The moment the car halted in front of the imposing gates that barred further access to the property, I found myself reacting almost instinctively. My hand reached for the door, eager to escape the confines of the car and the weight of the silence that had settled between Jamie and me during the drive. The gates, marking the threshold to Luke's world, seemed more like barriers to a realm brimming with unspoken tensions and unresolved issues.
Drawing in a deep breath, I tried to steel myself for what lay ahead. Jamie had made an effort to engage in conversation during the trip, a task I could tell wasn't easy for him either. My responses, however, had been curt, limited to single-word answers. The fear of inadvertently stepping into a minefield of drama had kept me on edge, turning the forty-minute drive into what felt like an eternity.
When we arrived, my reluctance to let Jamie handle my bag stemmed from a deep-seated discomfort with anyone meddling with my personal belongings. It was a quirk, perhaps, but one that felt increasingly pronounced in moments of stress. Despite the tight knot of tension in my stomach, I forced myself to relinquish control, to allow Jamie to take the bag from the boot. It was a small concession, but one that felt significant in my current state of unease.
Stepping inside the house, the immediate buzz that greeted us—courtesy of Duke and Henri, the two Shih Tzus—offered a brief distraction from the apprehension that had been my constant companion. Jamie's swift action to shoo the dogs away from the door was a familiar scene, a slice of domesticity that brought a brief smile to my face.
"Hey, Paul!" Luke's cheerful greeting, a distinct contrast to the tension I had braced myself for, momentarily disarmed me as I stepped into the open-plan living space. The warmth of his voice did little to quell the mix of emotions swirling within me—relief, confusion, and a lingering sense of apprehension.
"Why didn't you come to the airport?" The question slipped out, tinted with a hint of disappointment I couldn't fully mask. Luke's presence at the airport had been an expectation, one that had gone unmet, adding a layer of distress to an already fraught situation.
"I was preparing myself for your arrival," Luke's response, delivered with a casualness that seemed at odds with the situation, prompted a nervous laugh from me. My gaze took in his appearance—bare-chested, adorned only in bright blue boardshorts that seemed too cheerful for the mood. His state of undress seemed a visual contradiction to the idea of preparation, and I couldn't help but comment, "You don't look terribly prepared."
Jamie's interjection about Luke's apparent disregard for the chill in the air only added to the surreal quality of the moment. Luke's nonchalant shrug in response, a simple "Meh," was so quintessentially him that it momentarily lifted the weight from my shoulders.
However, the physical reminder of my hunger, a loud gurgle from my stomach, pulled me back to the reality of why I was here. Crossing into the kitchen, I approached the stainless steel fridge with a single-minded focus on sustenance. “So, what’s the big emergency that couldn’t wait another day?” The question that had prompted my hurried journey here spilled out, unfiltered, as I rummaged for food. My actions, driven by the immediate need to quell my hunger, were also a subconscious attempt to inject normalcy into the situation, to find grounding in the familiar act of seeking nourishment.
Discovering a small plastic container of leftover spaghetti, I indulged in the simple pleasure of consuming the largest meatball. My question, hanging in the air alongside the smell of saucy pasta, was an attempt to bridge the gap between the reason for my visit and the calm I craved. Luke's kitchen, a place of warmth and familiarity, had become the stage for the unfolding drama, a place where the mundane act of eating intersected with the complex web of family dynamics and unspoken concerns.
"Emergency?" Jamie's question sliced through the air with a hint of incredulity, his disbelief evident. “What emergency?”
As I cringed from the unexpected collision with the shelf above me, the action felt emblematic of the larger situation—caught off guard, navigating unforeseen obstacles. Swallowing the last of the meatball, I hastily reached for a distraction in the form of grapes, a futile attempt to buy time as I processed Jamie's query. Pulling back from the refrigerator, I was met with Jamie's blank stare, an unspoken demand for clarification that bounced between him, Luke, and back to me like a silent game of accusation.
"Aren't you the one with the... family crisis?" The confusion on Jamie's face, underscored by his lightly stubbled expression, added an unexpected twist to the unfolding drama. His words felt like an accusation, a spotlight suddenly trained on me, suggesting a narrative I wasn't prepared to defend.
"Me?" The word escaped me, tinged with offence and a rising tide of panic. My gaze flicked to Luke, searching for some hint of explanation, some clue as to what narrative had been shared with Jamie. The silence from Luke, however, spoke volumes, leaving me to grapple with the realisation that my own family dramas might have been misrepresented or misunderstood.
Luke's continued silence only served to heighten the tension, a palpable presence in the room that seemed to suffocate any remaining pretence of normalcy.
"Well?" Jamie's demand, directed at Luke, was more than a question—it was a call for transparency, a breaking point that demanded the truth be laid bare. "What's going on, Luke?"
A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach, the implications of Jamie's words and Luke's silence coalescing into a dreadful epiphany. The fear that I had been brought here under false pretences, or at least misunderstood ones, began to take root. Was I here not as a bystander but as a participant, recruited for moral support in a moment of personal crisis for Luke?
The thought of being unwittingly cast in the role of support for a potential breakup, or whatever storm was on the horizon, was overwhelming. Rubbing my temple, an attempt to soothe the throbbing pulse of stress-induced pain, I braced myself for the fallout. The sense of impending doom, the feeling that I was about to witness the derailment of Luke's relationship firsthand, was suffocating.
In that moment, the kitchen, a place of warmth and familiarity, had transformed into the stage for a confrontation that promised to alter the course of our relationships. The tension, the unanswered questions, and the fear of what was to come left me feeling like a spectator on the brink of witnessing a collision, powerless to do anything but watch as the events unfolded.
As Luke began to speak, the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter, like a spring wound up to its breaking point. My hand found the cool, solid reassurance of the stone bench top, gripping it as if to anchor myself against the wave of anxiety that threatened to sweep me away. The anticipation of Luke's next words had my heart racing, a silent mantra of preparation echoing in my mind: Brace yourself, Paul.
Luke's apology, delivered with an incongruous wide grin that stretched across his face, did nothing to ease the knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. The smile, so at odds with the gravity of the moment, sent a jolt of confusion through me. Shit! The thought was a reflexive reaction, a mental bracing for impact. What the hell has he done?
"But there is something that I really need to show both of you," Luke continued, his tone shifting from apologetic to mysteriously inviting.
"Sounds ominous," I couldn't help but remark, the words slipping out tinged with a skepticism born of the moment's charged atmosphere. Despite Luke's seemingly light-hearted demeanour, I couldn't shake the feeling of impending revelation, the sense that we were on the cusp of a significant turning point.
"What is it?" Jamie's response, a huff laden with discomfort, mirrored my own trepidation.
"Come with me," Luke urged, his hand waving us forward with an encouragement that felt almost surreal given the context. His invitation, meant to be reassuring, instead felt like a summons into the unknown, a step into a narrative whose course was yet to be revealed.
As we navigated the familiar yet tension-filled pathway to the study, my mind churned with questions and speculations. Luke's penchant for mystery and theatrics, although not unusual, seemed particularly pronounced today. Why did Luke insist on being so cryptic all the time? The question echoed in my head, a silent refrain that matched the rhythm of our steps.
Entering the study, my gaze swept over the room in an automatic survey, a habit born from a need to understand, to find clues in my surroundings. Books neatly aligned on the bookshelf, a testament to Luke's eclectic interests. The computer sitting dormant by the window, bathed in the soft light that filtered through the curtains. And that was it. The realisation that the room, for all its familiarity, offered no answers or insights prompted a half-smile from me. The ordinariness of the space stood in stark contrast to the build-up of the moment.
A glance towards Jamie confirmed that I wasn't alone in my confusion. His expression mirrored my own—bemusement mixed with a growing curiosity about what Luke had deemed so important to reveal in such a dramatic fashion.
The moment Luke produced the small, rectangular object from his pocket, Jamie's immediate reaction brought a fleeting sense of camaraderie. "Ha, I was right! It is something on the computer!" His triumphant declaration, assuming that Luke's mysterious item was related to the computer, was both amusing and slightly off the mark.
"What?" Luke's feigned confusion, paired with a tilt of his head, only added to the theatrics of the moment. Jamie's certainty about the USB stick, met with Luke's playful denial, transformed the atmosphere from one of tension to one of deeper anticipation.
I couldn't help but suppress a grin, intrigued by the interplay between expectation and reality. Luke's object, clearly not a USB stick, symbolised something else, something yet to be unveiled.
"Okay. So, what is it?" My patience, finally worn thin by the buildup and the cryptic exchanges, broke through the veneer of amusement. The question was more than a request for information; it was a demand for clarity, a need to understand the purpose behind Luke's enigmatic behaviour.
Luke's grin, confident and teasing, served as a prelude to the revelation. The small, rectangular object in his hand, now the focal point of our collective attention, held the key to the mystery that had brought me here, under the guise of emergency and familial duty. The anticipation of the reveal, coupled with the intricate dance of questions and half-answers, underscored the complexity of our relationships—bound by love, frustration, and an enduring commitment to navigate whatever challenges lay ahead, together.
Luke's action, pressing the small button atop the device, seemed almost inconsequential compared to the spectacle that followed. My initial skepticism was immediately replaced by awe as a small ball of energy erupted from its end, unfurling into a buzzing, electrical field of colour that danced across the back wall. The display was unlike anything I'd encountered, a dazzling phenomenon that defied explanation.
"What the—" Jamie's voice trailed off, mirroring my own disbelief. The incomplete thought hung in the air between us, a testament to the shock and wonder that had momentarily rendered us speechless.
My eyes were riveted to the spectacle before us. The colours swirled and intertwined, occasionally colliding to send bursts of rainbow hues in our direction. It was mesmerising, a display of light and energy that seemed to tap into something primal, something deeply human—a sense of wonder at the universe's mysteries.
"What is that?" I found myself asking, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the enchantment. The question was rhetorical, born of a need to express my astonishment rather than a genuine expectation of an answer.
"I'll show you," Luke's voice, calm and confident, cut through my reverie.
"I can see," I replied, still captivated by the visual symphony before us. "It's stunning!" My words felt inadequate, a feeble attempt to encapsulate the beauty and complexity of the phenomenon unfolding in Luke's study.
"Just follow me," Luke urged, stepping closer to the wall of vibrant colours. His invitation, delivered with a casualness that belied the extraordinary nature of the act, was both an offer and a challenge.
"Follow you where?" Jamie's question echoed my own thoughts. His tone, softer and smoother than before, hinted at a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
Luke's response was to simply step toward the brilliant display. And then, with an ease that suggested he was crossing a threshold rather than vanishing into thin air, he was enveloped by the colours. And just like that, he was gone.
The moment of his disappearance was surreal, a break in reality that left me questioning the very nature of the world around us. The study, once a familiar space defined by books and a computer, had transformed into the setting for an adventure that defied logic and reason.
"What the hell?" My voice echoed in the room, a mix of fear and astonishment colouring the words as I stared at the spot where Luke had vanished. The disbelief coursing through me was palpable, a physical sensation that seemed to grip my chest tightly.
"What the hell indeed," Jamie's response, equally bewildered, mirrored my own shock. His gaze remained locked on the mesmerising display of colours, as if by sheer will he could unravel the mystery before us.
The silence that followed was heavy, laden with unspoken questions and the weight of the decision that loomed over us. It was a moment suspended in time, a crossroads between the known and the unknowable.
"You go first," I found myself saying, my voice slow, almost hesitant. The suggestion was more of a nudge, an attempt to offload the burden of the unknown onto Jamie. My hands gestured towards the buzzing wall of colour, an encouragement wrapped in the guise of camaraderie.
"Fuck off!" Jamie's reaction was instant, a swift return to his usual blunt demeanour. "I'm not touching that shit. We don't know what it is." His words were laced with a rational fear, a grounding in reality that momentarily pierced the surreal nature of our situation.
Jamie's resistance, his steadfast refusal to engage with the unknown, forced me to confront my own apprehensions. Yet, the thought of Luke stepping into the unknown with such ease gnawed at me. Luke wouldn't have ventured forward if there wasn't some measure of safety, would he? The trust I had in my brother, tempered by years of shared experiences and unspoken bonds, nudged me towards a decision.
"Fine. I'll go first," I declared, my resolve solidifying with the words. Approaching the vibrant, swirling energies, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. The trust I placed in Luke, in his judgment and his intentions, was my anchor in the face of the unknown.
With a step that felt as monumental as crossing a threshold between worlds, I moved forward and vanished from the familiar confines of the study.
The transition was disorienting, the kaleidoscope of colours giving way to the stark, brilliant blue of an open sky. The sun's rays, warm against my skin, were an inviting contrast to the cool uncertainty of the moment before. Squinting against the brightness, I was suddenly aware of a presence, not in the physical sense, but as a voice in my mind, a telepathic communication that bypassed the need for sound.
"Welcome to Clivilius, Paul Smith," the voice intoned, its words resonating within me with a clarity that left no room for doubt. The greeting, though devoid of a visible source, carried with it a sense of purpose, a hint of destiny that seemed to wrap around me like a cloak.
Standing there, amidst the vast expanse of brown and orange dust that stretched endlessly before us, I felt a deep sense of dislocation. The voice, so clear and yet without source, had claimed my attention wholly, leaving me momentarily lost in the alien landscape that unfolded around me. The hills, devoid of life as I knew it, painted a daunting picture of isolation that was both eerie and awe-inspiring.
"Did you hear it?" Luke's voice, tinged with excitement, broke through my reverie, snapping me back to the present. The sight of Jamie, pale and visibly shaken by our sudden transition, only served to heighten the surreal nature of our circumstances. My nod, an acknowledgment of the voice, was a silent admission of the reality we now faced, a reality that seemed as improbable as it was undeniable.
"This is where life will begin anew," Luke's declaration, delivered with a certainty that bordered on zeal, sent an involuntary shiver through me. His words, meant to inspire, instead evoked a sense of foreboding, a glimpse into the depth of his conviction and perhaps the magnitude of the change he believed we were on the cusp of, a confident stance sending a cold shiver down my spine.
The prolonged silence that followed became a canvas for my growing unease. Instinctively, I began to wave my arms through the air, my hands moving in a futile attempt to grasp the familiar, to anchor myself to something tangible amidst the intangible. The absurdity of the gesture, a desperate search for the study walls, was a testament to my struggle to reconcile the reality of Clivilius with the safety of the known.
"What are you doing, Paul?" Luke's question momentarily paused my search.
"I'm trying to find the study walls," I admitted, the words feeling both ridiculous and necessary in the moment. My query about the nature of our surroundings—a desperate hope for an explanation that would render this experience a product of technology, a virtual reality or hologram—was a clutch at the straws of denial.
"I can assure you, Clivilius is very real," Luke's response, devoid of any hint of jest or doubt, was a definitive statement that brooked no argument. It was a declaration that this was no illusion, no trick of the mind or technology, but a reality as yet unfathomable.
I ceased my futile searching, the realisation dawning that there were no study walls to be found. Turning to face my brother, I was confronted with the truth of his words, the undeniable reality of Clivilius. The weight of the situation settled upon me with a clarity that was both terrifying and enlightening.
As Luke retrieved a familiar book from the alien dust at our feet, the surrealism of our situation intensified.
"I recognise this book," Jamie declared, the words slicing through the quiet like a knife. He snatched the book from Luke's grasp with an ease that spoke of familiarity, of shared histories untold. "This is one of your uni books that you've had sitting in the bookcase untouched since we met, isn't it?"
"Indeed, it is," Luke confirmed, his voice carrying a note of pride, or perhaps it was nostalgia—a subtle acknowledgment of paths once trodden.
"I don't understand," I found myself saying, as I turned to face Luke. My eyes searched his for answers, for any sign of recognition that would bridge the gap between what was and what could possibly be. The emptiness around us, save for the forgotten artefacts of a life once lived, echoed back my sentiments. "There's nothing here.”
"Apart from a pile of large boxes," Jamie corrected, his gaze shifting to the right of us. He walked over to the small stack, a curiosity in his steps that belied his earlier skepticism. "Why are all these here?" he asked, his tone shifting from accusatory to genuinely puzzled.
"It's going to be the first shelter here in Clivilius," Luke stated, his voice imbued with a conviction that seemed almost out of place in the desolation that surrounded us.
"What the hell does Clivilius need a shelter for?" Jamie questioned, his incredulity mirrored in the furrow of his brow, a silent testament to the absurdity of the situation.
"And what even is Clivilius?" I chimed in, unable to contain the burgeoning curiosity that Luke's proclamation had sparked within me.
"This place is Clivilius," Luke said, his arms outstretched as if to embrace the very air around us. It was a grand gesture, one that aimed to imbue the desolate landscape with a sense of purpose, of destiny even. "And the shelter is for the start of our new civilisation."
Jamie and I exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between us. In that moment, the weight of Luke's words settled upon us, heavy with implications yet to be understood.
"It has to start somewhere," Luke murmured, his voice a mix of resignation and quiet determination. His shoulders lifted in a shrug that seemed to carry the weight of a vision only he could fully see.
"What the hell do we need a new civilisation for?" Jamie's frustration echoed through the air, his words sharp, like the crack of a whip. "I'm quite happy with the current one, thank you very much!" His stance, confrontational yet laced with a hint of incredulity, painted a vivid picture of his dissent.
"You'll see in time," Luke responded, his calmness a stark contrast to Jamie's rising temper. "It will all make sense." There was a serenity to his tone, a confidence that spoke of unshakable belief in the face of skepticism.
"Fuck time," Jamie retorted, his voice escalating. "I'm going home. This place is shit. It's just dust for God's sake! There's enough of that in the outback." His words, laced with disdain, seemed to reverberate against the desolate backdrop of our surroundings.
As Jamie made his way to the wall of colours, the surreal gateway through which we had somehow arrived, I found myself grappling with a mixture of emotions. Doubt, curiosity, and a rising tide of anxiety clashed within me. How was any of this even possible? My mind struggled to reconcile the fantastical with the tangible, the ordinary with the extraordinary.
Jamie's approach to the mesmerising colours was tentative, his movements marked by a hesitation that seemed out of character. He took a step closer, then paused, as if the very air around the portal was charged with an invisible resistance.
"Well, off you go then," Luke's voice carried a note of disappointment, tinged with an underlying concern that was hard to miss.
"I'm trying," Jamie shot back, frustration boiling over as he threw his hands at the wall of colour in a gesture of defeat. The sight was surreal, his body language a mix of defiance and desperation.
"What do you mean you're trying?" My voice barely concealed the anxiety that was knotting my stomach. Had I unwittingly stepped onto a path from which there was no return? The realisation that this adventure might have deeper implications than I had initially thought sent a shiver down my spine.
"I mean I'm trying to leave, but the bloody thing won't let me," Jamie's exasperation was palpable, his every word punctuated by disbelief and a growing sense of entrapment. He made a shoving motion toward the portal, a futile attempt to demonstrate his plight.
The scene unfolded like a vivid tableau, the interplay of disbelief, frustration, and the underlying thread of something inexplicable weaving a complex tapestry of emotions and realities. Standing there, caught in the moment, I couldn't help but wonder about the nature of the journey we had embarked upon. The portal, with its swirling energies, stood as a testament to the unknown, challenging our perceptions and daring us to confront the possibilities of what lay beyond the confines of our understanding.
The moment unfolded with a startling abruptness that left my senses reeling. One second Jamie was a figure of frustration and defiance, the next, he was hurled backwards as if rejected by an unseen force emanating from the wall of colours. My heart leapt into my throat, panic clawing its way through my chest as I dashed towards him, the dusty ground beneath my feet barely registering. Luke was hot on my heels, concern etched deeply into his features.
"What the hell was that?" The words tore from my lips, a reflection of the fear and confusion swirling within me. My voice, usually steady, now trembled with the intensity of the situation.
Jamie lay sprawled, his back against the unforgiving ground. "Jamie! Jamie, are you okay?" Luke's voice was thick with worry as he reached for Jamie's hand, seeking signs of injury. The fabric of Jamie's shirt bore the brunt of his unexpected flight, torn and dishevelled, yet, miraculously, his hand seemed untouched by harm.
"This fucking place is trying to kill me!" Jamie's voice was a blend of anger and shock, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. He pulled away from Luke, a clear rejection of any comfort or explanations. "What the hell were you thinking bringing us here?!"
Luke's response was laced with desperation, a hint of guilt perhaps. "I didn't know that was going to happen!" he protested, his voice climbing as the gravity of our predicament became increasingly apparent.
I moved to Jamie's side, my own heart racing as if trying to outrun the fear. "Let me try," I offered, despite the obvious danger. The need to understand, to somehow navigate this bewildering situation, overrode the instinct to retreat.
"Are you insane? Didn't you see what just happened?" Jamie's disbelief was evident, his eyes wide with the recent memory of his violent repulsion from the portal.
"Maybe you did it wrong?" I suggested, half in hope, half in desperation. The logic of my proposal felt thin, even to my own ears, but the urgency of the moment demanded action, however flawed.
"Oh, fuck off, Paul." Jamie's retort was sharp, his patience frayed by pain and the surreal nightmare we found ourselves entangled in.
"Hey! Don't speak to him like that," Luke interjected, his protective streak surfacing in defence of my suggestion, however futile it might have seemed.
"Fuck you all," Jamie growled, the pain and frustration manifesting not just in his words but in the way he cradled his arm, a physical barrier against the insanity that enveloped us.
Standing there, amidst the dust and the surreal glow of the portal, the tension between us was palpable. The air seemed charged with unanswered questions and the heavy weight of decisions made under duress. My mind raced, trying to piece together a puzzle that seemed to grow more complex with each passing second. The unity of our trio was fracturing under the strain of the unknown, each of us grappling with the reality of our situation in our own way. Yet, beneath the surface turmoil, a resolve began to take shape within me
As I inched closer to the mesmerising dance of colours, a mantra of reassurance played on a loop in my mind: It's going to be fine. Yet, with each step, an invisible force seemed to thicken, making my advance increasingly difficult. The air around me hummed with an electric charge as I neared the threshold, a finger's reach away from the wall of light. The fizzing and crackling of the air halted me, a vivid reminder of Jamie's recent ordeal. "What's wrong with this thing?" My voice, tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, broke the heavy silence, seeking answers I was not sure I wanted to hear.
"There's nothing wrong with it," Luke's voice cut through the tension as he brushed past me, his determination unshaken by the recent events. I watched, mouth agape, as he stepped into the swirling colours and vanished without a trace, leaving behind a wake of unanswered questions.
"Fuck!" The expletive tore from Jamie's lips as he launched himself towards the portal, only to be rebuffed once more, his efforts futile against the unseen barrier.
My heart thundered in my chest, fear and confusion swirling within me as I stood, legs trembling, on the brink of an unfathomable reality. "I don't understand," my voice quivered, a reflection of the panic gnawing at the edges of my composure. "Why can't we leave?"
Then, a voice, devoid of warmth, echoed in the confines of my mind: Welcome to Clivilius, Paul Smith. The words, impersonal and chilling, sent a shiver down my spine, grounding me to the spot. I collapsed to my knees, the soft dust beneath my fingers a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within me. The voice, relentless in its greeting, repeated the welcome, each syllable a hammer strike to my sanity.
Beside me, Jamie's frustration erupted in a visceral display of anger, his scream slicing through the stillness of the air, a potent release of the helplessness we both felt. "Fuck!" The word stretched, a testament to the depth of his despair, as he kicked up a cloud of red dust, painting our desperation against the backdrop of this alien landscape.
Overwhelmed, I lay back, the ground beneath me a cold comfort as I stared up into the clear, blue sky. My heart raced, a drumbeat of fear, betrayal, and incredulity. What the hell have you done, Luke? The question echoed in my mind, a haunting refrain to the surreal nightmare unfolding around me.
