The Watcher Chronicles: Oblivion Part 1

Oblivion.

The Watcher Chronicles.

By S.J. West.

Chapter 1.

I had always heard going through the Tear was painful but didn't realize how much of an understatement that was until now. I feel like my body has been stripped down to its finite number of atoms and sucked through a straw. Now I understand why tearers always look so sh.e.l.l shocked when they arrive on our planet. In the back of my mind, I know I'll have to endure this torture one more time to get home. It's no wonder there aren't many people who ever return. Who, in their right mind, would willingly go through this twice if they didn't have to?

When we finally do arrive at our destination, Mason and I are still holding hands, amazingly enough. We find ourselves in a standing of trees with the only light coming from the low hanging crescent moon and Tear in the sky.

"I could have used a reminder about the pain," I tell Mason, ma.s.saging my forehead to ease the sudden ache between my temples and to rea.s.sure myself that my head is indeed still attached to my shoulders.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Mason asks grimacing, obviously not immune to the effects of wormhole travel either.

"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.

"I think this is Central Park," I tell Mason, remembering the time Chandler and I spent here not so long ago.

"That would be my guess too," Mason says, making his own observation of our surroundings.

A mult.i.tude of howls rip through the air around us and I feel Mason's body tense beside me.

"Were those werewolf howls?" I ask, remembering all too well the Watcher child who took Faison's place when she went through the Tear.

"Yes," Mason says, holding my hand tighter.

I look over at him and watch as his expression changes from slightly worried to almost panicked.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I can't phase," he says, looking over at me. "This isn't our Earth so I have no memory of places to phase to."

Letting go of Mason's hand, I quickly unstrap my plasma pistol from my thigh and hand it to him. Reaching behind me, I quickly pull my sword from its sheath and hear it sing against the scabbard for the first time.

"Well, I sure as h.e.l.l 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. "Will they try to eat you or am I the only main entree here?"

"Only you," Mason confirms, "but they'll have to get through me first."

In spite of the dire straits we find ourselves in, I smile at Mason.

"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.

Mason narrows his eyes at me. "How can you say that with so much conviction?"

"Because I don't think G.o.d would send us here just to die. Not unless he has some wacked out sense of humor I need to know about?"

"No," Mason says, realizing that I'm right, "he isn't one to find irony humorous."

I shrug. "Ok then, we shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"Since when do you have faith in anything He does?" Mason asks.

The question brings me up short. 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.

"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 G.o.d for the time being. There are more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.

"Stand our ground. You would never be able to out run them. They move too quickly."

I hold my sword with both hands out in front of me, preparing myself for what's coming.

The roar of an engine breaks the silence as a black jeep tears through the forest and comes to a stop behind us.

"Agent! What the h.e.l.l are you doing out here? Why aren't you back at HQ by now?"

I turn and shield my eyes with one hand against the bright headlights of the jeep, only able to see the shadowy outline of the man with the gruff voice.

"Get your a.s.ses over here before those things are let out and rip you to shreds!"

Mason and I look at each other realizing we don't exactly have a better option. The flames of the sword automatically extinguish and I slide it back into its sheath on my back. Mason hands me my plasma pistol and I drop it into the holster on my thigh as we run over to our rescuer. Mason climbs into the small backseat and I take the pa.s.senger seat by the driver. When I look at the driver, I notice he's dressed similar to me in a Watcher agent uniform that's only slightly different.

Involuntarily, I gasp when I see the man's face because I recognize him. Well, not this particular version of the man, but I know his doppelganger. It's Albert. Back home he's in charge of the front desk at the Watcher station in Tunica. A lot of the other Watcher agents call him Fat Albert because of his girth. But, the Albert sitting next to me is anything but overweight. This Albert is slim with a muscular build presumably honed from hours of working out with weights. I sit amazed at the difference in his appearance.

"Thanks, Albert," I say.

Albert slams the accelerator down to the floorboard and the jeep lurches forward.

"Do I know you?" He asks me, chancing a glance in my direction as he deftly maneuvers the jeep through the line of trees and onto a paved path.

"I know your counterpart on my Earth," I tell him.

"s.h.i.t, your travelers?" He asks in disbelief. "Guess that explains the sword, not exactly Watcher regulated weaponry around here. I should have known you weren't one of our agents. If you were, you would have known better than to stay out here while they're playing."

"Playing?"

"The Watchers. They like to pit their kids against each other to see whose little monster is strongest. It's a game they like to call Bait here. You're lucky I came along when I did. This was my last sweep of the area before they let them loose."

"Let them loose on what?" I ask, fearing I already know the answer to the question.

The jeep pa.s.ses through the gate of a twenty foot high chain link fence with rolls of barbed wire welded to the top. We find ourselves racing down a crowded New York City thoroughfare. The gate automatically closes shut behind us as Albert brings the jeep to a complete stop in front of a chrome and gla.s.s skysc.r.a.per a little ways down the street.

"My guess would be humans," Mason says from his seat in the back.

"And your guess would be right," Albert confirms, turning the key to flip the jeep's engine off.

"You didn't happen to come across a red headed female traveler on your sweep of the area did you?" I ask.

"No, you were the only fools out there besides the ten we brought in to act as bait for the game."

I sigh. I'm relieved Faison wasn't in the park but feel a sense of guilt. I know I can't help the ten poor souls certain to face a gruesome death at the hands of the Watcher children. But what if Faison travelled to the holding pen where the werewolves were being kept? I decide not to entertain that possibility. Besides, Albert would have heard about such an incident occurring and mentioned it.

Albert turns to look at first me and then Mason. I can tell he's sizing us up, trying to determine if we're going to be a problem or not. It's what I would do in his situation. Watcher agents are trained to make snap judgments about tearers, or I guess on this world they're called travelers, in just one glance. I don't even have to ask Albert what his conclusion about us is because I know what I would cla.s.sify Mason and me as: trouble.

"You two need to come inside with me. We should go ahead and get your information processed into our database. I'm pretty sure the Chancellor will want to speak with you as well."

"Chancellor?" I ask.

Albert's eyebrows lower. "Don't you have Chancellors on your Earth?"

"I don't have a clue what your talking about to be completely honest."

"You have Watchers," Albert says, pointedly looking at my uniform. "You must have one in charge of your sector."

"Which Chancellor is in charge of this sector?" Mason asks, subtly digging for more information.

"Chancellor Malcolm is in charge of the Northeast sector. We all answer to him."

"When you say in charge," Mason says, "do you mean he's in charge of the agents here or something else?"

"He's in charge of everything from Maine to Florida and over to Illinois. Didn't the Watchers take over after the Tear opened on your Earth?"

"Take over?" I ask, feeling sure I understand what Albert is saying but having a hard time believing what the evidence is pointing to.

"Yeah, you know, they took over the world," Albert says slowly, realization dawning. "They didn't do that on your Earth, did they?"

"No," Mason answers crisply, clearly troubled by what Albert has told us. "The Watchers on our Earth only help the governments, not run them."

"Well, they pretty much took over everything here. No country has an elected government anymore. We're all divided up into sectors with our own Watcher calling all the shots. You guys lucked out though. This sector is one of the less strict ones."

"Why do you say that?" I ask.

"Chancellor Malcolm isn't as harsh as some of the other Chancellors. He gets a little preoccupied with the female agents on his detail, if you get my drift."

"Yes," Mason says knowingly, "our Malcolm is similar in that regard; at least he used to be."

"Do the two of you happen to be married?" Albert asks, a question which seems completely out of the blue.

"Why do you ask?" Mason is quick to say before I have a chance to answer the question truthfully.

Albert looks me up and down. "The Chancellor will probably put you on his detail if you aren't. He might do it even if you are but he tends to steer clear of married agents. He doesn't like complications."

"Been married a year," I lie smoothly.

Albert looks down at my left hand. "No wedding ring?"

"Not allowed to wear one while in uniform," I answer, amazed with how deftly lies seem to be flowing out of my mouth.

"I would get a ring," Albert advises, "if you don't want to be put on his rotation. Though, from what I've heard it's an easy gig. The girls don't do much real work."

"I like to work," I say, smiling grimly. "Not much for lounging around."

"Well, you'll have some time to decide," Albert tells us. "I heard he's locked himself in his penthouse tonight for some reason and isn't seeing anyone. But, we still need to put your information into our database of travelers. After that, you'll get an a.s.signed room for the night."

"Does the Chancellor meet with all the new travelers in his sector?" I ask.

"No, but you're the first Watcher agent who's ever come through. It's a safe bet he'll want to meet you. Follow me into HQ and I'll get you guys situated."

When we step out of the jeep, Mason takes hold of one of my hands and I'm thankful for the contact. I feel like I'm Alice and have stepped into Watcherland. The mere idea of the Watchers taking over the world has my mind swimming in a sea of confused turmoil. How could the Watchers on this Earth be so different?

As we walk into the building Albert parked in front of, I feel as though I've stepped back in time and not to a particularly good point in history.

Covering the walls are black and white propaganda posters prominently featuring Chancellor Malcolm. He's dressed in a crisply tailored black leather uniform and billed hat with a pair of silver angel wings attached to the front. Malcolm's style of uniform and austere posture brings to mind pictures of n.a.z.i soldiers I've seen in history books.

In one of the posters, Malcolm is handing a white lily to a girl who is about eight years old. Under the picture, the caption reads In Malcolm We Trust. It soon becomes apparent you can't turn your head without seeing a picture of Malcolm staring back at you. I begin to wonder if Malcolm's image is embossed on the money here too. I always thought Lilly's protector was a bit on the vain side with his never ending supply of unb.u.t.toned shirts but his counterpart in this reality has taken it to an entirely new and disturbing level.

There are a few Watcher agents milling about trying to comfort the people who just came through the Tear. Some of the agents openly stare at us as we walk down the black carpeted hallway, making me feel a bit conspicuous. Most of them seem interested in the sword strapped to my back but the vast majority of female agents let their gazes linger on Mason longer than necessary. I find myself glaring at the ones who seem a bit too interested in him for my peace of mind. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Mason smiling.

"Do you like being the center of attention?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow at one perky little blonde Watcher agent who seems determined to devour Mason with just her eyes.

"No," Mason says, still smiling. "But I like it when you're over protective of me too."

"I just want to make sure they understand you're off limits. I don't share," I reply, staring daggers at a pretty brunette who pa.s.ses by us trying her best to look coyly at Mason. She seems to get the hint of my death stare and scurries away quickly.

"Neither do I," Mason says ominously.

"You sound worried," I say, returning my full attention to him. "Why?"

"Malcolm used to be quite different before he met Lilly," Mason tells me, a warning in his voice. "Considering what's happened on this Earth, I have to a.s.sume this version of Malcolm has probably never met her."

"I don't understand how things can be so different here," I say. "What do you think happened?"

Mason shakes his head. "I don't know but I think the sooner we find Faison the better. This isn't our reality and I'd rather not make things worse with our presence."

Albert escorts us up to the tenth floor of the building and into a nondescript office with a gla.s.s wall facing out towards a completely fenced in Central Park. He asks for our personal information and enters it into the computer. Mason has to lie about almost everything but he seems to be rather good at conjuring up a false ident.i.ty for himself.

"Could you look to see if you have a Faison Mills in your database?" I ask Albert. "She went through the Tear tonight too."

Albert seems to punch her name into the computer and shakes his head. "No, she's not in here. Could be she just hasn't been found yet."

I nod knowing this is probably the case. Not all tearers are found the first night they come through. Some hide out where they can, too frightened of their new circ.u.mstances to seek out help. Most are found within the first month, but there are some, mostly of the criminal persuasion, who aren't located until they're caught doing something they shouldn't be.

I have no way of knowing what Faison's mental state is at the moment. For all I know, she could be stranded on a street corner somewhere crying. I do know I need to get out and start searching for her as soon as I can though.