Chapter 5: Rick's Invention (Part 2)

The base of the mountain was eerily quiet as Pete scanned the area. The teleportation machine that had sparked and sputtered just moments ago was gone, along with Rick. The cables, knobs, and oversized contraption had simply vanished without a trace. Pete stood there, bewildered and aching from the ordeal.

"Rick?" he called out, his voice echoing faintly against the nearby cliffs. "Where the hell did you go? This is not funny."

No answer came.

As Pete took a few hesitant steps forward, his boots crunching against the uneven ground, a sound shattered the oppressive silence—voices, faint but unmistakable. He froze, his body tensing as he strained to make sense of the noise. Children in peril.

The sound of those voices are too familiar to ignore. A cold wave of dread washed over him, his heart sinking into his stomach. His breaths quickened, shallow and uneven, as he instinctively looked up toward the mountain path above. What he saw made his blood run cold. There they were. Two small figures stood on the ridge, framed by the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Pete's younger self, back when he was ten, teetered dangerously close to the edge, his small hands gripping Popuri's arm with all the strength his childlike frame could muster.

Popuri dangled over the abyss, her legs kicking futilely in the empty air. Her tiny hands clawed desperately at his, her face a mask of sheer terror. Pete's heart slammed against his ribs as he watched his younger self dig his heels into the dirt, sweat glistening on his brow, his expression twisted in fear and determination. It was a scene etched deep in Pete's memory, a moment he had tried and failed to bury for over a decade. And yet, here it was—playing out before him, vivid and unrelenting.

"No," Pete whispered, his voice barely audible. His chest tightened, his pulse quickening as the familiar weight of helplessness crashed over him. "This… can't be real," his voice trembling. His hands instinctively curled into fists at his sides as a wave of panic gripped him.

He tried to convince himself it was just a dream, a cruel trick of the mind brought on by Rick's failed experiment. But it felt so vivid—the warm breeze, the smell of the mountain grass, the raw fear in their voices. He didn't have time to process it.

"Help me!" Popuri begged, her voice cracking under the strain.

Pete's body moved on instinct. He knew the mountain path would take too long to climb, and he could see Popuri's fingers slipping from the boy's grip. Desperation flooded him as his eyes landed on a tall tree nearby, its sturdy branches stretching upward toward the ridge. It was his only chance. Without a second thought, Pete sprinted to the tree. His hands gripped the rough bark as he began to climb, his arms and legs burning with effort. The branches swayed under his weight, the leaves brushing against his face as he scaled higher and higher.

"Hold on!" he shouted, though he wasn't sure who he was speaking to—Popuri, his younger self, or the memory itself.

He reached the highest branch he could safely stand on, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. From this vantage point, he could see Popuri's grip failing, her small hands slipping from the boy's grasp.

"No!" Pete roared, and with a surge of adrenaline, he pushed off the branch and leapt into the air.

The wind rushed past him as he stretched his arms out, his eyes locked on Popuri as she fell. He caught her just as she began to plummet under him, pulling her into his chest and twisting his body midair to shield her from the impact. The ground slammed into Pete's back like a freight train. A sharp burst of pain exploded through him as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He gasped, his vision blurring as he lay sprawled in the grass. For a few agonizing seconds, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears and the rapid thudding of his heart. Then, slowly, the world came back into focus.

Pete lay sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Pain radiated through his back and shoulders, but it was dulled by the overwhelming relief of feeling Popuri's trembling form still clutched in his arms. She was alive.

"Are you okay?" he rasped, his voice strained as he loosened his grip.

Popuri nodded shakily, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I… I think so." Her voice was small, barely audible.

Pete tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest, and he winced. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the sound of footsteps crunching against the dirt drew his attention.

He turned his head slowly, his heart clenching as he saw his younger self descending the mountain path. The boy's face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear. His legs wobbled as he stumbled toward them, his small hands outstretched as though to make sure Popuri was really there.

"Popuri!" his younger self cried, his voice cracking.

Popuri scrambled to her feet and ran toward the boy, tears streaming down her cheeks. She threw her arms around him, holding him tightly as though she might never let go.

"I thought I was going to die," she sobbed into his shoulder.

The boy's arms tightened around her, his expression a mix of guilt and relief. "I—I tried, but I wasn't strong enough," he stammered.

Popuri pulled back just enough to look at him, her teary smile full of gratitude. "It doesn't matter. You tried your best and never gave up."

They stood there for a moment, clinging to each other, while Pete watched from where he lay on the ground. His chest tightened, and his throat felt dry as he stared at the two children. The sight was surreal—a wish brought to life, vivid and impossible.

Then they turned toward him. Popuri's small hand slipped into the boy's as they both stepped cautiously closer. Their wide, curious eyes studied Pete, who was still sprawled on the grass, his body aching from the fall.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, his voice tinged with suspicion and awe. His young face mirrored Pete's own, but the innocence in his eyes was something Pete hadn't seen in himself in years.

"I'm…" Pete started, but the words caught in his throat. His body gave out, and his vision went black before he could answer. The last thing he heard was Popuri's voice, frantic and high-pitched. "Pete! He's not moving!"

After some time, Pete groaned as his eyes fluttered open, the world around him blurry and disorienting. His head throbbed, and a sharp ache radiated through his back, making every movement a chore.

"Pete! Hey, Pete!" a voice called, sharp with concern.

Pete blinked, his vision slowly sharpening to reveal Rick standing over him, his face etched with worry. Nearby, the teleportation device sat, wires still crackling faintly with residual energy.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked, crouching down to help him sit up.

Pete let out a strained grunt as he propped himself up on one elbow. "Yeah… I'm fine," he muttered, though his voice carried a note of irritation. He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. "But I'll tell you one thing—I'm never doing that again."

Rick let out a relieved sigh, slumping back onto his heels. "Thank god you're okay. I wouldn't know what to say to your wife if something happened to you."

Pete froze mid-motion, his brow furrowing in confusion. He looked up at Rick, his expression a mix of disbelief and bewilderment. "My… wife?"

Rick's head tilted, his own confusion evident. "Yeah… your wife. You know, the one who's parents are probably going to kill us when they find out we were messing around with this thing without telling them."

Pete's eyebrows shot up as he shifted to sit fully upright, ignoring the sharp pang in his back. "Ha ha, very funny, Rick," he said dryly, brushing off the comment. "But we both know I'm not married."

Rick blinked, his face paling slightly. "Wait… what? Pete, are you sure you're okay? I mean, maybe the machine scrambled your brain or something."

Pete waved him off and staggered to his feet, brushing dirt from his pants. "I'm fine, Rick. You're just messing with me." He adjusted his hat and glanced over at the teleportation device, his expression sour. "Seriously, though, you need to fix that thing. If it nearly killed me, imagine what it'd do to someone else."

Rick opened his mouth to protest but closed it again, his brow furrowed as he scratched his head. "Maybe I should double-check the calibrations," he murmured to himself.

"Yeah, you do that," Pete said as he turned away, already walking toward the village. "I've got to get some grass seeds before the store closes."

Rick watched him go, the gears in his head turning. "He doesn't remember," Rick muttered under his breath. "Maybe the machine really did mess with him. I should probably hold off on testing until I know what happened…"

He glanced at the teleportation device again, unease settling into his chest as he began jotting down adjustments in his notebook. He then looked ip and said, "Those eyes though... they looked like they seen some horrible stuff."