No place like home

Written by Anakin McFly

The knocking on the door repeated itself a third time, more insistently than the last. A short moment passed as the knocker paused to listen, but no sound was heard coming from the apartment.

“Thomas?” an elderly woman’s voice called out. There was no reply, so she tried again. “Thomas, are you there?”

When only silence met her ears, the landlady dug into her pocket and withdrew a set of keys. Holding them out to the dim light to make out their labels, she chose one and stuck it into the lock of Neo’s apartment. The door creaked open, and Mrs. Thatch stepped into the blackness beyond.

Blinking as her failing eyes tried to get used to the dark, she fumbled for the light switch and flicked the lights on. The overhead lamp lighted up after some hesitation, for it had not been used in a while; the room’s owner had a certain penchant for living only by the light of his computer.

Better able to see now, Mrs. Thatch surveyed the mess in the apartment and wondered how anyone could live in such a cluttered place. A light covering of dust over everything gave rise to the inference that the place didn’t seem to have been touched in several days, but at the same time, it didn’t seem to have been deliberately abandoned either. The computer still on, equipment strewn all over the tables, old food packets in the dustbin, unwashed cutlery in the sink…

The room bore an eerie resemblance to one that Mrs. Thatch had read about in the newspapers some time ago – the room’s owner had spontaneously combusted, and no one knew she had died until several days later when they found her charred skeleton sitting in a remarkably unscathed chair.

"What would happen if you melted? You know, you never really hear this talked about much, but spontaneous combustion? It exists! ...People burn from within... sometimes they'll be in a wooden chair and the chair won't burn, but there'll be nothing left of the person. Except sometimes his teeth. Or the heart. No one speaks about this, but it’s for real."

Mrs. Thatch shuddered. She couldn’t remember where she had heard or read that – in a dream, perhaps? – but it had stuck in her mind ever since.

Apart from her, however, the apartment was devoid of humans, burnt to a crisp or otherwise.

What could have made him leave so suddenly like that? Without warning, just gone – disappeared. Thomas’ boss at Meta Cortechs, Mr. Rhineheart, had called her up demanding to know why he hadn’t been coming to work and if she knew anything regarding his whereabouts.

She didn’t.

A cockroach scuttled out from under the bed and disappeared into a dark corner.

It seemed unlikely that Thomas had run away – the state of the room implied that he had left with the intention of returning. And if he had been attacked and murdered while he was out, surely there’d be something on the news by now?

Shaking slightly at the thought of Thomas lying dead in some alley somewhere, Mrs. Thatch turned off the light and left the apartment.

And then, that night, her doorbell rang. When she answered the door, he was standing there.

Slowly, Mrs. Thatch’s mouth opened. “Thomas?”

Neo gave a wan smile. “Hi. I… just thought I’d say goodbye, Mrs. Thatch. I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly…”

The old woman was still stunned at his sudden reappearance. “But… where’d you go?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

Neo hesitated. “Maybe… maybe one day you’ll find out.”

A moment’s silence passed between the two of them, then he broke it.

“I’ll just go over to my apartment now… clear up some things… Yeah. I’ll come back later.”

Mrs. Thatch nodded, and Neo turned to leave, reaching into his pocket for his apartment key that had been recreated in the Construct. He went down the corridor as he had done so many times before, then arrived at his door and unlocked it.

Neo stepped inside and turned on a light.

He missed this place. It was a dingy old apartment with bad lighting, but he missed it all the same. In the past he’d never really thought too highly of his home, but now that he had left it, nostalgia had transformed his old apartment into something much better than what it really was.

This was where he’d spent each night in front of his computer searching for something called the Matrix; this was where he’d lived off an unhealthy amount of instant food and pizzas; this was where he’d once accidentally locked himself in his closet, because one day he’d come back from work feeling stressed and needing a nice, dark place to coop up in – it just so happened that that aforementioned nice, dark, place had a faulty lock. (He had yelled until Mrs. Thatch had heard and come to save him.)

Neo moved over to his computer, and shook the mouse to bring it out of sleep mode. The screen flickered on to reveal the results of the last search he had done. Funny how it all seemed so irrelevant now. He closed the windows and shut down the computer.

Around the table and shelves were all the CDs he’d accumulated over the years, several filled with illegal programmes that could land him in jail for a substantial amount of time if discovered. More stuff lay in his filing cabinet by the side and under his unmade bed.

Neo went to his bed and sat down on it. He ran his fingers over his blanket, his hand coming eventually to rest on the pillow. So many times he had woken up here to discover he was late for work… and just as many nights had he not slept here, having fallen asleep by his computer.

He got up, headed for his closet, and opened its doors. His clothes hung inside, never to be worn again. Neo pushed them aside and got into the closet, huddling into a sitting position on the closet floor.

The doors swung shut.

There was a click.

Neo swore.

Right, he thought, gritting his teeth in annoyance, all feelings of nostalgia temporarily washed away. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the doors. There is no lock… There is no lock…. Use the Force, Neo… There is no lock…

There was a satisfactory click, and he gratefully pushed the now unlocked doors open, trying to ignore the unwanted thoughts of how Yoda would be so proud of him. Neo climbed out of the closet and stood up. He gazed at his kitchen area – welcome sanctuary to many little homeless ants – and went to stand in the doorway of the bathroom in which he had suffered many a stomachache. His toothbrush and toothpaste still lay by the sink, along with various other bathroom accessories.

Neo entered and gave the toilet one last flush for old times’ sake. Then he went out, shutting the bathroom door behind him. He shouldn’t linger any longer, he thought, checking his watch. Time was precious.

Neo gave his apartment one last glance, bidding it a silent goodbye; then he left, never to return again. He walked back to Mrs. Thatch’s room and passed her the keys.

“Aren’t you taking anything with you?” she asked.

Neo shook his head. “No. I won’t need them where I’m going.”

“And you can’t tell me where that is?”

“I can’t.”

Mrs. Thatch sighed. “All right, then. Take care of yourself, Thomas.”

“I will.”

A while later, as she watched his retreating form disappear down the corridor, she suddenly had the feeling that she had to follow him… she had to know…

As quietly as she could, Mrs. Thatch hurried after Neo. She followed him as he left the building and turned the corner to the old telephone box standing there in the dark. He entered, to Mrs. Thatch’s puzzlement. Was he going to make a phoneca…

The phone started to ring.

Thomas picked it up and put it to his ear, and for one last second he looked out and saw the old landlady standing there.

Their eyes locked for a moment.

Then code ran over him, and he vanished.

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