In Restless Dreams, I Walked Alone. - SCP Foundation

When you can't go home, where do you go?

Most people would call us "rats" — dirty and diseased, scattering from one place to the other unbidden. I would rather they call us "soul-searchers", but it's not for me to make their decisions.

Meeting yourself only tends to happen once. Either you're in the mood for adventure or you're depressed or it happens by complete accident. You go to a coffee shop with them, you talk about your life, their life. There's a heartfelt exchange, a fistfight, no connection at all maybe. A splitting of bills, a hug, and then you return home, a piece of you in each other's hearts.

Or you don't return home at all. You become like me.

Right now, I'm on a train. I don't know to where. The air is frigid, and I'm surrounded by at least twenty people, half of which look like they're refugees. They probably are. There is snow outside, and ice forms on the windows as we roll past scenes obscured by the dark of night. Nothing outside illuminates us besides the stars; the cabin's lights haven't worked in at least a century.

I prefer it this way.

Since the day Lampeter entered my life, I wouldn't want it any other.

* * *

Of both her parents, Emma only knew her mother. When she turned eighteen, she knew neither of them.

The apartment was cold. The heater had broken down two days ago, but the landlord lived three cities out and wouldn't be around to fix anything for another weekend or two. Emma knew this, and it didn't make it easier. She lied in the center of her single-room unit, arms bundled against her chest and legs tucked up to her torso, a bedsheet wrapped around her. Her TV was the only source of color in the room, casting weak artificial hues against the blue-grey backdrop. Watching eased the numbness.

She peeled her eyes to the analog clock mounted on the wall above. It was twelve past six in the morning, nearly an hour until she began a shift at the store. Wearily, Emma tensed her fingers, and in a foggy haze, shakily pushed herself from her spot on the floor. Staring ahead, she shuffled to her closet and changed into something presentable. She knew that the cold wouldn't seep into the store like it had her home.

So Emma set out. The brisk cold air rushed past when she stepped out of the door. Snow gave beneath her worn boots with a crunch, echoing through the hollow narrow streets. Her vision filled with her breath when she exhaled. It was an intimately familiar environment, even if it was hostile, and Emma persevered with the knowledge that somewhere warmer lied ahead.

Her life could have been unremarkable. As Emma walked down a road she had forgotten the name of, her eyes glanced to the left. Down an alley between two homes, visible from the shine of the street, an old man sat among the snow. He slumped on the lifeless walls, eyes staring blankly ahead, chest lightly drawing breath from the cold air. She could see the vapor drawn from his body, rising into the air the same way her own did.

She knew he felt the same cold as her.

Emma shakily walked toward him. He didn't move from the snow, his eyes focused on nothing on the wall across the alley. She sat across from him, and watched. There was no reaction, and Emma did not solicit one. They sat in silence.

As she exhaled, Emma shivered.

* * *

The stars are pretty tonight. It's my first time seeing them under this sky, and it's the other Emma's first time seeing them at all.

We're sitting across from one another. She's transfixed right now, her brown eyes don't even blink. I can't really blame her; if I had never seen stars before and there were this many back where I come from, I wouldn't close my eyes ever again.

The night's not so cold here. The breeze isn't very merciful, but the grass is tall enough that it shelters us from the harshest of it. In the small clearing we chose, we can see the sky and each other, and hear the howling of the wind, and smell the fragrance of the pure air, and feel the dirt beneath our hands and legs. Tears streak down Emma's cheeks, matching my own.

"I don't want to go back", she says.

"You don't have to", I tell her.

"I do. My father would kill me."

I don't have to ask her if it's metaphorical.

I watch Emma. The markings on her face, the green ones, dictate her entire life. A slave of a slave. Her father not even intervening to prevent her fate. She hardly knew anything beyond her role. An entire life in underground shelters as a concubine, not stepping outside even one time since she was born. Until I met her on a bright winter night.

Until I met myself. Emma.

She breaks her eyes away from the night sky to look at me. I can see the light of the heavenly bodies above reflect in her vision. She breathes as softly as I do, and the world feels cold again.

"I can't do anything for myself, anyways."

"That doesn't mean you can't join me."

She shakes her head and looks at me, an infinite complexity of sadness behind that expression. I don't push the topic. I understand.

"You leave in a quarterday?"

"Yes. They won't allow me to stay any longer than a week."

Her eyes turn upwards again towards the firmament. "Will I ever see you again?"

I sigh lightly. "Probably not."

"…Will I ever see this again?"

I push myself off the dirt, the zephyr gently flowing up against my hair. I watch her watch the stars for the first and last time, her tears unending in a constant stream. She shivers. I lower myself to the ground to sit next to her, and then I lie back on the dirt, looking directly above. She lies down next to me, and the world is silent for us.

"Yes. Yes, you will, Emma."

My hand found her hand, and we held each other tightly. No words were exchanged until dawn, and all that was left to say was goodbye.

* * *

The light warmth of the store wasn't enough to distract Emma from her thoughts.

It was nearly the end of her shift. The snow piled heavily by the front window, frosting the glass with patterns of ice and rime. The store had already been closed, and the few remaining customers handled. There were no major incidents that day, which would normally be a blessing. But today, she wished she had something to deflect her contemplation.

It had been about six hours since she clocked in. Although it wasn't really important, the money from the shift would be enough to cover some food and amenities for the next two days. Not a lot, but enough. And if she was willing to eat a little less, she could possibly afford something warmer to wear.

As she pulled the door open to exit the store, primed to lock behind her, a familiar sensation slid up her back. The thoughts rushed into her head again, and she knew that she couldn't leave yet. Carefully, Emma set the door on its frame and turned her collar to the cold of the street. She wouldn't get the money from her shift until next week, but… if she didn't help others, was she any better than the people that refused to help her?

Her eyes fell on some wrapped sandwiches as she walked down the aisles. They were small, a bit bigger than her hand maybe, not by a lot. But they would be enough. Quietly, in the view of no one, she placed one in her coat pocket. Her heart sank as she turned and walked to the front of the store. She opened the door, and looked back briefly.

Emma would pay it off later, she promised herself. With the money she didn't have now.

She closed the door behind her, and stepped into the freezing twilight. It seeped into her body thoroughly and mercilessly. She stood shivering amongst the snow, and after a few minutes, began slowly and methodically making her way back the route she came.

But not towards her apartment.

* * *

I hold myself under the blanket. The plane rocks from side to side, a symptom of either the turbulence or the rough journey between worlds. No one is certain how Lampeter works, but we all know it does, and that's the important part.

"Hey, you're an Emma, right?"

I look over to the seat on my left. A boy about my age is sitting next to me, wrapped in a blanket like mine. He's staring at me, and smiles wearily, a sadness in his face that betrays his attitude.

"Yeah."

His eyes brighten as their brown color deepens. "I'm Emmanuel."

"Oh," I say. The plane shakes ferociously. "Nice to meet me."

It's a line I've used nearly a hundred times, but it still works. He laughs a little harder than he should. "Every version of us on the couple worlds I've seen is a woman. What's up with that? You'd think there would be a few more men."

I smile and shrug as best I can under the blanket. "The universe is kind of weird like that sometimes. I don't think we can know why it is the way it is."

There's a reaction in his face. It's subtle enough that he can hide it, but noticeable enough that he can't hide it from me.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he says, lowering his gaze.

We sit next to one another, huddled in the nippy air of the cabin. Even though the aircraft isn't very large, it probably needs a lot of upkeep, and Lampeter isn't famous for being well-funded. They were on the verge of bankruptcy; it could be seen in the worn fabrics of the seats and the dim lights hardly managing to glow above us.

I look out of the small window on my right. Nothing is visible beyond the dark wisps of clouds.

"Where are you from?" I ask him, not turning back.

"Ah… a few universes down the line," he says, his breath caught in his throat, "nowhere important."

"Nowhere's important."

He paused. "I suppose you're right. Just…"

"Something happened to your home, I'm guessing."

Silence lies between us. I turn away from the window to look at him. He's no longer smiling, and the sadness I saw in him is now uniquely visible across his face. To his credit, he isn't crying.

"It was… a doomsday, or an XK, or whatever they call it. Something about self-replication, not a lot of us got out. I lived in an apartment by a Lampeter station, so… I escaped, but…"

"I lived near a station too. I'm sorry."

Emmanuel doesn't say anything for a minute. Then, he sighs. "I… guess I'm a refugee now. I'm just trying to find a new place to live, but people call me—"

"A rat?"

"Yeah." He breathes laboriously. The conversation takes a toll on him. I haven't felt what he feels now in a long time. "Are you also…?"

"…Not really. I call myself a 'soul-searcher'. Because that's what I am — someone searching for their soul."

He looks up at me curiously, but doesn't say anything. I reach my hand out of the blanket and squeeze his arm lightly. "You'll find somewhere you belong," I tell him.

He smiles genuinely this time. "I know. We all do, eventually."

I feel the numbness in my heart remind me that he's wrong.

"You're right," I say.

* * *

The alleyway was dark. With the snowfall raining down from the sky and her own breath clouding her vision, Emma could hardly see in front of her. The outline of the backstreet was barely visible from where she stood beneath the halo of a street lamp. She could make out a rubbish bin, some broken bottles, and most importantly, a distinct figure slumped against a brick wall.

Cautiously, to avoid tripping, she stepped lightly towards the man. Her hand reached and pushed against the wall lightly to support herself. The snow piled higher than before, and her foot sunk into it. She didn't like the sound it made, the crunching beneath her.

Her eyes adjusted as she stood above him. The crinkling of the wrapper being pulled out of her pocket echoed along the empty street as the flakes fell on them. Like the last time she saw him, he stared ahead, his eyes unwavering at the opposite wall, mesmerized by nothing. She lowered herself to the ground next to him, shivering, and with caution, reached out her hand to touch his.

His hand was colder than the snow around them.

When Emma looked at him with clear eyes, she saw he had no breath to match her own.

For a while, Emma sat unmoving, watching nothing. The snow continued to fall around her, and although the frost continued to grow on her fingers and legs, she didn't feel it. She didn't feel anything for the entire night, sitting and shivering, holding a cold hand in hers and listening to the sound of cars driving past, of low whispers from passersby, of people who would never be either of them going about their lives. She registered all of it, and heard none of it.

When the dawn of light rose, Emma knew that she had to leave, or she would join him in another place. Numb in all possible ways, she methodically made her way to her feet. They had both been buried by the snowfall, and his figure was difficult to see under the mounds. It was a burial for someone unloved by the world, and she reckoned it was a fitting end for her as well.

She took the sandwich out of her pocket, and left it where his hand was. If she had been a little faster, maybe he could have given her thanks.

As she walked from the alleyway, the bright sun piercing through the cloudy sky on a frozen day, an unfamiliar train from a distant place rolled into its station nearby.

* * *

The bakery I'm sitting in is a little busy, but off to the side of the town. The day is bright, and the air is warm. People are generally polite here. I'm allowed to loiter in the shop because I'm expecting to meet another me here, who I'm hoping will have enough money to buy us both something light to eat. The buildings around me are vaguely… Norwegian, if I had to guess, but it gives off a comfortable atmosphere that I haven't felt in a long time.

The door to the building chimes, and I glance in the entrance's direction. A woman with brown eyes around my age walks in, dressed in a long trench coat and holding a leather briefcase. She has a long-healed scar over the right side of her entire face. It's very clear she's Emma, but I quickly realize this is not the Emma I came to see.

She spots me immediately and smiles, walking over to the chair opposite me. Setting her briefcase aside, she quickly discards her trenchcoat and yawn-stretches, before making eye contact with me.

"Who are you?" I ask.

The unexpected Emma chuckles. "What, never owned a mirror before?"

"I… you're not the person I came here to meet."

"You're right about that. How'd you tell?"

"The scar's not doing you any favors. And the local Emma has lung cancer."

Emma's eyebrows raised in teasing surprise. "That would do it alright. Say, have you ordered yet? Don't worry, I'll pay. You don't seem like you have money on you, no offense."

We order some pastries. I ask for sourdough — it reminds me of home — and she orders something I never heard of before and can't pronounce. We wait for the food in silence, my sense of curiosity growing as my confusion deepens. When the freshly baked food finally arrives, I begin eating. Emma watches me.

"You're not particularly forthcoming, huh?"

I look up at her. "You're the one that dodged my question."

Finally, she chuckles and starts eating. "So I did," her mouth stuffed with the pastry makes her voice muffled, "whoops. One sec."

I wait for her to swallow the bite. She clears her throat. "Sorry about that. I'm Emma — obviously — though if you want specifics, I'm from S294. They call our universe 'Datacenter' in the Lampeter registrar."

"'Datacenter'?"

"When Lampeter came along, our world basically turned itself into a big corporation for cataloging different universes. Ground up our history and culture and turned it into a slurry of drip-fed multiversal propaganda. It's not great back there. It's where I got this." She points at her scar, tracing down the slope of her face. "I'm technically a slave, but they don't really care what we do out here as long as we get our job done."

"Mmm, I was wondering what your story was."

Emma laughs. "Yeah well, my friends always say 'to be Emma is to suffer'. They're right, you know. There's not a single world out there that doesn't feature us in some shitty circumstance. I checked a thousand or so myself."

I feel myself deflating, a pit forming in my stomach.

"And what about you, stranger? A pal of mine saw you sixteen trips down the line and clued me in about you. Sixteen! What the heck are you doing all the way out here?"

I closed my eyes and laughed. "I'm a lot more than sixteen trips out from home. I've been soul-searching for the past two years."

Emma's jovial attitude seems to shift into something a bit more serious. "Soul searching, ah? You've been looking for other versions of us, I suppose."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Her question isn't phrased in a way that makes it harsh, but it pierces through my chest regardless. I bite my lip and eat more of the bread. She can tell something's hurting in me and doesn't want to push it. I respond.

"I… I want to know if one of us ends up happy, Emma. I want to know that we're capable of being more than a victim."

She doesn't say anything, but her expression softens. "Are you a victim, Emma?"

I turn to face the window. "I was abandoned. Mom got rid of me the moment I turned 18, and I lived in a run-down apartment on my own in the freezing cold. And one morning, I met an old man lying in the snow, and I was going to give him some food, but I took too long—"

"And he was already dead when you got back to him, right?"

Our eyes meet. "I spent the night holding onto his rigid, dead hand, wishing I was a better person."

Emma smiles, but I can sense it's not joyful. "I heard this story in another world, probably not too far from yours."

"What?"

"In that universe, Emma held that man's hand until the snow covered her completely. She sat until her numbness became literal and her eyes closed for the last time, and she died that day on the pavement in the backstreet.

"I visited her grave a few days after I heard her story. It was a small placard in a cemetery outside the city, with no details on it beyond her name, date of birth, and date of death. I was told there wasn't a funeral either, but they didn't cremate her 'cause of a happenstance law in the area. And as I stood over that tiny sliver of metal on the ground that separated her and me, I wished that I could tell her just one thing."

I try to hide my feelings, but I can already feel the dampness on my face. "What… what would you tell her?"

Emma reaches out to put her hand on mine from across the table. Her warmth radiates onto me more than the sparkling sun casting hues across the room, moving across the sky. "I would tell her that the fact that she cared at all makes her one of the best versions of herself she could be."

"And… what about me?"

"Well, you're that Emma too, aren't you?"

I stared at the table, trying hard to steady my voice. "I suppose… I suppose that I am."

"Emma, listen. If there's one thing that I wish I learned way earlier, it's that we're only a victim inasmuch as we let the past control us. And maybe that pain will never really go away — some scars really do last forever, I can testify to that. But if we keep moving forward… maybe… maybe we can become something more than what our fate's dealt us."

We continued to eat in silence, the smell of bread perfusing through the warm summer air. My tears didn't run dry, and soon Emma had moved next to me, a comforting and familiar hand draped over my shoulders. I spent the day with her, letting everything I had bottled inside me out at once. A hundred lifetimes I knew and felt powerless to help, a million thoughts coalescing into unbridled emotion that didn't cease until the rays of twilight dipped beyond the horizon.

By nightfall, along the cobble-laden and lamp-lit streets, I walked with Emma beneath the starry night sky, and looked up at a heaven like so many times I had before.

"I think I'm ready to go home, Emma."

She squeezed my hand in hers. There was hope in her voice. "Then I'll take you there."

* * *

The sun rose again on a summer morning, the same as it did every day. In the late dawn, Emma stretched on her bed. The rays of light shone through the window of her room, casting their warmth onto her eyes. Groggily, she pushed herself onto her feet, and made her way to the restroom. After brushing her teeth, she fetched a pack of cereal from the cabinet, and quickly ate it while watching the street below.

When she finally set off, she took a new route. Instead of working at a store, Emma started working at a small café she knew, where the owner was friendly and sympathetic to her situation. It was low-traffic enough that she didn't often get rude customers, but got enough people that she could afford to pay her bills. It took nearly a month of searching to find, but when she found the job she knew it would be a good fit for her.

Emma's situation did improve, somewhat. She had a bicycle, which she rode out towards the coffee shop at a brisk speed. She also bought a fan with some saved-up extra funds from the new job, and some new clothes. But most importantly, Emma didn't feel as though she was the only one in her universe anymore.

Emma didn't really notice me hanging around her workplace at first, but as soon as she caught a glimpse of my scar, her expression glowed. I got to meet her boss — a boyish fellow with some stubble and arthritis, apparently — and catch up on all the things that Emma had been up to since we departed all those months ago. She told me about the things she bought and the small hobbies she's tried to take up. I told her about my travels, and the interesting places I had seen since our cross-universe trip back to this world. A hint of melancholy still peered through her demeanor, but it was improving, and that's what matters to me.

After the heartfelt exchange, we got up from our seats. She wrapped her arms around me, and I wrapped my arms around her in a long, silent hug. I promised her I would stop by to say hi again if I was ever in the cosmic neighborhood, and she promised me that she'd have more to talk about the next time I was here. As I walked away towards the hidden location of Lampeter, we waved to one another, droplets in the corners of our eyes.

Although it'll be a while until we meet again, a piece of each other will live on in our hearts.

And in an uncaring world, that's all we need.