Arrow Rock Literary Journal

Trevor Igeby flicked the switch on his lighter and lit the hand-rolled cigarette, shoving it between his lips and taking a deep, long drag. He stood leaning against the door to his father’s office, right foot up on the hand-carved wood as he zoned out the blubbering of his red-faced old man.

“…and you just sit there staring at me! Eyes all shiny from the dope and the smoke and the- the…!”

Hubert Igeby trailed off with a disappointed huff, waving his hand behind him while turning around,

“Just get out of my sight!”

Trevor shrugged, turning to oblige him before the final mutterings of his father reached his ears:

“If only your brother was here, instead. He would’ve been worthy of inheriting my company!”

The young man paused, turned his head and almost graced his father with a vulgar reply. Instead, he dropped his cigarette on the tile floor and stomped it out before exiting the room.

Trevor’s older brother, Cassius, had been perfect in every way. He had the perfect amount of both their mother and father: the crass attitude of their father, with the gentleness of their mother to be a voice of reason in irritating situations. He had all the features: tall, blonde, and blue-eyed. People gave him everything he asked for. A master communicator, he was always open with his thoughts and feelings. His hobbies made their father proud, taking on football and golf like he had. He had a commanding, chiseled figure, perfectly white teeth. “Boy Wonder” in every way.

The only thing that hadn’t been perfect for him was his choice of a girlfriend. Anna Saunders, the next American model, had grown up with the two Igeby brothers. She was a feisty, redheaded, passionate young woman; it was inevitable that both men would fall in love with her. She chose Cassius, of course. But she did not change her lifestyle for him.

The pressures of modeling one’s body involved harsh critiquing, photoshopping, and strict dieting. One night, in a rage because of what her boss had told her, Anna insisted that she and Cassius go out clubbing. Completely drunk, she had also convinced the well-known son of a billionaire to walk the streets of the city well into the early morning hours. On that fateful day, a desperate drug addict was in their path, and he bore a pistol underneath his worn jacket.

Shot square in the chest while protecting his girlfriend, Anna had not been sober enough to get help for Cassius in time. The offender fled with his watch and wallet, and the paramedics could not revive him once they arrived.

Trevor, ever the black sheep of the family, had never imagined something like this would happen. Suddenly he was launched into the position of inheriting his father’s company, and for a while, things were grand. He discarded all thoughts of his older brother for about a year, embracing the riches, the power, the acknowledgement, and even Anna-the only woman he had ever loved.

Guilt and desperation drove them together, and for a while, all was good. Then the one year anniversary of Cassius’ death rolled around, and the fantasy stopped. His father and mother began to resent Trevor for not being more like their eldest son. Anna, tear-stained and pathetic, declared that it was too painful to remain with him any longer, as every day was a reminder of the man she truly loved. The only man she had ever loved.

Detached once more, and stripped of the respect he had finally gained, Trevor completely disassociated himself from the situation. He turned to drinking, smoking, and the occasional use of heroin, should the opportunity present itself. If everyone was going to reject him anyway, what was the point of trying so hard to replace his brother?

Stepping out onto the street in front of Igeby & Company, Trevor glanced up at the towering, fifteen-story building before shaking his head and sticking his hands in his pockets, wishing he still had that cigarette. It had been his last one.

“H- hey! What are you, crazy? Get out of the way! Get-!”

Trevor scrunched his eyebrows and turned, unable to fully process the sports car barreling towards him before it was too late.

         ~

His eyes hurt.

Trevor blinked several times, pulse quickening when his surroundings remained black. Did he lose his vision? Despite his eyes feeling sore, like he hadn’t used them in a while, the rest of his body felt intact and normal, no bruises or broken bones to note.

“About time you woke up.”

Trevor jerked his head to the left, sitting his body up when he could clearly see the figure standing there. There were still no lights around them, but the man was lit up from an internal light of some kind.

Instead of addressing the stranger, Trevor glanced around, wondering why the room he was in was pitch black and void of doors, windows, or furniture. Staring ahead, the room seemed to go on for miles and miles. The floor beneath him was cool, like tile, but no indents in the material were present to assure him that that’s what it was.

“You won’t find it.”

This time, he met the eyes of the strange man before him. Now that he really focused on him, the guy looked identical to himself; just suited up, hair gelled, and proper in appearance.

“Find what?” Trevor asked, voice catching a little.

“Rationality,” the man answered simply, squatting to be eye level with him.

This answer puzzled the young heir, who scrunched his nose in response, “Odd answer. Where are we? Who are you? How did I get here?”

“I am the Baron, and we are in the in-between, my friend.”

The in-between? You mean…

“Between living and dying? Yes. Not fully dead yet, just nearly there,” the Baron explained.

Trevor felt his throat squeeze in terror. He combed his fingers through his unruly hair before falling onto his back, eyes wide and staring into the darkness above them.

“…so I’m still alive?”

“Barely.”

He turned and looked at the Baron, whose face had not shifted from it’s neutral appearance, save for the small lifting of the corner of his mouth.

“You think this is funny?”

“A little,” the man admitted, standing before offering Trevor his hand, “It’s just a relief to see you experiencing matters from our perspective. That’s all.”

Trevor accepted the offered hand, and brushed himself off after standing before asking:

“’Our’ perspective?”

Baron shook his head, “So close-minded. Look closer, or you will remain ignorant.”

Trevor moved to retort something snappy, but movement on his right caught his attention. He spun to face that direction, his mouth dropping when he saw yet another imitation of himself, this time about ten years younger and dressed in a baseball uniform. His last name was displayed in giant letters on the back of the shirt, and he was equipped with a mitt and baseball.

“About time!” this younger version quipped, tossing the ball above their heads, “It’s been super boring here, and we haven’t had enough people to make a full team! You and ‘shiny shoes’ here make seven. Just gotta wait for two more to show up, then we’ll be set!”

‘I always wanted to be a baseball player,’ Trevor thought, recalling summer nights spent on a baseball diamond with the smell of leather gloves, sweat, and grass thick in the air.

“Wait…two more?” He asked, suddenly registering the words of the baseball player, “Why would two more of us show up?”

The younger version shrugged, tossing the ball to himself again, “More always show up here, eventually.”

Trevor stood and glanced around, taking in three more men that looked just like him, the first sporting a military uniform, the second wearing loose clothing covered in splotches of paint, holding a paintbrush and easel, and the third holding a small child with his dark features.

‘A military officer, an artist, and…’ the little boy turned and locked eyes with him, making Trevor gasp in shock, ‘…and a father. I wanted to be all these things. These…’

He turned and stared at the Baron, who nodded wordlessly.

“…these are my dreams- the dreams of who I once wanted to be. This is the place where dreams go to die, isn’t it?”

“Nearly,” the Baron stated, eyebrows scrunching in pity.

“But…I know I dreamed about more than just these. Where are all the others?”

The Baron gestured to the three dream selves while he replied, “These are all the dreams solidified by your determination, mostly when you were a child. The others were half-baked, many incomplete.”

The black floor underneath them trembled before rectangles of light, like the glass cases in a museum, emerged from it. All appendages: torsos, legs, faces, and arms. All mirroring Trevor’s own body.

“H- how did…?”

“No rationality, remember. This is not your world, and nothing within it will make sense. Look around you: these are other dreams. Spur-of-the-moment ones that never fully took shape.”

Trevor sucked in a breath, staring down rows and rows of incomplete dreams in cases. He glanced inside the ones nearest to him and began to feel sick, recognizing the tattoo he wanted that matched the one on Anna’s ankle, a floating hand scribbling his autograph into a published novel with his name on it, and a full copy of his head, twitching like it was glitching.

He leaned in closer towards the head, trying to understand this dream, before it glitched and became the head of his older brother, Cassius. Rearing backwards, the Baron caught his elbow before he fell.

“Wh- what? Cassius?”

Unable to take his eyes off the head identical to his deceased brother’s, Trevor couldn’t be persuaded away from it until it glitched back into his own head.

“You had dreamed of being Cassius once,” the Baron murmured, “don’t you remember?”

Trevor recalled his breakup with Anna, the tears that shone as they trickled down her beautiful face. He couldn’t remember missing his brother after he died-only that he wanted to completely replace him. Especially when Anna said she would never truly stop loving Cassius.

“This was a fleeting thought, though. You were far too sure of yourself. After all,” the Baron spread his arms, and Trevor immediately recognized the gleam in his eye, the clean-cut suit he wore, and the gel in his hair, “you always believed you could be better than him one day.”

“You’re the version of me I always wanted. Like Cassius, but better. Like a distinguished Baron.”

“I am.”

Anger and frustration mounted inside him, and Trevor buried his face in his hands, bumping shoulders with the Baron as he pushed past him.

“Why am I here? How did I get here? I can’t be another dream- not like this.”

He glanced down at the holes in his tennis shoes, the holes in his jeans, the holes in his t-shirt. His hair was longer and unkept, and his chin felt itchy and scratchy in desperate need of a shave.

“You are a dream, in a way,” the Baron said softly, walking around Trevor until he was standing before him once more.

The clean-kept man reached across and poked him in the chest, right where his heart was.

“You are the dream of life- clinging to life. Truly living life. Your body is comatose in a hospital after an accident. Now you must make the choice whether you want to live or die. And in so doing, allow us to live or die.”

Suddenly, out of thin air, two doors appeared on either side of them. The door to his right glowed warm and welcoming. Colors of light and sparkles shimmered in the air around it. The door to his left gave off a dark, ominous vibe, the blackness of the dimension appearing darker around it.

If he lived, what did he have? No father, no mother (no approval from them, anyway), no girlfriend, no friends, no riches…no older brother.

“If I choose to give in to death right now…I might see my brother again. Tell him I’m sorry.”

The dark door to his left did scare him though, and he wondered how Cassius had ever had the courage to walk through it.

“He didn’t.”

Trevor glanced at the Baron, “What?”

“Cassius didn’t have the courage to walk through that door. Because you see, you have it backwards. That is the door to death,” the Baron pointed at the warm, glowing door, then clapped a hand on Trevor’s shoulder as they both turned again to the right,

“This is the door to life, my friend.”

“But…it’s so foreboding and scary, dark, and-oh…”

The Baron nodded knowingly, “Life is foreboding, scary, and dark sometimes, my friend. It’s not an easy choice to live day after day. In fact, death feels warmer, sweeter, easier, sparklier. That is why none of us have gotten out of here. That is why none of us are dead, nor living. It is hard to choose life, but it is even harder to give life, especially to one’s dreams.”

“Why is that?”

The Baron smiled kindly at Trevor, “The more dreams you bare when you walk through that door, the heavier the door is. Along with the darkness.”

“Not if we all push together.”

For a moment, the Baron flickered out of focus, like a flame on a candle, then his body bulked up and, glancing around at his other dreams, Trevor was elated to find that they had grown a little, too.

The baseball player, artist, and father joined the two of them, and Trevor could feel himself wanting all these things, once more. Despite how the allure of the door of death seemed to call his name, he knew in his gut he was not ready to give in, just yet. And he knew how to get out of the in-between.

Everyone clasped hands. They all approached the door together, all of them shaking a little with the fear of the unknown. Trevor gripped the handle and pulled it down, happy at the realization that it seemed easy enough, before pushing against the door by himself. It wouldn’t budge.

“Quick- help me!”

His dream-selves all put hands on the door and pushed as hard as they could, and still it wouldn’t move.

“No! I want to live…I have to! There’s still so much…so much I…!”

Then he paused and stepped back, pulling everyone away from it. “Hold on.”

He approached again alone, hand shaking when he grabbed the handle a second time. “If you truly want life, you must embrace it. Not push it away.”

There was a palpable pause, everyone held their breath as he turned the knob, then pulled it towards him, and the door cracked open.

“Come on. We all need to play a part, now.”

They all grasped hands once more before pulling together. The door groaned and creaked, fighting to stay closed, but unable to stand against the weight of a man with his dreams. Once fully open, it embraced him.

Through the doorway, a hospital room was visible. And there, in chairs against the wall, sat Trevor’s parents. His mother sniffled and shakily turned a page of her novel, her lips moving like she was reading aloud. His father sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped before him, eyes closed, like he was praying.

No Anna. No Cassius. But his parents were there, and they looked concerned. Maybe they cared, after all.

Trevor glanced at the Baron, who gave him a reassuring smile, “Live as yourself. Not Cassius. Live life, and give us life.”

 Then they all walked, single file, through the dark door.

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Kristiana Carl is a twenty-five-year-old aspiring writer with a great love for words. She completed her first “book” at six years old, and dreams of publishing as many of her pieces as she can in her lifetime. When she is not writing, you may find her drinking a London Fog tea at a coffee shop with a book in hand, outside hiking and photographing nature, or cruising the streets in her in-line skates.