Multiversum (21 page)

The driver pulled over and Alex got in.

‘To the airport,' he said decisively.

The plane for Abu Dhabi took off at 11.15 p.m. from Melbourne's Tullamarine Airport and landed the following morning at 6.25 a.m. For Alex, that flight was seven hours of practically unbroken sleep. After landing at the airport in the United Arab Emirates, he caught a shuttle to the main terminal, where he would catch the connecting flight to Heathrow. It would only be an hour and fifty minutes until he embarked on the second stage of his journey.

Alex killed time by eating a slice of pizza near the check-in area, and at 8.15 a.m. the plane took off right on time, heading for Great Britain.

During the flight, he almost always had his iPod headphones in his ears, and he managed to get some sleep. He only woke up when the Etihad Airways flight attendant served him lunch: a rubbery chicken breast with a side dish of cold peas, a watery cup of coffee, and a piece of chocolate cake that turned out to be the only edible part of the entire meal.

At 12.20 p.m., the aeroplane set down on English soil.

The connecting flight for Milan was scheduled for 5.50 p.m. Alex walked along a row of airport shops, his backpack still over his shoulders and his face weary. He needed to lie down and stretch his legs out, exhausted as he was from the long journey.

I wonder if Marco has found out anything else
, he thought as he sat down on a bench in a wi-fi area. He propped his feet on a low table in front of him, and a man in uniform shot him a glare. He had to be an airport employee, and he didn't seem to think much of the way Alex was sitting. But Alex didn't move an inch. He was exhausted. In the distance, he saw the glowing sign of a travel agency. A photo of a smiling family hung under a huge slogan:
Go to Europe! Now!

It seemed as if the message were meant for him.

Finally outside the entrance to his apartment building, Alex heaved a deep sigh.

He didn't know how his parents would react when he walked in as if he'd come home from an ordinary day at school.

It was dinnertime, so Valeria and Giorgio would certainly be home. A girl walked out the door and left it open for him. Alex thanked her and climbed the stairs.

Praying that his parents wouldn't be too upset with him, he rang the doorbell.

He was waiting for someone to open the door when he saw an elderly man get out of the elevator on the landing. The old man pulled a bunch of keys from the pocket of his raincoat and opened the door to his apartment, after shooting Alex a suspicious glance.

At that moment, as the man entered his apartment, leaving Alex alone on the landing, the door in front of him swung open.

‘Are you one of Paolo's friends?' asked a dark-haired woman wearing an apron.

Alex gave her a baffled look, then shifted his gaze over to the name by the doorbell.

‘Mancini …' he said, before turning back to the woman. ‘I'm sorry, I must have gotten the wrong floor.'

‘Where do you live?'

‘On the third floor.'

‘This
is
the third floor. Are you at the wrong address, by any chance?'

Alex looked down, trying not to get too flustered. ‘I'm sorry, signora. I must have mixed up the addresses.'

He turned and hastily went down the stairs to the ground floor.

Once he was outside the building, Alex checked the street number again: number 22, Viale Lombardia. His home. For the past sixteen years.

No, not again …

Alex looked around.

Everything seemed exactly as he had left it. The same city, the same street that he'd walked down thousands of times. But another family lived in his home.

I returned to my body, back on that beach … I got up, I caught three planes, and now I'm here. Here, right where I started out. What the hell does all this mean?

He started to run towards Piazza Piola, his panic rising.

Marco's place was only a few hundred metres away, at the start of Viale Gran Sasso. In a couple of minutes he was in front of the intercom.

‘Yes?' came the voice.

‘Marco, it's me!'

‘Alex, hey! What a surprise … Come on up.'

The main entrance buzzed open and Alex walked into the lobby, but his mind was not completely at ease. It seemed that his friend hadn't been expecting his return. On the second floor, the door of Marco's apartment was ajar. Alex pushed it open and walked in. As soon as he was in the front hall, he felt a dizzying sense of disorientation. In the spot where he would normally have seen Marco's desk with the three computers, he saw an L-shaped sofa.

The grid of blue neon lights on the wall was gone, replaced by a mantelpiece crowded with framed photographs. His friend emerged from the hallway behind him.

‘Alex!'

The sight that greeted Alex the minute he turned around was one that made him take a step back.

With a smile on his face, holding his arms out for a hug, Marco was standing on his own two legs.

‘So you finally found the time to come by!' he said, as he hugged his friend tight. Alex hugged him back, but awkwardly. ‘We never see you nowadays.'

Alex said nothing, his eyes fixed on his friend's legs.

‘What the hell's wrong with you? Are you okay?'

‘Yes, I …'

‘You look like you've just seen a ghost!'

‘Then … you can walk … In other words …'

‘What else would I do, go around on my knees? Okay, I'll admit that I'm happy to see you, but let's not overdo it!' Marco burst into a loud laugh and hurried away to the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with two cans of Coke in his hand. ‘You want something to drink?'

‘Marco, I'm in trouble.'

‘What kind of trouble?'

‘I don't know exactly how to explain it to you,' said Alex in some confusion as he looked around. His eyes fell on one of the framed pictures on the mantelpiece.

‘Sorry, but … is that your mother?'

‘Of course it is — what kind of questions are you asking? You were there yourself when we took that picture, last year. The house in Tuscany, don't you remember? You should see what it looks like now, they're finally done furnishing it.'

Alex closed his eyes and felt as if he was fainting. The guy in front of him seemed to be living the life that his friend Marco had been denied.

‘What's wrong with you?'

‘No, nothing. Listen, let me ask you something … are my parents okay? Don't they live in Viale Lombardia anymore?'

Marco frowned and peered into Alex's face. ‘You're starting to worry me, man … Have you lost your memory?'

‘That's a good question. I don't really know how to answer it.'

‘Alex, are you serious?'

‘Deadly serious.'

‘Your parents have been living in Switzerland for the past five years. How could you possibly think of asking such a question? Are you trying to tell me you can't remember?' Marco set the can down on the table. ‘Did you have an accident? Did you hit your head?'

‘Nothing like that. It's too complicated to explain. I think I'd better go.'

‘No, I think you need help. Something must have happened to you …'

‘Forget about it. And forget about the stupid questions I just asked you.' Alex got up and started towards the door.

‘What the …' Marco stood there motionless, with the can in his hand.

‘Sorry, there's just one last thing,' Alex went on, turning to look at his friend. ‘Do you know a Jenny?'

Marco looked at him quizzically. ‘Who?'

Alex said nothing. He hurried out of the living room of the Draghi family home, slammed the door behind him, and fled.

Once he was out on the street, he looked around. He started walking through the crowds, as it slowly dawned on him that he might be travelling down the infinite array of streets, the myriad possibilities of the Multiverse. In the midst of all these normal human beings, he felt like an alien: he could travel, he could set foot anywhere, investigate every scenario and destiny.

But right now what he needed was to find his way home.

26

I can't seem to control this damn power!

In his mind, Alex went through everything he'd done since he'd been alone on the beach, from when he'd crossed the vortex and woken up in the locker room, in Jenny's reality.

He revisited every moment of his incredible journey. The images of the corpses in the tunnel in the other Milan were stamped into his mind, clashing with his memories of his first kiss with Jenny. They overlapped, too, with the experience he'd had at the Planetarium when he remembered that, in his own past, he'd met her right there, when they'd been children, who could say on what occasion.

Alex thought back to when he'd caught the taxi to Tullamarine Airport, the flight to the United Arab Emirates, and, after that, the flight to England.

Milan is the same, but the lives of my family and Marco's are completely different. I don't even know where I live now. A different family lives in my apartment, my parents live in Switzerland, and Marco can walk! I have to get back … but how?

He got up off the ground. A clock on a pole said it was 10.00 p.m. A few metres further along, a few foreigners were talking loudly outside a kebab stand.

It must have happened during the trip. Probably while I was asleep.

He looked around, and an important detail occurred to him: his backpack was gone.

That makes sense. My alter ego in this dimension doesn't have a backpack; he's not coming back from a trip. The backpack … where was the last place I saw it?

‘Of course!' he exclaimed, catching the attention of the group outside the stand. ‘It happened at Heathrow!'

He started pacing, thinking hard. He needed to fly back to Heathrow immediately.

He retraced his steps back to Piazza Piola and walked down the stairs to the metro. He didn't have any money to buy a ticket, but the station controller's booth was empty. There was only a man in uniform with his back turned, who was far enough away that Alex figured he wouldn't pose a problem. So he hopped over the turnstile and headed for the platform.

Only a few people were waiting for the train. Some were staring at the signboard announcing the time to the next train, one was reading a book, and another was pacing the platform impatiently.

Alex walked the length of the platform, sat down on a bench, and focused his thoughts.
I know where I have to go … I know where I want to wake up again. I just have to do my best to control the journey.

He tried to remember any detail that could take his mind back to Heathrow. He concentrated on the backpack, which he'd last seen sitting on the seats by the gate. He tried to remember a face, the signs, the logos, the arrival boards at the airport.

A few trains went by, but he stayed where he was.

Then, suddenly, a man's glance emerged from the workings of his mind. A thick moustache, small eyes, a jutting chin. He wore a uniform.

Of course: the guard at the airport. He glared at me when I put my feet up on the table in the waiting area.

Alex's mind latched on to that memory and refused to let it go. He felt as if he were being guided by an instinct that told him exactly what he ought to do next. He focused on certain details: the guard's black combat boots, the baton on his belt. Behind the man was the sign for a shoe store. Then he saw the picture of the happy family and the slogan
Go to Europe! Now!

In an instant, every muscle in Alex's body relaxed. His body slid to one side, and his head hit the bench.

The faces, colours, voices, and smells of one universe blended with those of another reality. The vortex sucked his thoughts away, dragging them from that Milan, so similar and yet at the same time so distant. It was like rocketing at the speed of light down a tunnel of memories, with no time to distinguish any details. And not only his own memories, but anybody's memories.

When he opened his eyes again, he was flat on his back.

He stood up, his muscles numb and his vision still clouded over. Blurry lights swam slowly into view. They came from the display lit up in front of him. The words were in English. Alex looked around and smiled, letting a small sigh of relief escape him. It was where he'd hoped to end up. He was at Heathrow Airport.

Exactly where he'd fallen asleep that afternoon, while waiting for his flight to Milan. Exactly where he'd wanted to go back to.

I'm starting to think I've figured this thing out …

He swung around, remembering a detail he urgently needed to check. He looked under the benches, and there it was. ‘My backpack!'

With one hand he rummaged through the bag and found one of the sandwiches he'd bought back in Melbourne. It had been in the bag for a couple of days and was probably inedible, but hunger won out. He unwrapped it and took a bite.