The Life and Death of James Winterton

by Spinning_Rings

I'm sorry for your loss.

My name is Dave, and I hate exposition, so I’ll just talk about myself for a bit and jump straight into my story. You’ll see some things here that don’t happen in day-to-day life, but nothing that I think merits a long explanation

There’s been a rising trend in fiction these days called deconstruction. The concept is for a writer to take a fantasy commonly shared by many people in his or her day, and explain through the story why the idea would be a bad idea in real life.

Thus we get superheroes whose powers cause a rift to form between them and their families, who wind up with PTSD after being punched through one building too many, who give up under the stress of realizing that they can’t help everybody or punch poverty or starvation into oblivion.

We’re supposed to feel sympathy, even pity, for guys who can freaking fly.

News for those guys: Everybody has problems. Life itself can suck sometimes. But when it gets you down, don’t forget that you can fly. When you’re having a hard time, just spend an hour or two in the stratosphere and get over it.

Look at me. I may not have superpowers, or lots of money, or magic, or the greatest life that’s ever been had. But I have a body, and I can run and swim, I can read a story or enjoy an apple. I can write a book, or study about physics or chemistry or biology.

And thus, my life is awesome.

Sure, I get mad at my friends, I stub my toe from time to time; life’s not perfect. But it’s life, and that, in an of itself, is awesome.

And then, there’s my friend Jim.

He is a world walker, a person with the power to travel from universe to universe by accessing the space between the worlds. Some use shiny gadgets to do this; Jim does it with magic. It’s a power he has. I’d tell you how he got it, but it’s a long story and it’s not that interesting.

The two of us are on a road trip, exploring all the worlds we can find before we have to go home and start college.
So far it has been the most awesome road trip ever to rock, in case you were wondering.

“Are you sure this is where the signal is leading?” he asked me, looking into the hole he’d just opened in the air in the space between the worlds.

I took another look at the phone in my hands. I didn’t know what half of the devices the World Walker’s Association had outfitted it with did, but the arrow that was on the screen quite clearly pointed straight forward.

“That’s where James is, all right,” I called through the window of my car’s driver seat. “Why?”

“Just... Doesn’t look like his kind of place.”

I’d ask to take a look myself, but I can never see the portals that Jim opens up in time and space. The space between the worlds never looks like anything but an endless, white expanse to me.

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to make my annoyance clear.

“Jim, if that’s not where James is, the problem is with the software, not me. That’s where the arrow is pointing. And if he’s not there, we’ll just come right back here and look in his usual hangouts, right?”

“I guess. It’s not like we’re in a hurry, or anything.” The sarcasm in Jim’s voice is evident.

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, what’s the worst that Coyote’s going to do to him? Besides, somehow I doubt he’s the highest guy on the old C’s list of targets.”

Jim looked at me, his eyebrows arched.

“Did you just call an aeons old god of mischief and confusion ‘the old C?’”

“Well,” I realized how lame the words sound as they came out of my mouth, “I didn’t want to say ‘Coyote’ twice in a row.”

Jim’s stare said all it needed to say.

“Shut up,” I said.

Jim opened the passenger’s side door and got in.

“The portal should be big enough to drive through, now.” He buckled his seatbelt. I pushed down on the gas pedal and drove straight forward.

As soon as we passed through the portal, I saw what Jim meant about this not being James’s kind of world. Bright, cheerful colors struck my eyes like a big, eye-striking thing. Nothing was paved, but the ground was flat enough that I didn’t have much trouble driving over it.

There were train tracks, not far off to the side. They were heading vaguely in the same direction that we were, leading up to a town off in the distance.

What looked like a town, I should say. Too big for a village but not what I’d call a city. Small, wooden buildings, mostly, like I’d expect American farm towns were made out of back when cement and bricks were too rare and expensive to get a hold of.

“It almost looks like a cartoon,” I said. It didn’t quite; I could see individual blades of grass and could make out details on the trees that I wouldn’t be able to see in a drawing, but those colors...

“I thought the same thing,” Jim said. “It looked a lot more like it when I was looking at it from a distance through the portal.”

I checked the phone in my left hand. The arrow was still pointing pretty straight forward.

“I can’t tell if he’s in the town, or somewhere on the other side,” I said.

“Let’s circle around on the outskirts of the town,” Jim said. “I’d rather know for sure that he’s in there before I get out of the car and start walking.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

As we got closer to the town, I could make out shapes, some kind of four legged creatures walking around between the buildings and the open fields just outside of the town. Some of them cast a glance in our direction, but quickly got back to their daily activities.

The things were

EVERY.

FREAKING.

COLOR.

Under the sun.

And then some.

You may think I’m exaggerating, or kidding, but if Doug had been about some kind of anthropomorphic dog creatures, it definitely could have been filmed in this world. Actually, I think this populace might have had a more diverse color scheme than the Doug universe.

When we got close enough to the town, I could make out more detail. The creatures, the ones I assumed to be adults, had manes and tails like horse, but they were hardly bigger than dogs. Too small to be ponies, even.

And this town was run by them, it appeared. I didn’t see any other kind of animals around the appeared sentient.
I saw some of them using magic, that much was obvious. I spotted the occasional creature with a horn walking around, and they’d levitate things and cast spells with them.

“Look up,” said Jim.

I did, and off in the distance I could see some of these same creatures flying around in the air, moving the clouds around.

Because why not?

“What in the world would James be doing here?” I asked.

“Wrong turn,” Jim said, “that’s all I can guess. Well, that, or Coyote turned around his personality again.” There was a contemplative silence. “I hope it’s the latter.”

“Jim!” I said.

“So do you.”

“Well, yeah, but... It’s still not a good thing to say.” I have to admit that I did have a lot of fun the last time James’s personality was turned around by Coyote. I feel bad saying it, but he was a lot more likeable.

Still, it’s not right to wish that kind of fate on somebody. If a person’s going to change, it should be their own choice. God gave us the power to choose, and nobody has the right to take that away. Sorry, I don't mean to preach or moralize, but I feel strongly about this.

So remember kids, if you get your hands on a brainwashing machine at any point in your day to day life, don't use it, because brainwashing is not cool.

And that's the moral of this story. You can get on with your day now.

We’d gone about a quarter of the way around the town, and the arrow on the phone’s screen had turned, still pointing towards the town. James was probably somewhere in there.

Going had been slow; my car was not made for off road driving. I’m not frankly sure what it was made for. I know nothing about cars. Even my very own car, I couldn’t tell you the make or model. I can tell you that it used to be red, probably, but that time and weather had turned it a dull pink. I can tell you there are five seats, although there was so little space between the front two and the back three that a person sitting there would have to lay himself across all three of them just to get something approaching comfortable. I can tell you that in the trunk were my suitcase and Jim’s and a few boxes of canned and boxed food, in case of an emergency.

I can tell you that my one-track mind has taken me completely off subject. None of this is necessary to understand the rest of my story.

One of the creatures, a pale yellow one with a curly orange mane and a pair of carrots tattooed onto it’s rump, galloped up to my car and started running alongside it. It’s mouth was moving, opening wide enough that it appeared to be yelling, but between the noise of my engine, the closed window and the air conditioning running, I couldn’t hear what it was saying.
I hit the brakes and killed the engine. We’d have to get out to search the town for James, anyway. There wasn’t enough space between the buildings to squeeze the car through.

As I opened the car door, the smells of a barnyard hit me like a bad metaphor, and the creature’s yelling hit me like a worse one.

“And I’ll have to plant a whole new crop and won’t be able to make any profit this year and I could lose the whole oh you stopped thank you so much.”

Oh. That’s what that was about. I’d noticed the carrot patch I was driving towards. I wasn’t close enough to worry about turning out of the way just yet, but apparently this critter felt otherwise.

“Now what the hey was that all about, barrelling towards my garden like that in this fancy metal contraption?”

The creature’s voice definitely sounded feminine to me, but I’d seen enough different worlds and species that I knew not to count that for too much.

“I’m sorry,” I said, taking charge of the diplomacy before Jim could open his mouth. “We’re looking for a friend of ours.”

“Oh my...” The creature said. “Oh my Celestia, ya’ll are humans, ain’t ya?” It bent it’s forelegs so that the front half of it’s body was low to the floor, in what I assumed to be a bow.

Bows are tricky across cultures. I, for example, am American. In my home country I’d never bow to anyone for any reason, unless they were from a culture that I knew would lead them to expect it.

However, it had only been a few weeks since Jim and I had gotten chased out of a small country by a mob of dignitaries armed with pitchforks, machetes and women’s clothing (I don’t want to know what they planned on doing with that) for not returning a bow the diplomat sent out to meet us gave, this being seen as a sign of disrespect. And it had only been a few days since we were force fed grape jelly (this being considered a form of torture in the world where we’d landed) for returning a bow the diplomat sent out to meet us gave, this being seen as a sign of disrespect.

Try that last paragraph again, you’ll get it.

I did the only safe thing I could do. The most boring option, as Jim would complain, but the safest.

“I’m sorry, we don’t know anything about your world’s culture. You’ll have to forgive me--I don’t know if I’m expected to return your bow.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t dream--I’m only a simple farmer, and, I mean, well, humans... I’m sorry, I... You must be here for James.”

I gave an affectionate laugh.

“That old doofus has made a name for himself here, hasn’t he? Yeah, it’s him we’re looking for. Where is he?”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the creature said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Carrot Top was the creature’s name, and she brought us to the Ponyville veterinary clinic. It wasn’t much of a building, but when a being with alien anatomy is dying, where else do you bring it?

We were in a room in the back. It wasn’t what you’d call a mortuary. The bodies of animals were dumped on beds and shelves, not put away in sanitary, metal drawers. But the room was kept cold, and a doctor told us there was a preserving spell placed on it.

On top of one of the beds, lying on pristine, white sheets, was what was left of James.

Where his skin wasn’t the palest white I’d ever seen, it was bright purple with bruises. There was a massive hole in the center of his chest.

His shirt was gone--the vet had probably cut or torn it off to try to operate on him. I said a brief prayer of thanks that the ponies hadn’t figured out how to remove James’s pants. Something told me I didn’t want to see the true extent of his injuries.

I walked over to the corps’ side, and put two fingers to the side of his neck, just to be sure. I found the vein--or is it an artery?--the big, throbbing one in the middle of the side of the neck, and counted to thirty. When I didn’t feel anything, I kept counting until I reached sixty. And then I said what didn’t have to be said.

“He’s dead, Jim.”

Jim took off his baseball cap.

“He wasn’t that big of a jerk,” he said respectfully, because an often inappropriate sense of humor was the only coping mechanism he possessed. “He didn’t deserve this.”

“No,” I said. “He really wasn’t.”

After a courteous, paying respect to the dead sort of silence, Jim spoke again.

“Dave,” he said, “check for his sliding machine. Make sure it’s not lost or stolen.”

I reached into James’s pocket, and pulled out a small brick of metal and plastic. The casing was cracked, as was the screen, but apart from that it didn’t look too damaged. Of course, for all I knew about electronics, the thing could be totaled.

It was how James walked the worlds. Jim had his powers, his magic, and James had this.

“How’s it look?” Jim asked

“Functional, if I had to take a guess.”

“Hang onto it.”

“Shouldn’t we take it back to the World Walker’s Association?”

“You might need it to get home. You know, if something happens to me. We’ll probably give it to them when we go back.”

I wanted to argue that nothing was going to happen to him, but I knew he’d fight back, and even then I wasn’t naive enough to believe it was physically impossible for Jim to get hurt, captured or... or wind up like James.

“What happened to him?”

The veterinarian fell straight onto her rump as Jim’s hands fell forcefully onto the joints of it’s shoulders. He hadn’t meant to knock it out of it’s chair, at least I doubt he would have, but judging by the look on his face I’d say he really wasn’t in much of a mood to apologize.

“I... we don’t know. A couple of ponies from town found him in the woods, he was already like that. They took him straight here, and I did everything I could, but...”

“...But it wasn’t enough,” Jim said, although he probably didn’t believe her. Anything that could talk could be and probably was James’s killer, in his mind, and then a few beings who couldn’t. An accident still couldn’t be ruled out, but he wouldn’t believe that either.

That’s Jim. Always suspecting the worst of people. Yes, we’ve seen a few dead bodies on our travels, and yes, more than one of them turned out to be a murder victim. That didn’t mean they all were.

I... I always want to hope for the best. I might be deluding myself just as much as Jim is, but... It feels better this way.

“What could have done that to him?” I asked, standing behind Jim, my arms crossed and my best serious expression on. “What kind of creatures live in the forest with that kind of power?” Still hoping we’ll find the answer that way, hoping it was a wild beast rather than a person.

“Um... We get dragons out there, sometimes. A hydra might be strong enough for that kind of thing, too. Manticores, well... But they wouldn’t...”

“Don’t talk to us about creatures who’d be psychologically capable,” Jim said, sternly. “What would be physically capable of doing that kind of damage?”

“Then... A manticore would be your best bet, but those almost never attack unprovoked. And... no.”

“Tell us,” Jim said firmly.

“A unicorn could have inflicted those kinds of injuries. But one never would. Nopony in this town is the killer you’re looking for.”

“We need more information,” he said. “Who’s in charge of security in this town?”

“Ponyville, by the way,” I told Jim with a smirk as we walked off in search of the town hall the vet had described. It might have been a terrible time to be joking, but the two of us always work best in a lighter mood.

“And the people who live here are ponies,” Jim answered.

“Magical, talking, flying ponies,” I reminded him.

We shared a look that said something along the lines of “after everything else, what right do we have to be surprised by this?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “Why the Zark not?”

“Not any stranger than the one with all the shrimp.”

“Don’t remind me of that one,” he said, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the memory.

It was pretty obvious the mayor didn’t want to talk to us. We’d seen a mare matching the description the vet had given us, and when we tried to call her over she’d looked at us with an expression like we were a dentist's appointment she’d been putting off for years and wasn't about to cave and go in for now. Then she’d sent a couple of town hall’s security guards over to escort us off the premise and turned to leave as fast as her hooves could carry her.

It appeared she’d met James.

The two armored ponies--both white with blond manes and horns--who approached us had a bigger, more muscular build than most of the ones we’d seen. I would have guessed they were males, but again, guessing much of anything doesn’t tend to pay when you’re a tourist. Especially when dealing with, for lack of a better word, aliens.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to vacate the premise, sirs... ma’ams... beings,” one of them said.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to learn some manners,” Jim said, “this is no way to treat a visitor.”

Have I mentioned Jim can be kind of a jerk, sometimes? This is why I don’t let him handle any of the diplomacy.

The pony who’d first spoken opened his mouth to reply, but I cut in before he could.

“I’m sorry for my friend’s impoliteness,” I said as considerately as I knew how. “But an associate of our recently passed away in this town.” The guardspony’s scoff told me this was no news to him. “And I’m afraid we can’t go anywhere until we have all the information available to this office concerning the circumstances of his death. It’s standard procedure, you see. The World Walker’s Alliance wants to know the exact details of the demise of any of it’s members, so that they can continue to ensure a safe world walking experience for all involved.”

“Mayor Mare’s schedule wouldn’t allow for her to meet with you right now. You’ll have to return another time.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to be accommodating. “But it’s not necessarily the mayor herself that we need to speak with. Anyone who can give us access to the... Ponyville... police department’s information on the circumstances of James’ death and of the time he spent here... in... Ponyville.”

I was trying hard to ignore the fact that I’d just said “Ponyville,” twice in the same sentence with absolutely no irony.

The guard didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He took a step back, looked at his partner, and then back at us.

“The mayor’s schedule...” he tried again.

“Can kiss my rump, shampoo my crotch, threaten me with the venom of a genesvegien jumping dung beetle and still won’t get me to take one step from this spot,” said Jim.

All hope of solving this through kindness and diplomacy died there. I continued trying to argue the point with civility, but I’m fairly certain that what eventually caused the mayor to leave her office and come over to deal with us was the hope of finally getting us to go away.

She approached us with an admirable “I absolutely do not detest you right now” smile, the kind a kindergarten teacher might put on when inadvertently reminded by her students that she was thirty-four and still single.

“Hello,” she said. “My name is Mayor Mare, I’m in charge of just about everything that happens here in Ponyville. I’ve heard you wanted to speak with me?” I appreciate directness, especially in a politician.

I explained the situation to her just as I had to the guards.

“Ponyville has no police force,” the mayor said proudly. “Our crime rate is the lowest in all of Equestria, we have no need for one.”

I felt my jaw drop. No need for a... but... but... Then why the frak did she have guards?

“You’re aware there was a murder in the forest just outside town limits not more than a day or two ago?”

“Jim!” I said. “We don’t know it was murder.”

“Dave,” he said, “it’s James we’re talking about.”

“It might not have been.”

“I am aware of the unfortunate accident that befell James Winterton in the Everfree forest. Everypony knows the forest is dangerous, and he was warned not to go there alone. There’s no reason to suspect anypony in my town of murder. He was attacked by wild animals in a dangerous location that he was warned against going into. He thought he could handle himself, and he was wrong. There was no crime. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

She turned to go.

“Not yet.” Jim called to stop her. “We need a list of all the ponies that James spent time with while he was here. You may be confident that none of them were responsible for his death, and we’d like to believe that as well. But we’re going to investigate this and find out exactly what happened. The World Walkers’ Alliance looks out for it’s own. You can work with us, or we can come back with backup from the Alliance. Your call.”

The Mayor really didn’t want to deal with this.

“We won’t meet out any kind of punishment or justice without your say,” I said. “If we get a murder confession out of anything, we’ll bring them back to you to face the due process of the law. And if you’re right to be this confident that what happened was just an accident, then after you tell us what we need to know you won’t be seeing us again.”

The Mayor really, really didn’t want to deal with this.

“I know the first pony he met when he arrived was Lyra Heartstrings. Start with her, I’m sure she’ll know who else he spent his time with. She won’t be home right now, but I’m sure you can find her if you ask around.”

When we left town hall, we stopped the first pony we saw and asked--From here on out, I’m going to start referring to these creatures by the gender I assume them to be. If I get one wrong, who’ll ever know?

We asked the first pony we came across, a light red male with a close-cropped, orange mane, who also happened to be only just smaller than my car, where to find Miss Heartstrings.

He looked off into the distance and was silent for a few moments, then looked back at us.

“Ah cain’t say I know where she is right at this moment,” he responded with a slight southern drawl, “but I know a few places where she spends her time. Y’all need ta find ‘er?”

Jim would have called it a thick drawl. Jim has not met my grandfather.

“Yes,” Jim said, “that’s why we’re asking.”

The pony seemed to ponder that for a minute.

“Allright,” he said at last. “You all come along with me, we’ll see if we can find her.”

We tried to keep a conversation going with the pony as we walked, but it quickly got... awkward.

For example: I asked him why, exactly, he had an apple tattooed onto his rump. With a cheerful grin and a proud tone to his deep, gruff, masculine voice he said, “S’ ma cutie mark.”

Jim and I shared a look, and in that look communicated our deep, binding vow to ask no more questions on the subject. We didn’t want to know.

Author's Note:

Just so the formatting doesn't confuse you, I'll warn you ahead of time that next chapter starts from Lyra's perspective, and that her interview with the boys is mingled with a flashback. The flashback contains all the same information that she gives the boys, but it should be a more interesting read than if I just wrote out the conversation. Jim's questions and comments during the interview will be in red, and Dave's in blue.

For those of you wondering about Jim, Dave and the Worldwalkers, I'll explain it this way: This story is a crossover with a show that doesn't exist yet, and probably never will. If I get into the television industry and get enough sway there, which will probably never happen, I'll pitch the idea of a show about the adventures of Jim and Dave.

Comments

[notMurphy]

I have to say that I like Dave's outlook on life.