Liminal Lives by Daniel Roush

Liminal Lives by Daniel Roush

3 p.m. Wednesday

Marty needed three things to make it through the day. First, a strong alarm, the kind that would shake the whole apartment down if left on too long. Second, black coffee within fifteen minutes of being shocked awake by said alarm. Fresh ground beans, preferably using the pour over method. The third item Marty needed to get through the day, week, year, and life, was an ice-cold Diet Cuso-Cola at exactly 3 p.m. each afternoon.

To the shock of no one, Marty lived alone. It was easier this way. People, particularly roommates and partners, got in the way of his habits. His habits, of course, were the way he got through his day. The way he managed to keep the chaos to a minimum. The way Marty maintained control. Marty needed to maintain control to feel safe. When things get away from Marty, well, he doesn’t like to discuss that.

The crack of a fresh can of Diet Cuso-Cola filled Marty’s small apartment with joy. Fresh ice clinked in the glass. Then pour and fizz. Perfection. Marty gave the can one good look before tossing it into the recycling bin. Classic red can with black cursive branding. Diet Cuso-Cola. Marty sat in his reading chair, Diet Cuso-Cola in hand, and looked out the window. The day was overcast and dull. People walked by in coats and hats to keep dry from the drizzling rain. A perfect day for Marty. The sun was often too much. Too bright, too hot. Marty sipped his beverage.

A knock at his apartment door pulled Marty from his cola fueled trace. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Marty checked his watch: 3:05 p.m. He felt his heart rate jump as he considered having to interact with someone without preparation. He hated small talk, talking in general. Marty waited, peering off in the relative direction of the door, but did not get up. He hoped they would go away. A second knock never came. Marty relaxed slightly in his chair and took another sweet sip of his Diet Cuso-Cola.

Marty decided to ignore the knock entirely. If it was important, they’d have knocked twice. They could have had the wrong apartment. Marty didn’t want to catch them slinking away and embarrass them. It could have been some of the neighbor kids pranking on their way home from school. Marty certainly did not want to interact with them. Little heathens. Regardless, they did not knock twice, and Marty felt morally justified not to answer. How rude of them to knock anyways. People are rude.

Marty finished his drink and gave the glass a good rinse. He returned to his office and sat at his terminal, ready to continue with the workday. Two hours and ten minutes later, Marty logged off for the day and started for his bedroom. He passed by the foyer and stopped, considering the front door for a moment. He couldn’t help but wonder who had knocked. What did they want. A prang of guilt shot through him. What if they needed help? Marty stepped towards the door and stopped to look through the peephole. No one was around, so he unlocked the door and pulled it open. Marty cautiously leaned through the threshold to peer down the hall.

Before him stretched the familiar hallway he’d known for years. Smoky green wallpaper with white crown molding, cracked and peeling from years of neglect. A single wall sconce lit the space between each apartment, lending to the depressing and dim appearance. Marty looked left, then right. No one was about. Nothing unusual.

He closed the apartment door and locked it. He took extra time to double check each of the three dead bolt locks. Very secure. Marty went about his evening routine.

3 p.m. Thursday

The perfection of a cold Diet Cuso-Cola was only matched by the perfection of a perfectly planned day. Marty smiled to himself as he poured the diet cola into the glass. He stood and watched the foam recede around the ice cubes. He carried the glass into his office and took his seat by the window. The bubbles were still jumping as he took his first sip. The carbonation tickled his mustache as he enjoyed the drink.

Outside the weather was overcast, but not raining. People walked about more freely and seemed to be in better spirits. Marty enjoyed watching them come and go. Some with kids, others walking dogs. Couples and singles. All manner of people going about their lives in the world outside. Marty never considered joining them. Too much unknown out there. Too much risk.

A knock at the door.

Marty froze. His heart jumped into his throat. 3:05 p.m. Same as yesterday. Marty waited for a second knock. It never arrived. 3:10 p.m. came and went, then 3:30. Marty stood, Diet Cuso-Cola still only half drunk and walked to the door. No one through the peephole. He set his glass on the small table next to the door and began unlocking the deadbolts. When he swung the door open, there was nothing but the same old green hallways with off white crowned molding, stained from decades of neglect.

No note. No packages. No sign of a knocker.

Marty backed through the doorway and shut it firmly. He triple checked the locks and turned to go back to work. As he did, he knocked the Diet Cuso-Cola glass from the table. It crashed onto the hardwood floor. Cola and glass went everywhere. Marty panicked. He was always so careful; how could this happen? He knew it was there! Idiot! He thought to himself. How stupid. You’re so stupid. See, how could you possibly go outside when you can’t even keep your own house in order?

Marty paced back to the kitchen to retrieve paper towels and the broom. He cleaned the soda and glass for thirty minutes. He made sure even the smallest shard of glass was accounted for. He double wiped the diet Cuso-Cola from the wood. That’s when he realized it was 4 pm. He was still on the clock. Marty returned to his terminal in a huff. He sat and worked until 6 pm.

After work, Marty couldn’t concentrate on anything. Instead of eating dinner or watching his programs, he stood in the narrow foyer of his apartment searching for glass shards. When he was sure he had found them all, he mopped the floor twice to be sure all the Diet Cuso-Cola was cleaned. He paced the hallway of his small apartment until 9 pm. Every few passes he checked the peephole on the door. Same old empty dark hallway. Around 11 p.m., Marty sat at his desk and opened his journal. After scribbling a few thoughts on the day, he closed the book and went to bed.

2:45 PM Friday

Much to his dismay, Marty pushed his Diet Cuso-Cola break to 2:45 p.m. on Friday. It threw off his whole routine. From the moment he got up, he did nothing but focus and worry about his now 2:45 cola enjoyment, and the impending dread of the potential three o’clock. knocking. He gazed blankly at his monitor. The green screen terminal blinked idly back at him, awaiting input. But there would be no data review today. Just waiting.

At 2:40 p.m. he stood and began his ritual. Grab a cold diet Cuso-Cola from the fridge, a glass from the cabinet and ice from the freezer. Click, pop, fizz. He waited for the foam to reside and took a drink, standing in the kitchen. He waited. 2:55, 2:56, 2:57. Agony. Each sip tasted worse than the last. How could he enjoy this simple pleasure of life with such apprehension? The impending doom of the knock had Marty completely out of sorts.

At three o’clock, Marty sat the glass down. The cold beverage was half drunk. He peered around the corner of the kitchen and down the hallway. Five minutes. The seconds seemed like days. All he could do was look from his watch to the door and back. These five minutes could have been five days, or five centuries. 3:05 p.m. finally came. No knock. Ten seconds, fifteen, twenty. Marty began to relax until 3:05:30.

A knock.

One single, loud knock. Marty hesitated, waiting for a second knock he knew would never come. 3:06 p.m. came and passed and Marty walked to the end of the short apartment hall. He neglected the peephole and instead proceeded right to unlock the deadbolts. This was it, nothing left to do but open the door.

He swung the apartment door open.

Marty could not fully understand what he saw. A hallway stretched out before him. But where he expected the familiar dingy apartment hall, something different appeared before him. A long corridor straight from his door out into what seemed like endless passages. The walls were beige. The ceiling, once tall with elegant crown molding, was now a more modern (and ugly) dropped ceiling with white worn panels.

Still in his apartment, Marty stared at this new hallway for a while. Then, almost instinctively, he stepped forward. His foot landed on vinyl tiling. His apartment had hardwood floors. These tiles looked cheap and had an unpleasant blue gray texture, like that of an underfunded schoolhouse. The whole eerie passage was lit with harsh fluorescent bulbs that seemed to imitate from the ceiling, but Marty couldn’t quite make out the source. They gave the place a dingy glow. Marty continued to walk from his apartment into this strange hallway. His apartment door slowly closed behind him. But Marty did not look back. He was pulled further into the labyrinth.

After several meters, Marty came to an intersection. The hallway split into three other directions. Marty stood in the middle of this liminal space and contemplated the situation. He looked back and saw his apartment door in the distance. Green paint. Gold doorknob. Apartment 5F. The other directions left right and forward were endless corridors. He saw no doors, no exits. The space was quiet. No cars passing outside. No people, no kids. No nothing.

Also, no sign of the mysterious door knocker. Marty realized at that moment that he was most certainly not alone here, even if he couldn’t see anyone. This panic quickly boiled over and he turned and ran back to his apartment. He slammed into the door, turned the knob and threw himself inside. Before he even knew what he was doing, the door was locked, and he was hiding under his office desk.

After an hour of hiding, Marty mustered the courage to return to his front door. He looked through the peephole, and found his old green hallway returned. He opened the door to be sure. There it was, awful green wallpaper, tarnished sconces providing minimal light, and scuffed hardwood floor. All as he remembered it. No long foreboding catacombs or weird fluorescent light. Just a regular old apartment hallway.

Marty closed and locked the apartment door. A wave of anxiety and frustration washed over him. He sat on the floor, back against the door, and wept.

6 a.m. Saturday

Marty did not sleep. Too much about the mystery hallway haunted him. He doubted himself, before assuring himself.

It was real. No, it wasn’t! I was somewhere else. You’ve always just been right here.

Somewhere around 5 a.m. he nodded off, only to jerk awake at six. He decided to reset. No work today, no pressure. Relax. Marty went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Inside, he reached for that familiar red can with the black cursive lettering. He sat the can on the counter and proceeded to get a glass and fill it with ice. Then, back to the can, ready to pull the tab, he stopped. Marty blinked as he held the can close to his face. It read:

Diet Cusco-Cola.

Something felt wrong, but Marty couldn’t quite place it. He read the can again. Diet Cusco-Cola. Then the fine print, Cusco-Cola Company of Columbus, Ohio. He put the can down and opened the refrigerator again. All eight cans in the fridge read Diet Cusco-Cola. Marty felt his head begin to spin. What exactly was the problem? Hadn’t it always been Diet Cusco-Cola?

Marty walked to his panty. On his hands and knees, he rummaged until he found three other cases of the soft drink he kept in stock. The boxes were red with black cursive: Diet Cusco-Cola. Marty began ripping the boxes open, and one by one studying the cans. Can after can, marketing print, fine print. Diet Cusco-Cola, Cusco-Cola Company of Columbus, Ohio. Thirty-six cans later, Marty sat and leaned against his cabinets. Forty-five cans of Cola if he included the one he opened. They all read Diet Cusco-Cola.

Marty had been in therapy for a few years. One thing his therapist suggested was journaling. Marty didn’t particularly see the point, but he treated it like homework, and he was an A+ student. Sitting on the kitchen floor, Marty realized he had written about his daily 3 p.m. cola habit several times. He stood and raced to the office and tore open his journal. After a few pages he found the entry:

I spilled my glass of Diet Cusco-Cola today. I was being stupid, worrying over someone knocking at the door and knocked the glass off the console table in the foyer.

“Fuck!” Marty said aloud. The sound of his own voice was so startling he dropped the journal. The leather-bound book crashed to the floor as Marty stood back in absolute dismay. There on the page in his own chaotic handwriting: Diet Cusco-Cola! “I’m going mad.” He muttered to himself. Marty gathered himself and realized, this was all pointless. He’d not slept or eaten properly. This feeling of­—uncertainty—must come from there. He needed to eat and sleep, and it would all be better.

So, Marty went back into the kitchen. He put all the cans of soda into their boxes and slid them neatly back into the pantry. He took a new can of Diet Cusco-Cola out of the fridge and prepared a new glass with ice. Pop. Fizz. Pour. Marty pre-heated the oven and took the beverage in one hand. It looked and sounded like a normal cola drink. So, he took a sip.

It tasted different.

3 p.m. Saturday

The miserable day dragged on endlessly. Marty opened all eight of the cans of Diet Cusco-Cola in the refrigerator for taste testing. All eight fell short of his expectations. He started checking the sell by dates of all the cans. The eight refrigerator cans were good for another month. The pantry cans varied between two and three months before expiration. Marty placed several of the pantry cans in the fridge to cool for further tasting.

When 3 o’clock arrived, Marty stopped the testing and went to stand by the door. He could feel his heart beating faster as 3:05 approached. He was determined to catch the mysterious door knocker and end this madness. Time slowed again as his hands became slick with sweat. 3:04. 3:05. 3:05:50—

Knock.

Marty swung the door open. Beyond him stretched the strange beige-ish yellow corridor with odd lights and ominous vibrations. But right in front of him stood a short woman, no older than thirty. She had dark hair, pulled into a messy bun and wore baggy, worn clothes.

“Marty!” the woman shouted. “Damn dude, you’re hard to find!”

The woman gave Marty a tight hug that he did not return and helped herself into his apartment. Marty was dumbfounded as he watched the woman walk past him and into the kitchen. He heard the refrigerator door open and shut. He followed her and watched as she took a can of Diet Cusco-Cola and cracked it open.

“Cusco-Cola with a ‘C’ huh?” The woman took a long swig and considered the taste. “I prefer the ones that start with a ‘K’ myself. Yuck, you know this is warm?” She sat the can aside and began rummaging through the fridge. She eventually found a bag of shredded cheese, which she proceeded to tear open and consume with her unwashed hands. Marty tried to speak, but nothing came out. The woman tossed one final handful of cheese into her mouth and noticed Marty watching her.

“You have no idea who I am do you?” She said mouth full of cheese.

Marty shook his head no.

“It’s been a while since I had to do a Marty intro, but okay!” She swallowed the cheese. “I’m Wanda.” She did a crude little curtsy. “And we do know each other, just not here.”

“Where else?” Marty managed to express.

“Excellent question Marty!” Wanda opened the pantry door and began searching. “I’m assuming you noticed the weird ass hallway when you opened the door?”

“Yes. I saw it yesterday too.”

“Oh sweet, you already made one jump. What changed?”

“Changed?” Marty stammered.

“Did you not notice any changes when you got back from the hallway?”

“Actually.” Marty paused and watched the woman tearing into a box of club crackers like she’d not eaten in days. He considered briefly if it was wise to continue to share with this stranger. “I think something is wrong with the diet soda. It tastes different, and I swear it used to be spelled differently.”

“Perfect!” Wanda walked past Marty and sat at the small kitchen table in the corner. “This should be easy then. When you left your apartment yesterday and went into the liminal hallway, your consciousness passed into limbo.” Wanda chomped on crackers as she explained. “Then when you came back, you reentered in a slightly different version of your reality.”

“My reality? Are you suggesting there are multiple realities and that I traveled between them?”

“No, don’t be silly! Just your conscious mind traveled into liminal space and jumped into a different consciousness. Your body stayed put.”

Marty sat in the opposing chair to Wanda and slouched. “I don’t—”

“Marty! It’s okay.” Wanda gave a toothy smile, missing molars and all. “It’s like this. You exist everywhere, all the time, infinitely. But humans and our teeny tiny brains just can’t reconcile that. So, to compensate, our conscious minds are compartmentalized. We only get to see one reality at a time. Thus, you and I have had some fun adventures together, but you, here, now, are fuckin’ clueless.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yeah man, it is.” Wanda frowned at the club crackers she’d been eating. “Hey, is there a vending machine in this version of the building?”

“Yes. It’s—”

“Down the hall, second from the end.” Wanda stood. “Awesome. You have any change? Mine won’t work here.” Wanda slammed a few coins on the kitchen table. Marty pointed her to the change tray. Wanda took some coins and left the apartment.

Marty eyed the coins she left on the table. They were recognizable as coins, but the faces, the names, the language even, were foreign to Marty. One even pictured a dog’s head on it where Marty expected to find the bust of Abraham Lincoln. Marty held that coin for a while, attempting to understand.

The apartment door slammed shut. Wanda entered the kitchen and laid several bags of chips and candy bar on the table.

“Ha, you missed adventure,” she said, referencing the Lincoln dog coin. “That was some weird shit!”

“So, if I am not in my reality, but my body is, then who’s in my body there?”

“I mean, you are?” Wanda began eating chips. The chopping annoyed Marty. “Maybe the version of yourself that lived here? Maybe you traded? I don’t really know, because no one ever gets back to where they came from, and no one ever gets to talk to themselves.”

“What do you mean I can’t get back?” Marty stood with panic in his voice. “I can’t stay here. It’s not correct. I need to get back to my place and my time and my god damned Diet Cuso-Cola!”

Wanda stopped eating for a moment and looked sympathetically at Marty.

“Well, you can’t. Mind if I crash on your couch?”

3 p.m. Sunday

Marty found Wanda extremely annoying. She was messy, rude, and talkative. Marty needed quiet time. Time alone to think and consider and rest. Wanda seemed like the opposite. It seemed to Marty that every thought she had inevitably came gushing from her mouth the moment she thought it. She talked incessantly like she’d not spoken to a person in years.

“Anyways, then I turned the corner and saw your door. I hadn’t found a Marty door in a while, so I thought I would stop by.” Wanda took a sip of Diet Cusco-Cola and met Marty’s tired eyes. “You’re quiet you know? Even for a Marty!”

“I appreciate a good silence.”

“God,” Wanda opened a bag of vending machine chips. “I’ve had nothing but silence recently. It gets oppressive after a while.”

“Why not go home?”

“Well, I got lost,” For the first time, Wanda’s voice was a bit less enthusiastic. “Or well, I am lost. I can’t find my door.”

“How long has it been?”

“Not sure.” Wanda ate more chips. “Time only feels real when I’m here. In there,” Wanda nodded to the door. “Time is fuzzy. I’ve spent a lot of ‘time’ in there.”

“Why not go home from this side?”

“I tried that once.” Wanda became distant. “I got to my front door. But each time I opened it, it just went to the liminal hallway. Same with the windows. I can’t get in from this side. I tried just living in a world too. Just staying in a nice one, with a nice Marty. But eventually, all the doors lead me to the hallway. Like it knows I’m not supposed to be here. So recently I’ve just been couch surfing. Stay a few days, get food and then back to it.”

Marty leaned back in his chair and considered her predicament. “Sounds exhausting.”

Wanda did not answer and for the first time since she arrived, remained quiet for several minutes. Marty sat with her in this silence and felt comfortable around her for the first time. He’d just met the woman twenty-four hours earlier and she annoyed him endlessly. But he felt an odd connection. Somehow, Marty felt like he knew Wanda, which according to her, he did. He began to wonder how close she was to some of his other versions. It was unlike him to start a conversation, but—

“So, you’ve met a lot of me?” Marty started. “Are we all pretty similar?”

“Marty’s are all the same, a bunch of old fuddy duddies. You never want to do anything, or go anywhere, or have fun. You just want to stay here in your apartment and be boring and drink your boring soda and never change.” Wanda paused. “Which is nice sometimes. But other times not so much.”

Marty considered her insult. He never thought of himself as boring. Careful, considerate, mindful, yes. Not boring. What was wrong with boring? Routine? Safety? The world is a dangerous place after all. One should be careful or—or what?

“Are Marty’s the only people you meet in there?”

“No, I run across a bunch of folks.” Wanda brightened back up. “But something always brings me back to you. And I don’t really believe in fate and all that bullshit. But it seems like every other door I find is a Marty door.”

“So, we are close?”

“We’re not sleeping together if that’s what you mean, perv.”

“No, no!” Marty blushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean that!”

“I’m just fucking with you Marty!” Wanda gave him a wry smile. Marty smiled and wiped the sweat off his brow. They talked for a few more hours and Marty found himself enjoying the conversation. Marty eventually went to the kitchen to make dinner and Wanda followed. She talked as he cooked, and Marty felt a wave of happiness. Normal dinner prep was so quiet and mundane, but now, Wanda was here, and the process seemed exciting. She asked him about ingredients and processes. Marty loved nothing more than to describe a process. When dinner was ready, Wanda went to the restroom as Marty prepared the table.

“Well,” Wanda said when she returned. “After dinner I have to go.”

“What? Back to the hallway? Why?” After hating this woman’s presence for more than a day, suddenly Marty couldn’t imagine being in his small apartment alone again.

“There’s a liminal hallway where the bathroom door should be.” Wanda said flatly. “But let’s eat first at least, you went through all the trouble.”

The couple sat and began eating. There was an awkward silence that wasn’t there before.

“Maybe,” Marty broke in, “You can go out and then right back in?”

“Sorry, doesn’t work like that.” Wanda tensed up. “I’ve never met the same Marty twice.”

Marty felt his heart stop.

“But, when you arrived, you seemed to expect me to recognize you? How, if you’ve never met the same Marty?”

“You know, a lot of it is guessing. It just seems like sometimes you all have residual memories of me. Maybe some memories will get through the block? Really strong ones. I think that is how déjà vu works.”

“What happens if you stay longer?”

“Well, I mean, the bathroom door is blocked for me, and I’m going to have to pee at some point. Pretty sure you wouldn’t be cool with me going in the sink.”

“There are restrooms in the hallway?”

“No, but you don’t have to pee or eat or sleep or anything in there. I can leave my full bladder as a problem for the next Marty I find.” Wanda laughed. “Hey, why don’t you come with me? We can explore a bit, then drop you off at next Marty door we find.”

Marty felt his muscles tense. He was enjoying Wanda’s company, but this request was a whole new level. While this world was different than his original, it was also very similar. He could find himself fitting in here and eventually even enjoying a Diet Cusco-Cola.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to come, I know how hard it is for Marty’s to be adventurous.”

Something about this comment made Marty angry. Not at Wanda, but at himself, or themselves or whatever. He stood.

“I’m coming.”

Wanda stood with excitement. “Yay! Let’s go!”

“Wait,” Marty’s enthusiasm crashed immediately. “Now? It’s past 3 p.m. I figured we could leave tomorrow.”

“What’s 3 p.m. have to do with anything?” Wanda asked.

“Well, each of the preceding three days before I met you, there was a knock on the door at exactly 3:05 p.m. The third time, I opened to find you standing there.”

“I only knocked once. And, I have no idea what time it is on this side from in there.”

“Then how’s this work?”

“Well, I can’t open the door, because it wants me gone. You’ll just see the regular hallway. So, what you do is just open the door and wish.”

“Wish?” Marty frowned. “That doesn’t seem at all reliable or helpful.”

“Yeah, I know Marty. I can’t write you a detailed instruction book on this one. You just have to want to open the liminal door.” The two walked to the apartment’s front door. Marty opened it. Outside was the same old poorly lit green hallway. He shut the door and opened it again. Same result.

“I don’t really excel when it comes to doing things based on feel.”

“Just breathe and think about the hallway and imagine yourself there. Imagine you open this door and the hallway is there.” Marty grumbled at the use of imagination. Imagination only ever disappointed him.

“Fine.” Marty took a long breath and pictured the liminal hallway in his mind. Beige walls, odd lighting, cheap tiles. Everything he could recall. He pictured his door opening in. Then Marty smiled as he pictured the crack of a fresh, cold, Diet Cuso-Cola. He imagined himself sipping the drink from a clean glass and the caramel and vanilla flavors he loved and missed so. Keeping his eyes closed, he grabbed the knob and swung the real door open. When he opened his eyes, the liminal hallway stretched out before him. He looked at Wanda and smiled. “I did it.” Wanda grabbed his hand and gave it a small squeeze. Marty was taken back by the touch.

“It’s just so we can cross together, don’t get excited.” Wanda snarked as they stepped out of the apartment.

The Liminal Hallway

The Liminal hallway was cold and quiet. Marty noticed their footsteps seemed muted. The dull lights gave off an eerie yellow glow. There was a faint smell of burnt meat in the air as they traveled. Neither spoke for a while. Marty often looked back to see his green apartment door grow smaller. Eventually, Wanda took a left and his door disappeared.

The hallway led them to a larger room with a pool. There was no water in the pool, but Marty could smell chlorine. The ceiling here was taller and brighter, but still the light source was obfuscated. Marty struggled to understand what he saw. The pool area tiles were tan and ceramic with off-white grout. They traveled through several arches, which took them to more empty pool rooms. Wanda did not bother to explain. Marty didn’t bother to ask.

After five pool rooms, they passed into more of the hallways Marty was used to. Passages intersecting every now and then. Sometimes Wanda ignored them, and sometimes she took them. After three consecutive left turns, Marty could no longer stay silent.

“Do you know where you are going?” He asked.

“Nope.” Wanda replied.

“Oh. Well, because I felt like we may be going in a circle.”

“Probably.” Wanda stopped. “Marty, trust me—” Wanda stopped dead in her tracks after turning a corner. Beyond them about thirty meters was a door. The door was white with a tarnished gold knob. It was adorned with a small white board which currently read “brb” in red dry erase marker. Marty looked at Wanda and knew. This was her door. Wanda walked forward until she met her door. She grabbed the knob, but did not turn it.

“I’m nervous,” Wanda said.

Marty, equally nervous about being left alone in the liminal hallway, gulped hard before speaking. “How do I get back to my door?”

“Oh, shit!” Wanda turned to Marty and grabbed his hand. “I never would have brought you out here if I thought this would happen. Come with me? To my world for a bit. I can help teach you a few more things.”

Marty smiled. Staying with Wanda seemed nice. They were both so lonely. Some more time together, however brief, would be good. Marty was about to say yes to Wanda’s offer, when footsteps approached from behind. Marty turned to face this newcomer and found himself looking into a mirror. Only it wasn’t a mirror, it was another Marty.

“You should be careful with this Wanda, Marty.” The other Marty said. “She lures Marty’s to her door so she can kill them.”

Wanda stood motionless, searching the newcomers’ face for one answer.

“Have we met?” Wanda asked.

New Marty ignored her question and continued to address Marty. “Call me Martin. It will make things easier on the readers.” Martin smiled. “Now, come with me and I will get you back to your door, alive.”

Marty stood between the two strangers in a panic.

“Marty, I don’t know who this is, but I don’t think you should go with him.” Wanda lightly grabbed Marty’s arm. He yanked his hand away from Wanda.

“Marty!” Martin exclaimed. “I’m your only way home!”

“He’s lying Marty. I found my door again, you can too!” Wanda grabbed and pulled on Marty’s arm.

“You only found your door because I willed it!” Martin said. “I’m the reason you found all your precious Marty’s and now I’m the reason you’ve found home.”

“What are you talking about?” Wanda asked.

Martin smiled. “Marty come with me; we can enjoy a perfectly chilled Diet Cuso-Cola together.”

“I don’t understand?” Marty finally said, exhausted by the panic and confusion of the moment.

“I’m bringing all the Marty’s to nirvana!” Martin began. “I’m collecting Marty’s so we can all join and ascend to a higher tier. A place where we can all live in peace, together and have a set routine and live the same day, the same way, forever.”

“You’re collecting Marty’s?” Wanda considered this. “And you’re using me to lure them out?”

“And you’re so good at it! It’s all you’re good at, really. Silly Wanda’s, still living at mommy and daddy’s house at twenty-seven. Calling herself a dog-mom. You should be grateful I’ve given you some purpose in life.”

Wanda and Martin continued a back and forth while Marty considered the offer from Martin. Infinite routine. Living the same day over and over. It sounded like a dream. It sounded too good to be true.

“You’re the door knocker.” Marty finally said. “Wanda said she only knocked once. It was you that knocked the days before. You ruined my routine. Why?”

“Your routine is finite, interruptible.” Martin stepped closer to Marty and Wanda. “Come with me Marty. Help us reach heaven!”

“Where are the other Marty’s?” Marty asked.

Martin gestured towards his head with his pointer finger like a slow knowing wave. “They all live with me now. The combined strength of some two hundred Marty’s. Join us!”

“I’m not in the mood to get absorbed today.” Marty replied.

“Well,” Martin pulled an object out of his pocket. It was no bigger than a Television remote. He pointed at Wanda’s door and clicked one of the face buttons. The door disappeared. “I’m not asking.” Martin pointed the clicker at Wanda.

“Fuck you Marty, or Martin or whatever the hell you go by now!” Wanda screamed. “I do remember you. Miserable shrimp dick asshole!  I showed you kindness when no one else would and this is what—” Martin clicked the remote and Wanda was gone.

“It’s that easy.” Martin said with a smug smile. “Wanda’s are so annoying, am I right?” Martin lowered the remote but did not put it away. “So, what do you say? Join us?”

Marty stood motionless for a moment, considering his options. Would Martin delete him too if he didn’t comply? No, he needed Marty for something. Marty looked around. He stood at the intersection of a three-way juncture. Martin stood ahead of him. To his left and right were endless hallways to nowhere, and to everywhere. Marty began to digest two things: Wanda was gone, just like that. No fanfare, no fight. Gone. And second, he no longer wanted the same old, same old. There could be, there is more to life than doing the same shit every day until you die just because it’s comfortable. Or in the case of Martin’s offer, live forever doing the same old, same old just because it’s comfortable.

Marty ran.

Vertex

The liminal hallway was completely devoid of iconography. Not text, no signage. Nothing on the walls or floors to direct or dissuade or interpret. Marty ran as best as his mid-life body would carry him. When he came to an intersection, he turned without thinking. He tried to make the direction choices as random as possible. Still, he could feel Martin in pursuit.

As his heart pounded to keep oxygen supplied to his muscles, so too his mind raced. He was not sure what Martin did to Wanda, but he was determined not to meet her fate. The interaction between the three was confusing and he felt conflicted about their relationship. Had Wanda lured him into this danger purposefully? To what end? She clearly wasn’t working with Martin. Unless—

Marty stopped and took two paces backward. Down a corridor he just passed, about halfway up the wall, there was a sign.

A sign is generous. Words seemingly spray painted on the wall with a stencil and an arrow pointing down the same corridor. Marty approached the sign and read it:

vertex ->

“What the fuck does that mean?” Marty said aloud. He read the sign again and realized an odd detail. The font was the same as his work terminal. This stuck out to Marty, because the font was not a common one. It was IBM 3270. A proprietary font used almost exclusively by his employer. Marty wasn’t a font expert by any means, but he did enjoy a good type face and he’d been staring at this one for the better part of twenty years, so he knew it when he saw it. And this was only the second place he’d ever seen it.

“Come on Marty.” Martin’s voice carried and echoed through the hallway unlike any other noise or sound there could. “Can’t we just talk?”

Marty took one more look at the sign before running down the hallway, following the arrow. The liminal hallway continued as unusual as always, for quite some time. But every now and then, Marty saw the sign again. The word vertex and an arrow. He followed.

But as fast as Marty could go, Martin was on his heels. Marty couldn’t see him, but he could hear him. He could feel him. Martin talked endlessly about his supposed nirvana realm. A place of all day routine, 3 p.m. Diet Cuso-Cola’s, no distractions, no annoyances, no surprises, no changes.

And certainly, no Wanda’s.

Marty could feel his body breaking down. He was not a runner, or really a man who exercised at all. This pace was wearing him down. His knees began to ache first, followed by burning in his lungs. As he sweat, he itched. This itching broke Marty more than the knee pain. He couldn’t stand an itch. He meticulously removed tags from all his shirts and was very careful to buy clothes made from specific, Marty-approved materials, just to avoid them.

Marty made one final turn and collapsed onto the floor. He lay there for a while, breathing hot wet air. But after the pain and itching subsided a bit, he noticed a change. Instead of boring tiles, the floor was carpet, a very tight cut and loop style. It was green, like the kind of green you expect on an old refrigerator. Marty looked up from the floor and found a wall of computer terminals. Old CRT monitors from the floor to the ceiling. They displayed text, and graphs, all in Marty’s noted font. In the middle of this wall was a console flanked by several drawers.

Marty pulled himself up and gazed upon the wall for a moment. More data than he’d ever reviewed flashed across the screens. Dot matrix imagines and spreadsheets and account information and occasionally, security camera footage. Marty stopped and watched the camera monitor. It flashed between views down endless liminal hallways. If it wasn’t for a slight hiccup in the feed, Marty wouldn’t even be able to tell it switched cameras. He began to consider where these cameras were, as he’d not seen any in his travels, but the picture flipped again. This time he saw Martin, marching down a hallway. The word vertex and an arrow on the wall beside him.

Marty jumped and began looking around for an exit. The room was a dead end. He ran to the hallway from where he’d come and could hear Martin approaching. He ran back to the wall and saw him on the monitor again. Marty was trapped. He looked over and saw the console. A keyboard, a larger main monitor, several input ports and six drawers; three on each side of the chair. Marty approached the console. The screen had a login prompt flashing. It was the same login he used daily at work. Marty, out of pure panic, attempted to login using his credentials. The attempt failed.

“Shit!” Marty started rummaging through the drawers. Each was empty except the last one on the top right. It contained a remote exactly like the one Martin used. Marty grabbed the device. None of the buttons made any sense. They were oddly placed, with symbols and runes denoting their purpose. But none of them meant anything to Marty. The buttons were black to match the remote, except for one in the middle. It was bright red.

“Marty!” Martin rounded the corner. Marty did not turn to face him as he held the remote. “Great job. You found vertex. It took me years to wander up here.”

Marty slowly slipped the remote into his coat pocket and turned to face his foe. Martin was an exact copy of Marty. Every detail, every stray gray hair. Marty kept his hand in his pocket, firmly around the remote. Martin must have pocketed his remote, because it was nowhere to be seen.

“I just want to go back to my apartment and rest. But I don’t want to go with you.”

“I understand. This is difficult on all of us. But we are so close! I can feel it.”

“What did you do to Wanda?”

“Buddy, take my advice. Which is coincidentally, your advice. That chick will only break your heart.”

“That’s not an answer!” Marty pulled the remote from his pocket and pointed it directly at Martin. He placed his thumb on the red button. Martin took a half step back and seemed surprised. “What did you do to Wanda?”

Martin reached for his own pocket but stopped midway. He seemed to have a realization, though Marty had no idea what about.

“She’s fine. She’s cool. But she’s nothing to us.” Martin replied.

“What’s this red button do?” Marty placed his thumb firmly on the button, aiming at Martin. He could feel the button’s tactile resistance as he flirted with pressing it.

“It does whatever you want it to.” Martin replied with a flat reservation.

“That makes no sense. None of this makes any sense!”

“And that, dear Marty, is why you need to come with me. To a world of sense.”

Marty thought about home. His apartment. His books and his kitchen and yes, Marty even thought about Diet Cuso-Cola. He thought about all the Marty’s Martin had deceived and all the Wanda’s he probably deleted. Just like with opening the liminal door, Marty felt these things, not just thought about them. Then­—

Marty pressed the red button.

Martin, just like Wanda, vanished without a trace. No explosion, so special effects. Just gone. A tear ran down Marty’s cheek as he turned the remote to his own chest and pressed the button again.

3 p.m. Monday

Usually, Marty was a man of routine. He liked to get up at the same time, have coffee, work and have a lovely Diet Cuso-Cola at exactly 3 p.m. each afternoon. But for whatever reason, Monday rolled around, and Marty didn’t feel like doing any of that. Instead, he called in sick to work and slept in. He got up around eleven and had a quick lunch before going on a walk.

Marty never went to the park. He liked to watch people enjoy it from the safety of his window. But today seemed like a great day for a walk. The sun was out and the weather mild. He heard birds singing and children laughing. Somewhere in town, he heard the faint buzz of lawn mowers. Fresh cut grass filled his nose. Eventually, Marty found a nice bench overlooking a small pond. He sat and watched the day and breathed the fresh air and felt happy for once.

A small black dog ran up to Marty and sat before him. Marty smiled at the dog and gave it a timid pat on the head. It responded by jumping onto the bench and putting its head in his lap. Marty laughed and continued to pet the creature.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A woman approached and sat on the bench next to Marty. She grabbed the dog and gently pulled it back from Marty.

“It’s ok.” Marty said.

“He doesn’t really get the idea of personal space,” the woman said of the dog. Her smile was familiar to Marty, but he couldn’t quite place her name. He felt like he’d met this woman, but where? Until today, he never went anywhere. “Are you new to the area? I’ve never seen you around,” She asked.

Marty paused before answering.

“I am.”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Daniel Roush 2025