Face Down

"You think you know what fear is until you're standing over something that used to be a person. Then you realise you've never been afraid a day in your life."

Henri's bark came again, sharper this time, and something in it made the hair on my arms stand up. That wasn't his happy bark, the one he made when someone arrived with treats or when Uncle Jamie came home from work. This was different. Urgent. Wrong.

Luke's head snapped toward the sound. His face went pale.

"Something's wrong!"

He was running before the words had finished leaving his mouth, his feet kicking up plumes of dust as he sprinted toward the source of the barking. Glenda was right behind him, her long legs carrying her across the sandy ground with more grace than seemed fair.

I watched them go, watched them get smaller against the rolling dunes that stretched out in every direction. This place was nothing but dust — fine, pale stuff that covered everything like snow, piled into hills and ridges that blocked the view of whatever lay beyond. Luke and Glenda were heading for the crest of the nearest rise, and within seconds they'd disappeared over it, swallowed up by the landscape.

I stood there for a moment, alone.

The colours of the portal still swirled in the air behind me, pulsing and shifting. Part of me wanted to turn around and walk back through, to end up in Luke's kitchen and pretend none of this had happened. But I didn't move toward it. Couldn't make myself try, because some gut instinct told me it wouldn't work — that the door only opened one way, or that Luke had to be there, or that whatever rules governed this madness weren't going to bend just because I wanted them to.

Then, as I watched, the colours simply... stopped.

No fanfare, no dramatic fading. One moment the light was there, churning and alive, and the next it was gone. In its place stood something else — a large, flat surface, translucent like frosted glass, rising from the ground where the portal had been. I could see the dusty landscape through it, distorted and dim, but there was no colour anymore. No movement. Just this strange screen, marking the spot where I'd fallen through into a world I didn't understand.

Whatever that meant, I didn't have time to figure it out.

I started running.

The dust was a bastard to move through. Every step sank ankle-deep into the soft, sandy surface, the ground giving way beneath my weight and sliding back as I tried to push off. It was like running on a beach, except worse — drier, finer, the particles working their way into my shoes and coating my socks within the first few strides. My lungs burned and my thighs screamed and I wasn't even halfway up the first dune.

Questions battered against the inside of my skull, demanding attention I couldn't spare. What was this place? How had I got here? How was I supposed to get back? The translucent screen behind me — was that still a way out, or had I just watched my only escape route seal itself shut?

I crested the rise and nearly lost my footing on the downslope, the dust shifting treacherously beneath my feet. Below me, another valley of sand stretched toward another dune, and beyond that, another. The landscape rolled on in waves of pale brown and rust, broken only by scattered rocks that jutted up from the dust like bones poking through skin.

No sign of Luke or Glenda. Just Henri's barking, still audible but impossible to pinpoint, echoing strangely off the dunes.

I kept moving. Down the slope, across the valley, up the next rise. My foot caught on a half-buried rock and pain shot through my ankle, sharp enough to make me stumble. I gritted my teeth and pushed through it, refusing to let my body's complaints slow me down.

At the top of the second dune, I finally saw it.

A cluster of shapes in the valley below — tents, three of them, large canvas structures arranged near a ribbon of blue water that cut through the dust. A river, or something like one, its banks lined with pale stones. And figures moving near the water's edge, their voices carrying up to me in fragments I couldn't quite make out.

I half-ran, half-slid down the slope toward them, the dust billowing around my legs, coating everything. By the time I reached the edge of the camp, I was caked in the stuff — hair, clothes, skin, all of it covered in a fine layer of pale grit.

Luke and Glenda had disappeared behind the largest tent. I skidded to a halt, my chest heaving, my eyes scanning for any sign of them.

"Where did they go?"

The words came out hoarse, barely recognisable as my own voice. The camp seemed empty — just canvas walls flapping slightly in a breeze I could barely feel, and that constant sound of Henri barking somewhere nearby.

Then I heard it. A sound that cut through everything else — part gasp, part sob, the kind of noise someone makes when they've seen something they can't unsee.

I followed it around the back of the largest tent, my feet carrying me forward even as my brain screamed at me to stop, to turn around, to not look at whatever was waiting on the other side.

The river came into view first. Wider than I'd expected, maybe fifteen metres across, the water moving slow and clear between banks of stone. And there, at the edge where the rocks met the current—

My heart stopped.

A body. Face down in the shallow water, legs tangled in the rocks, arms splayed out like someone who'd fallen and couldn't get up. The clothes were wrong — too nice for this place, like the person had been dressed for a regular day on Earth — and the hair was dark and wet and plastered against a skull that wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, wasn't doing any of the things a living person's head should do.

"Uncle Jamie?"

The words came out as a whisper, barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears. Because the build was right, the height was right, and Jamie had dark hair, and oh god, oh fuck, this couldn't be happening—

"Help me roll him."

A man's voice, calm and steady, cutting through my spiral. I tore my eyes away from the body and saw someone I didn't recognise — older than me, maybe early thirties, with the kind of weathered look that suggested he'd been here longer than a day or two. He was already wading into the water, his jaw set with grim determination.

Luke splashed in after him, water soaking him up to the waist. "Go," he said, his voice tight. "I've got him."

I couldn't move. Couldn't do anything except stand there on the bank, watching as Glenda positioned herself near the body's shoulders, her hands steady despite the horror of the situation. The three of them worked together, coordinating without words, and then Glenda's voice rang out—

"Three. Two. One. Roll!"

They turned the body over.

And it wasn't Uncle Jamie.

The relief hit me like a physical blow, so intense I nearly staggered. Not Uncle Jamie. Thank Christ, not Uncle Jamie. But the gratitude lasted only a second before the reality of what I was looking at crashed back in.

It was a man. Young, maybe my age or a bit younger, with features slack in that particular way that only comes from death. His skin had gone grey-white, his eyes were open and staring at nothing, and his throat—

His throat was a mess of dark red, a gaping wound that ran from one side to the other, the edges ragged and terrible.

"Who the fuck is that?"

My voice cracked on the words. I'd never seen a dead body before. Not like this. Gran's funeral didn't count — she'd been peaceful, made up by the mortician, looking like she was sleeping. This was different. This was violent and wrong and so far outside anything I'd ever experienced that my brain couldn't find a category to put it in.

The unknown man looked at the body for a long moment, his expression grim. "No idea."

"Shit."

The word felt inadequate. Massively, overwhelmingly inadequate for a situation where I was standing in an impossible place, staring at a murdered stranger, with no idea how any of this was happening or what I was supposed to do about it.

"Is he breathing?" Glenda's voice was sharp, urgent, her hands already moving toward the man's chest like she might be able to help, like there was anything left to save.

Luke's response was flat, drained of emotion. "I don't think so."

The unknown man shook his head, his voice heavy. "No."

"What?" Glenda's hands stilled, her face going pale.

"I don't think it will help." The man's eyes met hers, and something passed between them — an understanding, maybe, or a shared recognition of how bad this was. "His throat has been slit."

The words landed in my gut like a fist.

"Fuck!"

I was shaking. Actually shaking, my whole body trembling like I'd been dunked in ice water. I clasped my hands behind my head, fingers digging into my scalp, and started pacing along the riverbank because standing still felt impossible. Moving felt impossible too, but at least it gave my body something to do while my mind tried to process what I was seeing.

Someone had killed this bloke. Cut his throat and left him in the river like rubbish. In a place that shouldn't exist, where I'd been for less than half an hour, where the only people I'd met were a Swiss doctor and my uncle's arsehole partner and a stranger who looked like he'd seen too much already.

What kind of fucked-up world has Luke dragged me into?

"We should bring the body in anyway," Glenda said, her voice steadier than it had any right to be.

Luke's response was immediate, skeptical. "What good will that do? If he's been murdered and someone comes looking for him, perhaps we shouldn't be the ones caught with his body."

Part of me — the practical part, the part that had learned to solve problems and avoid unnecessary drama — latched onto his logic. Get rid of the evidence. Don't get involved. Protect yourself first.

"I'm with Luke," I heard myself say, the words coming out shaky but certain. "Yes, get rid of the body."

The unknown man looked at me, then at Luke, then back at the body floating in the water. His jaw tightened.

"Regardless, he deserves a proper burial."

"Proper burial!" Luke's voice dripped with disbelief. "You don't even know the guy."

I found myself silently agreeing. This wasn't the time for sentiment. This was survival, pure and simple. Whoever this dead bloke was, he was beyond caring what happened to his remains.

But Glenda held firm, her chin lifting slightly. "If we can bring him in, I can perform a rough autopsy."

"Is that really necessary?" Luke pressed. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened to him."

"A rough autopsy might provide us with more information, a glimpse into the story of how he met his fate."

The conversation washed over me, words becoming noise, the meaning slipping away as something else took hold. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a belt around my ribs and was slowly pulling it tighter. My vision was doing something strange — narrowing at the edges, the colours bleeding together.

I couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

Couldn't do anything except stand there while my body decided to betray me completely.

"Calm down," I whispered to myself, the words barely audible. "Calm down, calm down, calm down—"

But telling yourself to calm down during a panic attack is like telling water to run uphill. The fear had its hooks in me now, dragging me under. My face burned hot, my skin prickling with a flush that had nothing to do with the strange sun overhead. The taste of bile rose in my throat, sharp and sour.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Bowed my head. Tried to find something — anything — to anchor myself to.

You're going to get through this, I told myself. You're going to figure it out. This isn't how it ends.

I forced my eyes open, forced myself to look at the scene in front of me. Glenda and Luke were still arguing about the body, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm I couldn't follow. The unknown man stood waist-deep in the water, his expression unreadable.

And then his voice cut through everything else, sharp with sudden panic.

"Where's the body?"

I blinked, trying to make sense of the question. The body was right there, in the water, where it had been this whole time—

Except it wasn't.

The spot where the dead man had been floating were empty. The rocks where his legs had been tangled showed nothing but stone and water. The body had vanished.

"Shit."

My mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. The panic attack had only lasted... what? A minute? Two? But now the unknown man and Luke were both soaking wet, water dripping from their clothes, and the body they'd been standing over had disappeared without a trace.

What the fuck did I miss?

"Where's Jamie?" Luke's voice was different now — high and tight, real fear bleeding through. Water droplets still clung to his face, his eyes wide.

Glenda's answer was quick, clipped. "He went to the lagoon."

"Lagoon?"

"Downstream," the unknown man supplied.

"Shit." Luke was already moving, scrambling up onto the riverbank, his wet clothes slapping against his legs. He turned to the other man, his expression intense. "We need to retrieve that body. Now!"

"But... but you just said..."

"Forget what I said. You were right. We are better off keeping the body."

And then he was gone, sprinting along the riverbank in the direction of the current, his feet kicking up dust where the sand met the stones, chasing after a corpse that had somehow floated away while I was losing my mind.

"Go!" Glenda's hand hit my shoulder, shoving me toward Luke's retreating figure.

"Fuck off," I said, stepping away from her reach. I couldn't run. Could barely stand. The panic attack had left me hollowed out, my legs weak and shaky, my lungs still struggling to remember how to work properly.

The unknown man wiped something from his mouth — vomit, I realised, a smear of it on his chin — and straightened up. His face was grey, but his voice was steady.

"I'll go."

Glenda nodded, already turning her attention to something else. "Introductions can wait."

The man brushed past me and took off running, following Luke's path along the river, his figure quickly shrinking into the distance until he crested a dune and disappeared from view.

I watched them go, my mind still reeling. Two men chasing a dead body down a river in a place that was nothing but dust and sand and scattered rocks. A murdered stranger whose throat had been cut from ear to ear. My uncle somewhere nearby, apparently wandering off to a lagoon while corpses floated past.

None of it made sense.

None of it was supposed to be happening.

And yet here I was, standing on the bank of a river in an impossible world, watching the only people who might have answers disappear over the dunes while I tried to remember how to breathe.

I'm trapped in a nightmare, I thought, the words settling into my bones with terrible certainty. A world filled with death and uncertainty. And I have no idea how to wake up.