In a Day or Two

Approximately 3150 words

In a Day or Two
by
Max Griffin
         

Martin

         A cloud of gluons buzzed in Martin’s sleeping brain, and he jerked awake.  Urgency jittered through his belly, and a compulsion to flee animated his limbs.  He struggled upright, standing on sketchy legs. Chilly air from nowhere wafted over his clammy, naked body.  Leather pants and a motorcycle jacket, both black, hung on a featureless gray wall above a pair of ebony boots.  Even his flesh was gray.  Color had abandoned his world. Or perhaps it had never been there in the first place.

         He snatched up the leathers and pulled them on.  No time to lose.  He'd be gone in a day or two. 

         The room along with its empty walls vanished, and a fog engulfed him.  The throaty roar of far-off engines rumbled.  Nearby, a massive Harley coalesced in the mist and promised escape.  He mounted it, revved the motor, and let its power flow through him. 

         The roar of the remote engines grew louder and more menacing. He glimpsed two helmeted pursuers, gray and malevolent, still distant, racing toward him. Time to flee.

         He careened into the fog.  The dark ones followed and edged ever closer.  Martin’s heart raced and his breath tore at his throat.  He’d be gone in a day or two.  But not now.  Please, not now.

         The pursuers closed in, and panic sent needles prickling down Martin’s spine. He veered into a sharp turn. His opponents tried to follow, but their bikes crashed together with the crump of bent metal and the wail of unfettered engines. They tumbled away and disappeared in the mist.

         Relief flooded through Martin.  They'd be back.  They always came back.  But for now, he was safe.  He’d be gone soon, but not now.  Not yet.

         A tinge of color glimmered ahead, and he slowed to a stop.  A window hung in the air.  A miraculous window, to a world of color and beauty.  A man peered at him from the other side, a look of wonder on his angelic features. 

         That beguiling face triggered something deep in Martin's soul.  Not a memory.  Not exactly.  More like something he'd long known, but had forgotten. Like the knowledge that in a day or two he'd be gone, or that his pursuers never gave up. Instinct, maybe.  But Martin knew that sometime in the past, possibly in another time and place, he'd been seeking precisely this man.  They were made for each other.  Or, perhaps, Martin was made just for him.

         He didn’t know what to say.  Longing made him whisper, “Today is another day to find you.”

         The man’s eyes widened, and he jerked back.

         Martin reached out and touched the surface of the window with his palm. He’d be gone in a day or two, so he murmured, “I’ll be coming for your love, okay?”

         

Liam

         Liam hunkered in a lonely booth in Kim’s Café, sipping strong coffee and watching videos on his iPhone. The lament of an acoustic version of an old a-ha hit suppressed the mutter of diners chatting and the sizzle of burgers on the grill.  Liam glanced at the couple at the next table, two teens holding hands, her adoring eyes on his chiseled features. 

         Liam sighed and dreamed of forbidden romance.  He repeated a silent mantra from the song, it’s no better to be safe than sorry. 

         The waitress slumped to his table and refreshed his coffee.  She wore a bright red scarf about her neck with a blue nametag that read Polly.  He offered her a tremulous smile in thanks.  She ignored him and put the coffee carafe down while she scribbled on her pad.  She dropped his check on the table, retrieved the carafe, and walked away as if he didn’t exist.

         Liam closed his eyes, rubbed tension out of his temples, and wished the world away. 

         When he opened his eyes, the world was still stubbornly there, unchanged and lifeless. The teens still held hands, the diners still chatted, the waitress still slouched at the counter. 

         His iPhone still lay on the table, offering escape. 

         He touched the screen to waken the device. It wasn’t life, but just a way to play his troubles away. It didn’t matter. His life was an empty race to nowhere.  It would never change. Whether he ran for a day or two or for a lifetime, the end would be the same.

         The thumbnail of a video caught his eye, a black-and-white sketch of a lean and alluring young man wearing a leather jacket.  With nothing better to do, he played the video.

         Not really a video.  More of an animated comic in grayscale.  Probably created by some AI magic. The young man in leather rode a motorcycle, chased by two helmeted pursuers. In a flash of black and white chaos, the pursuers' cycles collided and the young man escaped. 

         The chase over, the man with the movie-star looks dismounted.  His features loomed large and filled the screen.  Seductive features.  Features of Liam’s dreams. His gaze pierced Liam's soul.

         Liam touched the screen of his phone as wonder warmed his heart.

         The man inside his phone whispered, “Today is another day to find you.”

         Liam jerked his hand back.  The comic-book man, the man of forsaken dreams, spoke to him.  In the real world, Liam's world, nothing changed. Colors still tinged the emptiness. The desolation of loneliness still shrouded everything.  But the world inside the iPhone, the imaginary world drawn in shades of gray, that world called to him.

         The man in the phone touched the screen with his palm and murmured, “I’ll be coming for your love, okay?”

         Maybe the world could change after all.  Yearning made Liam whisper, “Okay.”

         

Polly

         Polly leaned against the counter and tried to ignore her aching back and sore feet.  Seven hours slinging grub in Kim’s café had left her eyes grainy and her nerves frayed, and she still had an hour to go.  The rat race that was her life never ended.

         The two teenaged lovebirds finally stopped their tawdry sexual displays and headed to the cash register.  Polly sighed and trudged over to ring them out.  The boy slipped her a twenty, and when she made change, she gave him six ones so he could leave her a tip. 

         He left the coins on the counter and pocketed the folding money without looking at her. 

         Awesome.  That was a sixty three cent tip on a thirteen dollar meal, not even five percent.  She glanced over the tables and saw that the goofy-looking nerd at the table next to the lovebirds' had left.  Another terrific customer.  He’d been there over an hour, ordered exactly one cup of coffee, and spent the whole time futzing with his phone. 

         She plodded to his table.  His phone was still there, along with his check.  But no payment.  The little twerp had stiffed her.  Anger tightened her throat as she wadded up the check.  She’d show him.  She’d take his phone to Morty’s Pawn Shop and get some real cash.  Them iPhones had to be worth a bunch. 

         She stuffed the phone in a pocket of her apron, right next to the dime bag of weed she kept there so she could have a joint during break.  She sat in the booth and pulled off her right sneaker. While she rubbed her foot, she imagined stomping the little creep’s face.  That’d show him.

         The door chimed as two highway patrol cops strutted into the restaurant like they owned the place.  Glittering badges and chrome-studded straps adorned their black uniforms.  They must be motorcycle cops since they wore shiny black helmets with mirror-like face guards that hid their features. 

         Polly sighed, put her shoe back on, and stood to greet them. “Evening, officers.  What can I get for you?”

         One of them fished a crumpled photograph from a pocket and showed it to her. “We’re looking for this guy.  He look familiar?”

         Polly shrugged.  All those biker types looked the same to her. “Nope.”

         The man’s voice took on a threatening edge. “You didn’t even look.  Try again.”  He shoved the photo in her face.

         Polly wrinkled her nose and recoiled.  “All right, already.”  She reached for the picture. “Let me take a closer gander.”  She tugged and after a moment’s hesitation, the officer released the photo.

         She took her time peering at it.  Lean, and not bad looking.  Maybe early twenties, maybe less.  Kinda cute, in fact.  His motorcycle jacket was open to the waist and he wore no shirt underneath.  Great abs.  She handed the photo back to the officer. “Nope. He’s not familiar.”

         “You’re sure?”

         “He’s cute.  Different from the usual losers we get.  I’d remember him, trust me.  If he’s been in here, it’s not been on my shift.”

         “He might have been with someone else.  Anyone suspicious been here tonight?”

         She snorted. “Just a couple of love-dovey teeny-boppers.  And some doofus who stiffed me for coffee.”

         “Tell us more about him. The guy who didn’t pay his check.”

         She shrugged.  “What’s to tell?  Just a nerd who spent ninety minutes drinking endless refills and then didn’t have the decency to pay his bill.”

         The other officer spoke, his voice implacable. “That’s a crime.”

         “It sure is, not that anyone gives a flying—I mean, not that anyone cares. Coffee’s a buck.  The idiot left his phone behind, which is worth way more than that.”

         The first officer held out his hand.  “He left his phone?  Give it to me.”

         Polly twisted her mouth into a sneer.  Seemed like she didn’t know when to keep her yap shut, just like her no-good boyfriend kept telling her.  “It’s in the lost and found.  We gotta keep it in case he comes back to get it. Policy.”

         “Give it to us and we’ll see that he pays for his check.  And more.”

         “No can do.”  Not when she could pawn the damned thing and make some real money.  Kim didn’t need to know.

         “It’s evidence.  Give it to us.  Now.”  He waited a beat.  “Unless you want trouble.”  He turned to his companion.  “I think I smell pot.  What about you, Syd?”

         Polly clenched her jaw and considered the bag hiding in her apron.  She shrugged. “Whatever.” She pulled out the phone and handed it to the officer. 

         The cop accepted it, pulled off his leather gloves and pressed on the screen.  It flashed on and the cop shoved the phone into Polly’s face. “I thought you said you’d never seen this guy?”

         Polly glanced at the screen. Sure enough, it displayed what looked like a comic-book drawing of the guy in the cop’s photograph.  “I toldja, I never seen him.  Don’t mean squat that his face is on that little creep’s phone.  Maybe they knew each other, but the guy in that picture? He was never here.”

         The cop put his gloves back on and pocketed the phone. “We’re going to keep this. Any objections?”

         Polly had plenty of objections. That phone meant good money.  But arguing with cops was always a losing battle, at least for people like Polly.  “None that matter.”

         “Good.  We’ll take on these guys.  You can count on that.”

         

Martin

         Martin’s heart quickened when the young man murmured, “Okay.”

         He reached out and this time his hand passed through the window, into the world of color and fragile beauty.  His flesh turned from gray to pink, from dead to alive. 

         The young man on the other side recoiled.

         Martin remained resolute.  He’d be gone in a day or two, and then it would be too late.  He said, “You're all the things I've got to remember. You're shyin' away. I'll be comin' for you anyway.”

         They joined hands, then, on the other side.  Martin pulled and all at once they were together, in Martin’s world, embracing.  That world was still shades of gray, but now it pulsed with life. With love.  Fate, the gods, or maybe the invisible hand of chance brought them together. 

         Martin ran a knuckle down the other’s transcendent cheek and gazed into the depths of his gray eyes.  “I’m Martin.”

         A grin trifled with the other’s innocent lips. “Call me Liam.”

          “A good name.”  Desired one.  Protector.

         Liam's gaze roamed over Martin's world. “Where am I?  What happened?”

         Martin spoke with the flat certainty granted by truth. “We are where we’re meant to be.  What happened is what was meant to happen.”

         Liam smiled. “Together, you mean.” It wasn’t a question.

         “Yes.  Together.”  Memory nibbled at the back of Martin’s mind.  Something important.  He’d be gone in a couple of days.  So little time to remember.

         The world shivered, and a corridor formed around them with featureless, gray paper walls.  From somewhere, from nowhere, something clicked in Martin's memory.  He knew what they must do, the same way he knew he'd be gone in a day or two, or that they were made for each other.  “We have to go.” He tugged on Liam’s hand and set off at a trot down the corridor.

         Liam ran beside him in silence for a minute or two, then stopped.  “Where are we going?”

         “They’re chasing us.  We can’t let them catch us.”

         “Who's chasing us?”  Liam looked behind them, where the empty corridor stretched into a hazy distance, not quite to infinity, not quite to nothingness.

         “The ones who chased me earlier.  They wear helmets that hide their faces.”

         “The ones in the video?  I thought they crashed.”  Doubt tinged Liam’s voice.

         “They never give up.  They never go away.”  Martin pointed.  “Look.  You can see them.”

         In the distance, two indistinct figures, clad in black and carrying heavy wrenches, loomed in the foggy effulgence. 

         Martin caught his breath and snatched at Liam’s hand. “Hurry, before they catch us.  We don’t have much time.”  A day or two at most.  He started to run, and Liam didn’t resist.

         They raced on.  The corridor twisted and turned, like a serpent with a broken back.  It had no end and no beginning, just the eternal now of pursuit and flight. 

         Eventually, fatigue dragged at Martin’s legs and he slowed his pace.  The chasers were closer now.  It wouldn’t be long. 

         He punched at the paper wall.  A tiny tear ripped open, and color swarmed through. 

         Martin scrabbled at the tear, his fingernails breaking in his frantic efforts to enlarge it.  It was just inches, then a couple of feet.  Still too small for Liam.  He had to make it bigger.

         He’d be gone in a day or two, but not Liam.  Liam could escape.  If only Martin could make the tear in reality bigger. 

         The dark ones were nearly upon them, wrenches held high and ready to strike. 

         Martin gave the paper wall a frantic jerk, and it at last gave way.  Colors streamed into the gray world from the other side.  Martin grabbed Liam by his arm and thrust him through, into the world of color.  The world Martin could never know. 

         It didn’t matter. In just a day or two, he’d be gone.  But Liam would be safe.

Liam

         Liam collapsed onto the floor of Kim’s diner, underneath the counter. The acrid scents of hamburger grease and onions filled his nostrils and burned his eyes. Pale blue, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the ruby-red neon sign reading Kim’s Cafe glowed in the window.  He squirmed to his feet and looked about.  “Where’s Martin?”

         The waitress stood next to him, her mouth agape and her hands on her hips. “Where’d  the blazes did you come from, boy?” 

         Liam tried to control his trembling.  He looked at his arm, where the remnant of Martin’s palmprint still showed in red.  The mark was already fading.  It would be gone in a moment or two.  “I—I’m not sure.”  Vertigo assaulted him, and he gripped the counter.  Saliva flooded his mouth, and he swallowed hard.

         The waitress stomped her foot.  Polly, that was her name.  Polly said, “Well, now that you’re here, you’re damn well gonna pay for all that coffee you drank.”  She scribbled a check for him and thrust it in his face.

         Liam took it and reached for his wallet.  He handed her a twenty without looking at the check.  “Will that cover it?”

         She narrowed her eyes.  “Yeah.  Ya want change?”

         He just wanted to get out of here.  And find Martin.  “You keep it.” 

         The café was as dismal as before.  But before what?  And where was Martin?

         Somehow, he made it back to his apartment.  He showered, collapsed on his bed, and fell into a restless sleep. 

         The next morning he realized he’d lost his phone.  He thought about going back to the café, but couldn’t face seeing people.  Not yet.  Instead, he sat at his computer and sought out the videos he’d been watching the night before. 

         He found several, all from the same source, all with the same animated comic book look, but none with Martin. None that mattered. One of them even explained that they were AI creations that featured AI characters. This particular flavor of AI was something new, something called Multiphase Animatronic Recursive Trans-Immersive Neoanthropinae. 

         Jibber jabber.

         He just wanted to find Martin.

         A day or two later, he still hadn’t left his apartment.  He lay in bed, drenched in amber-tinted twilight, and gazed down the corridor outside his room.  A print of Dali’s Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory hung on the wall, melted clocks and bizarre creatures adding a splash of color. 

         A hint of motion caught his eye and he sat up. 

         A shadow flickered in the hallway, lurching from one side to another.  A gray shadow from a gray world. 

         He blinked and it was gone.  He blinked again, and it flicked into existence, this time in color.  Then it vanished again. In and out, back and forth, from one side of the hall to the other. Sometimes gray. Sometimes in color. 

         But every time it appeared, he recognized Martin, reaching out to him.  Martin, still dressed in leathers, just as Liam remembered him. But now his body sheened with sweat and his face contorted with effort. 

         The pace slowed, the pauses between flashes grew.  Sometimes in color, sometimes in shades of gray.  At the end, Martin lay prone on the floor, in ashen tones, his arms outstretched toward Liam, his eyes pleading.  Then he faded to nothingness.

         Liam choked back a sob.

         It had been just a day or two. He couldn’t be gone. 

         Not so soon.

                                                 

The perceptive reader will note the similarities to this famous video--the story even quotes from the lyics.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914

It's actually inspired, however, by this amazing acoustic version of the song.  The 80s version makes you want to dance.  This version is...different, even though it's the same group and the same vocalist.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xKM3mGt2pE

Even thirty years later, Morten Harket's voice is still astonishing--he combines movie star looks with a voice that channels Roy Orbison.