Down World by Rebecca Phelps (beach read TXT) 📗

She looked up at me finally, her mouth twisted into something I could only describe as disgust. She shook her head, as though I had screamed an obscenity in church.

“Don’t come back here,” was all she said. “The lake is for hotel guests only.”

And with that, she looked back down at her mail, and Alexei led us out of the room and through the lobby. My mind had gone completely numb. Where were we? Were we in the past? Was it really the 1950s here? I knew it was possible to go to other times in these portals, I just had never seen it.

But if this was the ’50s, why was a version of my mother living here? And a version of John? How did these people get transported to another time?

I was processing all these thoughts, with Brady walking next to me, when I heard him take in a deep breath, almost like a gasp. He kept time behind Alexei, trying not to give anything away, but his eyes were transfixed by what he saw before him.

I followed his sight line to a spot slightly above the main entrance to the hotel as we were about to walk out the front door. Nothing seemed odd at first. Just an American flag, and next to it, an enormous portrait of a man with a strange appearance. He was probably in his seventies, but his hair had been dyed jet black and his skin seemed to be painted tan, unsuccessful attempts to make him look much younger. Beneath his portrait, in gold letters, were the words: God Bless Our Leader.

Beneath that, the words were repeated in what looked like Russian.

Alexei walked us through the front gate of the hotel, for there was now a gate to walk through. Everything about the street had changed. This small town was now clearly a resort destination. All the mom-and-pop stores that had lined the walkway up and down from the hotel were gone, with towering elm trees and a few boutiques taking their place. The street looked newly paved and fancy old cars were zooming by, their radios blaring jazz and bebop.

We were standing on the sidewalk outside the gate, taking it all in.

“The hotel has a strict policy on trespassing,” Alexei said. “If we see you here again, we’ll have to call the authorities.”

Brady nodded, clearly waiting for him to leave.

“And tell your friends too,” Alexei added, before heading back inside.

“Yes, sir,” Brady responded, already turning me away from the hotel to lead me down the sidewalk. “Just walk.”

“Where are we, Brady?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, keeping his voice low and nodding to passersby, clearly trying to blend in. But we were still barefoot and wearing our modern clothes. Everyone stared at us, not looking confused so much as annoyed that we were on their street.

“But is it still modern times?”

“I said I don’t know,” Brady continued, walking faster and pushing me from behind.

A well-dressed couple passed us, and I could hear the woman whisper to the man, “Why doesn’t the city do something about them?”

“Just ignore them,” the man replied as they hurried past us. I spun my head to watch them go, and saw the woman looking over her shoulder at me, her brow furrowed in repulsion.

My mind raced, desperately trying to put together the pieces. We passed a newsstand.

“Wait a second,” I said. I could feel Brady’s frustration that I had stopped us, but I had to see the newspaper.

When I did, my heart sank. “Oh my God.”

We weren’t in the past, or the future either. We were right here, right now. The paper was called The Lakeside Charter, and it had today’s date on it.

“Don’t read it if you’re not going to buy it,” the man guarding the newsstand barked at me. I stepped away from the papers. Brady hadn’t said a word; he just stood next to me. “You kids need to get back to your part of town. You’ll get arrested here.”

“Sorry, sir,” Brady said, again being curt and polite. He clearly wanted to get us away from this place, and I couldn’t blame him. I let Brady take my hand, and we walked as quickly as we could down the street and away from the commercial area. Soon the fancy buildings and the palm trees gave way to some more-rundown old shops and small houses. The neatly mowed lawns slowly became overgrown with weeds and dried-out bushes. And all the fancy cars were nowhere to be seen. Other people who looked like us began to appear, wearing torn old T-shirts and jeans with no shoes. Nobody seemed to notice us anymore, or care that we were there.

“Over there,” Brady said, pointing to a small diner on the corner. “We can talk in there.”

We walked in and saw the place was nearly deserted. Only one booth was occupied, by an old lady who was clinging to a cup of coffee, her eyes lost in a maze of thoughts. As we headed to the back and found a booth, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off her. Why did she look so hopelessly sad?

Brady led us into the farthest corner and pulled me deep into the middle of the booth before scanning the room. Immediately, a waitress appeared. She seemed to be about our age and, like us, was not wearing any shoes.

“Do you have any money?” she asked.

For a moment, I was completely confused. Was she a waitress or someone who had come in here to beg? But she was holding menus in her hand.

“Of course,” Brady answered.

“I have to see it.” She looked over her shoulder quickly to see if she was being watched, and leaned in a bit closer. “I’m sorry, they make me ask.”

I froze for a moment, thinking of my suitcase still sitting in the hotel room. In it, the rest of my money was tucked into a hidden pocket sewn into the lining. The only thing close to money