Page 30 of The Omega Trials: Part Three

It’s not long after I surrender to the darkness that I feel myself waking up. Something wet and scratchy is under my cheek. I hear birds chirp, a car putter by, a dog bark, and kids playing in the distance. The sounds of suburbia.1

Despite my eyes feeling dry and heavy, I manage to open them. The smell of fresh-cut grass makes sense as I realize I am lying on a lawn. I roll onto my back on the dewy ground. Did I sleep out here all night? Where even is here?

Still dazed with a head full of cotton balls, I try to take in my surroundings. A nice family home is to one side of me and a classic white picket fence is to my other. I don’t recognize it as anywhere I’ve been before, but it looks like the upper-class neighborhoods Ecker used to work in, servicing the mothers of the PTA while their corner-suite husbands were out of town.

I hear Ecker’s bright laugh next and realize that must be right. Except when I manage to pull myself up to sit, it’s not a bottle-blonde cougar kissing him goodbye.

It’s Sinclair.

And she’s kissing Bishop goodbye. He waves with a smile as he walks down the footpath to the driveway, wearing a nice dress shirt and slacks, leather shoes smartly polished. Ecker stands in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a low-slung pair of sweats, with his arm around Sinclair.

I wait for them to notice me, to ask what the hell I’m doing out here, but they never do. Bishop walks right past me, gets into his sleek black SUV, and drives away without so much as a look.Ecker and Sinclair wait for him to disappear down the idyllic street before turning in and closing the door.

I lumber to my feet then to the front door. When I try the handle, it is locked. I search my pockets for a set of keys but come up empty, so I knock.

“I got it!” I hear Sinclair holler from inside and listen to her feet shuffle to the door. “Back so soon? What did you forget—” The playful smile that was on her face when she opened the door fades as she stares at me, confused.

“Bishop? Hello?” She sticks her head out and looks around the front of their house.

“Nope, just me.” My voice is hoarse and raspy like I haven’t talked in days.

“Hellooo?” she calls again, then shrugs and closes the door. Right in my face.

“Who was it?” I hear Ecker ask from inside.

She answers, “No one, it must not have been a knock.”Like hell it wasn’t.

I’m about to try again when the door swings open, my fist suspended in the air. Ecker stands in the doorway. Thank god.

“She needs to get her eyes checked,” I grumble and push inside . . . . Ecker remains standing, untouched. But I’m on the other side of him, now in the house’s foyer.

“Weird, I thought I heard a knock too.” He goes through the same shrug, close door routine as her.

“Bro, it was me,” I say, exasperated, only to get no response.

When he starts to walk away, I reach for his shoulder and am stunned frozen. My hand goes right through him.No, no, no, that can’t be right. I knocked . . . . I knocked!

Breaking out of my shocked stupor, I chase after him. “Hey, wait!”

We turn into the kitchen, where Sinclair is shrugging off the light-weight robe she was wearing over a pajama cami set. Eckerwraps his arms around her waist and pulls her as close as he can . . . with her round, full belly in between them.

The room spins. I reach for the counter for support but it’s no use. Faster and faster, it spins until I’m on a tilt-a-whirl, surrounded by flying colors and Sinclair’s sweet, carefree laugh.

This time, the darkness comes and goes in the blink of an eye. I come to already standing up. My feet sting something fierce, and I look down to see I’m barefoot in a thin layer of snow. The wind whips and I shiver, huddling my arms tighter around me as I peer into the window in front of me.

Warm light fills the living room, and a colorful Christmas tree twinkles. Bishop picks Sinclair up by the hips, hoisting her into the air to place a star on the top of the tree. I can hear the faint sound of holiday music.

Ecker comes in, handing a glass of wine to Bishop and a mug of tea to Sinclair. She rests it on her round stomach, even bigger than last time. Her flannel pajama top can’t button all the way, showing off her smooth, pale skin.

A knife twists in my gut as I watch them decorate the tree, stopping to feel the baby kick. They look so happy, so complete. They’re a perfect family, not missing anything . . . not missing me.

I’m pushed backward by a sudden invisible force. I fall back, never hitting the ground, just falling, falling, falling. Until I eventually land flat on my back, like a bug splattered on a windshield. I blink up at the sunny sky and once again try to resituate to my new surroundings.

I’m back on grass. There’s yelling all around me . . . . No, more like cheering. Kids and adults. Something hits my head, bounces right off it. I turn to get a look and realize it’s a soccer ball.What the fuck?

I sit up, and little children in fluorescent jerseys that hang to their knees race past me. Every time one of them kicks the ball, Ican’t tell if they did it on purpose or if their foot just accidentally collided with it as they run.

Standing, I look around at all the parents cheering on the sidelines with their camp chairs and coolers full of orange slices. I find Bishop, Sinclair, and Ecker.

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