Chapter 31

“It’s a straight shot out of the city,” said Edward up to Witticker as both climbed down a slick metal ladder originating from the street top in front of Edward’s building.
“What we do once we get out of the city, however, is still up in the air.”
Witticker was descending the ladder slowly due to the recently acquired leather satchel Edward had lent him. They had both decided that Witticker’s briefcase, while being both sturdy and lockable, communicated to the general public that there was something inside worth stealing. He found the satchel much lighter and easier to travel with, but was, in his current environ, experiencing minor trouble with it. As he eased down the narrow crawl space it seemed to snag every loose nail and stray bar in its path making it more of a nuisance than he had imagined.
“Watch out for the last drop,” echoed Edward’s voice from below.
Witticker felt for the next step with his foot only to find that there was little there to feel for. He hesitantly peered down and was surprised to see nothing, no walls, no floor, no Edward, jus black emptiness in the corridor below.
“How much of a drop are we talking about Edward?”
“It should be fine,” answered Edward, “I survived.”
Witticker climbed down further until he was dangling precariously by a forearm grip from the bar. He swung his legs in the air for a moment, pleased that they still both worked and hoping that they would continue to do so in the near future. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let go.
The drop seemed endless as he fell silently through the air. Wind rushed around him and a smell of chalky dust filled his senses. Without a warning the ground appeared and he came to an abrupt stop, rolling back from the blow. Dust billowed out from under his body as he rose from the ground.
“So, where are we?” growled Witticker.
Edward walked towards him, illuminated by the light of the white box he held in his hands.
“We are in a place that has long been forgotten by time.”
Witticker chuckled.
“That was very mystic. Where are we?”
Edward grinned.
“Indeed. This is one of the last remaining tunnels from the transportation system used by the old city dwellers. All of these tunnels were destroyed around the time of the Great Decline. I’ve spent a lot of time down here clearing a way out. Just in case I ever needed a way to leave quickly and quietly. Here, hold this,” said Edward, tossing the white box to Witticker.
Witticker looked into the white box’s screen as Edward lit a cigarette. The screen contained a map of the tunnel in which they were walking overlaid with a dim sketch of the city block above. Witticker followed the path of the tunnel with his finger until it reached the edge of the screen.
“Hey, how do I see the rest of the map?” hooted Witticker as Edward jogged ahead in the rubble.
Edward laughed and pointed his finger in the air.
“Use this. Just drag the map across the screen. It’s all touch-based. Treat it like a real thing and it becomes real. That is Perceptionism.”
Edward, obviously pleased with his own joke, snickered and blew a puff of smoke out in fuzzy rings. Witticker, oblivious to any joke, pressed his finger against the screen and moved it slightly. The map shifted quickly, appearing to follow even his slightest movement.
“Fascinating,” said Witticker as he continued to move the map around with his index finger.
“You think that’s neat,” said Witticker out of the corner of his mouth, “try this out.”
Edward walked over to him and took the white box in his hands. He tapped at the screen a few times and, as if they had suddenly been joined by a host of performers, a busy sound filled the air.

*~~*

At first there’s a busy piano with a light drum.
A trumpet, spitting out sound in spurts.
Drums chime in quick.
Sharp repeated taps.
Saying, “Listen Up!”
An alto saxophone jumps in with another line to counter the horn.
Pushing things forward.
Then they all move together.
First up.
Then down.
Then keeping it together for just one cat.
Sitting on top of a complex foundation.
Composition in the midst of performance.
Waterfalls of notes pouring into the air.
All affected.
All considered.
By what has gone before.
And what is just around the corner.

*~~*

“What is that?” asked Witticker, thoroughly affected by the sounds bouncing around the thin dark tunnel.
“That,” answered Edward as he tossed the white box back to his compatriot, “is Jazz. This one’s called ‘Parisian Thoroughfare’. Keep it on for a while. We’ll listen to more while we go.”
Edward turned around and started walking down the dark corridor. Witticker tossed the satchel over his shoulder and ran down the track after him. The rattle and bang of the music filled the ancient acoustic as the two wanted men walked out of the city in the dark.