Paradox by A. J. Paquette

be?
Yes, there it is, just up ahead … a twisting strand of glinting light.
    It all comes back in a rush: the irresistible pull, the quick slip into another world, the fullness of being even for just a few minutes someone who knows herself inside and out. Another strand means another memory, hers for the keeping.
    The craving is like a dull ache in her core, shocking her with how quickly it takes over every aspect of her awareness.
    Ana shrugs off her backpack, lets it fall behind her, and runs.
    A gust of wind catches the memory strand as Ana approaches, tugging it just out of reach. She stretches her arms above her head. She
has
to catch that strand.
Has to has to has to
.
    In a pocket of stillness the glittering thread drops down toward her. It glides over her hands, coating her in its mirror-light spray … and she is gone.
    “—have to go! He’s dead, damn it, don’t you understand?” I feel myself crumple inside. How did everything fall apart so quickly? Wasn’t it just hours ago that I was thinking about that playoff game? When did everything go so hellishly wrong?
    Jackson’s yelling now, his voice rough. I don’t want to hear what he says, and I pull the receiver away from my ear. I don’t want to hear that Brian’s as good as dead now that he’s infected and that my being there won’t bring him back, that I’ll just get sick too if I go back home, that my place is here in the lab. Where there’s still a chance
.
    I slam the phone back onto the receiver and jump up. I’ve got to get out of here. I’m halfway across the office before I even finish forming the thought. But then Pat’s in front of me, head sticking out of his cube, eyebrows creased in worry
.
    “Hey,” he says. “I heard about Brian. I’m so sorry.”
    I’m crying so hard I trip over that stupid fold in the carpet that nobody ever bothers to fix, and I crumple to the floor. What does it matter? What does anything matter? Right in front of me there’s a paper stuck to the wall, a paper I taped up less than twenty-four hours ago, this week’s company lunch sign-up. The day after tomorrow. Will anyone still be alive to make that pizza order?
    “We’re going to make it through this,” Pat says, though I can hardly hear him above my sobbing. “You’ll see—things will get better. What about the new theory?”
    “The whole world,” I snap. “The whole world’s gone to hell. What does our research matter if everyone’s
dead
? So there’s some kind of core interlinked entity, so it’s theoretically reversible—so what? We still don’t know how to stop it in the first place, how to keep away the—”
    I won’t say it. I won’t say the word. If I don’t say it, maybe it’s not real
.
    I struggle to my feet. Jackson was right. There’s nothing for me to go home to, not anymore. Not that things are any better here, of course—the place is all but deserted, just the empty cubicles and the screened-in trial area
.
    Pat has ducked back down behind his divider. I sigh as I make my way back to my own cube. I know he didn’t deserve my outburst, but all I want to do is feel sorry for myself. It’s all I can manage right now
.
    My wedding ring catches my eye again. And, oh! Brian! And I want to cry all over again for everything we’ve lost, everything I and we and this whole damn world will never have
.
    I drop to my seat just as the phone begins to ring. “Yeah?”
    “Bailey.” It’s Jackson again, and his voice sounds worse than it did just minutes ago. “Bailey—”
    And then he coughs, loud and long. A chill runs through me
.
    “Jackson? What are you—”
    Ana comes back to herself with a gasp. She’s facedown on the ground, just like the last time she emerged from the memory strand, but now her hand is hanging over the edge of the lavastream. She yanks it back and slowly sits up. She is dripping with sweat and her heart is racing. This was nothing like the first memory; this was some kind of nightmare. Who