The Wanderer.

Chapter 1

The first thing I remember, acknowledge really, is waking up to darkness. Not the hiding under the bed or something in the closet kind, either. But the kind where your eyes strain, your breathing is raspy, and you're sweating from every part of your body. The next thing to register in my brain was an unholy pain that started at my chest, crushing and burning me simultaneously.

I carefully sat up, dazed. My muscles screamed in protest at the movement, no matter how small it seemed. I winced as nausea assaulted me and reality seeped in.

I didn't know where the hell I was.

Survival instinct kicked in as I heard a muffled groan to my left, sounding just as raspy as my own probably had. I frantically patted the damp ground and part of my mind registered it was cardboard. When my hand closed around a long metal handle with a broad circle on the end I breathed a sigh of relief. Doubtful it was needed but ready just in case-- a wrench upon further observation.

Standing up, I hobbled cautiously in the opposite direction of the god awful moaning. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the darkness, or just enough so I didn't fall into one of the many junk piles lying around.

Once a safe distance away, I rummaged through one of the closer piles looking for another weapon. Something either vaguely useful or that would helped me figure out how to get out of here, either worked.

Broken furniture, ripped clothes, moldy cardboard; it was all here yet still utterly useless since they didn't give a clue or hint as to where 'here' was.

"Jimmy, you okay?" I jumped at the voice, rough and unexpected. Cardboard and gravel scattered as I fell into a heap. The sound of gravely laughter somewhere in front of me then a light shined in my eyes. "You know, I guess you were right to carry these fire sticks around."

"Flashlights," I corrected warily, edging back discreetly. If the flashlight holder decided to chase me hopefully I would have a better chance of escaping with a head start. A snort followed by a dirty, gloved hand that grasped my wrist and pulled me back to my feet. I stumbled slightly, mentally berating myself for the brief moment of vulnerability. Standing again, I debated whether I could make a run for it when the flashlight holder grabbed my arm.

"Hey, you think that was good or bad?"

I scowled lightly, half of my mind already calculating whether the flashlight holder knew where we were or what had happened.

As it was, I jerked my arm free from his grasp and said sharply, "I don't know. Is it normal waking up on moldy cardboard?"

"What crawled up your butt?" Was the sneered reply. The flashlight bobbed around until the light hit the remains of a cement wall. While the flashlight holder moved towards the broken remains I put an end to my hesitation and clenched on tighter to my weapon. Readying myself to attack when the opportunity presented itself. A low whistle cut through the silence followed by a rough, gravely chuckle as muffled footsteps walked nonchalantly towards the ruins. "Wow, this thing sure did crumble. I'm impressed."

I crept behind him, careful to keep my footsteps quiet before hefting the wrench over my shoulder like a bat. For a split second a voice, quiet and indistinct, urged me to set the wrench down. The split second hesitation wasn't enough as I put all my weight into where I thought his head was then hurried off, not bothering to turn around to admire my work. Some part of me was, surprisingly enough, guilty for clobbering the other man but a bigger part of me was still leery about whoever he was. I finally decided that the leftover guilt was from a lost opportunity rather than anything else and shoved that, the guilt and disapproval and any stray thoughts, to the back of my mind. Now wasn't the time to think about them while I was escaping a possible murderer in a strange maze. I snorted suddenly-- the fuzzy, blurry image of a gangly, half-grown man as a murderer was absolutely hilarious and I wasn't quite sure where the humor or pride came from.

Either way, I wasn't taking any chances, weird feelings or not.

Ducking and weaving a path through the piles of junk were harder than I had previously expected.

If the other man was still conscious and following me, hopefully he had as hard just as hard of a time tracing my path as I had making it.

I dodged around another pile before stopping to lean against a small hill of what felt like toasters, panting heavily, I peered behind it into the swallowing darkness.

I jumped and flailed my wrench around when a hand clamped onto my shoulder, firm and unyielding. I had a feeling that my doubtful murderer was becoming much more credible just by his ability to find me in this place, let alone sneak up on me.

I could feel the perspiration rolling down my face, fat drips that soaked my shirt collar and made my neck cold and sticky. My hands shook, palms slick and my throat tightening, making swallowing difficult.

How could I predict my possible murderer if I didn't know him? Forget knowing-- I couldn't even see him. How could I protect myself if a wrench to the head, and I'm a strong guy, didn't knock or at least daze him? To get away from him when I couldn't even manage to harm him? It was like looking into my own grave except me life didn't flash before my eyes-- too dark, I think.

Closing my eyes, I waited with baited breath for the final blow and when it came I'm sad to admit that I wasn't nearly as prepared for it as I was trying to be.

The man gave me a rough shove that sent me sprawling to the ground. Then he helped me up and left it at that, which left me more scared of him then if he had actually tried killing me. This guy apparently ether had enough common sense to know not to kill someone or he wanted something, of that I'm sure.

"Why did you hit me?" He seethed. "If you were still mad at me then the least you could've done was tell me. But no, instead you hit me in the shoulder with a-- really, a wrench? Fine, instead you hit me with a wrench. Way to enlighten a guy that you're still upset, Jimmy," he complained. I gaped wordlessly at him, guilt and awe mixing together as he continued his rant instead of killing me. Granted, most of it was passive aggressive and practically soaked in sarcasm, but the thought of not dying was a heady, giddy thing. I was seeing stars and bubbles and all that other happy stuff.

On the plus side, I gathered that yes, he knew me even if the name seemed off, he probably knew where we were, too.

Deciding to humor him, I raked a hand through my hair, absently noting that it was longer than I remembered. "Sorry, didn't click with me that it was you, is all." He didn't say anything and for a moment I thought he had figured me out when a muted click signaled the flashlight was on, giving my eyes the much needed relief from the darkness.

The second of relief was replaced with burning brightness and I slammed my eyes shut, hoping the red spots went away quickly. The light left as quickly as it appeared only to come back then dart away again. I gradually squinted, happy that the light didn't hurt as much as it had and that the red spots had turned blue then green before finally vanishing completely. "You look fine to me-- well, no worse than usual but that's still relatively unharmed," the man shrugged. I scowled at him then looked down at myself, wincing slightly at the ripped clothes and small scratches; and that was just what I could make out before the light went out. If this was relatively unharmed then what was seriously injured? I decided asking was only going to ruin my acting so instead I forced a small chuckle and asked for a flashlight.

Getting one quite easily as well as an oval tube that made sloshing noises when it was moved-- water, I decided.

I clicked the flashlight on and aimed it first at the container than at myself, gently drizzling a bit into the visible cuts before taking a small sip of the liquid. The lukewarm water had a slightly metallic taste and a gritty texture; the flashlight was dimming rapidly and even in the dying light I could still make out the multiple, massive piles of junk about. How did I get here? It was absolutely overwhelming. Giving myself a mental shake I turned the flashlight onto the other man and barely stopped from dropping the light out of surprise. I wasn't expecting him to be so tall, towering over my 5'9 frame with ease. He wasn't as bulky, with limbs that looked half-grown rather than simply lean and the clothes he wore looked peculiar, more like a costume than actual clothing.

He raised an eyebrow at me, "I'm fine too, thanks. Your concern is really overwhelming, could you try not being to upset? That would be spectacular," he said sarcastically.

I assumed that he was usually like this so I didn't pay too much attention to the rudeness, even though it wasn't needed and if I had kids then I would teach them some manners and to have the decency to use more than sarcasm.

"Sorry, I'll try and contain myself," I returned bitingly, redirecting the flashlight forward instead of at him.

The heaps of junk varied from moldy, yellowing papers and books to half-eaten, rotten furniture and rusted shut appliances and car parts. The floor was actually a dusty brown that was covered in soggy cardboard; the ceiling was out of bounds and yet I was certain that if I could see it, it would be a maze of rocks and cracks. The walls were, as far as I could tell, non existent except for the wall of crumbling cerement that, on closer inspection, was green in some places and had small pieces of graffiti in a few places. Thick, musty air wafted around, cold even with all this stuff around to help keep heat in, which made me wonder just how big this place was.

A low growling sound started farther ahead followed quickly by several more, each one threateningly close and terrifying.

The lanky man heard it too because he swiftly turned my flashlight off, grabbed my hand and led me deeper into the darkness, actually in the direction of the moaning and growling sounds.

"Why are we going towards it?" I hissed through gritted teeth, chest heavy. I was shushed quietly and gently tugged behind another hill, this one made from dolls both cloth and plastic.

"Because everything echoes?" He responded quietly, not even glancing back at me.

We weaved in and out of the piles, creating a path through the junk which might be even more complicated than my previous one.

The noises bounced around, sometimes closer and other times so far away that only a faint rumbling was heard until that, too, faded away like bad cell phone reception.

Finally we stopped for good, the moaning and growling farther away again but this time there seemed more space in between the noises.

The lanky man must have been thinking the same thing because he let go of my hand and promptly flicked on the flashlight-- probably to help me since he seemed to know where he was going just fine.

"Thanks," I muttered, grabbing the offered object. He didn't say anything, just hummed before looking around at the piles with something like boredom. "You know this is all your fault, right?" He finally said casually, like he was commenting on the weather. I gaped at him, trying to understand how this towering man had the nerve to accuse me of being in a strange place and it being my fault. "Really?"

"Well, I did tell you not to go but, you know," he shrugged, unconcerned. I bit my lip, brows furrowed even as I swung the flashlight around. Bringing all my acting skills into play, I asked as casually as possible if he new what direction we were, hoping he would buy my cluelessness as a concussion and leave it at that.

The man squinted at me for a moment before nodding, eyes still narrowed wearily. "Sure, west." Another suspicious squint, "about thirty minutes from the Tower. Or what's left, anyway."

"Ah, that's good," I nodded, feeling oddly like a bobble head as I flicked the light from pile to pile. "I guess we should head back and see what's left." The silence was heavy, thick and uncomfortable. The lanky man didn't say anything as he gingerly grasped my arm and led me back to what I assumed was the Tower.

"Are you sure you're alright, Jimmy? You're actin'… funny," the man said, funny rolling awkwardly of his tongue like he didn't use it often.

I took a deep breath and fixed a smile on my face, "Of course, it's just the concussion talking," I lied. But is it really? A faint voice asked. Guilt surged up again and it took my all not to flinch and keep my plastic smile in place. "Hmm." Nothing more was said as we weaved back along our invisible path back towards the Tower, guilt and far following along like particularly faithful dogs.

The Tower, I realized, was just a big, ugly metal structure that somewhat resembled a radio tower, a windmill and a large dog cage. Its antenna was bent into a permanent C, the thick frame was broken in several places and rusting in others, and the over all silver color had dulled by age and time into something muted.

Unlike the coiling mustiness, over here it smelled like burnt hair, sweat, peppermint and tobacco. All of it swirling together with a healthy does of mold and a variety of unidentifiable scents that followed you with every step. It wasn't pleasant and every other step carried on the same way paired up with suspicious glares and forbidden silences.

I took this time to try and map out where we were but with every step, every twist and every turn, it became a bit more pressing not to throw up from the confusing pathways the man found in this junk created maze.

Closer now, I could see broken furniture, several jagged signs and torn pillows, their stuffing either completely gone or mostly, leaving lumpy, flat shapes around the first base.

"How far did we fall?"

The man shrugged, "First section. It was kind of fun in a 'I might die' kind of way."

I stared at him, slowly shaking my head before turning the dimming flashlight beam on the first metal sheet. It was twisted and blackened, unlike the rest of the structure, however it was all in tact-- and about ten feet from the ground.

The man moved forward a bit before abruptly stopping. Squatting down, he shifted through the stuff on the ground before standing back up again and wiping his hands on his pants.

He did this in multiple places, each one resulting in the same scowl. "I didn't find anything," he mumbled once he was next to me. "Looks like it was already picked up or moved farther along."

What? A quick scan of the ground showed nothing that would be of interest, let along something to come back for. What, then, was he so amendment about finding?

Key, the faint voice murmured,

I sucked in my cheeks, blowing out my breath in a gusty rush and frowned. I would remember if I had voices in my head, I was positive of that. And yet now I not only had a voice that sounded not at all like mine, it also seemed to know things that I wouldn't have in my life. Lovely. I debated ignoring it-- not like it could do much-- before curiosity took over. "We're looking for a key?" He sent me a bewildered look, eyebrows raised and frowned prominent.

"Yes," he said slowly. "We're looking for a key. Jimmy, are you sure you're okay?" I rolled my eyes, fighting the urge to either bash in my head or his, just to have some piece. Maybe he would do it for me, save me the trouble and mess.

"I'm positive," I gritted my teeth, hands balled into fists, and walked closer to the Tower.

Pillows, furniture, broken lamps and desks; I finally found what I hoped was where I had landed and began shifting things aside. A key, that was what I was looking for and yet keys come in various shapes and styles.

Was it old? New? Silver, gold or copper? No clue but I shifted and placed things out of the way as I searched. No key, but I did learn that under the cardboard and piles of random junk, the ground was actually a mixture of moist dirt and clingy sand the color of coral. Swishing the flashlight around, I didn't see anything shiny, glittery or at the very least key shaped.

A rumble sounded behind me and I jumped, pulse racing and a gasp leaving me in a wheeze.

I spun around, flashlight held like a bat, ready to strike at whatever was making that noise when the coughing started.

The man, hunched over, coughed a few more times before straightening with a grimace.

His breathing the same rumbling sound I'd heard seconds ago.

He glanced at me and scowled, "You went past what you said you were going to be. Can't lecture me," he smirked at that before it disappeared underneath another bout of coughing.

I edged away from him as discreetly as possible.

I didn't want to catch whatever he had and if I had to run away from either him or something else then it would make it that much harder.

"I don't think the key is here," I said. Part of me wanted to just leave him here to search, tell him I would search someplace else and just leave, however I might have the flashlight but he has the water. I could bid my time, another opportunity would come by. The man nodded, seemingly upset about it when I registered all he had said.

I figured he knew me, that much was obvious, but I didn't realize that I had went off by myself. "So why did you follow me?" I asked casually, turning to face him once more. The man shook his head, "Oh no, you are not lecturing me. You said two days max and then you don't show up-- what was I supposed to do? Wait?"

He snorted, coughed then shook his head again.

"Figured something went wrong and went to find you. And look-- here you are! All's well," he said, arms spread wide and a smirk on his face.

I blinked rapidly, brain rebooting and processing his words. Two days; I could have been here for two days or two hours. If so, then where was his Jimmy? Because I was fairly confident that, although familiar sounding, that wasn't my name. And if it was then why did it have that odd, kind of off putting quality to it? I couldn't think of any other name to be addressed as-- maybe Bob, but that in and of itself seemed wrong as well.

While I had my internal panic attack, the lanky man grabbed my arm and led me in some direction away from the Tower. The flashlight in my hands had become so dim that the yellow light was barely able to make out anything beyond a few inches, a foot at most.

"That wall from earlier," I said, squinting into the murkiness and valiantly pointing the beam at the floor in hopes of not tripping, "Is it close by?"

"I guess," the man sounded annoyed and skeptical. Whether that was what he usually sounded like or if that was just me was unknown. "Maybe the key is--" my voice cut off with an abrupt yelp as my arm was jerked behind my head and my other arm was pinned to my body. "Listen close," the man whispered slowly. "I want a truthful answer-- are you or are you not playin' me? Simply as that." Playing him? I couldn't even escape him! Taller, stronger; I didn't have my wrench anymore,

Having dropped it on the way towards the growling noises earlier.

I couldn't escape, oh god, I wished I could.

But he held me tightly and the pain was starting to get to me, my breath coming in shallow pants and the twinge in my chest flaring up into my head, making it pound and black spots swirl in my eyes. "Playing you?" I gasped, struggling to twist my arms away a bit to help ease the burning pain.

"You know what I mean," he didn't beat around the bush. He also had the nerve to sound completely bored, like pinning someone until they pass out was a common activity. "You ask questions you already know, you act as though you've never been here before when you have, and you hit me with a wrench!" The man practically spits out the last word, sounding close to finding the wrench and hitting me with it. And to think I was starting to think he wasn't a murderer. That thought left me cringing, not unlike the actual action had. Play the part, begged one voice that sounded suspiciously smoky. Play the part, play the fool, maybe he won’t kill you.

Relax, the faint, definitely male voice whispered.He wouldn’t do that, just tell him the truth. When I didn't answer immediately he hoisted my arm up higher; the growls sounded closer now and he didn't look like he was letting me go anytime soon to get away from them. "I am Jimmy," I hurriedly gasped out. Desperation can make even the bravest of people break-- fear does that, too, know that I think about it. "I must have hit my head harder than I had thought when we fell," I said, completely committing to the lie. "Please don't kill me," I'm ashamed to say the last bit slipped out abruptly and in a whimper. The utter fear of the other man making me slip up for the briefest of moments.

Two things happened: the first being the flashlight, already too dim, died completely, plunging us into darkness and the lanky man let go of my arms and took a large step back like I'd burned him.

I went to leave, hoping I could out run him, when he snagged my wrist, keeping me in place.

"Kill you? Kill you?!" He muttered before snarling, "Why would I kill you? Stop jokin' around. Kill you-- like I could do that. S'not a funny joke, Jimmy, and I really don't appreciate it."

"A joke," I could feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck, sticking my shirt to my chest and arms uncomfortably. "Why would I joke about that? Why would anyone joke about that?"

"Because that's the only reason I can imagine you saying that," the man spat out. He wore his anger like a comfortable coat, filling the musty air with charged energy and making the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand on edge. He started pacing, turning every fifth step and, since he still held my wrist, I was forced to follow him by default. "I'm not joking," I finally mumbled, just barely louder than a whisper.

He stopped pacing, standing stiffly before releasing a gusty sigh.

"So I assume you're more injured than usual," it wasn't a question. Without saying anything he grabbed the flashlight from my hand and pressed something else into my palm.

Cold metal, plastic end and there-- halfway up the side was a bump that I fumbled with for a second before the tell tale click sounded and light flooded the area.

"I don't remember falling," I said slowly, carefully, finding and tasting out the words before uttering them. "I don't know where I am and I don't honestly remember how I got here in the first place." I left out how I did have two voices in my head and that there was some knowledge of this place. At least enough that I could somehow travel through the maze without light or help.

"Does that make sense? I remember heading out," to work, "and then this big, black hole and waking up here. Am I crazy?" The voices made me think so, anyway. The lanky man shrugged, looking anywhere but at me. "I don't know, maybe," he said after a minute. "Maybe?" He shrugged again before once more picking my hand up and marching forward. "Well yeah-- maybe. I've never met anyone who has a black hole in their head," he elaborated. "How else would you responded to that?"

"Probably not agreeing them that they're crazy," I muttered under my breath. Judging by the abrupt stop and yank to my arm, I hadn't been quite as quiet as I thought I had been.

We walked in silence-- heavy, uncomfortable silence that neither of us made any move to break it. The man led me away from the Tower, its antenna disappearing into the shadows like it never existed to begin with. He led me away from the growling, each one sending a chill through me and echoing loudly, like there were thousands after us. "So where are we?" Questions, questions were good and I might even get an actual answer this time. The lanky man hummed, "The Junkyard, north east, and about three hours away from our first stop."

First stop, hadn't that been the Tower? At my question he snickered, breaking out into another coughing fit afterwards that left his breathing raspy sounding. "Yeah, sure," he said sarcastically, snorting.

"And how I got here," I prompted. This time he hesitated for a few seconds before answering with a key-- presumably the one that had been lost in the fall. Lovely.

"Are there more than one?"

I hoped so, I didn't want to stay in this gloomy, death courting maze for the rest of my life with only a sarcastic, dangerous man, the voices in my head, and the growling noises for company. Plus there were probably hundreds of thousands of junk piles here-- finding the right key would take ages and even then we might not actual accomplish finding the right one.

"Sure, there are several of them. Problem is finding them," of course it was.

He weaved through another slim path before pulling me to a stop and plopping down on one of the many destroyed couches. "After you use one it instantly goes back to wherever you first found it. Imagine if you were in an underwater world and the key you were using vanishes. Then you would head to where you last grabbed it and use it to move to the next world where the key would once again return to its spot. Get it?"

"So it’s a constant game of hide and seek?" He nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly!"

Multiple copies, good. I could feel the tightness in my chest ease at the thought of not getting stuck here. How long would it take to find the key, I asked. This place had to be at least the size of a country, maybe two; Earth at the very biggest and even that was a difficult concept to grasp. Fairly big, he replied absently. Don't know the exact size.

"So all the keys disappear after they're used?" He nodded. "Yep, unless you use the Master Key, in which case it does not."

"And we don't have it," I said, eyeing him.

"And we don't have it," he confirmed. "Still back home, you didn't think you needed it and I forgot it." The man didn't appear the least bit concerned about finding a new key to use-- in fact, he seemed rather excited about it, like a game.

The fragile hope that I could go home quickly was broken, no, shattered into a million sharp pieces at the daunting task ahead.

"So where do we find another key? And can we go anywhere with it," that was what I was hoping for. The lanky man grinned, "In the City. It's about a four days' walk from here and from there it's just navigation to the hiding spot, pretty straight forward."

A sinking pit formed in my stomach; he didn't answer my second question and was pointedly not looking at me. "And going home?"

"You need the Master Key to go to any of the worlds out of order." That… made no sense. Seeing my confusion he elaborated with a sigh. Apparently the worlds were placed sort of on top of each other rather than side by side. One of the regular keys opened two doorways; one going to the world above and one going to the world below the current position. There was no way of telling which one you would end up in until you got there and found another key which would repeat the process. The Master Key, on the other hand, let you pick and chose which worlds to go to without the guessing game.

I frowned, brows furrowed as I watched him stand back up.

"If the Master Key is so important then why was it left behind?"

"A million dollar question," he gave me another one of those suspicious glares before shrugging. "It isn't always needed. If you know the odds and the paths then it's easy. The Master Key is only used in emergencies or if we go a long way and need to get there quickly." The growling faded into the distance once more, or maybe it had stopped, I didn't really care as the lanky man grabbed my wrist and began moving down of those narrow paths.

The new flashlight worked about as well as the last one had.

The yellow light lit up just enough so I wouldn't trip and it dimmed with every other step, leaving it in a constant state of death.

The man, I was thankful to note, never made a move towards me. Always staying at least a foot ahead of me and only holding onto my wrist as he navigated through slim maze walls and mounds of junk. The faint male voice disapproved of this, always making me cringe when I think back to that moment. The smoky voice didn't really care about feelings and such, instead always insisting on keeping my eyes peeled and not giving an inch. New surroundings, it insisted gravely, always watch, always listen,

Look around.

The Junkyard truly was like a maze, though. A haunted maze that you expect a chainsaw wielding man to pop out from behind one of these piles or a glow in a dark skeleton that reach for your ankles. "This place doesn't really look like a junkyard," I said. The man laughed, breaking into one of those rumbling coughing fits and said once he recovered, "Everyone just calls it that. Well, except for a few but they call it something I can't translate."

"Bad word?"

"No, alien vocal cards," he nudged a bicycle tire out of the way before stepping over a squat, three legged stool. "If it was something bad then I truly couldn't translate it, anyway." As we walked farther into the darkness a thought struck me.

"How long did you know something was up?" The lanky man gestured for the flashlight and once I handed it to him, he turned it off. "About the time you hit me with a wrench," he said nonchalantly. I gaped wordlessly at where I thought he was before flinching as the cylinder shape from before was pressed into my hands. Right, water.

I took a sip, running my tongue over my teeth to get rid of the gritty solution and handed the flask back without thinking.

"If you knew--"

"Suspected," he interrupted. I rolled my eyes, practically hearing the smirk in his voice. "Fine, suspected, then way all the drama?"

"Why not? And anyway, you could have been playing with me-- wouldn't have been the first time." That drew a blank. Apparently his Jimmy was fond of joking around, possibly mind games or something of the sort. "What's your name, anyway?" I asked, unknown anger and guilt coursing through me like they were trying to pull me out to sea. "I, er, don't remember." He paused, my eyes having adjusted enough to the darkness, saw what looked like his arm reaching for his waist before stopping. "Hunter," he said finally after a few seconds.

"I'm Hunter. Now let's getting going before those six-legged abominations get here."