The roar of an engine breaks the silence as a black jeep tears through the forest and comes to a stop behind us. I hold my sword with both hands out in front of me, preparing myself for what’s coming. There are more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. “So what do you suggest, run or stand our ground against these things?” I ask, choosing to ignore Mason’s question about my faith in God for the time being. Why do I have faith that He didn’t just send us here to die? It’s a good question but not one I exactly have time to ruminate over at the present.
“Since when do you have faith in anything He does?” Mason asks. “Ok then, we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“No,” Mason says, realizing that I’m right, “he isn’t one to find irony humorous.” Not unless he has some wacked out sense of humor I need to know about?” “Because I don’t think God would send us here just to die. “How can you say that with so much conviction?” “I like it when you get all protective of me but you don’t have to worry, neither of us will die today,” I tell him. In spite of the dire straits we find ourselves in, I smile at Mason. “Only you,” Mason confirms, “but they’ll have to get through me first.” “Will they try to eat you or am I the only main entrée here?” “Well, I sure as hell didn’t just travel through a wormhole to be eaten up by a bunch of mutts,” I grumble, the blade of my sword bursts into flames chasing away the darkness. Reaching behind me, I quickly pull my sword from its sheath and hear it sing against the scabbard for the first time. Letting go of Mason’s hand, I quickly unstrap my plasma pistol from my thigh and hand it to him. “This isn’t our Earth so I have no memory of places to phase to.” “I can’t phase,” he says, looking over at me. I look over at him and watch as his expression changes from slightly worried to almost panicked. “Yes,” Mason says, holding my hand tighter. “Were those werewolf howls?” I ask, remembering all too well the Watcher child who took Faison’s place when she went through the Tear. “That would be my guess too,” Mason says, making his own observation of our surroundings.Ī multitude of howls rip through the air around us and I feel Mason’s body tense beside me. “I think this is Central Park,” I tell Mason, remembering the time Chandler and I spent here not so long ago. “I must have left it back home,” I reply, surveying the area we’re in and seeing the glow of tall buildings in the far distance slightly obscured by the trees.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Mason asks grimacing, obviously not immune to the effects of wormhole travel either. “I could have used a reminder about the pain,” I tell Mason, massaging my forehead to ease the sudden ache between my temples and to reassure myself that my head is indeed still attached to my shoulders. We find ourselves in a standing of trees with the only light coming from the low hanging crescent moon and Tear in the sky. When we finally do arrive at our destination, Mason and I are still holding hands, amazingly enough. Who, in their right mind, would willingly go through this twice if they didn’t have to? It’s no wonder there aren’t many people who ever return. In the back of my mind, I know I’ll have to endure this torture one more time to get home. Now I understand why tearers always look so shell shocked when they arrive on our planet. I feel like my body has been stripped down to its finite number of atoms and sucked through a straw. I had always heard going through the Tear was painful but didn’t realize how much of an understatement that was until now.
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