“Here is the disturbing part. The Thirteen Realities we know about are solid and permanent. But fragmented Realities are not—we’ve told you before how unstable they are, and how they eventually fade away or destroy themselves. Now you know the reason—an extreme heightening and acceleration of entropy. And I mean extreme. It almost becomes a living entity, devouring everything in its path, as you just witnessed. Once fragmented, a Reality doesn’t last long—and its final moments are pure terror for the poor chaps living there. It is an awful thing.”
Master George took a deep breath. “We don’t understand all of it. There’s much to learn, much to discuss. It’s time the three of you started your Realitant studies, and this is the first lesson of many. And most importantly, I wanted you to see firsthand the severe consequences of your choices. If you’d lacked the courage to pass my tests, perhaps . . . well, it is a very deep and complicated situation. But we must stop the fragmenting. Even though we will never feel the pain and terror of those temporary Alterants, it’s very real to them, if only briefly. Makes it hard for me to sleep at night.”
Muffintops jumped out of his arms and disappeared off screen. “Very well, thank you for watching. There are many other mysteries to discuss—like the odd properties of soulikens and the Barrier Haunce. All in good time. We’ll look forward to the gathering of Realitants. Until then, remember your courage, my good friends. Good-bye for now.”
Master George smiled at the camera for a few seconds, saying nothing. His eyes flickered to the side, as if he looked uncomfortable. Finally, he mumbled something out of the side of his mouth. “Turn the camera off, Rutger.”
The screen went black, then red, then silver. The hum of the Spinner died out as the metal rod slowly came to a standstill. All the while, no one said anything.
“What was that?” Sofia finally asked.
Tick ignored her, pushing past and walking out of the dining room. The spaghetti churned inside his stomach, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last before throwing up. A throbbing ache raged behind his eyeballs.
“Tick?” Paul asked from behind.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” was all Tick could get out.
He barely said a word the rest of the evening, ignoring his friends and family equally. The image of that boy on the screen—of himself—screaming and then dissolving . . .
How could he ever get that out of his head?
He went to bed early that night while everyone else watched a movie downstairs.
~
The next morning, Tick, Paul, and Sofia decided to get out of the house and talk over things—maybe do some research at the library. Tick felt a little better on waking up; every time the disturbing image of his fragmenting Alterant popped in his head, he tried to picture Muffintops. After another excellent Lorena Higginbottom breakfast of eggs and fried potatoes, the three of them headed out.
They stayed mostly silent until they reached the long road that led from Tick’s neighborhood to the town square of Deer Park. The rising sun kept the east side of the street in shade, the towering evergreens and oak trees of the forest providing relief from the late summer heat. The humidity had dipped considerably in the last couple of days, giving the air a hot but pleasant feel. Birds and crickets sang their songs in the woods; somewhere in the distance a lawn mower cranked up.
“Man, feels good out here,” Paul said, bending over to pick up a rock. He threw it deep into the woods; it cracked against a tree.
“You guys need to come to Italy sometime,” Sofia said. “In the summer, we can go up to the Alps and cool off. Best place in the world.”
“No argument here,” Paul replied. “Florida downright stinks this time of year. You go outside for two seconds and presto—sweaty armpits.”
“Lovely,” Sofia said.
Tick only half-listened to the conversation, staring into the woods as they walked. They neared the spot where so much had happened a few months ago—meeting Mothball, the sign from Rutger about the midnight meeting on the porch, getting clues from the two of them, screaming in desperation after Kayla had burned his original letter from Master George. It all seemed like a dream now.
“—to Tick, Earth to Tick.” Paul had stopped, snapping his fingers in the air.
“Oh, sorry,” Tick said. “Just daydreaming.”
Sofia sighed. “Better than listening to Paul drone on, trust me.”
“Miss Italy, be nice to me. I might have to save you on our next mission.”
“I better update my will.”
“Hilarious.”
“I know.”
The Muffintops distraction trick wasn’t working so well for Tick as they walked. That kid. That poor kid. The whole concept of Alterants was confusing—especially when you threw in the whole thing about fragmented Realities. What was the difference between the Tick they’d seen in Rutger’s film, Tick himself, and the Ticks that existed in the stabilized Thirteen Realities? It made his head hurt thinking about it.
“What do you guys think of all that entropy stuff?” he asked, kicking at a pebble on the road and watching it skitter across the pavement.
“I remember studying it in science,” Sofia said. “Seems crazy that it could be accelerated like that and just . . . eat away at the world.”