Dimestorepublishing.com presents

  Somewhere Else

  Robert C. Gemmell

  (NOTE: The following is a collection of three depositions collected for the T.E.M.P.L.A.R. archives. The information in the following text is labeled Above Top-Secret, Clearence Level: Delta

  Original text discovered by Agent Castillo and recovered before exposure to the mass populace. The anomaly in question is considered contained and no longer an exposure threat. The three subjects have been briefed and have singed Non Disclosure Orders. They remain under low surveillance but are determined not to be information threats. Subject Four remains missing and is still at large)

  1.

  Cody

  Christian never did anything to relegate him to the role of an outcast he had found himself in. No one talked to him, and I learned that was mostly because he never talked to anyone. I remember we were in some Jr. High class together. My most vivid memory was when he just dominated everyone in a Friday afternoon game of whiteboard. The object was the teacher revealed a mildly complicated algebra question on the overhead projector, and two students, mutually representing the two teams the class had been split into for the game, solved it as fast as they could. The first person with a correct answer to drop his marker earned a point for the said team, and at the end of the game, the team with the most points got three extra bonus points on the next test.

  I was on that team with him. Everyone knew he was one of the smartest kids in class. They knew without even talking to him. I remember how flustered he was when everyone cheered him on in the final round, answering seven questions in a row without fail and winning the admiration of his peers for maybe the first time in his life. I remember how he rushed out of class as soon as the bell rang.

  It was third period, English. While Mrs. Pate was giving a lecture about the history of the Grimm Brothers, I was busy taking note of every Grimm Fairytale we read in class and the ones assigned reading for homework. Didn’t need to know the whole book, just the stuff she told us to read. I had been getting by on quizzes for this unit by piecemealing cursory knowledge of hearing these stories as a child, along with the various Disney movies I saw growing up that were based on them. Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, though there were some curious moments when the Grimm Brothers spin on things ended up a bit more violent than something the Mouse would feel comfortable showing to kids. Like how Cinderella’s sisters literally took a knife to their heels so their feet could try to fit in the lead character’s dainty and feminine slipper. Between football practice, Pre-Calculus homework, and trying to make time with Susie, it was so hard to find time to just sit down and read for class.

  Yeah, I played football in high school. Just a second-string Quarter Back so don’t go thinking I was some king of kings, jock legend, I was just happy to have a place on the team. I didn’t distract myself with fantasies of going pro like some of the first strings who gave their all for college scouts in the crowds at our games. I liked football, my dad liked football, it was fun, and I made great friends doing it. That was enough for me. I wonder if there was something Christian could have found to give him that? Future Business Leaders maybe? It was an unspoken agreement he was probably the smartest guy in our class, even if his grades didn’t always show it.

  “Now what were the Grimm Brothers trying to say with Sleeping Beauty?” Mrs. Pate asked. A few hands went up, Christian’s hand was always up in this class, he seemed to take a liking to the subject to talk more than he usually did when it came to the high school experience.

  “Christian,” she said, even though his hand was up for every question this subject, Mrs. Pate knew she couldn’t let one student dominate the conversation, so she only called on him sparingly.

  Christian took a deep breath, “They weren’t trying to say anything,” he said.

  “Oh, interesting,” she cocked her head, “So you think that it lacks literary value?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not, the Grimm Brothers took stories that had been told orally for generations and put them in a form of prose that was easily digestible by the people of the time. They weren’t thinking about writing great classical literature, they were trying to sell copy and make profit,” he said.

  I told you he would have been a good fit for the Business Leader club.

  “Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t make their work any less valid or, frankly, phenomenal. That said, the Grimm stories were the Superhero movies of their time, marketable, understandable, they were even adaptations from prior source material, people got them, and they always wanted more. It was a simpler time, people wanted these kinds of stories, sure sometimes there could be a morale like Hansel and Gretel, or Cat and Mouse in partnership, but even then the lessons and morals are obtuse and obvious to anyone with over a child's level of reasoning,” he said.

  “Cat and Mouse in Partnership? Have you been reading ahead again?” Mrs. Pate asked.

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  “It’s a story I remember, I’ve actually already read the entirety of the Grimm stories,” Christian sunk in his seat, but I saw him fight himself to keep talking, and I saw a spark of joy in his eyes, “The Cat and Mouse is about a cat and mouse who agree to save food together for the winter. The Cat, of course, eats the food they’ve saved and when winter comes the mouse sees that there’s no food left and they will surely starve now,” he said.

  “And what happens?” she asked. Christian was obviously uncomfortable, the entire class was looking at him, stunned someone would read something without a teacher assigning it to him.

  “Well, they agree they’re out of food, and then the cat eats the mouse,” Christian chuckled, “He eats him because, that is the way of the world,” he said, quoting the last line of the story verbatim.

  “Interesting,” Mrs. Pate smiled, “Does anyone else have something to say about the work of the Brothers Grimm?” she asked.

  A soft-spoken blond named Melissa raised her hand, “I remember a lot of these stories from the Disney movies, but they seem to be a lot more violent, why is that?” she asked.

  Mrs. Pate laughed, “Well, you must understand the Grimm Brothers lived in Germany in the nineteenth century, it was for lack of a better term, a grim time,” she said, “Violence and desperation was commonplace for children growing up during this era, take the story of Hansel and Gretel. Imagine the wonder of two children abandoned by their parents, which was a more common occurrence back then than it would be today, finding a house made of gingerbread. In the vicious world of the nineteenth century, they were trying to warn children that the allure of candy and free food would of course come with strings attached, namely a witch with her eye on you for a tasty meal,” she said. “Class is almost over, your test on the Grimm Brothers is Thursday, take some time and reread the stories we’ve gone over in class, they wrote almost four hundred tales so feel lucky that I’m only grading you on the ten we’ve gone over,” she said.

  Ten we’ve read, I was able to keep myself awake for about six of them. For most of them the only knowledge I had was the loose adaptation of the Mouse’s various movies growing up. Sleeping beauty, Cinderella, Snow White, you know, the greatest hits. I even watched Tangled with my little sister on the Mouse’s streaming service just to brush up on Rapunzel. She kept asking me why I was taking notes. I could probably play those questions by ear, but when it came to the more obscure tales like The Twelve Brothers, or The Three Snake Leaves, I had no chance. I needed this grade too, after a bad hangover before a test I could have sworn was going to be the next day, I was left with a C in Pre-Cal needed an A to even it out. I knew there was only one person who could help me, the question was, would he?

  I had to move fast to catch him, he was usually the first person in class and the first one out, he didn’t have anyone to talk to in the seven minutes between class, luckily, I caught him by his locker, “Hey Christian,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said as he switched out his books.

  “You’re like crazy smart, you know that right?” I asked, trying to sound friendly.

  “I’m not smart, no, it’s just easy,” he said as he zipped up his backpack and threw it over his shoulder, “Besides, it’s not like these are short answer questions, they’re all scantrons, if you just retain one reading it’s not that hard. It’s not like you have to do any deep analysis of them,” he said, shying away, this guy was not good with people.

  “Yeah, but you do that deep analysis, you’re good, you’re very good,” this guy probably wasn’t used to praise, maybe if I buttered him up that could get me in his good graces.

  “Listen, I know I don’t really know you that well, but you seem to really know your stuff, and I wanted to ask if you could maybe help me out on the next test,” he said.

  “It’s tomorrow, I don’t think we can cram that much information in one night, besides I got to get home, I got a thing I got to take care of, I’m sorry I don’t have the time,” he was making up an excuse. From what I learned later he had nothing waiting for him at home save a father on the dole and an inattentive alcoholic mother who was too busy looking for an exit. He was famous for pulling out any stop to avoid the dread of social interaction.

  “I don’t mean studying, I mean, you know,” I raised my eyebrows, “I’m asking if you could just kind of help me out, sit in front of me next class, maybe have to take a stretch a few times, lean a bit to the left. Maybe you could use the bathroom and forget to flip your scantron over, are you following me,”

  “You want me to help you cheat?” Christian asked. I prayed to God this wasn’t the one time he would show a backbone, please don’t let me find an unmovable moral compass under that soft-spoken demeanor. Later, I would unfortunately later learn a moral compass wasn’t really a concern for him.

  I shrugged, “Let’s not use the C-Word, you’re just helping me out,” he said.

  “What if we get caught, I could get in trouble,” he said. Christian hadn’t got in enough trouble in school to realize that short of kicking in the front door with a Uzi and a sawed-off shotgun, like a few of the bigger assholes of our class thought he might capable of, trouble wasn’t really that big of a deal at our age. Not the kind of trouble you get into messing around in high school at least.

  “Slap on the wrist,” I reassured him, “And I would be just as screwed as you, if not more, I could get kicked off the team. Listen, I’m a man coming to you hat in hand, I just need some help, help me out, come on, you could use a friend,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Christian turned away from me, he didn’t really like people looking him in the eye.

  “I can pay you,” I said, the time for schmoozing was over, it was time to talk real, “I got three hundred, could probably get that new PlayStation,” I said, thinking that a guy this shut in was probably a big video game fan.

  He wasn’t, by the way.

  “Three hundred,” I watched for his reaction, saw his eyes darting around. I wondered what was going through his head many a night. When I trace everything back it was here, this moment, the moment that would change all our lives. All for as stupid a reason as me trying to cheat on a English test.

  “Okay,” he shrugged, “Just don’t copy me verbatim, change a few answers, you would be happy with a ninety-four, right? That’s the most I’ll guarantee you,” he said.

  “Ninety-four? I’d be happy with a ninety, you got a deal,” I reached out for a shake. He awkwardly grabbed my hand and returned it. Not going to lie, he didn’t have that strong of a grip. I must admit his grip got better with time. His negotiation with the King of- wait, no I’m getting ahead myself, we’re not there yet. If I’m going to tell this story I’m going to tell it right, and tease whoever reads this with promises that I’m saving the good stuff for later.

  “I know you like to sit in the back, you don’t mind one row closer to the front, do you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, let’s do this, three hundred dollars right?” he asked.

  “Word is bond,” I said, letting go of his hand, and unknowingly intertwining our destinies together.