The Glitch In Sleep Part 2

1.

The Best Job in The World Becker Drane's life wasn't always this exciting. Before he got his position in The Seems, he was just a regular kid in a regular town with a pretty regular life. Every day he attended school at Irving Elementary, rode his bike to practice for the second-to-last place Deli King Soccer team, and spent the rest of his time as the (mostly) dutiful son of Dr. and Mrs. Dr. F. B. Drane, who lived at 12 Grant Avenue, Highland Park, New Jersey.

It really wasn't a bad existence. He had lots of friends and a good skateboard, and all the video games / comic books / baseball cards that anyone could ever want. Yet even though everything was fine and he wasn't an orphan or anything like that, Becker couldn't shake the feeling that there was something . . . missing.

Until that day in Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 Books & Cafe, Highland Park, New Jersey-Three Years Ago "BD-your hot choco's up!"

Becker looked up from his homework to see his mug of piping hot cocoa sitting on the counter.

"Be right there, Rick."

Rick was working the counter today, which was always a good sign. "You want some whipped cream on that?"

"Yeah, make it a double."

As the barista put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on the towering mound, Becker was thankful for the break from biology. While the inner workings of a paramecium were fascinating to some, he didn't have plans to be a scientist or a microorganism anytime soon, and the spring weather outside beckoned for kickball or a further exploration of the Cleveland Avenue woods.

"Can you put it on my tab? I think I'm a little bit short."

"You got it, man. Just get me back next time."

That was the great thing about Chapter 1. There was a Starbucks just a few blocks away, but Chapter 1 just had a special kind of vibe. It was located practically in the living room of someone's house and was generally frequented by grad students, writers, artists, and local personalities, all of whom Becker considered his friends.

The third grader grabbed his hot chocolate and reclaimed his favorite window perch, which gave views of both outside and inside the shop. Big Mike and Kenny were sitting at their usual table, locked in another epic battle on the chessboard, while on the plush velvet couch, Eve and Efrem were still in their ongoing two-year debate about the films of some guy named Tarkovsky. This was par for the course, but over on the announcements table, something caught Becker's eye that he had never seen before.

Wedged between the self-published poetry chapbooks and the schedule for open-mic night was a small, nondescript white box, with a piece of paper taped to the front. It said: APPLY HERE FOR THE BEST JOB IN THE WORLD.

"Hey, Rick! What's that box all about?"

"Who knows? People put all kinds of stuff on that table."

Becker finished the last dollop of whipped cream and headed for a closer look. Next to the box was a Dixie cup filled with miniature No. 2 pencils, along with a stack of applications. Though he was only nine years old at the time and not in dire need of employment, Becker couldn't resist picking up the form.

SEEMSIAN APt.i.tUDE TEST.

This questionnaire will test, in shape, size, and dimension, your apt.i.tude for a position in The Seems.

Becker had no idea what The Seems was nor what this job entailed, but unlike most tests, this one seemed kind of fun. So he began to fill it out.

Name: F. Becker Drane Address: 12 Grant Ave., Highland Park, NJ, 08904 Telephone (optional): (Becker never gave out his cell) Other than that, there were only three questions on the exam: Question 1: Are you a little bored with life? Not that you're unhappy, but have you always had this nagging feeling in the back of your mind that maybe you were meant to do something more?

That was weird. This is exactly what Becker had been feeling lately, but he had never really put it into words. The answer was either:

_______ YES or ______ NO

Question 2: If there was a Tear in the Fabric of Reality and you were called in to handle the job, which Tool would you employ?

A. _______ A Rounded Scopeman 4000 B. _______ A Boa Constrictor XL C. _______ A needle and thread D. _______ I have no idea

Next to each of the tool suggestions were diagrams, as if they had been reprinted from a technical manual. And last but not least:

Question 3: Pretend The World was being remade from Scratch and you were in charge. What kind of world would you create?

Any normal person would have put this test down right away, a.s.suming it was a lark or an experiment for somebody's psychology dissertation, but Becker had always been the kind of person who thought about such things. He scribbled his answer to Question #3 and by the time he was finished, the entire thing was a melange of pictures, arrows, and charts. But as he folded it up into a square and dropped it in the slot, he never imagined it would amount to anything at all.

Eight months later, Highland Park was. .h.i.t with what came to be known as "the Blizzard to end all Blizzards." Unbeknownst to the locals, this was actually an offensive by the Department of Weather, which had been under a great deal of criticism for having "gone soft." So to prove they still had the moxie, the giant red b.u.t.ton on the Snow Blower had been pressed for the first time in a long time, and their pride and reputation were promptly restored.

Meanwhile, Grant Avenue had been transformed into a winter wonderland, the perfect setting for the age-old blood feud between the Drane/Crozier clan and the loathsome Hutkin boys. s...o...b..a.l.l.s had been hurled. Trees shaken to cause avalanche. And many precious lives lost in a cause worth fighting for. (Not really.) "See ya later, Con-Man."

"Later, Drane-O."

As the survivors straggled home to drink hot chocolate and lick their wounds, Becker lingered for a few extra clicks. There was no telling if hostilities would break out tomorrow, so he wanted to be sure the D/C a.r.s.enal was replenished, should battle once again ensue.

"Hey, Becks-heads up!"

Becker turned just in time to see a blob of white smash him in the face.

"Ow! You are so dead!"

Becker picked up a s...o...b..ll of his own and hurled it (inaccurately) at Amy Lannin, who was laughing hysterically across the street. Amy was the only kid from Lawrence Avenue who was allowed to play on Grant, mostly because she was an incredibly accurate s...o...b..ll chucker, but also because she was Becker's best friend.

"Where were you when I needed you? I almost got turned into a Popsicle today!"

"Sorry. Ballet cla.s.s. I have to be a girl sometimes, y'know . . ."

"Well, not tomorrow, I hope. We need to get revenge."

"Revenge? I love revenge. It's a dish best eaten cold." She chucked another one, purposely missing him by the slimmest of margins. "I'll meet you at the weapons depot, 11:00 a.m. sharp."

"Deal."

As Amy skipped home, Becker staggered back to his own house at #12 Grant. He hoped his mom hadn't started dinner yet, because after all this hard work, he had developed a craving for a baked ziti from Highland Pizza.

"Mr. Drane?"

Becker turned to see a man in a suit and paisley tie, carrying a briefcase and walking toward him.

"Mr. F. Becker Drane?"

The guy was rather underdressed for winter, with no jacket, hat, or gloves to speak of. Becker had nothing against talking to strangers-how else were you going to meet new people?-but enough admonitions from his mom, dad, local law enforcement, and school a.s.semblies had made him somewhat wary.

"Who wants to know?"

"Allow me to introduce myself." The man handed him a business card. "Nick Deja.n.u.s, a.s.sociate Director of Human Resources."

According to the card, Deja.n.u.s worked for a company called The Seems. The Seems? Where had he heard that name before? But before he could ask, the man started to s.h.i.+ver.

"Is winter always this cold?"

"Not always," replied Becker. "Global warming's kind of taken the bite out of things."

"Global Warming! Don't even get me started. If Nature doesn't get their act together, I a.s.sure you heads will roll!"

"Ever think about wearing a coat?" asked the boy.

"My wife thought I should 'fully' experience The World this time." The man rolled his eyes, clearly regretting the decision. "But at least the nearest Door is right around the corner."

"Door to where?"

"I'm sorry. You'd think after four years on the job I would know how to do this already." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a laminated piece of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch paper, covered in scribbles, arrows, and charts. "Is this your handwriting?"

Becker looked at the sloppy mess.

"Yep. That's me."

And that's when it all came back to him. The box at Chapter 1. The Seemsian Apt.i.tude Test and "The Best Job in The World." But that had been months ago and he hadn't heard a thing.

"Then on behalf of the Powers That Be, I would like to extend you an invitation to become a Candidate at the Inst.i.tute for Fixing & Repair." Before Becker could ask what that was, the man handed him an oversized envelope with the same four-color logo that was printed on his card.

"Orientation begins tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. and Fixer Blaque is very punctual, so I wouldn't be late."

Becker stood there in the snow with the packet in his hands, mystified.

"Smile, kid," Deja.n.u.s said, turning and heading back to wherever he had come from. "Your application was accepted!"

Becker went home, and after a shower and some much-needed R & R, he unsealed the packet and examined the materials within. Packed neatly in bubble wrap were three distinct items: some kind of temporary ID card, a pair of what appeared to be ski goggles, and an offer letter, explaining to him the nature of the opportunity at hand.

According to the letter, The World he lived in wasn't actually what he thought it was-it was something much, much better. And should he accept the offer, he would have a chance not only to find out what The World really really was but to join the team responsible for keeping it safe. To be honest, Becker didn't believe a word of it, but it did sound kind of cool. There were specific directions inside pinpointing the location of the nearest Door, via which he could attend the Orientation. was but to join the team responsible for keeping it safe. To be honest, Becker didn't believe a word of it, but it did sound kind of cool. There were specific directions inside pinpointing the location of the nearest Door, via which he could attend the Orientation.

As Fate would have it, the next day was a snow day, and with a few hours to spare before his meeting with Amy, Becker considered the offer more seriously. Of course, there was the prospect of going to an undisclosed location at the behest of a strangely dressed man, which would have sent chills up the spines of every parent and educator in Highland Park. But Becker was his own man, and believed strongly in his street smarts and ability to escape from any potential hazard-though he brought along a little "protection" just in case.

That morning, he got on his bike, picked up a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich from the Park Deli, and followed the directions to the back of Cleveland Avenue. This part of town was a strange netherworld-a cross between warehouse-type businesses, doctor's offices, a small chocolate factory, and a marshland of thickets and weeds. According to the packet, the so-called Door was somehow located at the very back of Illuminating Experiences: Becker's friend Connell Hutkin's mother's second husband Bernie's lighting company, which had gone out of business not three years ago.

"h.e.l.lo-anybody there?" Becker checked the fresh powder and saw one set of footprints leading to and from the abandoned plant. "You should know that I am heavily armed and extremely dangerous."

No response except the wind and the tinkling of icicles in the trees.

Becker proceeded with caution, placing his hand on the Chinese star in his back pocket (the one he'd gotten at the Route 1 flea market before it got turned into a multiplex), and followed the footsteps around to the back. There was a stairway here that led down to a single black door, which looked suspiciously like the entrance to the bas.e.m.e.nt or boiler room.

"If I'm not home in an hour, the police know where I am!"

Again, nothing but the wind in the weeds.

He threw another peek over his shoulder, then started the short but slow trip to the bottom of the stairs. The Door itself was still covered in snow, but when he wiped it off he was shocked to see the same logo that was printed on his packet- except faded and weathered from time. There was a swipe pad next to it and, following the instructions, Becker took out the temporary ID and slid it straight across. For a second there was no reaction, then a loud click emanated from the other side of the door.

Becker jumped and considered making a run for it before managing to pull his nerves together. He was still pretty scared, but now that feeling was mixed with something different: antic.i.p.ation. He took one last look around the area, this time to make sure that no one could see what he was up to, then grabbed the handle and pulled the door wide open.

"Holy-" but the rest was lost in the roar.

Standing in front of him was the mouth of a blue tunnel, which apparently extended into infinity (as opposed to Illuminating Experiences). The tube itself seemed to crackle with electricity, and the noise inside was deafening. Hands shaking, Becker fumbled through his Orientation packet, but the instructions simply told him, "Put on your Transport Goggles and make the Leap!"

"Easier said than done," he said out loud, but at this point Becker was pretty sure that Amy's s...o...b..ll had hit him in the head much harder than he'd first thought. Soon he'd be waking up on the ground with her and a few concerned neighbors asking, "Are you okay?" and then he'd tell them about this crazy dream he'd had when he was out cold. So he figured what the heck, there's nothing to lose-and did what the packet suggested.

He jumped.