeah, erm... thanks,” Mike replied as he tried to ignore the considerable amount of pain emitting from his left big toe. “You guys know God exists, right?”
“Yup,” said Cassandra.
“Yeah,” Eloise and Sandra replied together.
“He tell you to break a leg, did he?”
“He did...” replied Mike in answer to Darren's question. “Of course there's only the minor issue of my atheism to contend with.”
“Pretty sure that don't matter,” said Cassandra. It seemed to Mike that she'd got the hang of cowboy speak much better than Darren.
“But whilst it's quite clear that God exists it's equally as clear that none of us, do,” Mike continued. “Not here, anyway.”
“You think we're all out there somewhere in the big wide world?” Eloise asked, and for a moment Mike smirked. It was nice for him to have at least some of the answers for a change.
“Well it stands to reason, doesn't it?” he replied with a smile.
Security Protocols?
“I suppose we'd better get started on finding Rose,” said Mike. “The real Rose, that is.”
“Y'know where t'look?” Cassandra asked, and it was indeed a valid question. Mike knew he should've known the answer too, but no matter how hard he racked his brains, he couldn't locate the appropriate piece of information. He could narrow it down though. Earth, Scotland, Outer Hebrides.
“Well,” said Eloise, wetting her hair with the back of her licked hand. “At least that's a start.”
“Yeah,” said Sandra, tossing her head back. “We gotta' get off Mars first.”
“You say that like you think it's not going to be easy,” said Mike. He looked at the woman attired as Lara Croft from Tomb Raider, knowing that in all likelihood she probably wasn't his wife. In fact it was wholly possible that even if Mike and Sandra did exist in the real world, they'd never met each other nor would they ever do so.
Still, he had a few soapy memories...
“Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to get us here, dream wo
rld or not,” Sandra replied. “I can't be alone in thinking that whomsoevers dream this is won't take too kindly to us making a break for it.”
“Lady Croft's right,” said Eloise. “Mars Inc. has a massive amount of security protocols to which I was never privy.”
“Security protocols?” Mike asked, his eyebrow raised. “Such as..?”
“Which part of my not being privy to those protocols is unclear, Mike?”
“Well... yes, all right,” he conceded. “You do make a fair point.”
“Airport's prob'ly our best bet,” said Darren, finally starting to get to grips with cowboy speak.
“I agree,” said Mike.
Glass Shatters
Having made the joint decision that the airport was the best location to find transport back to Earth, the group made to leave Mike's office. Doing so though, would've been an easier task were it not for the fact that upon walking through the door and thus – in theory – exiting the room, they didn't end up directly behind Mike's desk in the very office they were doing their best to leave.
They repeated the same actions a dozen or so times before finally consigning themselves to the fact that the Security Protocols didn't want them to leave.
“There must be another way out,” said Mike. “A back door of some kind.”
“You're assuming then, that this dream world is similar in design to a piece of software?” asked Eloise.
“I'm assuming nothing,” Mike replied. “But if that's not the case and there is in fact no back door, then we're stuck here. I'm buggered if I'll accept that.”
“Window.” The single word was a statement, most definitely a statement and not a question. Cassandra was right though, for there was no other visible way out of the room.
With a shrug, Sandra drew her Lara Croft guns and fired repeatedly at the window. The glass shattered eventually, and the group headed over to the hole.