NOVEL NEXT Chapter 38: Dragged Into The Past
Another door creaked open, revealing its contents. Inside was a kitchen table—one woman at its end, moving about next to a stovetop.
At the other side was a younger Logan, rubbing his hands together with glee.
"Wrong one again," Logan remarked, slamming the door shut.
Something was off about him. His face was drenched with sweat, and his eyes jumped from door to door.
The rasp of his breath threw even Pixel off, causing her to lower herself to his shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked, nudging his jaw just once with her puny limbs.
"No!" Logan yelled, swatting her free from his shoulder. She struggled to remain afloat, bobbling like a damaged drone. "We've been here for god knows how long, searching for what? I get that you want me to confront my trauma, but how! There's nothing but DOORS!"
His last scream pounced on the walls surrounding him, jumping his voice back and forth like he were caught in a big cave.
She didn't speak.
"Look here," Logan continued, opening another door. Inside it was Logan on his bed, sifting through whatever videos popped up on his phone. "Just a useless memory. That's the issue, Pixel. There's nothing distinguishing the good from the bad!"
Then, he ran over to another door, witnessing... nothing. It was just a blank space with pure emptiness filling out its interior. "This one doesn't even possess a memory!" he yelled.
Logan's chest moved with such indignant flare that not even he could figure out its source. Of course, it was frustrating having to go through an infinite backdrop of doors, but not to the point where he would get fed up.
Once he pondered on things, another thought rose to the forefront of his mind.
Moments before he'd been sent to his own mind, he recognized a voice. Selene's, loud and bright.
His lips trembled at the thought. 'Selene... that's right. I don't know what she was doing there, but I'm doing this all for her. I can't stand the thought of being so helpless when I promised her so long ago that I would never stop.'
"Have you tried searching for the memory?" Pixel asked.
Logan lowered his head with a growl. "What do you think I've been—"
"No, I mean really searching for it," she said, trying once more to rest on his shoulder. He didn't swat her off this time, much to her relief. "This is your mind, after all. If you really want to find a memory, then all you have to do is think about it."
Squinting his eyes, Logan stared into his hands. "Not really. I've tried manipulating this place like we were doing in the unconscious, but it's like I'm a prisoner inside my own head. I can't even think of leaving."
"Have you considered that that's for a reason? Maybe, subconsciously, you've drawn yourself here so that you would find what's most important." Pixel pointed ahead—deep into the endless hallway. "Why do you think this place is infinite with no labels? Clearly, you have things in here that you don't want other people to find."
Logan thought on the notion, realizing that—even if he didn't personally notice it—there may have been some truth to her words.
Each time he felt so violated when she entered his mind. Each time she pried about his history, and he refused to give it. He was exhibiting these trends of secrecy, and it wasn't by choice.
"I suppose," he said quietly, seating himself on the floor. "Then let me search for it."
He crossed one leg over the other, closing his eyes for even further concentration.
Using the darkness as a means to drown out sensation, he delved deeper into his own psychology. To his need to protect.
Then, he found it. Hidden beneath his layers of thought was a single light, tainted slightly by red. Curious, Logan reached out for it, squeezing it like a ball.
It escaped through his finger tips, rushing out to envelop his entire body as if it were sentient.
Fearful, Logan staggered his non-physical body, but as the light's warmth entered his skin and lit up muscle, he accepted it in full.
Then, disassociation. His mind raced to another section of the corridor, free of his body. He wanted to look around, but there were no eyes to look with.
Such an unearthly concern was soon dispelled, however, as his body got dragged along with it—assimilating back with him into one.
Opening his eyes, Logan gasped for air, wiping away the drums of sweat on his face.
"Pixel... you there...?" he breathed.
A cold hand touched his neck. "Yeah, I'm right here. Nice job, Logan."
Happy at the presence, Logan turned his attention up to the door in front of him. It was the only one with a mark on its label, reading:
"Purpose."
Half-scared and half-curious, Logan reached for its doorknob, slowly turning the hinge.
"Are you sure you want me to be around for this?" Pixel asked, standing up straight.
Logan nodded his head. "In order to face this, I need to be let go of my tendency to close myself off from others. You'll be a good first step."
"Alright, but don't go thinking we're friends after this."
"Of course not."
Finally, Logan opened the door, accepting the sight in front of him. It was the night sky, glistening in all the ways one could never observe in a city.
"This is..." he muttered, stepping back.
But the door didn't let him. It gripped onto his waist with an invisible hand, drawing him inside.
"AHHHHHHH!" he yelled, flying forward.
Contorting to the force, his arms flew behind him. Despite being inside his mind, winds blew past him, forcing him to close his eyes.
In an instant, the force left, leaving just Logan and Pixel on the ground. The floor was hard—paved, like a roadside.
It was then that Logan realized. He grabbed Pixel who remained by his side and shoved her into his pocket, then slowly fixed his gaze to the subtle breathing beside him.
"Mother?" he called out, trembling.