15
Dark Matter
Ray and I have done our best to avoid each other all morning, both walking around like zombies, feeling hurt and unsure of where we go from here. We had soup for lunch and managed to avoid eye contact throughout. Even the weather has been as dull and overcast as the mood in our apartment, although the sun is starting to break through now. I tell Ray I’m going for a walk in the park and ask if he wants to join me. He nods.
We stroll through Kensington Gardens, along the Serpentine, and take a seat on the bench opposite the Peter Pan statue. Ray sits bolt upright, his posture stiff, as if every muscle in his body is tense. He gazes off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. He has the appearance of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, which isn’t surprising, considering why he’s here. It’s such a tremendous responsibility for one so young and he looks so sad and lonely. I wish I could do more to help. It doesn’t seem fair that the burden is all his.
“I’m trying to understand what it must be like to be you,” I tell him.
“Good luck with that!” he mutters.
“Well, help me out, Ray. Speak to me.”
He turns to face me. “Is there anything left to say?”
I think about it for a moment. “What do you look like when you’re not in human form?”
He relaxes his posture, spreadeagling his arms along the back of the bench. “What does it matter? You’re never going to see me that way.”
“Are you a little green man?” I venture.
He chuckles softly and it’s the first time he’s managed to raise a smile all day, but he still doesn’t answer the question.
I try another. “What planet are you from?”
“I don’t live on a planet. I reside in outer space.”
“I thought you didn’t have a spaceship?”
“Spaceships are for humans. I don’t need one. I am composed of a similar matter to the stars. The same as your own sun, in fact.”
I scowl. “So you’re like a ball of hot gas?”
He chuckles again. “Not quite. The gas inside a star exists in a fourth state of matter called plasma. It’s the electrical and magnetic forces within the plasma that hold it together and give it structure. I’m actually composed of a much more sophisticated type called transmutable plasma, which gives me the ability to change my form.”
“So if I wanted to locate you in the night sky, I’d look for some kind of plasma cloud?”
“You can’t see me from Earth, but if you could I’d resemble those green shimmering lights you sometimes see in the sky around the polar regions.”
“The aurora?”
“Yes. The aurora.”
“Wow! That’s cool. So what do you do all day while you’re up there, floating around?”
“My father and I are the Caretakers. We act as gatekeepers at the Margin and we protect those that live this side of the Margin.”
I’m so pleased Ray is opening up to me again, but as with anytime I get involved in a conversation with him, I quickly begin to lose the thread. He knows so much stuff, we could probably go off in a thousand different directions from the same starting point. It must be weird having that much knowledge in your brain. I suppose it must be even weirder talking about it, when you don’t normally get the chance to, especially if you’re not sure how much you’re supposed to reveal.
“What’s the Margin?”
“It’s the barrier between your universe and…”
“And what?”
He sighs. “The other.”
I gasp. “The other universe?”
“The antimatter universe. And beyond that, there is everything else.”
“Everything else?”
He nods, but doesn’t explain further.
“I thought antimatter was something they made up in science fiction.”
“Oh no, it exists. Your scientists have long known that when the universe came into existence—what you call the Big Bang—there must have been equal amounts of matter and antimatter, but they have never been able to explain where all the antimatter went.”
“So you’re saying it went the other side of the Margin?”
He nods. “It was extracted out and dumped in an outer ring, beyond the Margin. The Margin is magnetic. It attracts your universe, which is why it appears to be expanding, and it repels the K-verse. The antimatter universe. On the other side of the K-verse is another magnet to hold the K-verse in place. Think of it in terms of one of your nuclear power plants. When this universe was created from a controlled explosion, there was a radioactive waste product. The Margin is the equivalent of the landfill separating the outer ring of antimatter from the inner matter. It’s like a big safety blanket wrapped around your universe. We call it the Margin and you call it dark matter.”
“Wait a second. You said a controlled explosion.”
He rolls his eyes. “I talk too much,” he says, sounding annoyed with himself.
“Who controlled the explosion?”
“The Creators,” he says in a half-whisper.
“Who the fuck…?”
“Yes, I know, I’m getting into things I’m sure I shouldn’t be discussing.”
“I won’t say anything, I promise. This is just between you and me. Just for my own curiosity.”
He twists around to face me. “This universe is one bubble in an ocean of universes called the multiverse. I, like you, am confined to this single universe. That’s all I can tell you.”
“But why would someone create a whole ocean of universes? For what purpose?”
He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“I can only imagine that such beings must be metaphysical, existing without form, rendering them true immortals and with minds so powerful they could never fully occupy their thoughts in perpetuity. Under those circumstances, imagine what it must take to keep their minds entertained.”
I gasp. “So you’re saying we’re the entertainment, in the same way that you like watching Bell End?”
“There’s always something interesting happening somewhere on the planet.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I can’t accept that. That’s just too freaky.”
He shrugs. “I told you your guess is as good as mine. I wouldn’t take it to heart. I’m probably totally wrong.”
I huff. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Man is always searching for answers to the big questions. What are we here for? We live, we reproduce, we die, ad infinitum, but what is the point of it all? What purpose does our existence serve? Maybe it’s not wise to look too hard for all the answers. We might not like what we discover.”
“You’re right. I talk too much and I am no longer serving a useful purpose in being here, so I think it is time for me to go home.”
“Home? What? You mean leave? Leave Earth? Leave me? No!” I splutter. “You can’t leave.”
“It’s for the best,” he assures me.
“But what about your mission?”
“I’ve failed, Blake. My heart isn’t in it anymore. I’ve grown too close to you. I will have to try again in another hundred years.”
“A hundred years!”
“A hundred years is neither here nor there in the big scheme of things.”
“But why wait another hundred years?” And then it dawns on me and I almost choke on my own words. “Oh, you mean when I’m dead, so I can’t interfere with your mission.”
“Once I’m in human form the clock is ticking. I can’t afford distractions. My focus has gone and there’s no point me kidding myself that I’m even attempting to find a suitable female anymore. All I think about is you.”
I reach out and take his hand, grasping it firmly in mine. “You haven’t failed. There’s still time. I’ll help you.”
“This,” he says, looking down at our clasped hands, “isn’t helping.”
He pulls his hand free and stands. “Don’t follow me, Blake. I’m truly sorry it has to be this way. I will miss you. Always.”
He walks away from me and my heart sinks into the watery depths of the Serpentine. I try to stand, but my legs fail me.
“Ray, please don’t go,” I call out after him, but I feel so gutted I don’t have the strength to project my voice. I watch him walking away from me, until he rounds a bend, disappearing from my line of vision. I feel so utterly helpless, as if all the fight has gone out of me. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I know Ray is right. I have interfered with his mission. What if he never comes back, not even in a hundred years, and it turns out I’m responsible for the extinction of the human race? But a person can’t help who they fall in love with. This isn’t my fault! It isn’t! I try to convince myself.
I look up at the statue of Peter Pan, the silent observer of my pitiful state. I’m convinced he’s mocking me, standing there, blowing his flute at me, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s because Ray never grows old and I do that he’s leaving me. And what am I supposed to do about that?
I think that if I could turn into a green plasma cloud and fly home with him, I would.