The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare by MG Buehrlen Page A

straighter, like Mr Draper when he’s about to lecture. “We are every one of us connected to Limbo at all times. Just as we are connected to Life, we are connected to Death. That connection is Limbo. Most souls have such faint connections to Limbo that they don’t even recognize it’s there. When their bodies die, they hardly see Limbo as their souls pass through. It is but a blink on their journey to Afterlife. But there are a rare few who have powerful, intense connections to Limbo. When they pass through, they see it in its entirety. The full spectrum, from one end to the other. You and I, we are in the latter group. Our connections to Limbo are so powerful, so constant, we can simply step into it and walk around, as easy as stepping through a door.”
    â€œBut how do you find the door?”
    â€œThe door is déjà vu, just as you suspected. Everyone experiences it, but it’s stronger for people like you and I. It’s that otherworldly pull toward Limbo, tugging at your edges. When you experience déjà vu, you let go of Earth, of gravity, of all worldly things. You let the current pull you, like you’re caught in a net. That’s how you step through.”
    I know exactly what he means. It’s the pull into the black, that involuntary tug I’ve felt during my visions. When I saw the Polygon game piece and all those memories came swirling in around me, I felt it full force. I’ve tried fighting it before, especially the time I was in Sunday School with Jensen, but it was no use. The pull was too strong. Too enticing, even.
    â€œSo that’s why you gave me the game piece,” I say. “To trigger my déjà vu.”
    He nods. “The game piece is yours. I gave it to you a long time ago, when I taught you how to play Polygon. You’ve used it as a sort of talisman ever since, a sort of key to access Limbo.”
    â€œBut why would I want to access Limbo at all?”
    â€œBecause this is only the beginning. You are merely standing on the porch steps. From here, you can go anywhere.”
    Anywhere.
    I held the word in my hands like treasure. Anywhere meant Chicago. It meant finding a way back to Blue.
    Porter takes my hand, which feels like light pressure at first, nothing more. Then the pressure builds, steadier and steadier, weighing heavy on my chest. It feels like a wide elastic band has wrapped around me, tightening until I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
    It feels like my soul is having an asthma attack.
    I gulp and gasp but nothing fills my lungs. I try to squeeze Porter’s hand, to let him know I’m drowning where I stand, when I hear his voice in my ear again.
    â€œYou don’t have to breathe, Alex. Stop fighting. Let go.”
    But I can’t. I don’t know how. The elastic band pulls tighter and tighter. My ribs collapse inward. My lungs can’t expand.
    â€œYou don’t have lungs,” Porter says. “You don’t need air.”
    The band stretches and pulls and presses, so tight it finally snaps.
    A flood of sensation rushes over me like I’m caught in a wind tunnel. My skin, or what I perceive as my skin, feels like it’s being suctioned from my body. Pulled in every direction. My hair whips out of my ponytail and tangles around my face. My scarf tugs at my neck, threatening to strangle me.
    Then, suddenly, everything stops.
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    THE FOREST OF LIGHTS
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    I’m standing beside Porter in the black as though nothing happened, but we’ve moved. We’re no longer in the empty stretches of Eremus. He lifts a hand to the view stretched out before us and says, “Welcome to Polestar.”
    For the first time in Limbo, I can see the shapes and shadows of an organic landscape. It reminds me of standing in one of Pops’ farm fields in the middle of the night with only a full moon to light the way. There are jagged mountain peaks in the distance. Directly ahead, the faint