Original Short Fiction: The Dimensional Rift in Metropolitan Police Precinct 32, Pt2
Patrick grinned, stupidly, “Oh, now you are pranking me! Are you recording this? What the hell is going on here?”
If you didn't read the first part, find it here!
Daniel McCulloch sighed, he’d hoped that Patrick’s more philosophical background would make this easier, but it was looking like he might go rogue. “I’ll make you a deal. Sit with me on this one. Don’t bail out. See it through and lunch is on me, anywhere you want to go.”
“Alright. You’re on. I play your little game here, you buy lunch, right?”
“Right.”
From the next room, Mrs. Fogarty’s voice could be heard, “I’ll let them know. Thanks.” She reentered the room. “That was a friend of mine, the boys who took Max have turned up as I suspected, in another dimension. Now, where were we?”
“Well, Mrs. Fogarty, if that’s all that was missing, it seems our business may be concluded here,” Patrick Flannel stood, hat in hand. He put his notebook and pencil into his breast pocket.
“There is one more thing,” Mrs. Fogarty said. “I didn’t want to mention, because it’s a bit more unusual, but as long as you’re here. My neighbor is a terrorist.”
Patrick Flannel rolled his eyes, he turned to Sergeant McCulloch, pleadingly.
“Patrick will be happy to take your statement, Mrs. Fogarty, and then we’ll be off to lunch.” McCulloch said.
Officer Patrick Flannel sighed and returned to his seat on the sofa, “What makes you suspect your neighbor, Mrs. Fogarty?”
“Well, he’s been testing nuclear weapons in his backyard,” she replied.
“Nuclear weapons? Really? What type of nuclear weapons?” officer Flannel asked, with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Well, the last one was plutonium based, but he’s almost finished with his cold fusion generator and once that’s online, it’s likely to leak over into our present dimension. Someone really should do something about it. I’ve called Homeland Security, but they were not interested,” Luanne Fogarty looked positively fierce, as if she were challenging officer Flannel to contradict her.
Patrick paused, “That sounds serious. Do you have any evidence?”
Mrs. Fogarty crossed the room to a narrow door and opened it, flipping a light switch on the wall, “Yes, it’s in the basement.”
She started down the stairs and after a brief glance at McCulloch, who nodded toward the door, Patrick Flannel headed into the basement, unsure now, if this was a prank, or something much darker.
The basement was surprisingly well lit and stark white. It was tiled from floor to ceiling and drop ceiling panels had been installed throughout, giving the room the look and feel of a laboratory of some sort. A large stainless steel counter ran along the walls and various scientific instruments filled shelves higher up on the walls. At one end was a large monitor, with a computer keyboard. Mrs. Fogarty seated herself there.
“Here are the radiation readouts from Tuesday. That was 24 hours after the testing, the next time I was in his dimension long enough to get a solid reading. Eight times higher than safe, and that’s with my shielding in place,” She showed him a readout.
Patrick Flannel knew nothing about radiation, but the woman was beginning to sound credible, which was troubling to him. He suspected something may have been slipped into his tea. Mrs. Fogarty printed off a copy of the readout for him to take back as part of his report and they headed back upstairs.
“So, tell me something, what happens when your ‘existential anchor’ is missing,” he said.
“The house tends to fall into a dimensional drift,” Mrs. Fogarty answered.
“But, surely this house is at least a hundred years old. Someone would have noticed it missing from time to time,” Patrick said. He seemed determined to catch her in some small detail and prove her wrong.
“Well, as your Sergeant asked me to explain, you can be in more than one dimension at a time. Most of us are only ever aware of one at a time,” Luanne Fogarty was a very patient woman, and Patrick was not her first detractor.
“Describe it to me,” officer Flannel said, preparing to write, “dimensional drift, what’s it like?”
Mrs. Fogarty sighed and returned to her seat, “Well, there was a movie called Jumanji, came out when my daughter was young. The sequel showed it best, ‘Zathura’ I think it was called. When the house floats out into space. It’s like that.”
Patrick Flannel laughed out loud, “So, now your house travels through space as well?” he said, his tone becoming more snide by the word, “Tell me, how do you manage that, with the vacuum of space and all?”
“Don’t be rude, Patrick Flannel, I’m trying to explain this to you. Of course my house doesn’t float out into space, first, it would never survive leaving the earth’s atmosphere, and as you mentioned, I wouldn’t be able to survive if it did. It’s an inner space thing. The house, never leaves it’s current geographical position, it just drops into a different dimensional plane.”
“Patrick, I think you owe Mrs. Fogarty an apology. She’s trying to educate you and your hostility is out of line,” McCulloch said.
Patrick Flannel stood up, “Pardon me, Mrs. Fogarty, I apologize. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to get to back to the station. I think Sergeant McCulloch can handle this better than me.”
He turned and walked to the front door. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said.
Mrs. Fogarty stood up, “I don’t think you should open that until they’ve returned Max,” she said.
But Patrick Flannel had had enough, he opened the door and stepped out, turning as he went. His scream echoed up into the house and as the door swung back shut, McCulloch caught a glimpse of the pure black void outside the door.
“Oh, dear, we’ve lost another one. I did try to warn him,” Mrs. Fogarty said.
McCulloch sipped his tea, “He’ll be back, they always are.”
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