I begin with the first book,A New Dimension, setting it on my lap and peeling it open. The table of contents are first to greet me:Quantum Mechanics (Behavior of Subatomic Particles), Eternal Inflation, Space-time Taking Shape, Mathematical Universes, Parallel Universes & Cosmic Patches.
I glance up at Mr. Blackwood and playfully shove his knee. “Who knew you were the real brainiac here? Hiding in disguise.”
He says nothing. Returning my attention to the pages, I flip straight to the chapter that’s already caught my interest,Parallel Universes & Cosmic Patches. I scan through the lines, skimming over some since, who am I kidding, I don’t know the first thing about this stuff.
To agree with the parallel universe theory, one would need to elaborate on the idea that space-time is flat. . . .With the number of cosmic patches being infinite, there must be a repeat of particle arrangements in them. . . I pause, my brows drawing together as I peek up at Mr. Blackwood once more. He’s watching me, his attention focused, though giving nothing away in his expression. I carry on, jumping over a few more lines here and there.This would mean there are infinite cosmic patches identical to ours.. . .Let me be clear that the multiverse concept cannot technically be classified as a theory when it, in fact, stems from current theories such as quantum mechanics and string theory.
“Mr. Blackwood,” I start, my index finger holding my spot. “What is this?”
When he doesn’t reply, I skip several pages until I reach the closing section.
While the idea of an infinite number of parallel universes has long been considered a distinct scientific possibility, it will continue to be a matter of heated debate among physicists—as it should be. With our current proven concepts on the matter, room for interpretation is limitless, as is room for error. That being said, science and reality have long been on different wavelengths. If history has taught us anything, it is this: just because one theory has yet to be proven today, does not disqualify it from being an active truth—taking place before the very eyes we seek so desperately to prove them with.
I’m stunned into silence by the time I complete the next few pages, and I’m left wondering where all of this came about, and where he’s going with it. After a moment, I’m able to close my mouth, and the book, and find my voice. “How exactly does one go from being a private investigator to researching work like . . . this?”
At that, Mr. Blackwood slowly rises to his feet. He eyes the door, and I instinctively tense up, bracing to tackle. “No way. You are not escaping again.”
He rolls his eyes, an expression that looks particularly odd coming from him, and shakes his head. “Get up.”
“Why?” I ask, even as I oblige.
“Because . . .” He grabs the book I haven’t opened yet, then turns and wobbles toward the edge of the sofa, carefully lowering himself as he retrieves his cane once more. “I believe it’s time to explain those notes you found earlier.”
Chapter 40
As Mr. Blackwoodsits at the foot of the guest bed, the same manila folder I’d seen once before spread open in his hands, I find myself toying with my mood ring again as my thoughts wander back tohim, the man I slept with last night. The man from another world, who, despite the steel-eyed ways he’d known before me, had somehow managed to make love with all the raw passion of someone from my own world. Someone human.
Mr. Blackwood’s words float into mind,just because one theory has yet to be proven today, does not disqualify it from being an active truth—taking place before the very eyes we seek so desperately to prove them with. I can’t help but connect them to my own situation; what’s happening between me and Death. Crossing over to other worlds, the idea of the universe confusing us for one another, blending us together. What would Mr. Blackwood have to say about a thing like this? For a moment, I allow myself to contemplate revealing everything to him. To ponder over the possibility that there may be another person out there willing to try and understand.
“So,” Mr. Blackwood’s gruff voice calls me back into the guest room, to the manila folder he now extends to me. “You want answers?”
I take the file, opening it carefully. “Yes.”
“Well, I do, too. Take another look at those notes.”
And so I do. I remove them from the folder, fanning the small papers out. There are six all together. The ones that greet me first are the three I’d seen before.
I AM NOT DEAD.
I CAN’T HOLD ON.
SAVE ME.
The chill that came crawling up my back when I’d first set eyes on those words hits me again, chasing my spine with renewed purpose. I have to take a deep breath. Setting those behind the others, I read on.
I’M LOSING MYSELF.
THE DARKNESS CONSUMES ME.
PLEASE. I DON’T WANT TO FORGET.
The darkness. I’m losing myself. No. I know that feeling. I know that kind of darkness. But there’s no way this is the same thing. My grip has tightened, the papers crinkling in my grasp, shaking as my fingers tremble. “Wh-what is this?”
The creases around Mr. Blackwood’s eyes deepen as they narrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Mr. Blackwood, I’m serious. What is this?”
I don’t know if it’s the tone my voice has taken or if it’s that he’s just as tired of going in circles as I am, but he clears his throat, runs a hand through his scraggly grey beard, and gestures to an empty space beside him. Still trembling, I lower myself slowly onto the bed.
