Reality. The things we touch, see and hear form our understanding of the universe but what if the universe is nothing more than one box among many; an infinite warehouse of varying shades of the same reality? The story I'm about to tell you, may sound incredible, it seemed so to me, but the guy who told it, we’ll, let's just say, he wasn't the kind of guy to pull your leg.

This all came about years ago when I was working as a part-time security guard at the _____ office building. The big building on the corner of Main and Broadway. I think the name’s changed but you know the one I mean.

It was late afternoon, towards the end of my shift. I was watching on the monitors but it was pretty quiet so I was mostly reading when my partner Carl returned from his rounds. As he settled his large bulk into the chair next to me, he glanced at what I was reading and then humphed in a dismissive way.

“Still reading that quantum stuff?”

“I’ve got a test in the morning,” I said turning slightly away from him.

He pulled a stick of chewing gum from the pack he kept on the desk and as he unwrapped it he said, “You know kid, the problem with you is that you read too much.”

“And the problem with you Carl, is that you don’t read at all.”

I slammed my book shut for emphasis, not that it mattered to Carl.

“What’s to read. Everything’s on the internet now. That university you go to, what good are they? They say they’re giving you the facts but I bet they never bother to tell you the alternate facts. Do they?”

“Carl, there’s no such things as alternate facts. Facts are facts. Science follows—"

The sound of the security room door opening distracted us as we looked to see who had entered our sacred territory. It was a relief to recognise Anthony. Anthony wasn’t like Carl. He was a thoughtful quiet man, the kind that only believes in two things, family and duty but I sensed something else. Something that made me think he’d seen action, maybe in the army or the police force.

Carl, having known Anthony longer, tried to enlist him on his side.

“Ahh, here’s Anthony. Ant, tell this young egghead that the real world don’t exist in books.”

“No, you tell this blockhead, with the IQ of a kakapo, that there’s no such thing as –“, I countered.

Anthony ignored our squabbling and flipped through the logbook as he said, “So what are you two arguing about today?”

“Some quantum thing,” said Carl.

Anthony closed the logbook and looked at me in a way that I felt compelled to explain.

“Before he escaped to make the rounds I was trying to explain quantum physics to this jughead who still thinks the earth is flat.”

“I never said the earth was flat. I said that the moon walk was recorded in the Australian outback. But go ahead professor Ryan, tell him about that cat thing. Wait till you hear this, Anthony.”

“Guys, my shift starts in a minute. Carl have you finished updating the log. You gotta do that before you sign out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it but listen to Ryan and tell me if this ain’t the craziest shit you ever heard. Go on Ryan. Tell him.”

“What I was trying to explain to this Neanderthal was the theory of multiverses.”

In his calm disinterested way, Anthony asked, “MultiVerses? What’s that?”

Carl, of course was quick to enlist Anthony’s support said, “See. This is what I’m talking about. If Anthony don’t know about it, then it ain’t worth knowing.”

Anthony ignored Carl and said, “Go on.”

“Multiverses is a theory that multiple universes exist and it’s the existence of other worlds in the same time and place that’s used to explain seemingly random events that occur at the quantum level.”

For a minute Anthony stared at me with that look my mother used to use when she thought I was lying. Then he signalled

Anthony wasn’t buting it.

“Update the log Carl and Ryan you’d better take your break while Carl’s still here.”

“Ryan says there’s this cat that’s both alive and dead in a box. At the same time. Ain’t that right junior?”

I was about to tell Carl to shoved it when Anthony spoke.

“Hang on. Did you say alive and dead at the same time?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “It started kind of as a joke by a theoretical physicist, Erwin Schrödinger. He was trying to explain the physical paradox of quantum physics.”

“You’re not buying this are you Anthony?”

But Anthony was interested. Keen even.

“Keep going.”

“Then everyone started arguing over whether his thought experiment was possible or not. It goes like this, say there are two parallel universes, and there is a box with a cat inside, some poison, a radioactive source and a Geiger counter. If the Geiger counter detects a single atom decaying, the poison is released and the cat dies. According to quantum physics the cat would be both alive and dead until the box is opened and the observation of the cat’s state is determined.”

I held my breath while I waited for Anthony’s response.

“Ryan, I hate to say it but I think I’m with Carl on this one, so better take that break.”

For some reason I felt compelled to get Anthony’s approval. It was like Carl and I were locked in this battle for Anthony’s attention.

“Maybe I’m not explaining it right. Let’s say that there are two worlds, identical to each other until that moment when the cat in one universe is poisoned. Now there’s no way to know in either universe if the cat is dead or alive until you open the box but in one world the cat is alive and in the other, it’s dead. That’s how multiverses work.”

“Ain’t that the craziest shit you ever heard,” said Carl.

“Let me understand.” Anthony was deadly serious. “Quantum physics, right?”

“Right quantum physics,” I replied holding up my textbook.

“This quantum physics theory says that reality can fracture into two copies of itself.”

Carl coyld see I was winning.

“You’re not buying into this shit are you?”

But I replied confidently, “That’s the multiverse theory.”

“And is it possible for one reality to reach across the divide to say, change the outcome of the other?”

That question threw me for a loop.

“Ant, I don’t claim to understand the theory intimately but—"

“But it’s possible.”

It sounded more like a statement than a question and I glanced from Anthony to Carl before I answered.

“I suppose anything’s possible but—"

“I’m asking because that’s the first time anyone’s come close to explaining what happened last summer.”

“Shit Anthony. Are you talking about –,” said Carl.

“Yeah, I’m talking about that crazy shit thing that happened to me last summer. I’m talking about Flight LAT897.”

“You don’t want to go back to that.”

“Back to what?” I asked but Carl kept going.

“You don’t know what happened for real man. I mean you went through some trauma.”

Anthony tapped the cover of my book and ignoring Carl’s oleas, said, “I think I may have been – what did you call it, Schrödinger’s cat?”

“More likely PTSD,” muttered Carl as Anthony stared directly in my eyes.

“You see Ryan, I found myself locked in a box, 35,000 feet in the air, both dead and alive.”

I heard Carl's chair groan as he leaned back but it was Anthony who held my attention and that’s when he told me his story.

Before I took this job in security, I was an EOD. That stands for explosion ordinance disposal officer. I worked in the anti terrorist section of the FBI, but when the incident occurred, I was on vacation.

My daughter and I were half way through a flight from LA to Buenos Aires. That’s where her mother resides but that’s another story. I hadn’t seen my daughter in three years. You wouldn’t believe a child could change so much, so quickly. At 9 they’re a child trusting everything you say but at 12, that’s all over. Suddenly, they know everything but mostly they know you’re always wrong. Still, she was my kid. She spent 3 weeks with me but by week 1, we’d run through all the touristy stuff and then it was 2 weeks of her wanting to get back to her mother. At least I could understand that. I wanted the same thing. That’s why I decided to fly with her from LA to Buenos Aires. I could’ve put her on the plane by herself. I mean she was old enough to fly alone. Her mother certainly thought so. But, like I said, I wanted to see her mother again.

So there we were, a packed plane, 35,000 feet in the air, 6 hours out of LA. With dinner out of the way, most of the passengers had settled down for a movie or a sleep. My daughter and I had run out of things to say back in LA, so she was sitting in the middle seat absorbed in a game on her phone. I was feeling antsy about the whole family reunion thing. I hadn’t told her mother I was coming but I figured that my daughter had probably spoiled that surprise. Still, I had a few hours to come up with a good reason to explain my presence in Buenos Aires and decided to stretch my legs and take a leak.

The flight staff were grouped in the back of the plane, putting things away and chatting among themselves. I didn’t pay much attention to them nor did they notice me. There were two toilets in the rear of the plane and both were empty so I picked one and started to press on the door when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I looked around and there was a man wearing a dark blue windbreaker and a baseball cap. His hat had some yellow letters embroidered on it and they might have read FBI, or something similar but he was my height and it was dark so I didn’t pay too much attention. I was busy thinking about my ex. But as I went to step into the toilet he said, “Not that one. You want the other one.”

Now you might ask why I didn’t tell him to mind his own business but his manner and dress, like I pointed out, had the feel of authority and I remember thinking that if he wasn’t FBI, maybe he was some kind of sky marshall sent to check out the toilets. Out of professional courtesy, I suppose, I said, sure and headed for the other one.

On entering the cubicle I did what I came to do, rinsed my hands and dried them on a towel. As I shoved the paper into the bin, my hand felt something that didn’t belong. Curious I moved the top layer of wipes and saw a small leather bag, like the kind for carrying toiletries.

Who dumps their toiletry bag in the lavatory? That was my first thought.

Now the thing about being an EOD is that you immediately take notice of anything out of place. A shopping bag left behind on a train, a piece of luggage sitting on its own, even a box placed in a garbage bin. Most of the time it’s nothing but there’s that 1%. That 1 in a 10,000 that you need to take note of.

I lifted the bag, gingerly. Immediately, I knew it didn’t contain the usual shaver or toothbrush. It was too heavy.

As I slid it onto the small space next to the sink, the plane hit some turbulence and I was knocked against the door but I managed to hold the bag steady while the seat belt sign flashed on.

As the plane bucked again, someone knocked on the door and the stewardess said, “The captain’s turned on the seat belt sign. You need to return to your seat.”

A few more bounces, then the plane seemed to settle down. I unzipped the bag and with all the care of a surgeon, I exposed its insides. Three sets of red numbers stared back at me but it was the one that kept changing that got my attention.

1:13:10

The 10 dropped to 9, then 8. With each drop the hairs on my neck rose.

The plane dropped too, rose, then dropped again but I don’t think that’s what caused my stomach to jump into my throat.

There were more knocks on the door, and like the stewardess’s voice they were more insistent this time.

“You need to return to your seat now.”

With my free hand I opened the door and turned so she coukd see into the space.

“You need to return to your—,” Then she saw my other hand. “Oh my god, is that—What’s going on?”

“Don’t speak, just listen. I’m not a terrorist. Do you understand? I just found this in the waste bin.”

She nodded, her eyes wide and her fingers digging into the door jamb.

“I’m a demolition expert with the FBI. Now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“I, yes, but—"

“I need you to tell the captain that we have a bomb on the plane.”

She loosened her grip on the doir long enough to cross herself as she whispered, “Oh God.”

“I’d show you my badge and I.D. except its in my back pocket and my hands are full at the moment.”

She switched into professiinal mode.

“That’s Alright. I believe you but how much time—"

“We’ve got 1 hour and 10, no 9 minutes. Once you tell the captain, can you send that sky marshal back here. I could use some help.”

“What sky marshal?”

“The big guy, about my height and build, baseball cap, navy blue windbreaker.”

“There’s no sky marshal on this plane and as far as I know, there’s no one that fits that description.”

“He was just here moments ago.”

“I’m sorry, I—"

I cut her off. Time was the issue not whether there was a sky marshall or not.

“It doesn’t matter. Get in touch with the captain. I’m going to need to talk to him. Now, I don’t know your protocol but we have only an hour to get this plane on the ground and evacuated. Can you explain that to the captain?”

“I can do that. Do you need anything else?”

“I need a phone so I can contact the FBI headquarters in Los Angeles. They’ll be able to help us identify the bomb in case I have to diffuse it.”

“Is it going to –“

“It’s a last resort but for now I need you to contact the captain and get me a phone.”

The plane dipped again, waking some of the passengers as the captain’s voice came on.

This is Captain Alvarez. We’re experiencing some turbulence so I’ve turned on the seat belt sign. I’d like everyone to remain in their seats.

I heard the stewardess take a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a good hold on it. But we need to move, there’s only 1 hour and 7 minutes left. Oh, and let the others know that I need everyone to remain in their seats, especially my daughter. She’s in 37B.”

Once the stewardess was gone, I took a moment to study the package. It was a block of C4 which in itself is stable. It relies on a detonator to send shock waves and the detonator caps were clearly visible. Two wires, one red, one blue, ran from the detonator caps to the timer. If it had been a military operation I would have known to cut the blue wire to diffuse the bomb. That’s the standard but terrorists don’t follow the rule book. They do, however, have their own signature. That’s why I needed to talk to my boss. If they knew or could find the bomb maker, we’d know which wire to pull.

“I’ve got the captain on the line”

The stewardess was back and she was holding a phone.

“This is Captain Alvarez. Who am I speaking to?”

“Special agent Anthony Nichols. I’m with the FBI.”

“I’ve contacted the authorities and explained our situation. We’ve been advised to land at a military airport outside Lima. That’s an ETA of 55 minutes.”

I looked at the red numbers.

1:05:03

“By the time we land and evacuate the plane, there won’t be much time left.”

“It’s the closest airport,” said the captain.

What could I say other than to reiterate that we needed to get on the ground as fast as possible. Something I was sure he already knew. Meanwhile, the stewardess held up a different phone.

“I’ve got the phone you asked for. The captain said I was to stay and get you whatever you need.”

“Thanks. How’s my daughter doing?”

“She’s sleeping,” replied the stewardess.

I took the phone and dialed the direct line to the head of my department in LA. We both agreed that the bomb must have been placed on the plane before take-off which narrowed our suspects down to the cleaning or ground crew. That meant that there was a good chance that the bomb maker was in the LA area. Then she asked me to describe the bomb, its packaging, the type of timer and any other details.

“I’ll get the team onto it right away, so hang tight until I can get back to you.”

By now, some of the passengers, those monitoring the plane’s flight pattern, were signalling for the cabin crew’s attention. Then the captain made another announcement.

You may have noticed our change in the flight plan. The weather in Buenos Airies is deteriorating so we have been re-routed to another airport until the weather clears. Please remain seated with your seat belts fastened.

I was glad to hear that my daughter was sleeping and hoped the announcement didn’t wake her. I didn’t want her to notice that I hadn’t returned to my seat.

Before I could ask the stewardess to check on her again, the phone rang. The bomb matched the MO of someone the bureau had been keeping an eye on. They were storming his residence as we spoke. The timer read 0:39:01

There was nothing more to do except wait, so I made small talk with the stewardess because she still looked scared. I asked her name and she said it was Rosaria but everyone called her Rose. I told her it was a lovely name and then asked if Buenos Aires was her home base. She began to relax and if anyone was watching they would have thought we were just two people chatting and that’s what I wanted. She began to tell me about herself.

“Yes, I live there with my husband and two daughters. We have an apartment in Palermo because its close to my parents. So my mother can.....”

The plane shuddered as we hit more turbulence and she fell quiet. We stood like sentinels guarding the toilets as other members of the cabin crew walked up and down the aisles calming the passengers. Another twenty minutes passed and the pilot announced.

We are cleared for landing and will soon be starting our descent but due to turbulence and a minor mechanical issue, we will be exiting this evening through the emergency exits. You can not take any thing with you. Once we land and come to a complete stop, the cabin crew will assist with the exit doors. Please remain seated until the fasten seat belt sign is turned off.

The stewardess and I exchanged conspirators' looks as people in the cabin stirred. Some stopped the cabin crew and asked what was going on.

The clock read 19:07

Passengers who’d slept through the announcement were wakened. I hoped my daughter was among them and would do as instructed. I was worried about her being on her own but I couldn’t go to her and I couldn’t let her come to me.

I asked the stewardess, Rose, to check on her but she said she had her orders. I started to argue but another stewardess walked past and Rose asked her to check that 37B was awake and ready to evacuate. Rose smiled. It was one those wan smiles that nurses use when they’ve just conveyed bad news and I felt a drop of sweat accumulating on my brow.

As I felt the plane starting its descent the phone rang.

“We’ve got your bomber,” said my boss.“ They’re interrogating him now. How much time do you have?”

“Fifteen minutes and counting.”

The stewardess who’d gone to check on my daughter said 37B was fine and that the man next to her was keeping her calm. I tried to remember who’d been sitting in the row with us but now the plane felt like it was speeding up. Wind rocked the wings as we lined up for our approach and the crew made one last pass up the aisles to make sure everything was stowed and that the passengers near the emergency exits knew what to do.

The numbers descended along with the plane.

13:02 13:01 13:00

Pressure was building in my ears and the drop of sweat had run into my eye. I shifted my position so I could see the cabin. The passengers, too were shifting in their seats. Those with windows were staring outside, while those next to them craned over to get a look. By now the runway would have been cleared except for emergency vehicles. Their red flashing lights would be visible lining the tarmac but I was absorbed with the red lights in front of me.

10:05 10:04 10:03

The cabin crew were taking their seats and strapping themselves in.

“Rose, you need to strap yourself down,” I said to the stewardess but she replied that the captain had said that she was to stay next to me and that’s what she intended to do.

“Brace yourself,” she said as the landing gear descended and sure enough the thrust from the engines pushed me back. Rose steadied me by placing herself between me and the wall. I muttered a thank you as I heard the flaps coming down. More sweat trickled down my cheek and Rose caught it with a towel mopping my forehead the way nurses do during surgery.

The phone in my hand rang and I listened as my supervisor said, “The bomb maker’s talking.”

The timer displayed 8:00

I felt the wheels touch tarmac, bounce then grab hold. Rose collided against me, then straightened up.

“He says cut the blue wire.”

Flaps down, brakes squealing, the back of the plane shifted left, then righted itself. I was thrust forward, my head banging on the mirror in front of me as the plane screeched to a halt. There was a moment of calm. A collective in taking of breath then over the intercom:

The captain has turned off the seat belt sign. Calmly and quickly make your way to the nearest exit.

Relentlessly the numbers ticked away.

“Get everyone out of here!” I yelled. “Including yourself.”

My eyes were fixed on the wires but I could hear the chaos in the cabin. People forcing their way into the aisles and wished I’d told the stewardess to look after my daughter. She was only 12. What if no one let her out? What if she was scared and stayed in her seat until the last moment? What if she stopped on the tarmac to try and find me?

The clock displayed 7 minutes so I leaned out the lavatory door. Passengers were lined up by the emergency doors. Shoving them open, the first person bent down, placed his hands across his chest and disappeared down the slide. One by one, the passengers disappeared. I searched the area where my daughter and I had been sitting but I had to keep shifting my head to see around the queue of people. When at last the line dwindled so I could see our seats, I heaved a sigh of relief. The area was empty. I scanned the remaining queue and there she was, standing at the open door, hesitating. She was shaking her head and looking terrified. The clock read 5 minutes.

That’s when the man in the navy blue windbreaker and baseball cap stepped in behind her. He whispered something in her ear and I saw her nod and relax her grip. Taking her hands in his he pried them loose and placed them across her chest. Then holding her shoulders he guided her into position and she too disappeared down the slide.

The sweat from my hands made my fingers slippery. I rubbed them on my pants leg then looked back at the exit. The last passenger was squatting down and now the flight crew started their evacuation. There was no sign of the man but that no longer mattered. My daughter was on the ground with the others and headed for safety.

The clock blinked 2 momentarily then moved on. 1:59 1:58 1:57

The stewardess came back as the number 1:35 flashed by.

“They’re all out.”

Why was she still here?

“Get out, now.”

She started to speak, took a look at the timer and dashed down the aisle.

It was deathly quiet as I placed my fingers on the blue wire. 20, 19, 18. I tightened my grip. I couldn’t afford to slip.

“He lied.”

I looked up, fingers gripping the blue wire. In the mirror I saw myself but it wasn’t me, even though it looked like a version of me.

There was no time for hallucinations. I tightened my grip.

10,9, 8

I squeezed, slow and gentle. Careful not to touch the red wire.

7, 6, 5

“It’s not the blue.”

I looked square into those eyes. The blue wire sat butt up against the red. My fingers shifted away from the blue and hovered between the red and the blue.

4, 3

“Listen. I pulled the blue.”

As the red 1 flashed I made my choice.