Ch 1, r 1: The Other Side

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Chapter 1 - General

Regulation 1: The Other Side

On this momentous day of unification, these regulations are signed into force to establish the common principles upheld within the collective institution of posterior realms, hereinafter referred to as the ‘Other Side’. The Other Side shall comprise three jurisdictional branches; the legislature (the Senate), the executive (the Council), and the judicature (the Court). The Other Side shall uphold these regulations absolutely and without reservation, lest we return to the dark days from which we’ve come.

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“You know what you need, Gem?”

Gemma sighed as she shifted the weight of her bag upon her arm, holding the phone against her shoulder with her cheek.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You need some good old R&R.”

The low battery alert on Gemma's phone flashed impatiently. She rooted through her bag for her mobile charger, cursing under her breath as she vaguely recalled placing it atop the mountain of papers covering her office desk. She contemplated turning back to grab it, but the possibility of another encounter with her boss - and the inevitable overtime that would entail - struck the idea from her mind.

“Are you listening to me? Some rest and relaxation, you know?”

“Yes, Mum. I heard you.” Gemma said, despite not hearing much at all. She connected the call to her headphones as she watched the traffic passing through the intersection, the glow of headlights in the early night forming soft streaks in her tired vision.

“I mean, how long can you keep this up for? When was the last time you had a day off? You’re going to start burning out.”

You’re the one calling me to cover shifts on the weekends, Gemma thought, and then chose to carefully file away in the archive of things to not be said.

“Right.” She responded instead, ignoring the rhetorical questions.

“And you look awful with those bags under your eyes. You need to see somebody about that.”

“Thank you, Mum.”

“Did you use the gift card for the spa?”

Gemma hummed in what she hoped was a non-committal tone that her mother would accept as affirmation - and that she could pass off as missing the question - as she typed out a note on her phone to remember to use the gift card she received last year for her birthday.

“Good, because it only had a year before it expired.”

Gemma deleted the note.

“Check if table 4 has finished their soup.”

“Sorry?” Gemma asked.

“I’m not talking to you. No, I am talking to you, Heather. Hold on one second, Gem.” She could hear the sound of the kitchen through the receiver that her mother had placed upon the bench. The clatter of ceramic plates, punctuated by the sizzle of hot oil in pans, and accompanied by the soft droning of the selection of crooner CDs that her mother had somehow received as part of the divorce.

The lights changed, and Gemma continued her journey towards the station, triple wrapping her scarf to brace against the chill wind. She thought about a holiday, playing through the pleading conversation with her boss to take a sliver of her months of accrued leave. She’d take the first flight out to the furthest place possible and spend three weeks cooped up in the hotel room. She allowed herself a moment to imagine what Bali was like at this time of year. Then, she thought about how every hour spent away would be another hour she’d have to spend here, chained to her desk dealing with the work that her incompetent colleagues would inevitably let pile up in her absence. If she was barely staying afloat now, she’d drown when she returned. Her momentary delusional buoyancy dissipated. What she really needed, she thought - as she had thought several times before - was an escape where no time passes at all. Like in all the stories she read as a child; the one with the lion in the wardrobe, or the girl who goes into rabbit holes. Even now, her respite from reading legal submissions was her collection of portal fantasy visual novels and isekai manga, their images something for her eyes to focus on other than screens and pixels. She had them all stacked at odd angles upon each other within the squat bookshelf of her single-room apartment, each one chronicling the story of somebody being summoned to a wholly strange and wonderful world, fulfilling their epic destiny, and returning before their coffee even got cold. It was what secretly fuelled her weekend trips to antique stores, hoping to find the trinket that, when held in a particular way or whispered to in the right language, would open up that portal to kickstart her destiny. She usually left disappointed, though with a new addition to the wardrobe or a pair of earrings to soften the blow. The stories were her one glimpse of freedom, and collecting them gave her half a hope that one day they’d reveal to her how she might escape too. That’s definitely what she needed, she decided once more. An escape to another world. A white mini-truck trundled down the road beside the footpath, bouncing upon the rattling sewer grates with a clatter. She eyed its approach cautiously and then shook her head, crossing that particular method of otherworldly transportation from her mental list.

“Hello? Earth to Gemma? My god, it’s like speaking to a zombie sometimes.” Her mother's voice returned.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you’re going tomorrow night?”

“What’s tomorrow night?” Gemma asked, before the regret collided with the recall of the multiple conversations she had passively participated in about Father’s Day.

“Are you serious? How many times-”

“No, no, no, I remember. I’m sorry. Just got this Davies trial on my mind.” Gemma lied.

“I thought that finished yesterday?”

“It did, just got some filing and aftercare stuff to do for it.” Gemma recovered.

“Well, let your father know if you’re going. It can’t hurt to grace him with your presence every now and then. Your fool of a brother is going. With his girlfriend, or mutually exclusive partner, or whatever this new girl is supposed to be.”

Gemma felt an uncanny feeling that the evening was shaping up to be precisely the opposite of her idea of rest and relaxation.

“You’re not selling it particularly well.”

“I shouldn’t have to ‘sell’ dinner with your family to you.” Her mother responded, with her artful ability to punctuate quotation marks so precisely.

“I know, I know. It was just a joke.” Gemma said. She waited at the crosswalk in front of the station. The steady bustle of traffic continued past as she watched the snaking trains navigate the complex tangle of rails about the station.

“And have you thought about the restaurant?” came the question Gemma knew that they had both been waiting for. She sighed.

“Mum, I told you-“

“I know what you said. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to ask you again.”

“I just,” Gemma paused as she measured her response, “I just don’t know if I can give up what I’m doing right now.”

“I thought you hated law.” Her mother responded. “You constantly complain about the people you work with.”

“I know, but I feel like I can make a difference here. I’m helping people who need it.”

“Addicts and crooks, Gem. You’re spending more time with them than your own family.”

“These are desperate people who made bad choices, and they need somebody on their side.”

“It’s your decision to make, Gem, but I want you to know that I’m not getting any younger. I’ve probably got one more year in me to give here. My knees are going, and you know how bad my hip is. I’m not asking you to make promises, but I want you to at least think about taking over the place.”

“Mum, you know that the restaurant was never part of my plan.”

“Sixty-six years, Gem. The sweat and blood that goes into a place like this. My mum and dad’s. Mum’s mum’s before that. This place is history. Our history. You can’t just let a place like this go.”

“Well, sometimes you need to do exactly that. To move on, to know when to let go.”

Her mother was silent. The crescendo of a song bled gently into the audio, the words barely audible. Eventually, she responded.

“And sometimes it's important to know when to hold on. To remember your family.”

Flashes of her sister came to Gemma’s mind. Gemma knew what would come, as it had before. It always started with the small snippets of her warmth. Her smile.

“Gem, I know what I’m asking of you.” Her mother said.

Her laugh.

“I’ve got to go, Mum.”

Her hair.

“I know it’s not fair.”

Her perfume.

“Mum, I really need to go.”

The stench of that room.

“It's just- I don’t have a choice anymore.” Her mum continued.

Her vomit.

“Not since Bea-”

Gemma ended the call, taking deep breaths as the image of Beatrice flickered within her mind. She stepped into the streaming crowds of commuters, letting herself be carried by the jostle and sway of the people through the automatic doors, and letting the static of their gentle sounds wash away the memory of her sister.

She made it to her platform in a haze, barely feeling the cold until she felt the aching chill on her fingers. She could feel what she imagined was chilblains forming as she tapped at the keyboard on her phone. The train arrived with a screech of cold steel. The doors opened and unleashed the horde of cramped bodies. They pushed out and melded into a wide arc of diverging streams of passengers boarding and alighting, each rushing at a speed approaching a sprint to make it to their connecting trains. Gemma forged a path through the press of flesh. She entered the warmth of the train, and spotted a miracle. A singular seat amongst the crowd. A gift from the gods to the world of the long commuters. She pressed through the mass of people, offering quick apologies as she bumped between them before she fell into the seat, angling her body between the muscular man to her left and the mother holding a child in her lap on her right. She gently shifted to find some purchase of space between her neighbours, and found the chance to take a breath. 

The train took off. The under-seat heaters kicked into full effect, pumping a toasty warmth to the carriage that permeated her soul. She rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her coat, trying to stifle the aching sensation as it adjusted to the sudden change in temperature. The man next to her was scrolling through videos on his phone, the quick changes in audio bleeding in a grating tone from his earbuds. Gemma scrolled through her playlist, uncertain of the mood she was in and what music would encapsulate it. She put it on shuffle through her headphones, spent a few minutes skipping each song that came on, and then turned it off. She watched the other passengers about her. Two men in suits chatted quietly, one kept his eye on the electronic display of the stations as he spoke. A young couple sat with their arms entwined through each other's, staring at their phones, occasionally tugging at the other’s arm to show them something on their screen. They exchanged a smile, a soft exhalation of breath through the nostrils as acknowledgement, before they returned to their separate journeys together. Gemma wondered if these people were happy with the life they were living, or if they felt as stuck as she was, and were just better at pretending that things were alright. There was a poster above their heads, spread across the length of the train wall showing a bespectacled man, suited in shining armour, charging at a fearsome dragon. She smirked at the title which took up half of the poster: ‘I Was Working As A Tax Accountant When I Was Summoned To Another World’. For the first time in her life, she was jealous of an accountant. She made a mental note to read it later. 

Gemma squeezed her clasped hands between her legs as she felt the warmth of the carriage fully fill her. Held in place between her fellow passengers, the gentle rocking of the passage of the train across its sleepers lulled her towards the precipice of consciousness. The events of the past month caught up to her body and mind in that moment. The trial, and her insufferable colleagues. Her loving mother, and her badgering. Her eyes felt heavy, leaden and loaded with the weight of the exhaustion that hung over her. Yes, she thought in her final moments of lucidity, what she needed was an adventure to another world. Deep, fathomless slumber welcomed her as a long-lost friend, embracing her tightly as the train trundled onwards into the mists between worlds.