If Kevin was the last soul on earth, then whowas knocking on the door? The terror of the thought did battle with Kevin's curiosity.
Knock-knock-knock!
His curiosity won. Kevin grabbed the brass knob and turned until the mechanism clicked.
A breeze pushed its way through as the door opened, smelling sweetly of spring grass and trees. A man stood at the threshold. He was lean and good-looking, with a face not unlike Kevin's father's, only younger—he was twenty-three or twenty-four at the most. He wore a bathrobe.
Kevin thought he knew who this was, although he never expected Him to look like this. Under normal circumstances, Kevin would have felt awe and amazement—but then, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have come face to face with God in a bathrobe. Now, as things stood, Kevin was simply too sick and too exhausted to feel anything at all.
The visitor at his threshold, on the other hand, seemed awed enough for both of them. He looked around at the walls and at the hole where the bathroom had been with childlike wonder. "Wow," he said.
"I'm sorry," said Kevin. "I'm sorry I screwed up so bad."
"You look like crap," said his guest. "You should be in bed." Then he took Kevin in his arms and brought him back to his bedroom, where he laid Kevin down and covered him with a blanket.
The man introduced himself as "Brian," and said he had come a long way.
"I'm sorry," croaked Kevin again.
"Save it," said Brian. He went to wet a towel and then used it to blot Kevin's head. "You'll be sick for a while," said Brian. "It'll get worse before it gets better, but I'll stay here with you."
"I'm sorry for what I did," begged Kevin.
"Just shut up and get some rest."
Kevin drifted in and out of consciousness as the sickness got worse, but Brian never left his side. Kevin thought he would die a thousand times over, but after what seemed like an eternity, it began to get a little bit better, as Brian had promised.
Kevin opened his eyes to find Brian sitting at his desk, building an elaborate Lego castle.
"Amazing things," said Brian. "I haven't played with these in years."
"What time is it?" asked Kevin.
"Nine-forty-two."
"Oh, right," said Kevin. "Duh!"
Brian sighed. "I'd better get back." He got up from Kevin's desk. "It's been surreal, but I've got places to go and people to see."
He took one last look around and laughed. "What a scream," he said. "I hope I remember this."
Kevin followed him to the hallway, his legs feeling stronger by the minute.
"Wait, you're just gonna leave me here?"
"That's the general idea."
"But you can't go!" cried Kevin. "Everything's still screwed up—and what about the glasses?"
"The glasses!" said Brian with an amazed grin, as if remembering something he had completely forgotten.
"I can't get myself out of this," said Kevin. "Even if I had the glasses, I can't undo the things I've done—I've tried every which way. . . ."
Brian shrugged. "Did you let someone else try? Maybe someone else could use the glasses to fix the things you can't."
The thought robbed the very air from Kevin's lungs, making him dizzy and speechless. As he thought about it, Kevin realized that Brian had the answer. How selfish and short-sighted Kevin had been! Why couldn't he have seen that it would take someone else to "re-imagine" the mess he created? Teri, Josh—anybody could have done it if Kevin had let them try. It had always been in his power to fix things—by the simple act of letting it be in someone else's power. But there were not others left—only Kevin and Brian.
Brian grabbed the doorknob.
"Wait," said Kevin. "I've got an idea. The glasses are probably healed by now. I'll go get them and give them to you—and you can fix everything!"
"That's the whole point," said Brian. "I can't fix things."
"Yeah, you can," pleaded Kevin. "You can fix anything—I'll bet you don't even need those dumb old glasses to do it, either."
Brian just shook his head. "What are you, nuts? Who do you think I am?"
"I know who you are," said Kevin, in a solemn voice reserved for extremely important information.
"No," said Brian. "I think you're still seriously clueless. Take a good look, Shrimpoid." Then Brian knelt down to Kevin's level and looked into Kevin's eyes—eyes the same shade of blue as his own. This close, Kevin's blurry vision came into focus, and he could see everything about Brian's face that he had missed before; the slope of his nose and the shape of his eyes, and the tint of his dirty-blond curly. hair. It was all so very familiar—so familiar that for the strangest moment, Kevin thought he was looking into a mirror.
Brian didn't have to tell him who he was, because now Kevin knew. He should have known from the very beginning—not because of the hair, or the eyes, or the tone of his voice, but because his visitor chose to call himself Brian, which was, after all, Kevin's middle name.
"But, how . . . ?"
"Beats me," said "Brian." "Maybe you asked to see your own future while those supercharged shades were still on your face. So, do you like what you see?"
Kevin smiled. "I like it a lot." Kevin was about to begin throwing out all the questions—what do I grow up to be? Where do I live? What happens to everyone else? But before he could say another word, a sound came wailing in from beyond the door. It was a very familiar drone, and now Kevin knew how Brian's journey was possible. The sound on the other side of the door was an alarm clock.
"Gotta go." Brian pulled open the door. "Can't sleep my life away!"
"But how do I get out of this?" asked Kevin.
"I can't remember."
As Brian crossed the threshold, Kevin peered in, but Brian stepped in his way, blocking his view.
"No peeking," he said.
"Right. See you later, Shrimpoid."
"Who are you calling Shrimpoid?" said Brian with a smile, and Kevin noticed for the first time that "Brian" was about six feet tall.
Brian closed the door, slicing off the sound of the alarm, and when the echo of the door had faded, the stillness of 9:42 returned once more.
Kevin, still weak and a little tipsy, hurried downstairs, out the back door, and up the hill. He hadn't seen much of the world beyond "Brian's" door, but the glimpse he did get was enough. He saw a life for himself! A world with a blue sky and trees and sunshine. There was a way out!
At the top of the hill, the glasses were nowhere to be seen.
Kevin carefully searched through the dirt beneath the twisted tower, in an ever-widening circle, with patience and determination. Finding a needle in a haystack was, after all, a simple enough thing if one took the time to do the job right.
Kevin found the glasses in the tall grass near one of the legs of the tower. Sure enough, the glasses had pulled themselves back into one piece, and although the lenses were still covered with hairline fractures, they were already beginning to disappear, one by one.
The glasses will always be here, thought Kevin. They would always be there, waiting—but they weren't necessarily waiting for him, were they? That was just in his own head. The glasses, after all, were just a machine. Kevin's putting the glasses on was no different than if he had gotten behind the wheel of a monster truck and headed downtown. If he ended up totaling every car in town, it wouldn't be the truck's fault—he had no business driving the thing to begin with.
With that in mind, Kevin slipped the shades into his pocket and decided to go looking for a truck driver.
Just a few miles north of town, Kevin hit the front of the storm, where stationery raindrops hung in the air like an impossibly dense fog, soaking him to the bone. As he walked along the highway, he noticed that things around him were changing. It wasn't just his eyes, he was certain of it. The buildings and trees around him were only shadows, and even the raindrops that hung in the air seemed less and less real.
It was as if now that the world had stopped, it was beginning to fade away lik
e an old snapshot. Soon it would all disappear into gray nothingness.
Kevin trod the wet roads, resting only when he absolutely had to, on a trek that would have taken many days had clocks been counting time.
Kevin trudged through cities, then towns, then into wilderness, until he finally came face-to-face with the mountain.
The Divine Watch, robbed of its color, disappeared into the rain clouds. Kevin forged his way to the base of the mountain, resting for only a few moments before beginning the climb.
He made his way up and up until the clouds became a thick mist around him. Then they gave way to a sky the likes of which had never been seen before. Though it was already beginning to fade, the sky of Kevin's imagination was magnificent.
It looked like a painting in brilliant shades of blue, violet, and red. Spheres of planets loomed huge and imposing on the horizon, beneath triple suns that cast Kevin's shadow in three different directions. It was every bit as impressive as another world could be, but now that he had seen it once, Kevin didn't care to see it again. He would just as soon cram it all back into his own head and forget about it.
The earth below had disappeared beneath endless layers of clouds. All that remained were the sky and the mountain.
Kevin climbed hand over hand in a constant rhythm toward the heavens until, at last, his hand came to rest atop the Divine Watch. He pulled himself up to see the empty tabletop of smooth granite. Then he pulled the glasses from his pocket.
Yes, thought Kevin, they would always be here, never too far out of reach—but that was okay. He had the power to resist—he just needed to remember that.
Kevin opened the glasses and set them on the flat surface of the Divine Watch.
"Here," he said to the top of the mountain. "These look better on you."
Kevin waited and watched.
At first nothing happened, and he thought with a horrible sinking sensation that he had failed. Then Kevin noticed it; the three shadows of his hand began to move.
Up above, the suns converged into a single sun, and the planets slowly slipped off the horizon.
A breeze became a wind and the wind became a gale that whipped across Kevin's face, and as Kevin stared into the glasses, he saw, for the first time, what Josh had always seen. Beneath the swimming colors on the surface of the glasses was an eternity—an unknowable depth. Dimensions and universes—possibilities—so many of them that Kevin had to look away for fear that if he kept staring into the mind behind the glasses now, he would be dragged down into it and disappear.
Everything happened more quickly now. The clouds below him boiled. Night became day, day became night, over and over again, and Kevin's mind began to swirl, all his facts and fictions becoming one big blur as reality was once more re-imagined.
There was a moment—just an instant in time— when reality and dreams met each other before switching places. It was a moment of absolute insanity, when Kevin couldn't tell the difference between what existed and what did not and couldn't make sense of his broken thoughts. Where was he? What was going on? Then the moment passed, and when it did, the suns, the planets, and the rainstorm fell deep into the core of Kevin's mind, where they, once and forever, ceased to exist.
Kevin thrust his hand up through the wind, desperately trying to grasp something, as his mind took hold and he remembered where he was and what he was doing.
He was climbing a mountain.
With eyes wet and cold, Kevin reached out his right hand, and finally his fingertips touched the flat top of the Divine Watch.
"What's it like, Kevin?" Josh yelled over the wind.
"Do you see anything up there?" called Hal.
"Well, what's happening up there, Midas?" yelled Bertram. "We ain't got all day!"
There was something there! Kevin pulled himself up another inch until his head eclipsed the rising sun, and the object was trapped in his shadow.
"Its . . . it's a pair of glasses!" said Kevin.
As Kevin stretched out his arm toward the sunglasses, the wind screamed in his ears, and reality suddenly took hold.
What was he doing here? He could fall! He could die! What was he thinking! Panic screamed at him like a thousand voices in the wind, demanding he leave this dangerous place now and get back to the campsite this very instant.
He drew back his hand, leaving the glasses untouched and undisturbed.
"Let us get up there, Midas. Get out of the way!" demanded Bertram.
Kevin tried to make room for the others, but he moved too quickly and lost his balance.
Kevin fell onto Josh, who toppled onto Hal, who crashed into Bertram, and the foursome plunged down the rocky cliff, rolling over sharp rocks and over each other until they smashed against a hard plateau fifty feet below.
Everyone wound up with minor cuts and bruises except for Kevin.
Kevin broke his leg.
CHAPTER 17
After the Fall
"It'll be okay," said Bertram. "I'll go get help," Bertram turned to go, but before he did, he punched Hal in the arm. "This is your fault," he said.
Hal ran off to search for branches to help make a splint, and Josh sat beside Kevin, propping him up and helping him bear the pain.
The break was bad. Kevin had always imagined that if he broke his leg, he would die from the pain, but he didn't.
"Does it hurt real bad?" Josh asked Kevin.
"Real bad," answered Kevin. "But not real, real bad."
"You'll be fine, Kevin, don't worry," said Josh.
The sun was higher now, filling the valley with a warm glow. The light hit Kevin's face, and he relaxed just enough for the pain to drop a notch.
There was something gnawing at Kevin'smind—as if there was something he ought to remember, but it was slipping away. All that remained was a certainty that he would be okay— that Bertram would bring help, that his leg would heal, and that the world would go on. Even something as unpredictable as falling and breaking his leg did have a very predictable outcome—and that simple thought comforted his piercing pain. On its worst days, the world still made some sort of sense, and that was a good thing.
"Look, Josh," said Kevin, peering down at the spectacular view in the valley before them. "Way down there—I can see cars at that picture spot we stopped at. The people look like ants!"
"How can you see that?" asked Josh. "You're blind as a bat without your glasses."
Glasses? thought Kevin. Do I wear glasses? He was baffled for a moment, but the moment passed. "I have twenty-twenty vision—you know that, Josh," said Kevin. "I don't wear glasses."
"That's right," said Josh, scratching his head. "That's funny . . . I wonder why I thought you did. . . ."
Beneath them, the morning unfolded on the valley in glowing shades of green and gold. A lazy smile stretched across Kevin's face.
"Kevin," asked Josh, beginning to worry, "you okay?"
"Never better," said Kevin, and he laughed, because he knew it was true.
Josh tried to hold back a smile but couldn't. "You're crazy, Kevin," said Josh. "Certifiable," but they both laughed long and loud until their voices rang out across the valley, echoing from here till doomsday.
Neal Shusterman, The Eyes of Kid Midas
(Series: # )
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