The Metropolis Series #3: Quinn and Cassandra

DEAR READER, I know that I’ve promised you multiple times that things will get better, but it isn’t time for that yet. The next few chapters will be difficult for me, but I hope you’ll stick around.

I didn’t remember slipping away. It must have happened so suddenly that I didn’t even feel it. All I knew was that my eyelids were heavy and that I could barely lift my head. I couldn’t tell how much time I’d spent lying on the dusty, carpeted floor. It must have been hours. Maybe even days. My surroundings were blurry, and the silence didn’t provide any comfort. I felt weak, sad, and exhausted, but I couldn’t be contained by this darkness.

I needed to get moving.

Slowly, I got to my knees. My elbows could barely hold up my weight. When I managed to get my head off the floor, I would crumple onto the carpet, wincing in pain. But I kept trying, and when I finally got to my feet, I wobbled. I had fallen a couple of times, and I considered giving up. It was painful to stand up and keep going, but as my frail fingers felt around in the dark, they met something cold amidst the emptiness. The mysterious item fit right in my palm. It seemed to be made out of plastic, and a small amount of liquid shifted its weight around. I struck what seemed like a metal wheel, igniting a small flame.

I only knew one person who would carry something like that, and the thought of him made my heart feel determined.

Julio… I thought to myself.

I had hopes that I had only imagined what had happened on that balcony. Maybe I had already passed out by then. Maybe going to Paradox Road was just another terrible nightmare.

I needed to see him. I needed to assure myself that he was okay.

But a gust of wind blew across the room, putting out the flame. As the darkness surrounded me, I could no longer accept how weak and vulnerable I was. I needed to get up and get out, but how could I do that when I couldn’t even carry myself? My breathing slowed down, and eventually, the pain subsided. My eyelids grew heavy, and no matter how hard I tried to keep them open, I found myself slipping into the dark…

When I woke up, shades of red tinted everything around me. Most of the pain had subsided, but it left a void within me. I remembered not caring about where I was or what had happened to me. I lay there in that unknown room, listening to the slow rhythm of my breathing.

I closed my eyes again. How sad it was to realize that I didn’t have the strength to face the light. Everything was blinding, sending me waves of nausea. I couldn’t tell how many times I’d fallen asleep; time seemed to warp as it passed, and I was losing touch with reality. I felt disoriented hearing something as familiar as a creaky door opening and faint footsteps walking toward me. For a while, I was sure that those sensations were from a world I’d left behind.

“Oh, Quinn,” a voice said. “Thank goodness you’re awake.”

I didn’t immediately recognize the person by the door. I turned my head, and as my eyes focused on them, I registered their name.

“Ms. Louise…”

I didn’t like hearing myself. My voice was so faint that it was almost like it wasn’t there.

Ms. Louise took the seat next to my bed. “How are you feeling?”

I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. “Not very good.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected. You were unconscious when I found you. It’s been five days, and I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”

I took a minute to process that. It had been five days—five freaking days. A lot could have happened in that expanse of time, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out. Then, I looked at Ms. Louise and noticed all sorts of things: There were dark circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and her skin was pale.

“Are you hungry?” she then asked. “You haven’t eaten anything for a long time. I can get you something.”

I accepted her offer. I saw it as a way to potentially ease the pain and escape the truth for a little while longer. Sadness seemed to hang in the air whenever Ms. Louise spoke. She was usually pretty straightforward with her words, and that led me to believe that something was very, very wrong.

Ms. Louise later returned with a bowl of hot soup on a tray. As she placed it next to me on a plastic table, I was half-expecting to find Julio behind her. Instead, it was Takahiro who walked into the room, greeting me with a faint smile.

“Hey, Quinn,” he said.

I raised a hand weakly. “Hey.”

He, too, looked sad and tired. His shoulders slumped as his thin arms hung limply.

“Can you sit up?” Ms. Louise asked me.

“I can try,” I said.

As I sat, she held me by the shoulders while Takahiro propped up my pillow. I felt dizzy at first, but I eventually managed to sit up straight with my hands folded on my stomach. Ms. Louise then placed the tray of soup on my lap and handed me a spoon.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

I took my first spoonful. The soup could have been the best thing I had ever tasted, but no scrumptious flavors danced on my tongue. Instead, swallowing was difficult, and I lost my appetite quickly.

It didn’t help that Ms. Louise and Takahiro lingered like zombies as I ate. Long, dark shadows stretched over their faces as shades of red shone through the blinds, making me feel uneasy. I found myself staring at the door, waiting for someone else to enter the room and liven up the atmosphere. I thought that my patience would last longer than it would, but it wore thinner with each passing second.

“What happened?” I decided to ask. “Where was I when you found me?”

Ms. Louise sighed. “I was worried when I noticed you’d left the apartment. Takahiro and I looked for you in the nearby areas. We couldn’t find you, and we didn’t know where else we could go. At first, we thought Julio had brought you back to St. John’s, and—”

“Julio…” I whispered. “Where is he? Has he come to visit me yet?”

The mention of his name intensified the sense of desolation. Takahiro’s lip shook, looking too scared to speak, while Ms. Louise simply looked down and shook her head.

“Quinn,” she said softly. “Julio’s gone.”

Those words took a while to register; I had trouble believing they were true. I felt myself shutting down, but I didn’t want to. Maybe Ms. Louise was mistaken. Maybe I could prove her wrong. But I didn’t say those things out loud. Amidst everything that coursed through my head, all that came out was:

“…What?”

That one word wasn’t enough to express my disbelief, but I didn’t have the strength to expound on my thoughts.

“His body was found on Paradox Road,” Ms. Louise said. “He was near Sky Towers, the place where the Spanish House went to look for the Author. When I heard the news, I speculated that you two had gone together, so I went to Sky Towers and looked for you there. The lady at the front desk wouldn’t let me in, so I turned into a dove and searched for you through the windows. I found you unconscious in an empty unit, so I asked for help from the Spanish House and brought you here.”

I could only nod in response. So it was true. Everything I saw on Paradox Road was true. I was hoping that it was just some sick dream I would wake up from, but I was wrong. So, so wrong.

Takahiro looked up with tears in his eyes. “What happened to him, Quinn?” he asked me. “Did you see?”

I let out a shaky breath. I didn’t want to say her name, but I didn’t seem to have a choice.

“Cassandra…” I began. “Cassandra killed him…”

I was afraid of saying those words out loud. Doing so made me feel like I’d failed, that I’d acknowledged Cassandra’s victory. Worst of all, tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them from falling.

“Quinn,” Takahiro pleaded. “No. No, it can’t be…”

“It’s all my fault…” I sobbed. “I brought him to Paradox Road. I was so stupid. I should have listened to him…”

Ms. Louise reached over to stroke my back. “Don’t blame yourself, Quinn. No matter what your reasons were to go to Paradox Road, what happened to Julio wasn’t your fault.”

“But he would still be alive if it weren’t for me. I need to bring him back. I need to fix this.”

“Shh. You can’t bring him back. He’s gone, Quinn. He’s gone…”

I didn’t tell Ms. Louise or Takahiro, but there was something else Cassandra had said on Paradox Road. I didn’t want to scare or perplex them. Once the waves of grief were over, I needed to act.

I could turn back time. I brought a girl back from the dead. The sporadic abilities I had were a manifestation of the Author’s powers, and if I still didn’t know how to control them, there was no better time to learn how…

I slowly got my strength back. I could sit up straight without feeling nauseated, and eventually, I was able to stand while holding on to my bed’s railing. A doctor advised Ms. Louise to have me stay for another day to observe my condition, however, he scratched his head whenever he talked about how much better I’d been looking. Again, I had left doctors with questions they’d never find the answers to.

I stayed up long after visiting hours, witnessing the halls grow silent. Then, I closed my eyes, hoping that I was in another place.

At another time.

I cleared my head. I thought of nothing else but to escape the nightmare I was in, to heal the emptiness that consumed me. But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I concentrated, I would open my eyes—

And nothing would change.

I didn’t get it. Why weren’t my powers working?

I just wanted him back. I wanted Julio back.

My hands shook with every failed attempt. A lump formed in my throat and tears welled in my eyes. Everything around me blurred. Time moved on without me, without him, and that was all I thought about when I finally lay down on my hospital bed.

“Rewind time,” I whispered. “Rewind time, rewind time…”

Falling asleep was difficult, but I tried my best to not open my eyes until I sensed that the world around me was different. I wanted the various sounds of my hospital room to fade away. I wanted to flip the sheets and smash the medical machines. I pictured the day Julio took me to The MacGuffin. I imagined climbing down the stairs of the girls’ dorms to find his paper airplane in the bushes outside. I would be determined to make the right choices, to set everything back to the way things were.

But alas, white fluorescent bulbs continued to shine in my eyes, and the smell of medicine hung in the air. I was trapped in the walls of my hospital room, and I didn’t know how to escape it.

Amidst the frustration, a nurse came in to bring me breakfast. She placed a rice meal with chopped vegetables on the small table next to my bed, and as she moved across the room, her feet glided across the cold, white tiles. She smiled brightly at me, which was terrifying to some extent, and when she spoke, it was almost like she was singing.

“Is there anything else you need, Ms. Vasquez?” she asked me, her hands moving like an animated character.

I ignored her behavior. Maybe she was just in a very good mood.

“May I have a pencil and a few sheets of paper?” I asked the nurse. “I’d like to draw to pass the time.”

I suppose she wasn’t expecting my request, but she came back with some printer paper and a pencil with the hospital’s name on it—all while still singing to herself. I got the tray my breakfast was on and placed it on my lap, creating a wonky table. I then began drawing, starting with a circle the way Philip had thought me at the art club.

I thought about the way Julio’s hair fell a little over his creased brows, his perpetual scowl, and his eyes—those deep dark eyes. I couldn’t believe he was gone. It pained me to think that I may never see him again, or that his paper airplanes would no longer arrive—

I told myself to stop. I shouldn’t be thinking about those things. I needed to clear my mind, to focus on drawing.

However, things weren’t looking the way I wanted. My strokes were off. The eraser at the end of the pencil had already hardened, so it smudged the lead all over the paper. And to top it all off, the portrait I had drawn looked nothing like Julio. The face was a little too long, and the eyes were the wrong shape.

I scrapped it and started over.

And over. And over.

But every portrait I drew didn’t look right. I was experiencing the self-loathing many artists felt toward their work, and the vicious cycle of drawing and erasing went on until I was on my last sheet of paper. My hand shook as I hovered the pencil over the blank space, my strokes light and hesitant. Eventually, I began to press harder, thinking that the darkness of the graphite could cover up my mistakes. The eraser had become useless as it receded into the metal part of the pencil. All I could do was watch all of my wrong moves pile up on top of each other until I had a smudgy, blacked-out mess.

I crumpled it up and threw it on the floor, plopping onto my hospital bed. Did the Author go through this as she went through many versions of the Metropolis? Was she satisfied with her work?

Was she ever proud of it?

I was going to try again later. I couldn’t fail Julio like that. I couldn’t just let him go.

I was discharged from the hospital later that day. Ms. Louise came to pick me up, and it was then I realized that I didn’t know where to go.

Should I go back to St. John’s? My parents might still be looking for me, and Harumi—

Harumi…

Thinking about her made me feel numb. I questioned whether or not I had heard Cassandra correctly on Paradox Road: Harumi was her pawn, her spy. And I didn’t suspect a thing.

It wasn’t fair. I was the one who brought her back, and just like that, Cassandra stole and used her.

As Ms. Louise finished settling everything at the hospital, she turned to me and said, “I’m letting you stay at my place for a while. Is that okay with you?”

I thought about it. Her apartment was probably the best place I could stay while I sorted out my powers. But then, I couldn’t help but wonder about St. John’s. Any reasonable adult like Ms. Louise would urge me to go back to school no matter what.

“I guess that’s okay,” I finally said. “But what about St. John’s?”

At that, Ms. Louise sighed. Her expression darkened. “It’s best to not go around the Metropolis for a while. Things are… different now.”

I swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see. Let’s go.”

We walked across the hospital’s lobby to the exit, and I noticed how lively people were. It was strange; they talked brightly about the tragedies that had brought patients to the emergency room: an accident, a heart attack, a bullet. Nurses and doctors seemed to dance as they moved past me, their arms and legs swinging around like performers in a theatrical show.

And when I stepped out the door, things were much, much worse.

The sky was bright red as buildings shone in the afternoon sun. Their glass bodies illuminated the streets like stage lights as everyone moved along in colorful suits and oversized sneakers. Smiles plastered their faces, and excitement gleamed in their eyes. Everyone made grand gestures when they talked, and as Ms. Louise and I moved deeper into the crowd, my ears caught mentions of various woes and misfortunes:

“I got laid off”

“I can’t pay rent”

“I guess I won’t be eating tonight. Oh well.”

The dissonance was blinding, deafening. It numbed me down.

Ms. Louise, however, stood unbothered by the chaos.

“Ms. Louise,” I mouthed. “What is this? This isn’t the Metropolis…”

“It is,” she said flatly.

It was weird to not see the afternoon traffic, the gray businessmen, the students, and young families perusing the various establishments. It hurt my eyes to stare, but I found myself gawking at what had become of the city. It was so brilliant and striking that it felt too manufactured, too rehearsed, too fake.

“What happened to it?” I finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Ms. Louise said. “It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before, and I’ve been around long enough to tell that this can’t be the Author’s work…”

The vibrancy of it all made my head hurt. I clutched my temple and groaned.

“Are you okay?” Ms. Louise asked.

“My head…” I muttered.

Ms. Louise put a hand on my shoulder. “Is it bad?”

“Not really,” I replied. “Just annoying.”

“Must be from those medicines the hospital gave you. Anyway, a bus should be passing by anytime now, then it’s straight to The MacGuffin we go…”

There was only one person who could tell me what had happened to the Metropolis. Mr. Simon ran the Archives, which told him virtually anything about the Author’s work. As a bonus, he could also probably tell me what was wrong with my powers.

I needed to contact him as soon as possible, but I didn’t know how to get to him. I knew that he was just at the ice cream parlor, but I doubted I could travel alone. I thought that Ms. Louise could take me there, but I wasn’t sure if she knew that Mr. Simon existed. The Archivist didn’t want the Spanish House to know that he was alive, so he most likely wanted the same treatment from The MacGuffin.

It was then that I thought of calling Philip instead. Once I was back in Ms. Louise’s apartment, I turned on my phone for the first time in days. I ignored all of the notifications that popped up on my home screen and swiped them all away.

They were what had brought me to Paradox Road.

I looked for Philip’s name and rang him up. I paced around the room as I waited for him to answer.

“Hello? Quinn?” he eventually said.

“Philip, hey,” I replied.

“Oh my God. Quinn, where have you been? Harumi said you didn’t come back after going out one night. Are you okay?”

I cleared my throat. Hearing Harumi’s name threw me off a little.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. “I got sick while with a friend and couldn’t go back to St. John’s.”

Philip gasped. “Wait, so—”

“Hang on,” I cut him off. I didn’t want to explain my situation any further. I was determined to talk to Mr. Simon as soon as I could. “Is Mr. Simon still at the Archives? I wanna ask him something.”

“Um, he’s been busy lately,” he answered. “I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but the Metropolis has been weird lately.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it. The sky’s red, everyone’s dancing—”

“Yeah. That.”

“I’ve been pretty sick lately, so I’ve been stuck indoors. When did this all start happening?”

“I dunno. Probably about six days ago?”

Six days. That was how long it had been since Paradox Road…

“Mr. Simon’s trying to figure out what happened,” Philip added. “He’s been in the Archives for days, trying to confirm if the change is the Author’s work. He hasn’t gone out since.”

“I see,” I replied. “But can you take me to him? There’s something I want to ask him.”

Philip sighed. “Are you going to ask him about the weird things going on in the Metropolis?”

“Yeah. I hope he could clear things out for me.”

“Okay. I’ll try to convince him. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Okay. Thanks, Philip.”

“But wait, you are coming back to St. John’s, right?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go back to St. John’s or not. It was within those walls where I ignored the world around me, where I pretended that everything was normal. But things were different now. The Metropolis was unrecognizable, the girl I considered my best friend had been working for my evil twin, and the boy I’d admired was gone. Going back to St. John’s felt like I was running away, closing myself in a bubble while the world ravaged on.

“There are things I need to sort out first,” I finally said.

“Ahh,” Philip mused. “Probably some Metropolis stuff I’m not supposed to know about?”

“If you put it that way, yeah. But I’ll see you soon. Very soon.”

Philip sighed. “All right. Take care of yourself over there.”

“You too.”

Then, he hung up.

Ms. Louise was at The MacGuffin most of the time, so I often had the apartment to myself. I would sit quietly at the edge of the bed, trying to get my time-traveling powers to work. The past would often play so vividly in my head; it all felt so real, so fluorescent, but all that would vanish when I opened my eyes.

Philip’s voice would then ring in my ears. It was through him I’d learned that the Metropolis had changed on the day Julio and I went to Paradox Road. There was no way that it was all a coincidence; those events were definitely related, but I couldn’t tell how. Instead, the possibilities plagued my brain, straying me away from my goal.

To rewind time. I needed to rewind time.

But there were times when my mind would fail to concentrate. My hands would itch for something to do, and my eyes would find themselves staring at the stack of paper in the living room. I’d grab one sheet along with a pencil lying on the kitchen counter, and then I’d sit on the rickety dining table and draw for an immeasurable amount of time. I lost count of the number of portraits I’d made of Julio—or of some guy who didn’t look like him.

During one of my drawing sessions, I must have grown tired and fallen asleep on the table. When I woke up, I found Ms. Louise examining all the drawings I’d made. I gasped, sitting straight up, but she just stood there, staring at my work. I finally understood why artists found that uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know you draw,” she finally said.

“I… don’t…” I replied.

She sat on the chair from across me and picked up one of my sketches. “Is this Julio?”

A lump formed in my throat. It was the first time either of us had mentioned his name after leaving the hospital. It had been days, but the wounds were still fresh.

“It is,” I said softly, letting out a sigh.

Ms. Louise placed the drawing on the table. “You know, I’ve met a lot of people, and many of them have fought and lost their lives in the name of the Metropolis. I hoped that Julio would be different. He was stubborn and a bit of a hothead, but at the same time, he was one of the most dedicated leaders the frontlines could ever have…”

I nodded, but I hated the words I was hearing. I was listening to a eulogy when I didn’t want to say goodbye. I was going to rewind time and set things right. I had to. I needed to.

Then, Ms. Louise pulled something out of the pocket of her jeans and placed it on the table.

“You were holding on to this when I found you,” she said. She lifted her hand to reveal a small, plastic lighter.

The same one Julio owned.

“I think you should keep it,” Ms. Louise added. “Julio doesn’t have a lot attached to him as a Forgotten One, and his few belongings have already been retrieved by the Spanish House. This may be all that’s left. Julio seemed special to you.”

I stared at the lighter on the table, my fingers trembling over its light, plastic body. Slowly, I picked it up. I thought tears were bound to flow, but nothing fell from my eyes.

“He was,” I admitted. “Very special…”

Perhaps I had let it all out at the hospital, and I was now just a hollow shell sitting limply on a dining chair.

“I loved him, Ms. Louise,” I whispered.

Ms. Louise reached out a hand. “Oh, Quinn. I’m sorry…”

I closed my fist around the lighter. “It’s okay. Thanks for this.”

I got up and dragged my feet toward the bedroom. I had friends from my previous school who warned me about falling in love too easily. They said that I was bound for heartache and failure. I thought I’d experienced the worst when I briefly got together with some guy I barely knew, but the innocent little girl in me didn’t see this coming.

“You want something to eat?” Ms. Louise asked.

“No thanks,” I replied. “I’m not hungry.”

I didn’t bother turning around to see how Ms. Louise reacted. I simply shut the door and sat on the floorboards. I stared at the lighter in my hands, imagining Julio with a cigarette in his mouth under a shed. He would be waiting for me, and I would be excited to meet him. I struck the metal, letting out a small flame.

But I didn’t have a cigarette, and there was no one to wait for.