The Metropolis Series #3: Quinn and Cassandra
21. Casa Vasquez

WHEN I WOKE UP the next morning, my hand was sore. The corners of the airplane keychain had created little red craters on my palm, which let off the mixed scents of sweat and metal. I played with the keychain with my fingers, tilting it to examine the small imperfections on its surface. Little did I notice how mesmerized I’d become, so I blinked and rubbed my eyes with my free hand. I rolled over to the other side of the bed and opened the drawer to my bedside table where I placed the keychain inside.

I then slammed it shut. I would deal with Julio another day.

If it weren’t for the small headache I had, I wouldn’t have realized I had overslept. The sky was dark and gloomy, making me think that the sun was yet to rise, but when I looked at the clock on my bedside table, I saw that it was already ten in the morning. I groaned and sat on my bed, waiting for the grogginess to leave me. Once I was fully awake, I stepped out of my bedroom and found Mom working on her laptop on the dining table and Dad watching the news in the living room. I saw that the dishes had already been cleared out, and there was just one plate of food left on the table.

Mom looked up from her laptop. “Good morning, Quintana. Slept well?”

“Hello,” I said.

“We didn’t want to wake you up,” Dad said. “You must be tired from all those months studying at St. John’s.”

It’s not just St. John’s, I thought to myself, but I replied with a nod.

“Come eat,” Mom said. “It’s late.”

“Wait,” I told her. “I’ll just head to the bathroom.”

There, I washed my face and tried to get the sleepiness out of my eyes. When I felt that I was fully awake, I looked at myself in the foggy bathroom mirror.

“I’m still me, aren’t I?” I whispered to myself.

“Of course, I am,” I replied.

I then joined Mom at the dining table where I had my breakfast. I thought my mood would get better but listening to the headlines on the news didn’t help. My stay at St. John’s had made me forget how sad the morning broadcast could be. I wondered how adults dealt with it every day, thinking that their children could grow up in a world far worse than what they knew.

A little bit after breakfast, I put on my walking shoes and grabbed Oliver’s leash from the console table under the TV.

“I’m taking Oliver for a walk,” I told my parents.

“It might rain, kiddo,” Dad said.

“I won’t go far. I promise.”

“Bring an umbrella,” Mom said. “See you.”

“See ya.”

And I was out the door.

I immediately realized that I could talk to Oliver about the Metropolis. He was a good listener, and the best part was that he didn’t understand anything I said.

“You’ll never believe what I learned when I was in the Metropolis,” I said to him. “Who would have thought that this world isn’t real and that we’re just a figment of someone’s imagination? So, that means I’m fictional, and you’re fictional, too. Mom, Dad, everybody. We’re all just characters stuck in some book!”

Oliver didn’t utter a noise. His eyes were on the suburban roads ahead of us, his tongue sticking out in excitement.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind being fictional,” I continued. “It’s just that the Metropolis has been broken since the Author stopped working on it. There are monsters, these time-traveling powers I couldn’t control, and a girl trying to steal my existence. Ha! Can you believe it?”

While I talked to him, I kept my voice down. Can you imagine what would happen if I had accidentally corrupted the neighbors with all the things I was saying? Yikes.

My hand shook as I held on to his leash. “I’m scared, Oliver,” I whispered to him. “So scared. I’m afraid that one of these days, I’ll stop being myself. But you’ll be there to protect me, right?”

Again, Oliver didn’t say anything. He barked at a stray cat, and that was when I felt a small raindrop land on my shoulder. A lot of them crashed on the concrete beneath my feet, creating tiny pools on the ground. I opened my umbrella, tugged on Oliver’s leash, and turned in the other direction, making our way back home.

When I got back, a tricycle pulled up in front of our gate. A petite woman emerged from the sidecar with a bag and umbrella. She paid the tricycle driver his fare before ringing the doorbell to our house.

“Ate Gianna,” I called.

The woman turned in my direction as I approached her. I opened the front gate for the two of us (three if you counted Oliver), and we found shelter under the pergola.

“Oh, my alaga, is that you?” Ate Gianna said. “I didn’t recognize you when I saw you on the street. Oh, nice hair, ah. How was school? Do you have a boyfriend already?”

Why were people obsessed with me having a boyfriend? It was always one of the first things my relatives would ask me when they’d visit after a long time. Then, Mom would step in and shush them.

“No,” I replied.

“Oh, but you are such a pretty girl,” Ate Gianna remarked. “Naku! I bet a lot of boys over there have a crush on you.”

I chuckled as I opened the front door. “No, they don’t,” I said.

Ate Gianna and I entered the house, and once again, I scolded Oliver for trying to scoot past me.

In the days leading up to Christmas, I did all sorts of things that would help me keep my mind off of the Metropolis. For the most part, it worked, and with each passing day, I felt better and better.

I was able to do things I wasn’t able to do at St. John’s that used to be part of my daily routine at home. I would walk Oliver around the neighborhood every morning, and when it didn’t rain on us, we’d reach the park where I’d play Frisbee with him. Sometimes, he would react to it, but for the most part, he wouldn’t. Nevertheless, he was still a great listener. Sometimes, I would just sit down and talk to him about the things I’d experienced in the Metropolis, then he would just pant and wag his tail in response. Afterward, I’d come home, go to my room, and boot up my PC. I belonged to the Internet whenever I put on my headphones, and since it was the holidays, a lot more players were online in the chat room and arenas, which was just what I needed. When it came to gaming, I was invincible. I wished the same could be said about real life.

Despite all the things I did to make myself feel better, nighttime was still difficult. I’d turn off the lights and lie in my bed, but falling asleep took me ages. Sometimes, I’d stare at the dark ceiling, trying to make sense of all the thoughts rushing through my head, all the fears that lurked in the recesses of my mind. I’d think of the Metropolis, of Julio, and of anyone else involved in this madness. I wouldn’t remember falling asleep, and any dreams I’d have would be forgotten.

Then, Christmas Eve came fast approaching, and we began to spend almost every afternoon in the kitchen cooking up dishes for Noche Buena. Mom and Ate Gianna did most of the work, though. I was assigned to simpler tasks like mixing and taking out ingredients from their packaging because I didn’t know how to cook for my life. As for Dad? He ran errands for Mom whenever needed.

Eventually, the ornaments Mom had ordered arrived, so Dad and I were tasked to finish decorating the Christmas tree. Mom explained that the prices online were way cheaper, so she might have gone a little overboard with her orders. There were so many gingerbread men, snowflakes, and nutcracker ornaments that our Christmas tree began to look crowded. It leaned a bit on one side, too; but Mom was so happy with our tree that Dad and I just shrugged.

When the morning of Christmas Eve came, Ate Gianna pulled out our festive tablecloth from the storage boxes and aired it out in the sun. Mom and Dad were expecting a few of our relatives to pass by to drop off and pick up their gifts, and that only reminded me that I didn’t have anything for my parents. I usually planned for those kinds of things. The moment December would come around, I would take the time to visit the nearby shopping center to look for something they’d like.

But in many ways, that year was a lot different.

I could commute, but going out and about during the Christmas season was a nightmare. Crowds seemed to come from nowhere, creating long lines at the tricycle stations. It was too late to order anything online, either. It would take days for my parcel to arrive, and gift-giving was already later that night.

I sat on my desk, trying to think. I took a pencil from my pen holder and scratched my head. That was when it hit me. I grabbed a piece of paper from one of my desk drawers, but the moment I hovered the pencil over the paper, I stopped myself. I was going to materialize Christmas presents for Mom and Dad through my drawings, which was the same way I had accidentally brought my roommate, Harumi, back to life. Wasn’t doing something like that against the Author’s will? Rewriting the Archives was how Mr. Simon was slowly corrupting…

I shrugged. It was just Christmas presents. And I had the power so I’d better use it.

The good news was that Mom and Dad were delighted with what I got them, even if the items were a bit wonky at the edges. When they asked me where I got them their presents, I just laughed and told them that it was a secret.

By Christmas Day, most of the festivities were over. We had already given each other gifts and had a grand feast at midnight.

With that, I felt my mood plummet as the Christmas feelings slowly dissipated. I lay in bed and realized that I couldn’t hide at home and escape my problems forever. In less than two weeks, my parents would drive me back to St. John’s.

Back to the Metropolis.

I couldn’t keep ignoring my fears anymore, but I was afraid of facing reality alone. I wanted to send Julio an airplane, but I kept stopping myself. I couldn’t tell why. Was it because I wasn’t sure it’d reach him? Was it because I was still mad at him?

Or was it because of something else?

I sighed. I dropped the idea and pulled out a receipt from my small bag. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed Philip’s number.

I was an idiot. I didn’t even think about what I was going to say. I knew that I wanted to tell Philip about what I saw at Curtis’ party, but how much of that should I say to him? Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to think. Philip answered his phone almost instantly.

“Hello?” he said.

“Philip, it’s me, Quinn.”

“Oh hey, you finally called.”

“Yeah…” I sat on my bed. “I don’t really know where to start.”

“It’s okay. I’ll handle that.”

Loud noises sounded off from the other line. There was Christmas music and somebody singing off-key karaoke.

“So,” Philip cleared his throat. “The party crashers were indeed Forgotten Ones, weren’t they?”

“I’m pretty sure of that,” I replied. “As you’ve said, it explains why the Stevensons couldn’t identify who they were.”

“What were they doing at Curtis’ party, then? Would you know?”

I took a deep breath and crashed onto my bed. I didn’t want to talk about that so soon into our conversation. The scars from that night might have already faded, but the memories hadn’t.

“Remember what Mr. Simon said?” I asked him. “About… the Girl wanting to replace me?”

“Yeah,” Philip replied. He probably transferred to another room because the background noise on his end had faded. “So the Girl has something to do with this?”

“That’s right. One of the party crashers saw me going to Curtis’ party and had mistaken me for the Girl Beyond Bounds. She then followed me with all intentions to attack. Meanwhile, the other one warned me about the attack and urged me to leave immediately. But it was too late. The first party crasher found me, so the other tried to protect me.”

“Where did the first party crasher find you?”

“At the back of Curtis’ house.”

“So did you run? Where did you go?”

“The second crasher told me to go around the back of the house where a friend would take me away from the party, but the first crasher kept blocking the way. I had no choice but to run back inside the house…”

My voice trailed off. I wondered if I had just made a mistake. Did I just confirm that I had been inside the house with Rachael all along?

There was a pause in our conversation. I could hear my heart pounding amidst the feedback coming from the other line.

“Hello? Hello, Quinn?” Philip asked. “You still there?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m still here. Sorry.”

“So what happened next?”

I debated whether or not I should tell Philip about how I accidentally corrupted Curtis, but it didn’t feel necessary. Instead, I told him how I saw the two party crashers fight in the living room.

I then wondered if I should tell him that I was inside the house with Rachael the whole time. He and I weren’t close; we only often interacted during Deus Ex Machina’s meetings. But then, he trusted me with his knowledge of the Metropolis, so I should be able to trust him, too.

“Are you gonna tell Curtis about all this?” I decided to ask him. “It was his party, after all.”

“Curtis is a Metropolitan,” Philip replied. “He wouldn’t be able to process all of this information. Trust me, I learned the hard way.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean the hard way?”

“It happened last school year. We stayed out late on the school grounds one time. I joked that this world wasn’t real so why even bother with school, you know? Curtis was corrupted instantly after that. I had never been so scared. I had to shove him into the janitor’s closet and run to Mr. Simon to fix his records.”

“Whoa,” I mused. “So you turned Curtis into a monster…”

“Not all Metropolitans can handle the truth,” Philip explained. “Curtis is, unfortunately, one of those that can’t.”

“I see…”

“Is that what’s stopping you?”

“From what?”

“Telling me about the party?”

I sighed. I was walking on eggshells with this conversation.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “You know what Curtis’ parents did to Rachael’s room…”

“All right,” Philip said. “I get it. But can you answer this?”

“I’ll try.”

“You know how Rachael vaguely remembers the party? Do you think a Forgotten One intervened and used Lethe water on her?”

Considering that he knew about Lethe water, I wasn’t surprised to find out that he had successfully connected the right dots.

“It’s highly likely,” I said. “It would explain why Rachael could barely remember the party. Someone probably knew that her memories could bring her trouble.”

Philip hummed. “So they took things into their own hands, leaving St. John’s and the Stevensons at a dead end. If that’s the case, we can’t do much about that. We can only hope that the Stevensons would eventually give up on the party, but that might take a while.”

“Well, someone did break into their house. And Curtis was injured, too.”

“Oh right. What do you think happened to Curtis?”

Shoot. Of course, Philip would eventually wonder about that.

“I didn’t see what happened to Curtis,” I said, which technically wasn’t a lie. I was no longer around when Curtis injured his head.

“Well,” Philip muttered. “It’s very likely that he slipped by the pool while leaving the house.”

I guess he was right. At the party, Julio defeated the corrupted Curtis with Lethe water. Slipping by the pool might have just been an added unfortunate accident.

“Also, Quinn?” Philip said.

I blinked. “Yeah?”

“Is it okay to ask just one more question?”

“Sure, go ahead,” I replied hesitantly.

Silence hung between the two of us. After what felt like ages, Philip spoke:

“Is it true? One of the crashers is dead?”

Those were two questions, but it was the same answer for both.

“Yes,” I said somberly.

“How did they die? The other crasher killed them?”

If I mentioned that Cassandra was also inside Curtis’ house, I was afraid that I would scare Philip—at worst, corrupt him, too.

“I… I don’t think I can tell you,” I answered.

“I see,” Philip replied. “Must be some serious Metropolis stuff I’m not supposed to know about. But do you know the name of the party crasher who died?”

I suppose it was safe to tell him. Even if such information reached the Stevensons, what could they do with a nonexistent dead girl?

“Her name was Mackenzie,” I said. “She was the one who tried to attack me that night…”

“I see,” Philip replied. “I can check her records with Mr. Simon.”

At the mention of records, I got nervous. I was afraid that Philip would then ask me what the name of the other crasher was.

And that was exactly what he did.

“Who was the other one?” he asked. “Do you know?”

“I don’t,” I immediately said. “But I know that he’s one of the few Forgotten Ones who believe that I’m different from Girl Beyond Bounds, and I’m grateful for that…”

“Oh okay,” Philip replied. “Well, that was nice of him. It’s a shame you didn’t get his name.”

I nodded. “Yeah… It is…”

“Anyway, thanks for calling, Quinn. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas.”

Then, Philip hung up.

After the call, I wondered if I did the right thing.

I knew that I wanted to protect Julio, but I still felt horrible about it. There I was getting mad at him for keeping secrets from me while I was doing the same thing with everyone else.

In fact, when I first met him, my first instinct was to lie.

Did Julio keep the truth from me to protect me? What good did that do? I had still been in danger even before I knew about his secret.

It didn’t matter how Cassandra Diaz came to be. Such knowledge wouldn’t stop her from wanting to take my place.

I figured that I needed to get out of my room. I couldn’t stand feeling trapped in there anymore. Perhaps I could join Mom in the kitchen or Dad in the living room. I didn’t know. I just wanted something to do.

I found Mom first. She was storing some dishware in the upper cabinets. When I looked closer, I realized that they were the special plates, glasses, and spoons we used during Noche Buena. Mom only brought them out on special occasions.

“Ah, Quintana, there you are,” Mom said as she saw me. “Can you help me out? Please put those mixing bowls back where they belong.”

She pointed toward the kitchen counter where a stack of mixing bowls crowded the dish rack.

“Where do I put them again?” I asked.

“The cabinet over there,” she said.

I grabbed one of our dining chairs, picked up the bowls, then climbed up to reach the upper cabinet. I tried to put the bowls in, but they didn’t fit. I then placed them down on the counter and pulled out a box that took up a bunch of space in the cabinet, but that only sent various items stored in there to the ground.

“Quintana,” Mom scoffed.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” I said.

I climbed down the dining chair to pick up all the items I had dropped: a pack of paper towels, paper cups, plastic utensils—

And a small piece of paper.

It was a habit of mine to check scraps of paper before throwing them away. I picked it up in school where lots of important things had been written on paper: quiz scores, food stubs at events, and even receipts for uniforms and supplies. If it weren’t for that, I didn’t know how else this story would have progressed.

The paper was old, crusty, and torn, but when I realized what had been written on it, my mouth hung open.

…Sky Towers, Paradox Road, Uptown…

…95-03xx

…the Metropolitan Public Library

…ou

I slipped the paper into my pocket and resumed picking up the items on the ground. I had no time to wonder what something so important was doing in one of our kitchen cabinets, for who would have thought that I would find the other half of the Author’s library card in the comfort of my own home?

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