Chapter 2

I begin to freak out. Robert Downy Jr. is approaching me, wearing a tee shirt with a glowing replica of the ark reactor on it, and I don't have a pad of paper and pen to get his autograph.

"Having car troubles?" He asks, his hands in his pockets.

I'm at a loss for words and realize my mouth is hanging open. Clearing my throat, I force myself to speak.

"Uhm, y-yeah. The battery- uh died, what are you doing this far north?" Please talk normal. Please talk normal.

"Just a little charity dinner." He walks over to the hood of my car and opens it. As he's checking my car, he says, "Hey, uh, quick question, have you seen an explosion of light or heard a loud boom? Anything weird?"

"Uh, no I've just been sitting here reading..." I hesitate and think back to the green cloud. I inhale to speak, but a feeling of danger floods my body. He looks around the hood at me with raised eyebrows.

"You sure?"

"Oh, yeah." I wave it off, acting cool as a cucumber, and walk up to see what he's doing to my car. "I was just remembering how I was going to go shop for new bulbs for my home, and you asking about lights just reminded me."

"Hmm" He taps his chest and his hand becomes covered in red metal, then touches the engine and it comes purring back to life. My jaw drops.

"How-" I manage to sputter out, shocked and in awe.

"Simple," he says, closing the hood of my running car, "I'm Ironman." He smirks.

"B-but you're fictional... just an actor-" Words get caught in my throat as his grin is quickly replaced with confusion.

"Are you alright, kid?" The metal on his hand begins creeping up his arm. My feeling of danger is getting increasingly worse, so I snap my eyes up and fake a yawn.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, just tired. School takes a lot out of me, you know?" I chuckle, hoping it sounds genuine.

Yeah, this is so convincing. A+ acting.

"Thank you for the, uh, jump start."

"Kid, are you sure you're okay?"The metal on his hand has stopped moving, but that doesn't make me any less on edge.

"Yeah," I rub my eyes for emphasis, "Like I said, just tired. Thanks again!" I get ready to get back into my car, and he starts walking to his. He stops and turns, hands once again in his pockets.

"You're welcome. Have a safe drive. And hey," he walks back to me and hands me a business card, "If you have any more issues, just call my good friend Happy."

I take the card and thank him, glancing at the simple white card in my hand, right before slipping it into my pocket. I get into my car and watch through the mirror as he turns back and heads towards his car, but I see that he throws out pocket lint from his pocket.

On my way home I try to digest what had just happened. He pretended to be Ironman, then actually jump-started my car with his hand. No way it was real, it had to have been just a publicity stunt... an advertisement for a new Ironman movie.

No matter how wonderful that may sound, Endgame had crushed my hopes for that ever happening, unless it was a prequel, but even then that would be kind of depressing. But the metal...

Before I realize it, I arrive home. Pulling into the drive, I worry about what mom and dad will say about me being home a few minutes late. I cut my engine, then gather my things, shoving the book back into my bag and I get out. Shutting the car door as quietly as possible, I rush to the front door. Pulling out my keys I unlock the door and walk into the entrance hallway, then into the living room.

"Hey Mom, Dad. Sorry I'm late." I drop my keys into the dish. "I had some car troubles."Silence meets my words, and I turn to see them looking at me as if they had seen a ghost.

"Who the hell are you?" My dad stands protectively in front of mom. Confusion runs through me. Maybe it's a joke?

"Very funny dad. I know you guys said to be home by ten and here I am, five minutes late!" I laugh, but it ends weakly when I realize they aren't kidding. This isn't a prank, this is real.

"Our daughter died three years ago. Who the hell are you?" My dad yells, and I flinch. Behind him, my mother is in tears.

The feeling of fear floods my body, and the hair on the back of my neck stands. I begin to stutter, "B-but I'm me! I'm alive! We talked about a couple of hours ago, you called me an ass because I-I-I called yo-you grandpa..."

My dad is physically shaking. My mom sobs behind him, and I choke back tears as well.

"What's the password?" My mother chokes out.

The password! The one that we had made up when I was just a silly five-year-old. I take a deep breath. "If a c-clone takes m-m-my place for some reason, we're the best tutors that neuter snickerdoodle poodles." My mom groans, more tears rolling down her face. I start to cry.

"What is something only Asta would know?" My father growls

"We were at the zoo that Harambe was s-shot at on the day he was shot." I frantically wipe tears away and try to keep myself together.

"What else?" He moves more in front of my mom, who is practically melting behind him.

"I stole your finger pricker because I wanted to make paintings in my blood, I hid them under my dresser. Please, dad! I'm scared, I don't know what's going on!"

"Who are you?" he whispers.

"I'm me! I-" I am suddenly hit with the memory of the cloud of green. "There was a cloud of glowing smoke that surround my car! It was broke down on Srit road, and I flagged down a car that turns out to be RDJ, but he claimed that he was Ironman..."

Mom takes a step toward me with tears smudging her makeup. Her hands cup my cheeks and she takes a shaky breath and removes them quickly.

"You are Asta, but not my Asta. Go up to bed. Sleep. We will form a game plan for tomorrow, but you do not belong here." She turns her back to me. "Go. I don't want to see your face anymore tonight."

I take shaky, hesitant steps towards the stairs, then begin climbing them. Halfway up, I pause, looking down at their expressions. Mom remains with her back to me, but the way her shoulders shake I know she's crying. Dad moves to hold her in a hug, then he watches me with a guarded face.

Making it to the top of the stairs, I am hit with the awful feeling of this house not feeling so familiar to me. It feels as if I am a guest, but not a welcome one. It feels as if they were dreading my arrival, knowing they have to give me shelter but don't want to. I reach my bedroom door and find it to have the same caution tape as I remember it to have.

Reluctantly, I turn the dusty knob and slowly push open the door. Light falls over the old green carpet, revealing even more filth. I flip on my light, seeing that my room is the same as it had always been, although slightly dusty. Everything is exact, right down to the half-finished water bottle on my nightstand. Slowly I get into bed, and as I lay there, I contemplate the events from today. Skipping class at the library, accidentally borrowing the old, misplaced book.

More like stealing it, my mind criticizes.

I cover my face with my hands. Although it isn't my worst offense, I still feel like shit. I try to move on to other more pressing matters. The mist, for instance, the paper that burst into flames, Robert Downey Jr. pretending to be Ironman, then actually ending up being Ironman... My head is spinning.

Perhaps, on the way home I did die, and this is hell.

No, I think, this is worse. The fact that my parents think I'm dead, despite my having talked to them not more than three hours ago. Then another thought hits me:

Perhaps I am dead...in this universe. Maybe I was somehow transported here, and maybe in this universe, I'm dead...

"Oh god," I whisper to the empty darkness, "I'm in another dimension!" The bed suddenly doesn't feel like mine. It feels like a dead girl's, and I feel like an intruder.

I find it hard to sleep after that. More thoughts and fear flood my head, and I toss and turn for what seems like hours. Eventually, I get out of bed and wander into the loft area and head for the back stairs in the garage. As I tiptoe into the kitchen, I begin to hear voices coming from my parents' room. I walk over and press my ear to their door.

"...here. She claims she met Stark on the way home, which means he is probably aware of her presence-" My father says, but another voice cuts him off.

"Then we need to act quickly. My clients have a deadline, and therefore so do you," My heart drops. It's the trash man, the guy with the gun.

"They were none too happy that you gave them a fake last time, so make no mistake when I say if she's once again a fraud..." He pauses, and my breath hitches.

"We took care of her for as long as we were required to! We clothed her and fed her, and then disposed of her to get her out of our and your client's hair!" Dad argues, his voice is stern and frustrated.

"Regardless, do as you're told, and don't mess this up. Also, fair warning to both of you, she stole my gun when we came into contact with each other. I have no doubt in my mind that she will use it if she feels it necessary."

"She's harmless. The other her was, and I have no doubt she is, too. Besides, she's a heavy sleeper, so we could very easily go and get it from her." My dad says, followed by the sound of his footsteps.

I get ready to run, but I hesitate as the trash man speaks.

"No, let it be. I have a feeling-" He says, then goes silent. The door flies open, revealing the man. I'm frozen to the spot, but he looks over my head, then looks around.

"What?" My dad comes up behind him, looking directly at me but... "Are you on something? There's no one there."

"I thought I had heard something," the man mutters, then closes the door. My body is shaking and my heart is beating a thousand miles an hour.

They didn't see me? How- I look down, and I can't see myself. Though it's dark, I can't see my hand as I move it in front of my face. Oh.

"Stick to the plan for tomorrow, and your payment will come in three days' time."

The plan. Whatever that is, I can't be here for that. I rush off to the entrance hall in search of my keys. When I reach into the bowl, it's empty.

Shitshitshit. I climb the stairs and get back into my room, closing the door behind me. This me was 'disposed of'? The way they spoke of me-her, they only let her live because she would bring them a reward. She would have figured it out...

I get down on the floor and pull at the trim board beside my bed. It gives easily, and I reach my arm into the little hollow, feeling for anything. Back in my world, this was my real hiding place for things, behind my dresser being the place for the stuff I had hidden and wanted to be found.

My hand runs across an art box. I pull it out, seeing it's the same blue box I have hidden in my wall, but the contents of this box are insanely different.

It contains twenty-five thick rolls of cash and a burner phone. I place the box on my bed, trying to put a plan in place.

I have cash, a phone, a gun, and people who are probably looking to kill me.

Plugging in the phone, I let it charge as I go into my closet and dig out the biggest backpack I have. I snag a few shirts on my way back, as well as pants and underwear.

I tightly roll the clothes together and neatly stuff them into the bottom of my bag. I set the art box on top of them, then I turn to my school bag. Opening it up I take out the gun. I eject the magazine and then take the one out of the chamber, clearing it multiple times just to make sure it's empty before putting them separately into my bag.

The next thing I pack is the book that I suspect is giving me so much trouble. It takes up a lot of room, but I don't think I need much more than what I have packed. I do pack a few pencils and a notebook and my toiletries, as well as the phone charger. Doing one last sweep of the room, I zip the bag and pocket the phone.

Now comes the hard part: leaving.

I can't go through either main floor door because they have alarms set on them. Luckily though, my window is only about fifteen feet in the air so that's going to be my best bet.

It takes a moment for me to open the window, sealed from years of rain and neglect. I drop my bag onto the grass, then follow it to the ground.

The cold air kisses my face for a second before my body hits the ground with a thud. The wind is knocked out of me so I lay there a moment, looking at the stars.

Right, time to go.

Brushing myself off, I grab my bag and run over to the shed on the edge of our property, intent on snagging my bike. Unluckily for me, its tires are flat.

Unluckily for dad, his are not, and his is a mountain bike.

In no time I'm biking through the night, putting as much distance between me and my false parents as I can. As I head east, I slowly maneuver towards the road. I don't stop for breaks, I don't even stop to pee. I keep going until the sun begins to rise and I reach a quaint little town with nothing more than a general store, a library, and a gas station.

My stomach rumbles but I ignore it. I don't need to use however much money I have on me for breakfast. Food can wait.

I park my bike at the library and go inside and use the bathroom. My phone dings and I dig it out of my bag. Turning on the screen, I see I have a message. It reads:

Asta asked me to help you, so meet me in Graysiville, where the world goes Disney.

Other me told someone about...me? I rush out of the bathroom and down into the lobby to grab a tourist map. I locate the town and find it to be about two hours south by bike. I don't feel like this person is dangerous, but I can't be sure.

Sighing, I go out and get back onto my bike then follow the road out of town to meet the stranger.

The bike ride gets painful after about an hour of riding the road's shoulder. My ass begins to hurt from the narrow seat and the webbing between my thumbs and pointer fingers have worn raw, but I keep going.

As I ride, I try to figure out what the hell they meant by where the world goes Disney'. The more I ride, the more my brain gets muddled. At one point, I begin to nod off, exhausted.

Someone honks behind me, I startle awake and almost swerve off the road. Panic rising in my throat, I turn to see it's a woman in a pick-up, with a toddler riding shotgun in a car seat.

"Need a ride?" She shouts through the window.

"If you're offerin'" I respond, cracking a smile. I slow the bike as she gets in front of me, then we both come to a stop. I put the bike into the bed of the truck and then hop in on the little girl's side.

"Thanks for this," I pant, sweat running down my face.

"Oh, no worries, hon. It's supposed to get real cold today and at the rate, you're sweating you'll probably drop." She looks at me in the rear-view, concern in her eyes. "So, where are we headed?"

"Graysiville," I sigh, exhausted.

"Oh! Good, we're going in that direction. You just relax and we'll be there in no time." With that, she turns up the radio and begins to jam out to some weird auto-tuned song. It takes me no time at all to fall asleep.

I find myself dreaming about foggy voices and lights and outlines of people. The only thing clearly pictured is a girl, laughing maniacally as she swings her sword above her head, then back down, creating a sickening squelching scraping sound upon impact of an unseen victem. Blood partially coats her body, her face cruel is unrecognizable, her hair braided into a crown atop her head.

She looks up and sees me, her wicked grin widening. She takes a step towards me, her eyes flashing evilly. She readies her sword to strike, and I step back and find myself teetering on a cliff's edge. She thrusts her sword, and just as her blade reaches me, the dream turns back to mist and I snap awake. Momentarily I'm confused as to where I am, but I quickly calm down when I see the woman and her daughter still jamming out as we approach the outskirts of a town.

I relax when I find myself not at home and not surrounded by people looking to sell me to god knows what.

"Hon, I'm going to leave you at the Wal-wort, is that alright?" Wal-wort! Wally world, Walwort!

"Yes!" I answer quickly, "Yes, that's perfect, thank you so much!"

"It's no problem, hon. We women have to watch out for each other, right?" She smiles into the mirror. I nod, then rifle through my bag and pull out a fifty, and set it on the seat next to me.

Knowing the type of person I think she is, she wouldn't want the money, but she deserves it. She didn't have to pick me up.

We pull into the Wal-wort lot and she lets me out. I thank her again and wave as she drives off. About as soon as I turn to walk towards the benches of the store, my phone dings. It's the same number, and it reads:

Small black Buick

I look up and see a scruffy-looking man waving at me from that car.