The Other Side
Part One
“So Peter’s alive?” the woman’s voice asked.
"I'm not sure exactly," he said. "But I'm sure 'e's alive. I can feel it. And 'e's trying to get 'ome."
The woman heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Davy,” she told him. “Thank you for everything.”
Peter sat up abruptly. It had been a long time since he’d slept out on a beach, and his back was slightly sore. He was half covered in sand, having rolled off the blanket he’d used to sleep on in the night.
“Davy?” he whispered. The sun was half up, and it shone in his eyes.
“Isn’t the sunrise beautiful this early in the morning?”
Peter attempted to brush the sand off the back of his shirt. He’d slept in his clothes, of course, since he hadn’t wanted to change in the middle of the beach.
“It’s even prettier at night. With the sunset.”
He stood up and shook the sand out of his blanket before rolling it up again and stuffing it in the single bag he’d brought with him.
”I’ve never seen the ocean so pretty. It’s beautiful. I just can’t get over looking at it.”
He brushed the sand off his pants and shook out his hair, but some sand just refused to go away.
”Will you marry me?”
Without much to-do, he put the bag on his bag and began to trudge through the sand again. He was getting closer, and he could feel it. He was starving, having not eaten in two days. He still had money, but felt as though he had to stay on the beach.
The memories kept assaulting him as he walked, and he embraced them, trying to get as much out of them as he could. Without much else to concern him, he was able to focus all his mental energy on trying to remember where he’d come from.
Davy…
That name had been what he’d said the moment he’d awakened. It was the first name he could remember besides his own, and he knew it had to mean something. He tried to figure out just who Davy was.
A face popped into his head. And a figure…a short figure. With big brown eyes and a grin on his face that indicated he wasn’t quite as innocent as first impressions might think.
He heard a voice in his head, and he grinned because he had a feeling the voice he was remembering was Davy’s.
“C’mon Petah, we’re gonna be late.”
You’re not what you seem to be he thought to himself. But then no one is.
Davy was a good ally and a bad enemy. A great friend. And not what he seemed to be at all.
“I remember…” he whispered aloud, afraid to speak the words for fear that he might then suddenly make them untrue.
‘But there are others I must remember…’ he reminded himself even before the words were finished being spoken. Who else was there…?
A picture entered his mind. A happy face. Laughing, smiling, telling jokes, singing. He could picture him playing drums, happily bouncing off the walls at some of their gigs.
But what was his name….?
He could hear his voice as well, but it wasn’t speaking this time…it was singing.
”I’m gonna buy me a dog…”
What was the name?
He could picture his friend, hear his voice…He could remember him clearly in his mind.
So happy, but again not what appeared to be on the outside…
Micky?
That was it! Micky! His name was Micky Mentally, Peter cheered to himself even as he continued walking. There was more to remember….
The sand was hard to walk in after awhile. It made walking difficult and slow-going.
But Peter hardly paid attention. It had started raining sometime along his walk…though he wasn’t certain why…and he was getting soaked. But still, he didn’t care.
He’d succeeded in remembering Micky and Davy, but he knew there was much more he had to remember. Another face and voice was tapping at the outside of his memory, but he was having a hard time with this one.
He was a tall man…the opposite of Davy in many ways, but the same in many other ways. He, too, was a good friend, and he too would be a formidable opponent.
But he was not the same as Davy.
Davy was boisterous and attention craving. This man was not. He commanded respect, but not attention. Loyalty, but nothing much more. In many ways he was more serious than Davy and Micky were. But he had a sense of humor as well.
The voice filtered through Peter’s head…
”Don’t worry Pete, I’m sure you guys’ll be great together.” His voice, like Davy’s, had an accent. But a different one than Davy.
And he, too, was not all that he seemed.
“You’re a good friend, Mike,” Peter said aloud before he was aware of what he had said.
Silently (but not unenthusiastically) he cheered again. Almost done.
But the one remaining was the hardest to recall…
Peter paused in his trek through the sand. More mentally exhausted than physically, he sat down on the beach to rest for awhile.
’I wonder how long I’ve walked today…’ he thought to himself, but was not really concerned about it. His stomach growled at him again, but he refused to give in. He didn’t have anything to eat, anyway.
A seagull flew past him and he glanced up at it, seeing that the sun was high in the sky. He figured it was around noon. Somehow he didn’t feel like walking anymore.
I’ll just rest for a little bit,’ he decided, and laid back on the ground. He remembered his friends, and had a loose idea that he had lived somewhere around here, but he wasn’t sure how far he was from his former place of residence.
He squinted past the sun and watched the seagulls circle around for a bit. Then he noticed something. There was a big house up on a cliff overlooking the beach.
Something in his brain clicked, and suddenly Peter didn’t feel as tired as he had been before.
“I FOUND IT!” he cheered to the sky, scaring a few seagulls who’d previously intended on landing.
The cliff was a harder climb than he’d remembered. It took him a good ten minutes to climb up the steep slope. He peered in the back door and then ran around to the front.
That was when he saw the house next door to it.
”I’d forgotten,” he realized in a half-whispered hoarse voice. “I’d forgotten.”
With no reservations, he walked up to the front door of the house. The car wasn’t in the driveway. No one was home. He frowned. He tried the front door, but it was, of course, locked. He frowned again.
There was a spare key, he just knew it…now if only he could remember where it was…
He checked under the door mat, but it wasn’t there. He didn’t think it would be, but he figured it didn’t hurt to check.
‘Besides, she could have moved it since then,’ he defended himself.
“I hope she’s still here…” he muttered aloud as he ran towards the back door of the house. “I hope she didn’t give up on me.”
’You gave up on her,’ his conscience snapped back, and he sighed, sinking down on the back steps.
“It wasn’t voluntarily,” he reminded himself with a frown. “Anyway, I’ve got to find that key.”
He searched around the step. Then he spotted the flower plant on the window sill.
“Of course!” he realized. “I forgot again!” He reached for the flower plant and found the key underneath it. This time, he didn’t contain his excitement, and danced around the yard, singing to himself.
“And Thomas!” he realized as he opened the back door. “Oh, I hope he’s still here. I miss that kid!”
The kitchen appeared the same as ever. So did the living room. Even the bedroom. But there was no one there.
“I suppose I could just take a nap,” he decided. He was exhausted. Even more than he was hungry.
He would have slept on the couch, but he was already upstairs. So he kicked off his worn out shoes, tossed his bag in the corner, and collapsed in the bed…excited by the mere fact that it was his own bed.
And there Peter slept. Until about two hours later, when the woman he loved entered the house again to discover him sleeping in the bed.
He heard the footsteps on the stairs but was too tired to acknowledge them as reality, and not merely a part of his dream. A soft, quiet voice. Singing. He slowly began to awaken.
The bed squeaked as he sat up. There was crying. Crying? No…that was more like wailing. A baby wailing.
“A...a b-baby?” he stammered.
She turned, wildly, and stood up. He stared back at her, a sight for sore eyes. Holding a baby in her arms.
A baby.
Suddenly, he remembered. The face that had haunted his dreams. Right before the explosion. It had been his own face.
He had been replaced by himself.
And now? Would she know that this was really him?
He didn’t know.
There was an awkward silence. Then she opened her mouth.
“P-Peter? Is it really you?” Her eyes were wide.
She finally spoke. The voice that had been in his dreams had finally spoken. And in that instance, Peter remembered all that he had forgotten about her. About how much he loved her. About how much they loved each other.
He nodded, weakly in response. She looked wary.
“H-how can I be sure?”
Slowly, still groggy from sleep, he stood up and held out his arms. He meant to show her that he wouldn’t hurt her, or the baby. She would know that, wouldn’t she? That he wouldn’t hurt either of them? That would surely distinguish him from the monster that had replaced him.
She was wary, but agreed, placing the baby in his arms. He stared down at it. It was a girl, he realized. He placed his hand on her stomach, and another memory came back. He released a bit of what caused his blue glowing, and she calmed immediately.
He placed an arm on her mother’s shoulder, and she calmed as well. He handed the baby back, and she left then, for only a split second, to put the baby in her crib. Then she returned, as though afraid she was dreaming and he would be gone when she returned. She threw herself into his arms with a sob of happiness, and began to cry.
Peter smiled at the familiar sound and feel of her in his arms. He was home. He’d been far and he’d met great people. But he was finally home now. After a long time away, he was home.
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