The Millstone Around My Neck
Dear God,
I struggle.
Struggle, grapple, struggle, fear,
With/For all
These thoughts,
These desires,
These actions.
This place I hide,
This place inside,
My head.
These secrets
I pretend
Not to have.
This privacy,
I shouldn't need.
But I can't hide
From You.
Temptation vs. Sin?
Thought vs. Action?
Lust is adultery,
Hatred is murder.
Sin is... sin?
Questions with answers.
I don't want...
to hear.
Hide in the dark depths,
Swim in a river,
of Denial.
I don't have any problems.
I don't have any problems.
To admit.
Out loud.
Between You and I, God?
Do I need a voice from a plain human being to tell me,
If I'm wrong or right?
Is it all just black and white?
Lost, so lost,
In a world with conflicting answers...
Hypocrisy. Lies.
Truths. truths.
Tell me, Lord, tell me...
What do I do?
Where do I go next?
Are the other voices too loud?
Am I not listening enough?
Am I not
Still
enough?
Is it harder/easier/20 times more difficult
Than I'm making it to be?
Should I know already?
This life
Isn't about me...
You'll use me,
Wherever I am with You.
You knew/know when I would/am going to feel/feel this way.
My head underwater.
Underwater, muffled answers, muffled questions,
Muffled murmured words.
Not figuring out where to turn.
How to break through the surface.
You know.
I don't.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Rescue (Chapter 3)
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP...
I'm pretty sure that digital alarms are the most obnoxious invention on the planet. I reach my arm out from under my blanket and slide my fingers over every button on the clock until I reach the snooze button. I slam it down with my fist three times before pulling the pillow from under my head to over it. Mornings always suck the worst. Downstairs, I already hear D-spawn's parents mushing over her in the kitchen. Slowly, I roll onto my back, before maneuvering myself off the bed, holding my head. I stagger over to the door and immediately duck into the bathroom.
The ridiculously bright lights in this place never fail to annoyingly wake me up. Nausea's seemed to have gone down, and I barely have anything to throw up anyway. I take a whiff of myself, and become painfully aware that rain, beer, pot, and nightmare-sweat sure make a guy reek.
I pull of my shirt, pants, and the rest, and toss them all into the basket underneath the bathroom counter and step into the shower. About 10 minutes later, I'm out of the bathroom. I throw on some clean clothes from my room and lift my backpack over my scrawny shoulders, and think that I should really work out more. Down the stairs I go, and into the kitchen to find D-spawn smothering syrup over butter-slathered waffles, while Chromosome Contributor and B*tch talk snicker about something that only they would find humorous. B turns over a waffle maker and faces me again.
"Oh, good morning, Tristan! I made waffles if you want some breakfast..."
I ignore the plate that contains steaming, sweet, dessert-imitation breakfast food on it and pick up a Pop-Tart. I don't eat her cooking. I haven't once in the five years that she's taken over my mother's former domain. The DNA donor walks over to her and mumbles something. Female dog nods, and opens the waffle maker, adding another one to the stack. I pull off the Pop-Tart wrapper and stick one of them in my mouth. I slip on my Vans and walk out the door. One look at the sky, and I know it's going to rain on my way to school. The ground isn't even dry from last night's storm. A car would be really nice right now, but me getting one would be just as likely as Mistilydemon-spawned giving up midnight Oreos.
Sometimes I borrow Teesha's mom's car. Teesha practically owns the thing, in spite of all her walking and bike riding.
About three blocks from my house, I spot that '97 Ford Taurus SHO that I would know anywhere. It's muddy from driving through puddles. What brought on her driving this morning?
Teesha rolls down a window. She looks sort of... well, pissed off again, at least for a second.
"Yes, you do want a ride, go ahead in."
She unlocks the door and actually opens the driver's side for me. I stare at her, surprised. She just shrugs and moves into the passenger seat.
"Ran over my bike this morning. Forgot to park it in the back last night," she mumbles as I drive onward toward school. I nod, and wish I had something to dull down this morning. So, I do whatever I do when I don't have pot on hand: think of Brittney Alexander... man, she's hot...
"Damnit, Tristan, look where you're going! You crash this car, and you most definitely won't be driving with me again!"
I glance up to see I've nearly hit a stop sign.
"Sorry," I mutter, and focus back on the road.
We arrive ten minutes early. Teesha grabs her stuff from the back and I grab mine. We head off to our respective classes with a grumbled "Seeya".
I stroll nonchalantly into my 1st hour English class. I just killed a little under a third of class time by showing up late, and I appreciate that.
"Ah, Mr. Corre, nice of you to show up," says Ms. Smithsen to me. "Another tardy and you've got a detention."
I offer a smirk.
"Lookin' forward to it, Miss Smithsen."
"That would be Ms., Mr. Corre, I believe I've told you this quite a few times. Now, could anyone explain to Tristan what we are doing right now?"
Pairs of students groan and most of them ignore her. Brittney and her friend, Lyndsay, sit in the corner of the class, giggling over texts.
"Miss Mitchells, how about you?"
Mitchells, Mitchells, Mitchells, who would this 'Mitchells' person be?
"U-Um... we're reading our poetry assignments to each other in groups of two."
"That's right. And Miss Mitchells was missing a partner for almost 11 minutes, Mr. Corre. Why don't you get out your assignment and pair up with Shaylie?"
Shaylie Mitchells. I look over at her. Usually this chick is a wallflower, and is almost ALWAYS in these huge sweatshirts and oversized jeans and sweatpants.
But today, she's not wearing one of those ridiculous sweatshirts. She has on a v-neck with one of those frilly girl-tops underneath. I am now aware that she actually has boobs. Her long, wavy brown hair falls right in the middle of them. And she's wearing jeans that actually fit her. The only thing that turns me off are the creepy emo-cutter-gloves covering her arms. She swallows as she notices me looking at her and quickly glances down.
I sit down at the desk next to hers. She's still staring at her paper, drawing vines and flowers into the margin of the notebook. I look at her.
"U-Uh... s-so... you can get out your poem first if you want," she says, refusing to look back up at me.
"Didn't do the assignment. Looks like you're up."
Shaylie glances at me, a look of odd concern on her face, then nervousness. She takes a deep breath and looks back at the page in front of her. I look... other places. Her face has turned red.
"T-This... this was an assignment in... any of the forms of poetry we've recently learned about. I chose freeverse. I-It was easiest for me," she said, mumbling.
"Yeah, um, you should just read your dam_, er, dang poem."
I hope I didn't just screw up somehow. She bites her lip. I like it.
"Okay..." she says, taking another deep breath.
"Once she was alone in a crowded room,
Hiding behind the ones
Who don't know at all,
What goes on behind closed doors.
She's been behind them,
Locked inside,
Trapped for so long.
But one day, the door was opened.
Freedom from a source
Unexplainable.
She found the answer,
And now she opens doors,
For those who still haven't found
The way to freedom."
D*mn. This girl really knows how to write. I'm impressed, not that I could ever do that well writing poetry. I don't get how some people really like this stuff. And how they manage to be that good.
"That was... that was really cool, Shylie."
"Shaylie," she corrects.
"Right. Sorry. So, uh, wanna hang out this Friday?"
She doesn't really seem to go out with anyone a lot, not that I've heard anyway. But sometimes, those are the ones you really have to look out for. Brittney and Megan are sort of out of my league anyway.
Her eyes are wide and it looks like her jaw could drop.
"What?" I ask. Yeah, I'm majorly screwing up here.
"I-I... I can't. S-Sorry. I'm... b-busy."
Uh, sure you are. Why don't you come be busy with me?
"What are you doing?"
"L-Look, I-I... I don't even know you, Tristan. M-Maybe... maybe some other time."
"You blowin' me off?"
"No! I'm really busy this weekend, please..." she says, a little too loud. Jittery much? A few of the students look over at us. Brittney is one of them. Damn. My chances of going out with her just went down a little more.
"Okay, okay... feel free to calm down," I say.
Shaylie looks down at her paper and faces the front.
"Mr. Corre, since you were late today, why don't you read your poem in the front of the class?"
Seriously, Ms. Smithsen?
"No problem, Miss Smithsen," I say, walking up front.
"I memorized mine over the weekend. It's a limerick."
I eye the rest of the classroom, winkng at Shaylie. She slumps down in her seat.
"Alright, so...
There once was a teacher named Smithsen
Who should pass a student named Tristan,
Who came up with a rhyme,
In the nick of time,
Even with ten minutes of class he missed in."
I could have done so much better, and I've completely made a fool out of myself in front of the class. But Shaylie's just shaking her head. I think she liked it.
"Clever, Tristan. You can make up the points by doing the ten comprehension and doing the bonus reflection questions of 'The Bells' on page 475 of your textbook. Everyone else, get started on your narrative outlines,"
I roll my eyes and sit back down next to Shaylie.
"You're... you're an idiot, you know that?" she whispers.
"You know you liked that. Go out with me Friday?"
She looks back down at her paper. Her outline's already over halfway finished. This girl is an English fiend.
"I'll think about it," she murmurs.
I pull out my textbook and start skimming over "The Bells" and its stupid comp questions.
----
In between fourth hour and Lunch, Chris meets up at my locker. I put on my ice-face, and continue packing my backpack for the afternoon hour. Teesha and I won't have much time to get our books after "lunch".
"Hey, Tristan... Sorry about yesterday. I mean, I still want to hang out with you guys, I'm just not... supposed to..."
"Yeah, whatever. You can come join us out in the back parking lot if you like."
I toss my English textbook on the top shelf of my locker loudly.
"No thanks... so... uh... I heard you asked out Shaylie Mitchells."
"For the benefits, yes."
"You know, there's more to relationships than just sex, Tristan..."
And here he goes. Chris has three speeches he frequently attempts to recite to me and Teesha: the "abstaining-from-sex-is-so- wonderful!" speech, the "JESUS!" speech, and the "being-clean-from-drugs-makes-your-life-so-much-better!" speech.
"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before, no need to go into it again."
"I'm just saying..."
"You say too much, dude."
I start heading toward the unlocked doors.
"Maybe you should just hang out with her! Talk for a little bit. I'm sure if you got to know her, you'd see a relationship is worth a whole lot more than what you're after."
"Blah, blah, blah, I'ma go smoke pot now. Seeya."
"Tristan, you know that Cannabis just causes your life to spiral, it just leads to worse and worse decisions, and believe me, I've been there..."
I can't believe this kid used to hang out with us.
"Aha. Okay. Bye."
I walk out the doors and head to the back parking lot. Teesha pays our-even-more-ridiculously-named-than-Misty Ann dealer, Quantavious, for our daily supply. We roll and light up.
"Chris was gettin' on my case earlier," I mutter to Teesha. She rolls her eyes.
"Can we not talk about Chris right now?"
"M'kay."
I look out at the rest of the parking lot. Q's going off to the others now. Sometimes Teesha buys some stronger stuff from him. More than just marijuana, other stuff, significantly worse stuff. I never dare to try it out. She usually doesn't get it unless she's really stressed out. Teesha's tried everything. And I mean everything.
"So, Shaylie Mitchells, huh?"
"How does everyone know that?"
"Word travels fast enough. She's a heck of a lot better than Brittney. Got brains. Good thing to have."
She inhales deeply. A few other kids linger in the lot, or head off campus for lunch or to do their choice in peace. Some of them get into the backseats of their vehicles. I take a drag and close my eyes.
"Yeah, brains. She's a freakin' poet."
"Good for her. Writing can get you places sometimes."
Teesha stares out into the far distance, her mind in other worlds. I think about Shaylie instead of Brittney this time. I think about her big brown eyes, innocent and cautious. It kills me to even THINK this, but maybe Chris is right... maybe I should try to get to know her a little better. She's interesting enough.
"Mom's been working too hard lately... forgets her meds, whatever," Teesha mumbles, probably halfway to herself. I nod. Teesha's mom has a crapload of issues. Teesha usually doesn't talk about her mom. And especially not her dad, considering he skipped out right before she turned three.
We both take a drag at the same time now. Hers lasts longer.
"I'll be back."
Teesha heads in the direction of what I assume is Quantavious. I finish up the joint and decide to head back to class.
Shaylie's in my next class, History. I never really paid much attention to her until now. I don't really know why... I duck into the restroom and try to cover the scent of weed then make my way to History class.
Shaylie looks up. I give her a lazy smile and take my seat in the back of the room. I'm thinkin' I just might have a chance.
I'm pretty sure that digital alarms are the most obnoxious invention on the planet. I reach my arm out from under my blanket and slide my fingers over every button on the clock until I reach the snooze button. I slam it down with my fist three times before pulling the pillow from under my head to over it. Mornings always suck the worst. Downstairs, I already hear D-spawn's parents mushing over her in the kitchen. Slowly, I roll onto my back, before maneuvering myself off the bed, holding my head. I stagger over to the door and immediately duck into the bathroom.
The ridiculously bright lights in this place never fail to annoyingly wake me up. Nausea's seemed to have gone down, and I barely have anything to throw up anyway. I take a whiff of myself, and become painfully aware that rain, beer, pot, and nightmare-sweat sure make a guy reek.
I pull of my shirt, pants, and the rest, and toss them all into the basket underneath the bathroom counter and step into the shower. About 10 minutes later, I'm out of the bathroom. I throw on some clean clothes from my room and lift my backpack over my scrawny shoulders, and think that I should really work out more. Down the stairs I go, and into the kitchen to find D-spawn smothering syrup over butter-slathered waffles, while Chromosome Contributor and B*tch talk snicker about something that only they would find humorous. B turns over a waffle maker and faces me again.
"Oh, good morning, Tristan! I made waffles if you want some breakfast..."
I ignore the plate that contains steaming, sweet, dessert-imitation breakfast food on it and pick up a Pop-Tart. I don't eat her cooking. I haven't once in the five years that she's taken over my mother's former domain. The DNA donor walks over to her and mumbles something. Female dog nods, and opens the waffle maker, adding another one to the stack. I pull off the Pop-Tart wrapper and stick one of them in my mouth. I slip on my Vans and walk out the door. One look at the sky, and I know it's going to rain on my way to school. The ground isn't even dry from last night's storm. A car would be really nice right now, but me getting one would be just as likely as Mistilydemon-spawned giving up midnight Oreos.
Sometimes I borrow Teesha's mom's car. Teesha practically owns the thing, in spite of all her walking and bike riding.
About three blocks from my house, I spot that '97 Ford Taurus SHO that I would know anywhere. It's muddy from driving through puddles. What brought on her driving this morning?
Teesha rolls down a window. She looks sort of... well, pissed off again, at least for a second.
"Yes, you do want a ride, go ahead in."
She unlocks the door and actually opens the driver's side for me. I stare at her, surprised. She just shrugs and moves into the passenger seat.
"Ran over my bike this morning. Forgot to park it in the back last night," she mumbles as I drive onward toward school. I nod, and wish I had something to dull down this morning. So, I do whatever I do when I don't have pot on hand: think of Brittney Alexander... man, she's hot...
"Damnit, Tristan, look where you're going! You crash this car, and you most definitely won't be driving with me again!"
I glance up to see I've nearly hit a stop sign.
"Sorry," I mutter, and focus back on the road.
We arrive ten minutes early. Teesha grabs her stuff from the back and I grab mine. We head off to our respective classes with a grumbled "Seeya".
I stroll nonchalantly into my 1st hour English class. I just killed a little under a third of class time by showing up late, and I appreciate that.
"Ah, Mr. Corre, nice of you to show up," says Ms. Smithsen to me. "Another tardy and you've got a detention."
I offer a smirk.
"Lookin' forward to it, Miss Smithsen."
"That would be Ms., Mr. Corre, I believe I've told you this quite a few times. Now, could anyone explain to Tristan what we are doing right now?"
Pairs of students groan and most of them ignore her. Brittney and her friend, Lyndsay, sit in the corner of the class, giggling over texts.
"Miss Mitchells, how about you?"
Mitchells, Mitchells, Mitchells, who would this 'Mitchells' person be?
"U-Um... we're reading our poetry assignments to each other in groups of two."
"That's right. And Miss Mitchells was missing a partner for almost 11 minutes, Mr. Corre. Why don't you get out your assignment and pair up with Shaylie?"
Shaylie Mitchells. I look over at her. Usually this chick is a wallflower, and is almost ALWAYS in these huge sweatshirts and oversized jeans and sweatpants.
But today, she's not wearing one of those ridiculous sweatshirts. She has on a v-neck with one of those frilly girl-tops underneath. I am now aware that she actually has boobs. Her long, wavy brown hair falls right in the middle of them. And she's wearing jeans that actually fit her. The only thing that turns me off are the creepy emo-cutter-gloves covering her arms. She swallows as she notices me looking at her and quickly glances down.
I sit down at the desk next to hers. She's still staring at her paper, drawing vines and flowers into the margin of the notebook. I look at her.
"U-Uh... s-so... you can get out your poem first if you want," she says, refusing to look back up at me.
"Didn't do the assignment. Looks like you're up."
Shaylie glances at me, a look of odd concern on her face, then nervousness. She takes a deep breath and looks back at the page in front of her. I look... other places. Her face has turned red.
"T-This... this was an assignment in... any of the forms of poetry we've recently learned about. I chose freeverse. I-It was easiest for me," she said, mumbling.
"Yeah, um, you should just read your dam_, er, dang poem."
I hope I didn't just screw up somehow. She bites her lip. I like it.
"Okay..." she says, taking another deep breath.
"Once she was alone in a crowded room,
Hiding behind the ones
Who don't know at all,
What goes on behind closed doors.
She's been behind them,
Locked inside,
Trapped for so long.
But one day, the door was opened.
Freedom from a source
Unexplainable.
She found the answer,
And now she opens doors,
For those who still haven't found
The way to freedom."
D*mn. This girl really knows how to write. I'm impressed, not that I could ever do that well writing poetry. I don't get how some people really like this stuff. And how they manage to be that good.
"That was... that was really cool, Shylie."
"Shaylie," she corrects.
"Right. Sorry. So, uh, wanna hang out this Friday?"
She doesn't really seem to go out with anyone a lot, not that I've heard anyway. But sometimes, those are the ones you really have to look out for. Brittney and Megan are sort of out of my league anyway.
Her eyes are wide and it looks like her jaw could drop.
"What?" I ask. Yeah, I'm majorly screwing up here.
"I-I... I can't. S-Sorry. I'm... b-busy."
Uh, sure you are. Why don't you come be busy with me?
"What are you doing?"
"L-Look, I-I... I don't even know you, Tristan. M-Maybe... maybe some other time."
"You blowin' me off?"
"No! I'm really busy this weekend, please..." she says, a little too loud. Jittery much? A few of the students look over at us. Brittney is one of them. Damn. My chances of going out with her just went down a little more.
"Okay, okay... feel free to calm down," I say.
Shaylie looks down at her paper and faces the front.
"Mr. Corre, since you were late today, why don't you read your poem in the front of the class?"
Seriously, Ms. Smithsen?
"No problem, Miss Smithsen," I say, walking up front.
"I memorized mine over the weekend. It's a limerick."
I eye the rest of the classroom, winkng at Shaylie. She slumps down in her seat.
"Alright, so...
There once was a teacher named Smithsen
Who should pass a student named Tristan,
Who came up with a rhyme,
In the nick of time,
Even with ten minutes of class he missed in."
I could have done so much better, and I've completely made a fool out of myself in front of the class. But Shaylie's just shaking her head. I think she liked it.
"Clever, Tristan. You can make up the points by doing the ten comprehension and doing the bonus reflection questions of 'The Bells' on page 475 of your textbook. Everyone else, get started on your narrative outlines,"
I roll my eyes and sit back down next to Shaylie.
"You're... you're an idiot, you know that?" she whispers.
"You know you liked that. Go out with me Friday?"
She looks back down at her paper. Her outline's already over halfway finished. This girl is an English fiend.
"I'll think about it," she murmurs.
I pull out my textbook and start skimming over "The Bells" and its stupid comp questions.
----
In between fourth hour and Lunch, Chris meets up at my locker. I put on my ice-face, and continue packing my backpack for the afternoon hour. Teesha and I won't have much time to get our books after "lunch".
"Hey, Tristan... Sorry about yesterday. I mean, I still want to hang out with you guys, I'm just not... supposed to..."
"Yeah, whatever. You can come join us out in the back parking lot if you like."
I toss my English textbook on the top shelf of my locker loudly.
"No thanks... so... uh... I heard you asked out Shaylie Mitchells."
"For the benefits, yes."
"You know, there's more to relationships than just sex, Tristan..."
And here he goes. Chris has three speeches he frequently attempts to recite to me and Teesha: the "abstaining-from-sex-is-so- wonderful!" speech, the "JESUS!" speech, and the "being-clean-from-drugs-makes-your-life-so-much-better!" speech.
"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before, no need to go into it again."
"I'm just saying..."
"You say too much, dude."
I start heading toward the unlocked doors.
"Maybe you should just hang out with her! Talk for a little bit. I'm sure if you got to know her, you'd see a relationship is worth a whole lot more than what you're after."
"Blah, blah, blah, I'ma go smoke pot now. Seeya."
"Tristan, you know that Cannabis just causes your life to spiral, it just leads to worse and worse decisions, and believe me, I've been there..."
I can't believe this kid used to hang out with us.
"Aha. Okay. Bye."
I walk out the doors and head to the back parking lot. Teesha pays our-even-more-ridiculously-named-than-Misty Ann dealer, Quantavious, for our daily supply. We roll and light up.
"Chris was gettin' on my case earlier," I mutter to Teesha. She rolls her eyes.
"Can we not talk about Chris right now?"
"M'kay."
I look out at the rest of the parking lot. Q's going off to the others now. Sometimes Teesha buys some stronger stuff from him. More than just marijuana, other stuff, significantly worse stuff. I never dare to try it out. She usually doesn't get it unless she's really stressed out. Teesha's tried everything. And I mean everything.
"So, Shaylie Mitchells, huh?"
"How does everyone know that?"
"Word travels fast enough. She's a heck of a lot better than Brittney. Got brains. Good thing to have."
She inhales deeply. A few other kids linger in the lot, or head off campus for lunch or to do their choice in peace. Some of them get into the backseats of their vehicles. I take a drag and close my eyes.
"Yeah, brains. She's a freakin' poet."
"Good for her. Writing can get you places sometimes."
Teesha stares out into the far distance, her mind in other worlds. I think about Shaylie instead of Brittney this time. I think about her big brown eyes, innocent and cautious. It kills me to even THINK this, but maybe Chris is right... maybe I should try to get to know her a little better. She's interesting enough.
"Mom's been working too hard lately... forgets her meds, whatever," Teesha mumbles, probably halfway to herself. I nod. Teesha's mom has a crapload of issues. Teesha usually doesn't talk about her mom. And especially not her dad, considering he skipped out right before she turned three.
We both take a drag at the same time now. Hers lasts longer.
"I'll be back."
Teesha heads in the direction of what I assume is Quantavious. I finish up the joint and decide to head back to class.
Shaylie's in my next class, History. I never really paid much attention to her until now. I don't really know why... I duck into the restroom and try to cover the scent of weed then make my way to History class.
Shaylie looks up. I give her a lazy smile and take my seat in the back of the room. I'm thinkin' I just might have a chance.
Rescue (Chapter 2)
So, I'ma let you in on a story I heard. Once, there was a guy. The guy was pretty damn cool with himself, had a pretty decent life, wife, a kid, house, and a little spending money. But then this guy decided to go and screw it all up by screwing some other chick, and then promptly knocked her up. So this dickhead of a guy's wife left him, and now he has a little less spending money, but, he still got to marry the bitch he was screwing and had his precious demonspawn.
Misty Ann. Who the heck names their kid Misty Ann?!
I try to sneak my way into the house, by means of the back door. And Misty Ann, the Demonspawn greets me, immediately shouting,
"MOMMY! DADDY! Tristan's home!"
I really hate this kid. Demonspawn hugs me like I'm actually related to her. I pry her off and attempt to get to my room.
"Oh hey, Tristan! We were just wondering where you were..."
The b*tch stops me in the hall and scoops up her illegitimate demonspawn daughter. I ignore her and walk into my room, grateful for the lock on the door.
"Tristan home?" I hear the chromosome contributor say to D-Spawn's mother. I crash on my bed, my arms sprawled over the sides, head facing the wall, barely able to see it in my dim room. On the wall, there's a signed poster of some obscure "Christian metal" band that Chris gave me after a concert they played, an advertising poster of "The Dark Knight", and this smokin' poster with Megan Fox on it. I begin to realize that I am totally soaked from the rain outside. And then I realize I really don't care. I shut my eyes and hope that the pouring rain, roaring thunder, and blinding flashes of lightning are capable of lulling me to sleep.
Bruce Wayne is getting a call from the Joker, telling him the locations of Harvey Dent and Rachel, his girlfriend. They're both about to get their heads blown off. Batman takes off and heads in the direction of Harvey. Weird thing is, Batman isn't Batman. It's me. And Harvey isn't Harvey. He's some Dad-aged man, that I feel an instant resentment toward the moment I find him.
I hear a shriek from far away, where a girl who isn't Rachel, dies in a burning warehouse. I don't want to save the man I'm pulling out, and suddenly, I've dropped him, no, thrown him, into his burning warehouse.
And I'm on fire, my face burning like when Two-Face was made, but I can't feel it. I don't die, unlike Not-Rachel, and the Not-Harvey, who are incredibly dead. Then I hear the echoes of Not-Rachel's scream, and I feel the flames suddenly begin to sting, then escalate into agonizing pain.
I awaken in the dark. Usually, my dreams aren't nearly this morbid. Especially after I've just been high and mildly intoxicated. I shake my groggy head and glance at the digital clock. 12:30. I've been asleep for five and a half hours, and I have a killer headache. I flop my head back down on the pillow. Ugh.
I want to go back to sleep, but it's not working very well. I decide to get something to eat. I get off my bed and feel my way to the door. It's ridiculously dark in here. Down the hall, I hear the TV on, some obnoxious kid's show. Why are those on at this hour?! I roll my eyes and trudge into the kitchen. I open the fridge, the light blinding, and pull out a slice of pizza. I commence to eating it, and pass by the living room. The spawn sits on the couch, with half a package of Oreo's and a huge glass of chocolate milk with one of those obnoxious striped straws in it, watching Nick Jr. She stops mid-bite on another one of the cookies and looks over at me.
She's in freaking kindergarten, and she's up late sneaking cookies. Her mom buys her dresses all the time and gives her whatever she wants. She's a brat and she'll grow increasingly worse with age.
"H-Hi Tristan," she says, nervously. "The storm was scary so I wanted to watch TV."
That's EXACTLY what I would do! Not. Demonspawn never makes sense. Her existence does not make sense to me, especially not right now.
"Yeah, whatever, go to bed or I'll tell your bit_, er, mom that you were up past your bedtime," I say, yawning, then pad down the hall back to my room. I finish the rest of my pizza and lean back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I hear D-Spawn tread downstairs. They seriously need to get that girl on a program or something. I get underneath a blanket and pull it over my head. Nausea, headaches, I hate my life, dang, what I would do to just fall asleep... maybe have another freaking weird Batman dream where I actually get the girl out of the burning building. Except Rachel would definitely be played by Megan Fox... or maybe Britney Alexander.
Who the hell was the girl in my dream anyway? I rack my brain for the answer, and eventually, sleep washes over me again.
Misty Ann. Who the heck names their kid Misty Ann?!
I try to sneak my way into the house, by means of the back door. And Misty Ann, the Demonspawn greets me, immediately shouting,
"MOMMY! DADDY! Tristan's home!"
I really hate this kid. Demonspawn hugs me like I'm actually related to her. I pry her off and attempt to get to my room.
"Oh hey, Tristan! We were just wondering where you were..."
The b*tch stops me in the hall and scoops up her illegitimate demonspawn daughter. I ignore her and walk into my room, grateful for the lock on the door.
"Tristan home?" I hear the chromosome contributor say to D-Spawn's mother. I crash on my bed, my arms sprawled over the sides, head facing the wall, barely able to see it in my dim room. On the wall, there's a signed poster of some obscure "Christian metal" band that Chris gave me after a concert they played, an advertising poster of "The Dark Knight", and this smokin' poster with Megan Fox on it. I begin to realize that I am totally soaked from the rain outside. And then I realize I really don't care. I shut my eyes and hope that the pouring rain, roaring thunder, and blinding flashes of lightning are capable of lulling me to sleep.
Bruce Wayne is getting a call from the Joker, telling him the locations of Harvey Dent and Rachel, his girlfriend. They're both about to get their heads blown off. Batman takes off and heads in the direction of Harvey. Weird thing is, Batman isn't Batman. It's me. And Harvey isn't Harvey. He's some Dad-aged man, that I feel an instant resentment toward the moment I find him.
I hear a shriek from far away, where a girl who isn't Rachel, dies in a burning warehouse. I don't want to save the man I'm pulling out, and suddenly, I've dropped him, no, thrown him, into his burning warehouse.
And I'm on fire, my face burning like when Two-Face was made, but I can't feel it. I don't die, unlike Not-Rachel, and the Not-Harvey, who are incredibly dead. Then I hear the echoes of Not-Rachel's scream, and I feel the flames suddenly begin to sting, then escalate into agonizing pain.
I awaken in the dark. Usually, my dreams aren't nearly this morbid. Especially after I've just been high and mildly intoxicated. I shake my groggy head and glance at the digital clock. 12:30. I've been asleep for five and a half hours, and I have a killer headache. I flop my head back down on the pillow. Ugh.
I want to go back to sleep, but it's not working very well. I decide to get something to eat. I get off my bed and feel my way to the door. It's ridiculously dark in here. Down the hall, I hear the TV on, some obnoxious kid's show. Why are those on at this hour?! I roll my eyes and trudge into the kitchen. I open the fridge, the light blinding, and pull out a slice of pizza. I commence to eating it, and pass by the living room. The spawn sits on the couch, with half a package of Oreo's and a huge glass of chocolate milk with one of those obnoxious striped straws in it, watching Nick Jr. She stops mid-bite on another one of the cookies and looks over at me.
She's in freaking kindergarten, and she's up late sneaking cookies. Her mom buys her dresses all the time and gives her whatever she wants. She's a brat and she'll grow increasingly worse with age.
"H-Hi Tristan," she says, nervously. "The storm was scary so I wanted to watch TV."
That's EXACTLY what I would do! Not. Demonspawn never makes sense. Her existence does not make sense to me, especially not right now.
"Yeah, whatever, go to bed or I'll tell your bit_, er, mom that you were up past your bedtime," I say, yawning, then pad down the hall back to my room. I finish the rest of my pizza and lean back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I hear D-Spawn tread downstairs. They seriously need to get that girl on a program or something. I get underneath a blanket and pull it over my head. Nausea, headaches, I hate my life, dang, what I would do to just fall asleep... maybe have another freaking weird Batman dream where I actually get the girl out of the burning building. Except Rachel would definitely be played by Megan Fox... or maybe Britney Alexander.
Who the hell was the girl in my dream anyway? I rack my brain for the answer, and eventually, sleep washes over me again.
Rescue (summary, prologue, first chapter)
WARNING: Strong language and some content.
Summary
Tristan Corre doesn't really give a damn about anyone but himself and his "needs". He doesn't care that his friend has become a jerk, and he doesn't care that his family isn't nearly as bad as it could be. All he wants is to remain numb and perhaps accomplish a few "goals" relating to rather unnecessary "needs". Until he meets Shaylie Mitchells. She's a girl unlike anyone he's ever met before... but she has a dangerous secret, a secret that is slowly tearing apart her life. Will Tristan finally let himself feel enough to act on someone else's behalf? And what will become of him once action is taken? And does devastation strike like he expects it will?
Prologue
The monster snatches the thick branch, my arms attached to it, and uses the advantage to fling me back into a wall. At this moment, I was seriously wishing I had tried harder in gym.
I think I hear a crack when I hit the wall, but I can't give up. Wincing, I push off and force myself forward. From the floor, the girl whimpers. My grip tightens on the branch and unwieldily aim the branch at the man, and it collides with his shoulder. He hisses and punches me in the face.
I reel from the blow, but I still manage to whack him back, more driven than ever. When I look at him, his face is bleeding and he stumbles backward before landing on the floor. I get down next to him, filled with a power and rage I'd never felt before. And then I'm punching and punching, my fists pounding into him, his chest his face. At first, he coughs and writhes, but eventually, he stops his pathetic attempts to fight back.
A moment of panic, and my fist rests. I feel the faint beat of a heart. The monster has a heart? One last time, I slam my fist where that supposed heart is, then pull back.
The victim is crying without trying to hold back, from the floor, no more than five feet away. I stagger over to her, collapsing to her side.
"Hey..." I whisper, gathering her gently in my arms. "Everything's going to be alright..."
She shakes her head, trembling.
"N-Nothing's... e-ever... going... to be... alright," she whispers, leaning her head into my chest, her tears dampening my shirt.
******
Chapter 1
The acrid scent travels up my nostrils, though after years of doing this stuff, I barely notice it anymore. Yet somehow, this afternoon reminds me of the first time I tried it.
It was my freshman year of high school...
"Dude, what's up with the distant look? You actually have something to think deeply on?" Teesha says, snapping me out of my flashback-worthy reverie.
Actually, I do. I have lots to think about. But I just silently inhale, and wait until I bore Teesha off my case.
"Chill out, Tristan."
She inhales, but she starts looking angry for some reason. I wasn't even talking, but whatever... Teesha should take her own advice. She's not good at "chilling out". Well, at least today she isn't. She's pissed that Chris, our asshole of a "best friend", ditched us again. But at the top of this hill, among the gravel, the powerline, the dry, brown grass, and the small boulders we sit on while we get stoned, we're untouchable to the rest of the world.
We do this every day, after school, until we feel the urge to go home. Which I never like to do.
Now that I think about it, I guess I'm sorta pissed at Chris too. Ever since his parents forced him to quit, and got him to go back to church, he's been an entirely different guy.
"Chris has been such a douche since he quit. And since when did he give a shit what his parents think? He's such a dumbass."
Her insults, language, and general pissiness is just how she expresses that she's_
"I mean, who the hell does he think he is?!"
_probably not just mad that he ditched us again, but...
"Hey."
Chris makes his way up the hill, clean hands stuffed in his clean pockets, looking nervous and guilty as he takes a seat in his old regular spot. Like he just sit there and everything's back to normal. I offer him a curt nod of acknowledgement.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Saint Christy the church monkey, come to save us dirty sinners," says Teesha, sarcasm coloring her tone. They'll be going at each other in no time. I do my best to remain "chilled out".
"T-Teesha, you know it's not like that... but... I... I do have something I need to talk to you guys about."
He shifts uncomfortably on his rock. He really doesn't belong here anymore. I take a long drag on my joint.
"What, Mommy and Daddy tell you that you can't hang out with us 'bad' kids anymore? That we're a 'bad influence' and that we're 'leading you into temptation'? Is THAT what you came to talk to us about?!"
Chris is holding his head in his hands, shaking it, frustration written on his face as he looks up.
"Yes, Teesha! That is EXACTLY what I came here to talk about!" he shouts. Teesha stands. Chris follows suit. I inhale.
"You are ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. You're a TERRIBLE influence and the two of you need help!"
I resent the fact that he brings me into the Chris/Teesha fight, but all I do is glower briefly in his direction.
"Well, if you think we're such terrible crap, then why did you even come here?!"
Teesha steps forward, still holding her joint between her fingers.
"Why don't you just go hang with your parents and your hypocrite cult buddies?"
She shoves him, and Chris glares at her.
"Church is not a cult, and_"
Again, she shoves him. He takes a few steps back, eyes wide for a second as he got a little close to the edge of the hill. Her hands grip his shoulders.
"Tristan, back me up here!"
Chris now looks absolutely exasperated. I look up at him and Teesha.
"Yeah, uh... I agree with you, that Chris is a total dick, but, um, that's no reason to push him down the hill."
"Thank you!" Chris ignores my remark about him being a dick, slips out of Teesha's death grip and starts down the hill. He turns his head back and pauses for a moment, about halfway down the hill.
"I'm not supposed to hang with you guys, but feel free to come to youth group!" he yells up, and I think he's doing it just to spite Teesha. She flips him the bird and I wonder if I really even care that our "best friend" is mostly no longer a part of our "group".
"Never really needed 'im anyway," I mutter, after taking another drag. I'm starting to feel pretty mellow now. And the grey clouds in the sky are suddenly fascinating.
"We sure as hell don't," says Teesha. She tosses her joint to the ground then smashes it under her foot. She pulls her backpack to her rock and pulls a bottle of beer out of it. I eye it. I really don't want to give a damn about anything today.
"Sorry, I only brought enough for one."
Teesha pulls out a six pack. I shake my head and give her a half-smirk and I reach over and take one. Hers is already almost halfway downed.
After about a half an hour, we're already done and the clouds keep on rolling in, darker and darker. The fight has totally blown over and we're talking about how weird and hot it is when Brittney Alexander sharpens her pencils, when water starts falling from the sky.
"Damn. We should pro'lly head home about now," says Teesha. I find Teesha attractive. Especially when she talks about Brittney with me. Of course, I don't tell her this. And it doesn't really matter.
"Yeah, probably," I mumble. And then it begins to pour, as if whatever's up there just decided to put the showers in the sky on high, the kind that pounds onto your back that's more like a waterfall than the pathetic little drippy sprinkler thing they have in hotel rooms. Teesha sprints down the hill like tripping wouldn't make her crack her head open, and I follow, very carefully.
She dumps the bottles into the garbage at the park and hops onto her bike. She can use a car, and yet she insists to walk or ride her bike everywhere. I find that totally ridiculous.
"See ya tomorrow, Tristan!" she yells as she bikes off, cutting through someone's yard in the pouring rain.
With that, I begin my long, undesirable trek home.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Interference (Chapter 8)
((This is the last segment of Interference to date. I'll get back to it, but... for now, this is all I've got. :( Thanks for reading. Encouragement helps. ^^' Finishing Interference is one of my New Year's resolutions.))
September 15, 2089
Dear Diary,
Last night was the most magical night of my life. I had spent years dreaming about that day, and although it wasn’t exactly how I expected it, it was beautiful all the same. After these long four months, Alexander and I have said our vows. We've joined our families, and became one and intertwined with each other for the rest of our lives.
I spent the week with my family and friends and Alexander, as we put together the final touches of the wedding day. I thanked them all for being so supportive and understanding in the frenzy that was our planning. There was more family surrounding me then I'd even remembered seeing as a child. They were wishing me congratulations, pouring gifts upon us, wishing us good, praying and loving and giving wisdom.
As busy and stressful as it was, I had never been happier. This was the best time of my life. There was only one dark spot in the entire week.
I'd had a nightmare, the night before the wedding, September 13. In it, we lived in a luxurious mansion, some place I would have never chosen myself, with rustic decor and constant dim lighting. I was calling out for Alexander, and I was led to him by the sound of his shouting voice. I had never heard him so angry before. The dream was so vivid that I could feel my heart pumping loudly, rapidly in my chest, as I heard Alexander's voice raise, higher and higher, behind a giant wooden door. I opened it slowly, my fingers trembling, and I saw him screaming at a child, someone I'd never met in my life so far, and yet someone I felt intricately connected to in the dream. As the man I thought was my husband began to lift his hand, and I sped in front of the child, staring shocked into this monster's eyes. What had become of him?
He didn’t stop, and as his hand threatened to slam into me, I shot up, awake, unable to breathe. Immediately, I started to pray, asking for these thoughts to be taken away, praying that none of that nightmare would become true. It was just me being tempted to doubt, wasn’t it? God had given me this, He’d finally revealed the person I was meant to be with forever. There was no way to take that way.
The bad feeling hadn’t faded, but I still went back to sleep, gracefully dreamless sleep, which left me rested in the morning. It was the dawn of what would be the beginning of my life as Michelle Elaina Abbort. I prepared for it all day, and then the time arrived for us to go to the church.
When I finished preparing, and I stepped right outside the entrance to the sanctuary, I heard the rich sound of a real, antique organ being played, the music for the ones who walked down before me. My turn arrived, and my father linked his arm with mine, smiling with teary eyes as he walked his youngest daughter down the aisle. I felt all the dread from earlier fade, as my eyes met Alexander’s, as he waited for me to come to him.
I came beside him, and smiled, his expression mirroring mine as the pastor began our ceremony. Only partially listening to him, I dreamed of our future life together. We would be the perfect couple, exactly how we were meant to be, even with our differences. Although we have had, and I’m sure, will have, our disagreements, our arguments, I was so sure that everything was going to be just as tender and sincere as it had been so far. I was so sure that we would live our life exactly as God intended it to be.
“...Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres,” the pastor said.
The words rung in my head, as I applied them to our current and future lives together. Out of the holy word, what I knew was true, and I turned them over and over in my head. This is what love is, I thought. I knew this was how our love was and would be.
“You are to walk by each others’ side,” the pastor said, looking to both of us, before laying his eyes on me. “You are to encourage him and support him and help him in every way,” he said, a seriousness in his gaze, before focusing on the both of us again. “And the two of you walking side by side you will find in this relationship the completeness and fullness that God intended from the very beginning.”
I took Alexander’s hand, knowing he was probably feeling slightly uncomfortable by this point, with our untraditional ceremony. I erased the verses about being “unequally yoked” from my head, for the moment, thinking I would worry about heartbreak later, ignored the oldest members of my family who warned me. I knew this would work. He was perfect for me, I, perfect for him, and we were going to have that completeness and fullness.
“You have expressed a desire to be united in marriage, and I now ask you to take a vow. Do you, Alexander Hector Abbort, take your bride to be your lawfully wedded wife, and do you promise before God and these witnesses, to love her; to comfort her; honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her so long as you both shall live? Do you so promise?”
I briefly glimpsed at Alexander as he spoke.
“I do,” he replied, with such solemnity from him that I’d never seen before, which made me believe it was true. I couldn’t believe this moment was finally here.
“And do you take your groom to be your lawfully wedded husband, and do you promise before these witnesses, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as you both shall live? Do you so promise?”
“I do,” I replied. It was a promise I was determined never to break.
“Do we have rings?”
The ring bearer, my four-year-old nephew, my sister Amelia’s son, approached us with the rings. The room seemed to lighten a little at the sight of him. I even smiled as we each took our respective rings.
“I, Alexander Hector Abbort, give you, Michelle Elaina Nichol, this ring as a symbol of my endless love and commitment to you,” my nearly husband said, as he slipped the ring upon my anxiously awaiting finger.
“And I, Michelle Elaina Nichol, give you, Alexander Hector Abbort, this ring as a symbol of my endless love and commitment to you,” I replied, sliding the ring onto his finger.
“As a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has brought together let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.”
Alexander lifted the veil from my face and we kissed, sealing our marriage in view of God and all our witnesses.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
I looked at my new husband, in a daze, like the times in the park, all the wonderful days we’d spent, and seeing our life ahead of us. He looked back at me, smiling gently, as our family gathered around us.
Following tradition, we took pictures, real photographs, printing them and storing them for safekeeping at the church before we all headed to the reception. I scurried through the church, trying not to trip over my long, white, wedding dress, to the bathroom to change. I stared at myself in the mirror, this bright, smiling version in me in my angelic apparel, white as winter with a full, flowing skirt, detailed with tiny beaded flowers and lace over the bodice. I couldn’t believe that I was now a wife, to the most wonderful man in the world. He had to be made for me. He was made for me, and I for him. I silently prayed of thanks to God as I stepped from the mirror into a stall to change. The grateful words in my head felt strange, and the images from my nightmare, that had felt thousands of miles away ten minutes ago, flashed in my mind. I tried to remind myself, it was only a nightmare. I carefully slipped out of my dress, touching the silky fabric as though it were sacred, storing it safely, before changing into another one, just as white and elaborate, but much easier to move in.
A whistle of joking attraction greeted me as I exited. “Your husband is one lucky man,” said Natalia. I chuckled lightly as I started for the door with her. She laughed with me, and I remembered all those days we’d spent throughout the years, arguing and dreaming simultaneously about this day.
After one of our arguments, Natalia finally let me have my peace. She didn’t want a guy, or so she said, and if she ever had one, she didn’t want to get married; she just wanted to go through her life independently, and never let anything get in her way. I, on the other hand, may have agreed that we didn’t exactly need guys, but I still wanted to find the “one”. As much as she tried to convince me that I had to search for him, or as much as she tried to talk my head out of the clouds of fantasy, future life, I went on exactly the way I always had.
“Alright, so I don’t think I’ll want to get married in the future, or, at least I won’t need to, but if you want to, that’s fine. Go ahead. I’ll be happy for you.”
And now everything I’d dreamed of had come. And she kept her promise. I didn’t think it was unlikely that she would soon follow my footsteps, in one level or another.
My husband was now waiting in the long, sleek hovercar. I wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to ride in a limousine on wheels. But I didn’t care for the thought at that moment, when I stepped inside and looked into his eyes, and I was sure that was my future.
We held hands lovingly, chastely, as we were driven to the reception hall. Somehow, the silence was perfect, devoid of unnecessary conversation, as though we could read each others’ minds in the midst of our daze of love and togetherness. As soon as we got to the reception, however, it was impossible to be quiet. Dancing (both wild and slow, silly and sentimental), music, playful familial embarrassment from my side, rowdy conversation overtook us, and even my typically aloof husband seemed to be opening up.
My favorite part of the reception was when I danced for the first time as a wife. The soft, acoustic song that was played for us the night we got engaged was, appropriately, the one we danced to for the first time as a married couple. It was now my favorite song, and it would forever be our song in my mind.
Though the night was mostly light, the intensity of Alexander’s elusive past still managed to catch up with us, taking the form of his father, one of the few living Abborts attending our wedding. When everyone had started leaving, things beginning to tone down, as we ourselves prepared to go, he approached us. The man himself, though in a high, would-be honorable position politically, seemed sort of shady. Alexander darkened as came to us, trying to make our exit quicker.
“I’d like to congratulate you,” he said to us, standing in front of us, forcing us to stop. My husband nodded.
“Thank you,” he replied, curtly, ignoring the artfully bundled package in his father’s hands, a gift, I assumed.
“Take this. I’m sure you’ll be needing it soon.”
They shared a look I didn’t understand, asking and answering questions I didn’t yet know about.
“Good night, Alexander. Michelle,” he said to us politely, before leaving faster than he had approaching us. The vague exchange between father and son left me feeling quite unsettled, but I decided not to bring it up, as we rode in a different kind of silence to the place where we would spend our wedding night.
Troy
I closed the journal, unable to read any further at this moment. Not only was the next segment of her entry uncomfortable, but it reinforced all the fears that my mother wanted to ignore the day of her wedding. I knew I had to get to her before they would marry, before they would even begin a relationship, or else there would be no way for her to succeed.
Maybe the place Kainni and I had found was safe, though completely with its own set of terrors, but safe from the ones of the future. Yet it was incredibly selfish for me to stay here, when there was a possibility, though slim, that I could rescue someone, anyone from the kind of torture that my father put upon them. Especially my mother. I tried to keep down the memories, but it was like swallowing vomit, that would eventually come up and out, no matter how hard one tried.
Blood, screaming, shouting... falling, bruising, punch, kick, hit...
Her, standing in front of me... her, taking the fall...
The details managed to escape me. I couldn’t break down in the car with this man, this man so generous that I hardly knew. Not now. I had to save it. I had to... all the while, I knew, what I had to do, was the best I could do. I was only keeping others safe, I was only preventing further pain.
The knife, raising... in and out, blurry, unfocused... red... red... pooling on the ground... tears, crying... last words whispered...
I could never remember them. I could never remember exactly what she told me, at least not now. My hands were holding my head now, and I knew I was shaking, vague flashes of images coming in and out of my mind, as hard as I tried to keep them away.
“Hey, Troy? Hey, are you alright?” said Matt, trying to get my attention from the wheel, hopefully not looking away from the road to become aware of my condition. I took a few deep breaths, trying to regain my composure before I really lost it, sitting up and attempting to get into a less tense position.
“Y-Yeah... I... I’m... fine,” I lied, unconvincingly. Lying well, though I despised it, was one trait I sometimes wished I had.
Mr. Sawyer nodded, and continued driving. We'd had a conversation earlier tonight. He'd just wanted to get to know Kainni and I better, entirely, well, mostly, willing to house us and even his daughter's boyfriend in our times of need. It wasn't something that would happen very often where I was.
"So... are you two from around here? I'm just curious."
I shrugged. I had really wished Kainni had been down there with me at the time, because she was better at these sorts of things.
"Uh... just a little... ways away," I replied, as confidently as I could. He nodded.
"Well, I hope we can help you guys out as much as possible. You two can stay as long as you need to," he said. I tried to respond appropriately. It was so great of someone to do this. But I didn't want to be a burden to him, and more so, the thoughts of my mother kept creeping in. I had a ridiculous, unrealistic hope, that maybe, just maybe, I could still save her.
After all, Kainni's manual had said that one party gets the worst of the damage from time machine interference. I'd only snuck a glimpse of it when she'd dropped it the other day. That day had seemed weeks behind me. If there was any chance of saving her, I had to jump at it.
While I pondered these things, I absentmindedly answered Terra's father's casual, non-probing questions, though I was beginning to feel thoroughly probed toward the end of our discussion, for the simple purpose that I wasn't answering any of these questions honestly.
Kainni had come down at the perfect moment. I couldn't take this "small talk" much longer. I was good at conversation, and was much worse at giving false answers in one. I tried not to think of her face as I left. I told her the circumstances. And she was much safer, better off, without me. I... I would see if I could fix her machine too, see if she could head to where she needed to be. Otherwise my attempts at this journey would only be benefitting my mother and myself.
I was quite sure of why she was here. Her purpose was perhaps more noble than mine. The... technology... at my mother's time had not been developed enough for her to hypnotize anyone else. The only way she had been able to write the journal was all of her lapses in between... sessions. I swallowed, trying to keep back all the images in my head again.
"We're here," said Mr. Sawyer, cutting the engine on the car and unlocking the doors. He opened his door and made his way to the trunk, pulling out the travel bag of meager belongings I had collected the past few days. He carried it to Mrs. Sawyer's house, knocking on the door once, gently.
She arrived at the door a few moments after that. She looked the same as we'd come to see her the days before.
"Special delivery," said Mr. Sawyer, lightly. I chuckled nervously, though my current particular seriousness rendering me nearly incapable of feigning humor. Terra's mom smiled weakly. "Welcome back, Troy," she said, in her quiet voice.
"Nice to see you again, Matt," she said, regarding her husband? with a polite nod. I took the bag of necessities as Mrs. Sawyer held the door open. I walked tentatively to the guest room, while Terra's parents spoke to each other in low voices. They never seemed to speak any louder than a sensitive whisper, even in casual "conversation". I set down the bag on the floor as I stepped inside the familiar room. In my head, I saw Kainni there, I saw her hand snatch back the journal, remembered us on the bed, reading the sad novel, saw her talking, and me listening, like a old-time movie montage. D
Despite the fact that we had only recently "met", we had known each other a long time ago. And the few days we'd had together made it seem worth that wait to see each other again. I almost felt caught up with her. But I knew we really weren't. I knew there was so much more we needed to say. Words I couldn't bear to speak. Things she wouldn't want to hear.
I was entirely sure of the reason why we couldn't remember each other. Even after this too short time together again, I knew it would be easier to just go, if possible. I didn't know what she saw in me, despite our previous friendship, but there wasn't much in me to see. And if this went on any longer, I knew what would happen.
Maybe this different time could give us different fates, but I was still as much Troy Abbort here as I was in the future. I was still as capable, still as likely, to become /him/ here, as I was there. I knew what would happen if I stayed.
A door softly shut, signaling the leaving of Terra's father. I heard light, yet trudging footsteps enter another room, not a sound coming as her door shut, secluding herself once more.
Soon, it would be the time of opportunity. In my head, I made a map of the city I've seen, and the way to get out, the way to get to the forest and the freeway.
Kainni
After Troy and Mr. Sawyer left, I idled myself in front of the needless television, while Terra spoke with Shane. She'd helped him out of his room, and they'd eaten, while I pretended my appetite didn't exist, the second loss of Troy so present in my mind. It was not guaranteed, I reminded myself. I could still stop him.
I would, I could, I WOULD, stop him. There was no need for me to be so dramatic. I could do this. I knew how he felt about his mother. And now I understood. I burned, seethed, with an even stronger anger, fury toward Alexander Abbort, where I now knew all the blame rightfully belonged. Maybe my feelings for Troy were selfish; I knew his mother... if he saved his mother, he truly would be saving everyone. Nevermind that the same could have happened to another woman like Michelle. Even so, I might still be able to know the story. I could go back and prevent it too, if I knew of what happened before. If I were even able to... to remember that. Those blank spots in my memories, where people might have been, the things that I'd read were not just my own problem, came to mind. How many loved ones had I already lost?
I shuddered at the thought. What a terrible world. There had to be something I could do. Terra had retreated to Shane's room with him. I turned off the T.V., and as quietly as possible, I climbed halfway up the stairs toward her room. But I realized that this would be futile. What would it matter if she was related to me? What could I do if she was? Tell her to tell her child to tell her child and so on not to go to the government leader’s residence at “x” time in the future? I don’t think that would go over very well. I hesitated for one moment before continuing back down. No, there was no point in violating her privacy any longer.
Even if she was, maybe there really wasn’t a point. I bolted down the stairs now, my goal being the front door, when I heard the unmistakable sound of tears from somewhere in the guest room’s hall. It’s none of my business, I reminded myself.
But it wasn’t from inside the guest room.
September 15, 2089
Dear Diary,
Last night was the most magical night of my life. I had spent years dreaming about that day, and although it wasn’t exactly how I expected it, it was beautiful all the same. After these long four months, Alexander and I have said our vows. We've joined our families, and became one and intertwined with each other for the rest of our lives.
I spent the week with my family and friends and Alexander, as we put together the final touches of the wedding day. I thanked them all for being so supportive and understanding in the frenzy that was our planning. There was more family surrounding me then I'd even remembered seeing as a child. They were wishing me congratulations, pouring gifts upon us, wishing us good, praying and loving and giving wisdom.
As busy and stressful as it was, I had never been happier. This was the best time of my life. There was only one dark spot in the entire week.
I'd had a nightmare, the night before the wedding, September 13. In it, we lived in a luxurious mansion, some place I would have never chosen myself, with rustic decor and constant dim lighting. I was calling out for Alexander, and I was led to him by the sound of his shouting voice. I had never heard him so angry before. The dream was so vivid that I could feel my heart pumping loudly, rapidly in my chest, as I heard Alexander's voice raise, higher and higher, behind a giant wooden door. I opened it slowly, my fingers trembling, and I saw him screaming at a child, someone I'd never met in my life so far, and yet someone I felt intricately connected to in the dream. As the man I thought was my husband began to lift his hand, and I sped in front of the child, staring shocked into this monster's eyes. What had become of him?
He didn’t stop, and as his hand threatened to slam into me, I shot up, awake, unable to breathe. Immediately, I started to pray, asking for these thoughts to be taken away, praying that none of that nightmare would become true. It was just me being tempted to doubt, wasn’t it? God had given me this, He’d finally revealed the person I was meant to be with forever. There was no way to take that way.
The bad feeling hadn’t faded, but I still went back to sleep, gracefully dreamless sleep, which left me rested in the morning. It was the dawn of what would be the beginning of my life as Michelle Elaina Abbort. I prepared for it all day, and then the time arrived for us to go to the church.
When I finished preparing, and I stepped right outside the entrance to the sanctuary, I heard the rich sound of a real, antique organ being played, the music for the ones who walked down before me. My turn arrived, and my father linked his arm with mine, smiling with teary eyes as he walked his youngest daughter down the aisle. I felt all the dread from earlier fade, as my eyes met Alexander’s, as he waited for me to come to him.
I came beside him, and smiled, his expression mirroring mine as the pastor began our ceremony. Only partially listening to him, I dreamed of our future life together. We would be the perfect couple, exactly how we were meant to be, even with our differences. Although we have had, and I’m sure, will have, our disagreements, our arguments, I was so sure that everything was going to be just as tender and sincere as it had been so far. I was so sure that we would live our life exactly as God intended it to be.
“...Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres,” the pastor said.
The words rung in my head, as I applied them to our current and future lives together. Out of the holy word, what I knew was true, and I turned them over and over in my head. This is what love is, I thought. I knew this was how our love was and would be.
“You are to walk by each others’ side,” the pastor said, looking to both of us, before laying his eyes on me. “You are to encourage him and support him and help him in every way,” he said, a seriousness in his gaze, before focusing on the both of us again. “And the two of you walking side by side you will find in this relationship the completeness and fullness that God intended from the very beginning.”
I took Alexander’s hand, knowing he was probably feeling slightly uncomfortable by this point, with our untraditional ceremony. I erased the verses about being “unequally yoked” from my head, for the moment, thinking I would worry about heartbreak later, ignored the oldest members of my family who warned me. I knew this would work. He was perfect for me, I, perfect for him, and we were going to have that completeness and fullness.
“You have expressed a desire to be united in marriage, and I now ask you to take a vow. Do you, Alexander Hector Abbort, take your bride to be your lawfully wedded wife, and do you promise before God and these witnesses, to love her; to comfort her; honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her so long as you both shall live? Do you so promise?”
I briefly glimpsed at Alexander as he spoke.
“I do,” he replied, with such solemnity from him that I’d never seen before, which made me believe it was true. I couldn’t believe this moment was finally here.
“And do you take your groom to be your lawfully wedded husband, and do you promise before these witnesses, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as you both shall live? Do you so promise?”
“I do,” I replied. It was a promise I was determined never to break.
“Do we have rings?”
The ring bearer, my four-year-old nephew, my sister Amelia’s son, approached us with the rings. The room seemed to lighten a little at the sight of him. I even smiled as we each took our respective rings.
“I, Alexander Hector Abbort, give you, Michelle Elaina Nichol, this ring as a symbol of my endless love and commitment to you,” my nearly husband said, as he slipped the ring upon my anxiously awaiting finger.
“And I, Michelle Elaina Nichol, give you, Alexander Hector Abbort, this ring as a symbol of my endless love and commitment to you,” I replied, sliding the ring onto his finger.
“As a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has brought together let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.”
Alexander lifted the veil from my face and we kissed, sealing our marriage in view of God and all our witnesses.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
I looked at my new husband, in a daze, like the times in the park, all the wonderful days we’d spent, and seeing our life ahead of us. He looked back at me, smiling gently, as our family gathered around us.
Following tradition, we took pictures, real photographs, printing them and storing them for safekeeping at the church before we all headed to the reception. I scurried through the church, trying not to trip over my long, white, wedding dress, to the bathroom to change. I stared at myself in the mirror, this bright, smiling version in me in my angelic apparel, white as winter with a full, flowing skirt, detailed with tiny beaded flowers and lace over the bodice. I couldn’t believe that I was now a wife, to the most wonderful man in the world. He had to be made for me. He was made for me, and I for him. I silently prayed of thanks to God as I stepped from the mirror into a stall to change. The grateful words in my head felt strange, and the images from my nightmare, that had felt thousands of miles away ten minutes ago, flashed in my mind. I tried to remind myself, it was only a nightmare. I carefully slipped out of my dress, touching the silky fabric as though it were sacred, storing it safely, before changing into another one, just as white and elaborate, but much easier to move in.
A whistle of joking attraction greeted me as I exited. “Your husband is one lucky man,” said Natalia. I chuckled lightly as I started for the door with her. She laughed with me, and I remembered all those days we’d spent throughout the years, arguing and dreaming simultaneously about this day.
After one of our arguments, Natalia finally let me have my peace. She didn’t want a guy, or so she said, and if she ever had one, she didn’t want to get married; she just wanted to go through her life independently, and never let anything get in her way. I, on the other hand, may have agreed that we didn’t exactly need guys, but I still wanted to find the “one”. As much as she tried to convince me that I had to search for him, or as much as she tried to talk my head out of the clouds of fantasy, future life, I went on exactly the way I always had.
“Alright, so I don’t think I’ll want to get married in the future, or, at least I won’t need to, but if you want to, that’s fine. Go ahead. I’ll be happy for you.”
And now everything I’d dreamed of had come. And she kept her promise. I didn’t think it was unlikely that she would soon follow my footsteps, in one level or another.
My husband was now waiting in the long, sleek hovercar. I wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to ride in a limousine on wheels. But I didn’t care for the thought at that moment, when I stepped inside and looked into his eyes, and I was sure that was my future.
We held hands lovingly, chastely, as we were driven to the reception hall. Somehow, the silence was perfect, devoid of unnecessary conversation, as though we could read each others’ minds in the midst of our daze of love and togetherness. As soon as we got to the reception, however, it was impossible to be quiet. Dancing (both wild and slow, silly and sentimental), music, playful familial embarrassment from my side, rowdy conversation overtook us, and even my typically aloof husband seemed to be opening up.
My favorite part of the reception was when I danced for the first time as a wife. The soft, acoustic song that was played for us the night we got engaged was, appropriately, the one we danced to for the first time as a married couple. It was now my favorite song, and it would forever be our song in my mind.
Though the night was mostly light, the intensity of Alexander’s elusive past still managed to catch up with us, taking the form of his father, one of the few living Abborts attending our wedding. When everyone had started leaving, things beginning to tone down, as we ourselves prepared to go, he approached us. The man himself, though in a high, would-be honorable position politically, seemed sort of shady. Alexander darkened as came to us, trying to make our exit quicker.
“I’d like to congratulate you,” he said to us, standing in front of us, forcing us to stop. My husband nodded.
“Thank you,” he replied, curtly, ignoring the artfully bundled package in his father’s hands, a gift, I assumed.
“Take this. I’m sure you’ll be needing it soon.”
They shared a look I didn’t understand, asking and answering questions I didn’t yet know about.
“Good night, Alexander. Michelle,” he said to us politely, before leaving faster than he had approaching us. The vague exchange between father and son left me feeling quite unsettled, but I decided not to bring it up, as we rode in a different kind of silence to the place where we would spend our wedding night.
Troy
I closed the journal, unable to read any further at this moment. Not only was the next segment of her entry uncomfortable, but it reinforced all the fears that my mother wanted to ignore the day of her wedding. I knew I had to get to her before they would marry, before they would even begin a relationship, or else there would be no way for her to succeed.
Maybe the place Kainni and I had found was safe, though completely with its own set of terrors, but safe from the ones of the future. Yet it was incredibly selfish for me to stay here, when there was a possibility, though slim, that I could rescue someone, anyone from the kind of torture that my father put upon them. Especially my mother. I tried to keep down the memories, but it was like swallowing vomit, that would eventually come up and out, no matter how hard one tried.
Blood, screaming, shouting... falling, bruising, punch, kick, hit...
Her, standing in front of me... her, taking the fall...
The details managed to escape me. I couldn’t break down in the car with this man, this man so generous that I hardly knew. Not now. I had to save it. I had to... all the while, I knew, what I had to do, was the best I could do. I was only keeping others safe, I was only preventing further pain.
The knife, raising... in and out, blurry, unfocused... red... red... pooling on the ground... tears, crying... last words whispered...
I could never remember them. I could never remember exactly what she told me, at least not now. My hands were holding my head now, and I knew I was shaking, vague flashes of images coming in and out of my mind, as hard as I tried to keep them away.
“Hey, Troy? Hey, are you alright?” said Matt, trying to get my attention from the wheel, hopefully not looking away from the road to become aware of my condition. I took a few deep breaths, trying to regain my composure before I really lost it, sitting up and attempting to get into a less tense position.
“Y-Yeah... I... I’m... fine,” I lied, unconvincingly. Lying well, though I despised it, was one trait I sometimes wished I had.
Mr. Sawyer nodded, and continued driving. We'd had a conversation earlier tonight. He'd just wanted to get to know Kainni and I better, entirely, well, mostly, willing to house us and even his daughter's boyfriend in our times of need. It wasn't something that would happen very often where I was.
"So... are you two from around here? I'm just curious."
I shrugged. I had really wished Kainni had been down there with me at the time, because she was better at these sorts of things.
"Uh... just a little... ways away," I replied, as confidently as I could. He nodded.
"Well, I hope we can help you guys out as much as possible. You two can stay as long as you need to," he said. I tried to respond appropriately. It was so great of someone to do this. But I didn't want to be a burden to him, and more so, the thoughts of my mother kept creeping in. I had a ridiculous, unrealistic hope, that maybe, just maybe, I could still save her.
After all, Kainni's manual had said that one party gets the worst of the damage from time machine interference. I'd only snuck a glimpse of it when she'd dropped it the other day. That day had seemed weeks behind me. If there was any chance of saving her, I had to jump at it.
While I pondered these things, I absentmindedly answered Terra's father's casual, non-probing questions, though I was beginning to feel thoroughly probed toward the end of our discussion, for the simple purpose that I wasn't answering any of these questions honestly.
Kainni had come down at the perfect moment. I couldn't take this "small talk" much longer. I was good at conversation, and was much worse at giving false answers in one. I tried not to think of her face as I left. I told her the circumstances. And she was much safer, better off, without me. I... I would see if I could fix her machine too, see if she could head to where she needed to be. Otherwise my attempts at this journey would only be benefitting my mother and myself.
I was quite sure of why she was here. Her purpose was perhaps more noble than mine. The... technology... at my mother's time had not been developed enough for her to hypnotize anyone else. The only way she had been able to write the journal was all of her lapses in between... sessions. I swallowed, trying to keep back all the images in my head again.
"We're here," said Mr. Sawyer, cutting the engine on the car and unlocking the doors. He opened his door and made his way to the trunk, pulling out the travel bag of meager belongings I had collected the past few days. He carried it to Mrs. Sawyer's house, knocking on the door once, gently.
She arrived at the door a few moments after that. She looked the same as we'd come to see her the days before.
"Special delivery," said Mr. Sawyer, lightly. I chuckled nervously, though my current particular seriousness rendering me nearly incapable of feigning humor. Terra's mom smiled weakly. "Welcome back, Troy," she said, in her quiet voice.
"Nice to see you again, Matt," she said, regarding her husband? with a polite nod. I took the bag of necessities as Mrs. Sawyer held the door open. I walked tentatively to the guest room, while Terra's parents spoke to each other in low voices. They never seemed to speak any louder than a sensitive whisper, even in casual "conversation". I set down the bag on the floor as I stepped inside the familiar room. In my head, I saw Kainni there, I saw her hand snatch back the journal, remembered us on the bed, reading the sad novel, saw her talking, and me listening, like a old-time movie montage. D
Despite the fact that we had only recently "met", we had known each other a long time ago. And the few days we'd had together made it seem worth that wait to see each other again. I almost felt caught up with her. But I knew we really weren't. I knew there was so much more we needed to say. Words I couldn't bear to speak. Things she wouldn't want to hear.
I was entirely sure of the reason why we couldn't remember each other. Even after this too short time together again, I knew it would be easier to just go, if possible. I didn't know what she saw in me, despite our previous friendship, but there wasn't much in me to see. And if this went on any longer, I knew what would happen.
Maybe this different time could give us different fates, but I was still as much Troy Abbort here as I was in the future. I was still as capable, still as likely, to become /him/ here, as I was there. I knew what would happen if I stayed.
A door softly shut, signaling the leaving of Terra's father. I heard light, yet trudging footsteps enter another room, not a sound coming as her door shut, secluding herself once more.
Soon, it would be the time of opportunity. In my head, I made a map of the city I've seen, and the way to get out, the way to get to the forest and the freeway.
Kainni
After Troy and Mr. Sawyer left, I idled myself in front of the needless television, while Terra spoke with Shane. She'd helped him out of his room, and they'd eaten, while I pretended my appetite didn't exist, the second loss of Troy so present in my mind. It was not guaranteed, I reminded myself. I could still stop him.
I would, I could, I WOULD, stop him. There was no need for me to be so dramatic. I could do this. I knew how he felt about his mother. And now I understood. I burned, seethed, with an even stronger anger, fury toward Alexander Abbort, where I now knew all the blame rightfully belonged. Maybe my feelings for Troy were selfish; I knew his mother... if he saved his mother, he truly would be saving everyone. Nevermind that the same could have happened to another woman like Michelle. Even so, I might still be able to know the story. I could go back and prevent it too, if I knew of what happened before. If I were even able to... to remember that. Those blank spots in my memories, where people might have been, the things that I'd read were not just my own problem, came to mind. How many loved ones had I already lost?
I shuddered at the thought. What a terrible world. There had to be something I could do. Terra had retreated to Shane's room with him. I turned off the T.V., and as quietly as possible, I climbed halfway up the stairs toward her room. But I realized that this would be futile. What would it matter if she was related to me? What could I do if she was? Tell her to tell her child to tell her child and so on not to go to the government leader’s residence at “x” time in the future? I don’t think that would go over very well. I hesitated for one moment before continuing back down. No, there was no point in violating her privacy any longer.
Even if she was, maybe there really wasn’t a point. I bolted down the stairs now, my goal being the front door, when I heard the unmistakable sound of tears from somewhere in the guest room’s hall. It’s none of my business, I reminded myself.
But it wasn’t from inside the guest room.
Interference (Chapter 7)
October 22, 2109, 3:00 AM
Patrik Ceiltra was in great distress. Last night, his daughter’s note just rang in his head. Mom in danger, took the time machine, be back soon, don’t worry... those few lines just repeated themselves. But he couldn’t help but worry. She just took the time machine out of nowhere? How had she even known where it was? Regardless, he paced, thinking over the last few stressful days.
All he’d done was work, trying not to remember the fact that his wife had come home from the capital only a few days ago to announce that they couldn’t be together anymore. It seemed random, but he’d realized how she’d stopped returning his chats, how she had nearly cut off all communication with him while she was gone.
He’d tried to tell himself that it was okay that she was feeling this way, that she would come back. But now, it was not only his daughter’s words on his mind, but the words on the document that had recently appeared, obscuring the work on his busiTop. The document requesting his signature, the one that asked him to do something he’d never thought of doing.
It seemed that these past days had only forced him to work harder, but now he’d been caught completely off guard. And everything was turning upside down. The main computer screen told the story of the Leader’s son going missing, and his great concern for him and how he was searching for him desperately now.
“Even amongst all his other business, Leader Alexander Abbort has such devotion for his family,” announced the mediawoman, before continuing to another government/dictator worshipping story. “And now, onto his most recent accomplishment in...”
Patrik turned off the screen after that second, sighing deeply. He’d had enough of that, those lies, propaganda being shoved down everyone’s throats, as they all listened blindly. And to think, he’d known the perpetrator of it all... he pushed the thought away, exiting out of the document requesting that he sign to end his marriage, trying to work again, trying to think of a way to get out of this, to fix all of it.
“Patrik Ceiltra? Please come to your door, Mr. Ceiltra, we have important manners to discuss with you,” came a syrupy voice from outside his door, their faces appearing on the security camera screen from within, their voices projected from the outer microphone. He knew they could see him inside with the camera outdoors showing the activities of his home.
Mediators. It seemed like there was really no difference between day and night for them, considering the miserable time at which they had now arrived. Those voices, those uniforms, their strange expressions. How deceitful could this place get? For a long time, he’d been doubting the ignorantly accepted “government” system, yet he’d shoved those thoughts down , and now, they were taking the front and center of his mind.
Reluctantly, he opened the door, and the two mediators, a male and a female in identical midnight-blue uniforms stepping inside with no formal welcome.
“Hello city mediators. What brings me the honor of seeing you in my home?” Patrik said, attempting to sound as genuine as possible, silently cursing his own hypocrisy. The odd, blank eyes of the female mediator met his.
“We’re here to inquire a few bits of information from you, if you do not mind,” she said, her voice so perfect, so soothing, desperate to move one, yet behind that voice, he heard a threat. Her true words were, in his mind, “We’re going to ask you questions, and if you don’t answer, there will be consequences.”
The two “mediators” sat down on the couch, and pulled out the newest, sleekest models of busiTops, as he sat across from them.
“It appears there has been time machine usage within the past 48 hours, is this so?” asked the male mediator. Lying would not be tolerated.
“Yes, this is so,” Patrik replied. It was safe to now, in the very least, though with every response to come, he expected to be digging himself and his family deeper into a hole they may not be able to get out of.
“And we understand that you have an older model time machine, correct? One that you had not yet returned to its manufacturer, yes?”
“Correct.”
“Well, sir, you do understand you could be reformed for this action?” said the female mediator. Patrik nodded.
“Regardless of such, it seems that the Ceiltra-owned time machine has traveled out of legal range and is currently out of detection.”
Where had Kainni gone? He thought. Even if she’d gone back a few months, or even years, it would still be in detection range... the only way for her to be out of range now would be...
Patrik desperately attempted to keep calm.
“Is that so?” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Yes, it is so. We’ve just stated it so. Now, Mr. Ceiltra, if you would please follow us back to our office, we will continue your questioning there,” said the female mediator crisply, standing in unison with her partner.
In laymen’s terms, “Mr. Ceiltra, you are under arrest.”
Kainni
When I awoke, I found that Troy was not next to me. It was not a pleasant feeling, considering last night’s events, and it took a few moments to remember where we had ended up. The guest room looked different, and there were no blinds in this guest room, only heavy curtains that now filtered in bluish light from the overcast outside.
That dream, though I didn’t understand it, just kept coming back to haunt me. And why would I want to fight, and especially, defeat, Troy? Why would he be my enemy? Other than obvious reasons... but those reasons, were literally, from yesterday. In the past. I’d done my best to keep them in, but I knew this was all going too fast, and that I should get back to listening to my common sense sometime.
I rose to my feet and started for the door of the guest room, which cracked open before I could even reach it.
“O-Oh... sorry, did I wake you?” Troy whispered as he let himself in. I shook my head, recovering from the momentary startle, laughing slightly to myself at his eerie timing.
“No, no, I was actually just about to leave the room and look for you...” I said, keeping my voice low as he did, assuming that others may still be asleep.
“Heh... yeah, Terra’s dad made me sleep on the couch...” he said, trailing off, rubbing the back of his neck like he felt sort of nervous.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s alright,” I said, tentatively sliding my arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. He smiled hesitantly, kissing my forehead and wrapping his arms around my waist. I mirrored him, and we stood there for a moment, until...
“Good morning, guests,” said Terra’s dad as he opened the door, his arms crossed, smiling with a half-smugness as he interrupted us. I felt my cheeks turn hot as we pulled away.
“I thought I’d stay home this morning for you two and Terra, if that’s alright. Anyway, what do you guys want for breakfast?” he asked.
Terra came down the hall, her hand on her forehead, looking greatly annoyed at her own rude awakening. She glared at her father for a second, before stalking back up the stairs, yawning.
“Uh... I don’t care,” I said, feeling the need to break the awkward silence. He seemed satisfied with that answer.
“I think it’d be nice to go out today, don’t you think?”
It looked like it was going to be another rainy day... of course it was a good day to go out again.
“If that’s alright with you two.”
We nodded, desperately hoping he’d let us get ready in peace.
“Alright then,” he said, starting toward the stairs.
“Terra! Time to get up, we’re going to get breakfast...”
I heard her groan from upstairs, before her dad peaked over at the guest room again.
“Oh, right, Troy, I have some clothes for you to borrow.”
He tossed a stack of folded clothes to him, motioning for him to leave the room. He gave me a backwards glance as he headed for the bathroom. Terra soon dropped by, still looking half-asleep, half-dead, and barely awake, handing me a pile of not too neat, yet clean, clothes to borrow from her.
“Here,” she said, yawning. “Sorry about my dad... he’s just... I dunno, him.”
“It’s alright,” I replied, making a weak attempt to smile reassuringly.
She responded a similar way, but I knew it would be harder for her. I closed the door after she was gone and slipped on a pair of dark, tapered jeans and a fitted button down shirt that had was checked with black and red and a combination of the two. The sleeves were three-quarters length if one buttoned their cuffs, just above my elbows. I slipped it on over a white tank top and put on my somewhat muddy boots.
Looking at myself in the mirror, though I accurately appeared a little sleep-deprived, I was satisfied with the look I had. I stepped into the hallway, Terra at the bottom of the stairs, Troy exiting to meet us there. Terra’s father was a little bit taller than Troy, so the clothes were a little big on him, yet the black button down shirt, with the three buttons open, sleeves rolled up, and dark jeans somehow seemed to work very well for him.
“Uh, Kainni, you can keep that outfit... I don’t really wear those clothes that much, so, yeah,” said Terra. I didn’t know why she didn’t like it. Troy took his place next to me, as Terra’s dad came downstairs, tossing his keys in the air as he made his way down.
“You all ready to go?” he said. We nodded collectively as he led us to the garage, where he must have put his car while we were sleeping. We assumed our spots from the night before, Terra in the passenger seat, her father driving, Troy and I in the back. Mr. Sawyer keyed a code into a remote control that opened the garage door, backing up as soon as our seatbelts were buckled, closing the door with the same code as soon as we were out.
Terra turned on the radio, and some soft song with adoring, but odd, lyrics came on, to which she changed the station. Loud guitar and a guy with a voice slightly whispery, then came on, to which her father, strangely, allowed to remain on the station, even when the guy’s voice rose, almost to a scream. Even when he did scream.
“Wow, I’m impressed, Dad, not changing the station to ‘good’ music... and on a Sunday,” Terra jeered, sarcastically. He just a smug look on his face, as he sang what sounded like the chorus under his breath, barely audible compared to the loud song bursting through his car speakers.
“Breathe your life into me, I can feel you, I'm falling, falling faster, breathe your life into me, I still need you, I'm falling, falling, breathe into me...” he sang. The song soon ended with a bang of even louder music, and screaming, which transferred into a man on the radio announcing that this was From the Heart, a program sponsored by Life for Christ Church...
“This is the POP station, why is there...? How is that even a Christian song, I mean, it’s like hardcore metal or something...”
“You don’t know hardcore metal, Terra.”
“I’m surprised you ever used to,” she muttered, “And that is really creepy, Dad.”
He just laughed to himself, as we arrived at a restaurant. A chain diner that looked like it was trying too hard, but still seemed popular, named “Denny’s”. I’d seen it in really old movies, and I mean, very, very old, but never did I think I would ever be face to face with an old chain restaurant like this.
Troy was staring at the floor of the car as our doors automatically unlocked and some song about scars on your wrist and that it was the last night you’ll spend alone came on, and Mr. Sawyer cut the engine. How would he know what hardcore metal was?
“Sometimes I cannot believe you went from being in a band that played like, Metallica or whatever, to being in the freaking church band...” Terra said to her father, annoyed, as Troy and I trailed the pair into the restaurant.
“One day you’ll understand,” he said, as we stood in line to be given menus and taken to a table. The place seemed pretty packed this morning.
“What time is it...?” I said, mostly to myself.
“Ten-thirty,” said the woman at the counter as I found ourselves suddenly at the front of the line. Well, that was quick. All the people must have been done with “church” already. What a weird place this was...
Hardly anyone I knew went to church anymore. In fact, none of my friends did. My parents didn’t. I didn’t, naturally. My parents said that I didn’t need to have someone, or, something, tell me how to live my life. And I agreed with them. And that I had to be logical about things, not to just blindly accept something. That, I was certainly good at.
But my mother never went as far as to diminish the intelligence of those who did believe in something beyond the earth. I knew that most people did, but didn’t like to say, for fear of being thought of in that light. She said that even if I didn’t agree with someone, however, that I shouldn’t judge them. And that I should never belittle them for what they believed.
Even when it seemed rather unbelievable. I thought about these things, trying desperately not to ache for her, my mother, as we took our seat at the table.
This whole time, Troy had not let his gaze leave the floor. He just didn’t seem to have anything to say. I glanced away from him at the father and daughter. Terra had given up her comments, now pretending to be absolutely fascinated by the many ways to put together a “Grand Slam” as the menu’s separate, laminated companion stated. Hm... food that I would never eat at home. I glanced through the menu, trying to see if anything familiar or appetizing resided there.
Nothing familiar, lots appetizing. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s meager lunch. Before that, nothing but about an eighth of a mug of coffee.
Troy seemed to be feeling the same way, trying to hide the ravenous look he had when other people received their orders. I kept my eyes on the menu, trying not to smell anything, trying not to be tempted to order whatever seemed like the largest, most caloric, meal that was available on the menu.
“Hello there, I’m Sandra, I’ll be your waitress for today. So is there anything you’d like to drink, coffee, tea...?”
Our waitress had light brown hair, and looked to be in her late teens, to early 20’s.
“I’ll take a coffee,” said Terra’s father.
“I’ll have coffee as well,” said Terra, a few odd moments too late, still keeping her eyes fixed to the menu, though her mind was elsewhere.
“Just water for me,” said Troy.
“I’ll have water as well,” I said, though I really did want more coffee. But I knew I wouldn’t need it. And it wasn’t good for me. Neither was much of the food here, I could see, but that I couldn’t really change much. Soon, the waitress returned with the tray of our drinks, handing the coffees to their respective persons, the water to Troy, and setting three miniature bowls of cream packages on the table.
“Are you guys ready to order?” she asked us.
“I’ll have the grand slam sandwich,” said Mr. Sawyer.
“One Slamwich,” said Sandra the waitress as she wrote down his order on her notepad, taking his menu in one swift motion afterwards.
“Wheat pancakes, please,” said Terra, still staring at the menu, and then at the table as it was relinquished.
“Hearty wheat hotcakes,” she said as she wrote her order down.
“I’ll have the vegetable and cheese omelet,” I said.
“Veggie-cheese omelet... and you, sir?” Sandra said, eyeing Troy, who still seemed undecided.
“I’ll have the French toast,” he said.
“The Fabulous French Toast platter?”
“Uh, yeah, that,” he replied, quietly.
“Alright then. I’ll be back with your meals soon,” she said, cheerily stepping to the next table. I wonder how much caffeine it took for her get so chipper working at a place that was so busy and crowded. Conversations passed throughout the restaurant like the tides of an ocean going in all different directions.
“...And your grant aunt Sam went to your great uncle’s house with...”
“...So therefore, there is no possible way that the thing could pass without great resistance and...”
“What’d you think of the game on Friday?”
“The songs in church today were nice...”
“...and in the dream, there was this evil muffin slash alien overlord chasing me and...”
“...and Mrs. Reynolds was talking to Lisa’s neighbor, that man on fourth street...”
“...Chris Nichol is so annoying...”
“...no sweetheart, don’t be digging in mommy’s purse, no that’s my keys...”
Someone’s search alarm went off in the parking lot a few moments after that. In spite of all the waves surrounding us, our table was an island of dry silence.
“Why did you take us here, Dad?” groaned Terra, finally making our table blend into the conversational masses.
“Well, I just wanted to get you guys some breakfast, and maybe talk a little or something... I haven’t hung out with you and your friends for a long time and...”
“Couldn’t we have just stayed home to do that?” she grumbled, as I eyed another family entering the restaurant. They were a neatly dressed group, most of them dressed somewhat formally, the mother in a black skirt and a rose-colored blouse, the father in a white, collared shirt, and black dress pants, their daughter, a little girl with a light brown hair, wore a dress. Their son was an exception—his hands were in his pockets, he had on a white t-shirt that had the logo on his shoes printed upon it in various colors, dark jeans, and a hat on over his shaggy dark brown hair.
As the family was led to the table, I caught a glimpse of his eyes, his deep, night-sky blue eyes. Immediately, I looked over at Troy, who seemed to be just as immersed in his thoughts as Terra had been earlier. I tuned out their conversation now, glancing back and forth between Troy and the guy who shared his eyes.
Troy now seemed to notice this guy who had an eerie likeness to himself. Quickly, he glanced away as our waitress arrived, setting up a stand for the two plates that she would later hand out.
“Hearty wheat hotcakes and a Slamwich,” she said, setting down Terra’s plate and her father’s in front of him.
“One fabulous French toast platter,” she said, annoying stating the menu’s titles for the dishes again, putting Troy’s plate in front of him.
“And a veggie-cheese omelet. I hope you all enjoy!”
She set my warm plate in front of me, taking the empty platters away and finally giving me permission to keep my mind from more pressing matters and focus on my food.
Troy
Where I had been nearly starving earlier, I found that I could not focus on eating now. That family, that other guy, over there, the name they called him, his face, reminded me of my own family tree. Each one of us looked like the ones we grew to hate, and he was one of them, I could see it.
Although, it didn't make sense; he had a little sister, a living mother. I morbidly wondered when these things would disappear for him. Unless he was the first one that cracked.
This was on my mind as we finally left the restaurant, after listening to the fractured conversation between Terra and her father, and his attempts to communicate with Kainni and I. It seemed he meant well, though his occasionally overbearing ways didn't really please Terra very much.
He didn't even ask us where we were from, or express aloud if he wondered why we were "running". Just asked us about our interests, maybe he asked how we knew each other. Conversation came naturally for him, and he listened as well as he spoke.
I, of all people would know a person who covered up their terrifying behavior and personality with something calmer and crowd-pleasing, but I could tell that Terra's father was genuine. I had never really experienced what a good male parent would be, but it seemed he would probably be pretty close.
It seemed impossible to understand why Terra would ever take for granted someone like that. Yet, I could see there were topics that he would avoid.
On the way to the hospital, the car radio on a station Terra seemed not to enjoy, a quiet and emotional and confusing song about being held in the worst of situations started to play.
"Remember when Mom used to listen to this Natalie Grant chick? You brought her to that concert...you were so sure that you could cheer her up with it..." she said, crossing her arms, her soft words like a serrated knife.
He didn't respond, eyes on the road, all the words he might have said having ceased.
"I mean, you'd think that she'd need someone like that with her while she's going through this... you'd think someone would be strong enough to help her..." she continued.
He turned off the radio abruptly, almost looking angry for a split second, though the anger was not aimed at his daughter, nor his currently absent wife. A few more blocks brought him the escape from the subject he so obviously wanted to avoid, the hospital rising as he parked in the lot.
Terra stepped from the car, her father following close behind, Kainni and I the last ones out. We walked inside, and I was grateful to be out of the emergency waiting room; it had been miserable in there, and though the hospital was tense with emotions of all states, being anywhere but there or within an actual hospital room seemed to be a breath of fresh air.
We approached the desk in a different wing, Terra the one with the most anticipation, as she asked: "Hi, we were wondering if Shane Trenton is able to take visitors right now," she said.
The receptionist looked up his name on her ancient computer, and nodded. "It looks like that would be okay, but you'll have to check with his doctor before going in. I think he's actually got some visitors right now, but..."
"What room is he in now?" Terra interrupted.
"Room 240, but it seems like he has some other visitors right now_"
"'Kay, thanks."
Terra immediately bounded for the room, disregarding the receptionist's subtle warnings as she dragged us behind her. It seemed she was in quite the hurry for this visit. Not as she had been the night before; it seemed she was panicking still, now, desperate to find if last night's reassurances had lasted and to make sure everything was okay.
"Hey, Ter, are you sure you don't want to pick something up from the gift shop downstairs first or...?" her father started, but she was already miles ahead of us.
And then she came to an abrupt halt in front of a door, room 240. Her gaze was fixed on the little door's window. Kainni and I soon arrived behind her, glancing inside as well.
There was a suited woman in the room, carrying a large case with her, as well as the doctor from the night before. I couldn't see Shane from behind them, and it appeared they were quite involved in their discussion.
"...made attempts to contact your..."
"...a backup for..."
"You're going to need a place to recover until we can reach one of your relatives. Is there anyone you know who could do that for you?"
At this opportune moment, the anxious girlfriend fumbled with the door's knob, before tapping lightly upon it. The doctor responded by opening the door a tiny bit.
"Well, it looks like our time is up," he said, more so talking to the woman in the suit than any of us. He walked back to his patient for a moment. "Shane, you think you can handle a few more visitors for a bit?"
Terra blocked the doorway, and we still couldn't see him.
"Sure," he replied, his voice hoarse and quiet, coughing slightly as he spoke.
The woman in the suit came to the door with the doctor.
"Alright. Don't be afraid to call the nurse if you need anything," he said, and the woman nodded.
"We'll be back soon."
We finally occupied the room, Terra immediately taking the seat closest to Shane.
The encounter with his father the other day had obviously not helped his current state, the more apparent bruises from the other day having been amplified, and there were several on his face, as well as many cuts and scratches, and a bandage over his forehead, probably more on his arm, one of which resided in a cast. It appeared that his ribs might be bandaged underneath his hospital attire, and his left foot, the one he'd been avoiding using the other day, was casted softly up his calf. All in all, he was very battered, though we all knew that it could have been much worse.
Which is why Terra seemed to cling so hard to his uninjured hand.
"Wow, don't I feel popular today," he managed to croak out. Terra smiled weakly at his attempt to lighten the slightly dim mood. He coughed. She was watching him closely, and then glanced over at her father, as if to ask a question. He didn't seem to understand.
"Who... who was that lady, Shane?" Terra prodded gently.
Shane attempted to sit up, but cringed back down onto the bed, coughing as he did so.
"Just... some... social worker or something."
"Ah. Well, it sounded like you needed a place to stay outside of the hospital."
Her father shot her a warning glance, to which she responded by looking pleadingly at him. She wanted to add another guest to their growing list of unpaying boarders, an injured one at that.
"Well..." Terra started.
He sighed. "We'll think about it."
"I... I was going to ask, Mr. Sawyer" Shane said, coughing slightly. "But I didn't... want to... cause any trouble..."
Trouble seemed to come easy to Shane and Terra, all too common in their disquieted lives. Those words and the apology in his reluctant, but almost desperate gaze seemed to satisfy Terra's father.
"I'll take it up with them with they come back in, alright? No promises, though. I want to help, but... I can't make any promises."
Shane nodded, but automatically seemed to regret this motion as he winced afterward, shooting himself into a coughing fit. Terra looked very distressed at the sight.
"Are you okay? Shane, calm down, take deep breaths..." she said, more panicky than really helpful was her tone. Eventually, he stopped coughing, taking a few long moments to catch his breath.
"Are you okay?" she repeated, quieter now.
"Y-Yeah... I'm fine..."
I heard the doorknob being turned, a young nurse stepping in with a tray of lunch food. I realized we'd eaten breakfast late, but not quite this late. Or maybe it was just the hospital schedules.
"Good morning again, Shane. And visitors," she said, greeting us all with a nice, positive smile; she was oddly a lot less annoying than the waitress.
"Morning again, Lea," he coughed out.
"Just thought I'd drop by and bring you some delicious hospital cuisine," she said, jokingly as she brought the tray to his right side, forcing Terra out of the chair and away from him.
"Oh, I'm sure," he replied sarcastically.
Lea the nurse, who seemed to be only a couple of inches shorter than me, with sun-bleached blond hair, smiled. "Well, it looks like you're doing pretty well. Anything you need?"
Shane was looking at the unappealing food. "Nothing for a while... maybe a little more_" He coughed again. "Some more meds for my ribs, if that's okay..."
"Alright, but we don't want to overmedicate you right now. Try getting something in your stomach first. I'll be back in ten. Enjoy your popularity," she said, winking, another genuine soul, as she headed for the door of the room.
"Wait... uh, Lea?" said Mr. Sawyer.
"Yes?"
"Would you mind taking me to Shane's doctor? I need to talk to him about something," he said.
"I could try. I think we can leave these kids alone for a minute," she said, and Terra's father followed her into the hall as she pulled out her strange radio-thing.
"Sorry I didn't bring you any food or anything..." said Terra, also looking at the unappetizing soft foods on the tray.
"At least... I'll be able to get out of here soon if they let... me stay... with you," he said, having forced himself to sit up and scoop up some yellowy-apple-colored mush into his mouth. His face scrunched at that moment.
"Can't wait to get out of here..." he muttered.
Terra put her hand on his shoulder, gently, sympathetically. She sighed. "I hope they do..." she said.
I wondered what the house would be like if we all had to live there. Albeit more spacious than Terra's mother's house, I could tell that things might not go very well with the four of us in one place again.
But there really wasn't much I could do. And it wasn't as though I would ever want to neglect an injured person a place to stay. But it wasn't even my house... I couldn't believe Mr. Sawyer could actually sacrifice his home like that. It was rather admirable to me.
After sitting back awkwardly and trying not to pay too much attention to the conversing couple, Terra's father, the doctor, and the social worker came to our rescue.
"Shane, as soon as you are recovered enough to leave the hospital, Mr. Sawyer is going to make arrangements to take you in until we locate a relative," announced the woman.
Terra looked like she was internally rejoicing at the news, and Shane seemed to be pretty happy about it as well. Her father seemed to be a little warmer to the idea now that he had it arranged.
The doctor scanned over us, the small crowd. "Well, I think it's time you guys be heading out for now," he said, as the nurse walked back in with some odd looking supplies.
"Hope your breakfast was good," she said. "Gotta check your vitals, make sure you're alive and all that..."
"Well, see you later, Shane," said Terra, her reluctance to leave coating her voice.
"See you later," he replied, smiling weakly. "Don't worry... I'll be seeing you a... lot more... seen..."
She brightened a little at this, as we all left the room.
"Mr. Sawyer, you're taking Shane into your place too?" said Kainni questioningly. He laughed slightly at the first of her statement.
"Call me Matt," he said. "And yes, I am. Is that alright with you?"
"Uh... sure," she replied, as we strapped ourselves into the backseat again.
"Thanks so much, Dad," said Terra, gratefully, embracing him tightly for once. "That was... really... really great of you."
"Gotta open my house up, you know? It's not really my house, it's..."
"Yeah, yeah, it was really nice, Dad. Thank you."
"Mi casa es... well, it belongs to whoever needs it," he replied. Terra sighed, her mood had not become weightier like it had been a while ago. I was glad this man was so kind to us, all of us. It was like nothing I had seen before. I watched the city as it flew by us, and though there might be chaos to come, I reached for Kainni's hand. I felt that we finally might have found someplace safe.
October 22, 2109, 12:00 PM
"It appears that you and your daughter have been violating the law for a long time. Your web history is loaded with illegal websites, to which you have been contributing to."
Upon the large screen in the conference room, were images of the websites the father and daughter had visited, places he wasn't even aware that his daughter had been to. Many of the sites had been closed. Responses that were tracked from her meTop showed up on the screen, speaking about suspicions, and against Alexander Abbort, some venting, some utterly passionate in emotion, anger, resentment, and all of it intelligent conclusions, and possible solutions to go about the way the seemingly peaceful nation was ruled.
He had one or two replies on some of the sites, but the vast majority of them were his daughter. A part of Patrik Ceiltra swelled with pride at his daughter's brilliance and willingness to stand up to injustice, though he was soon forced back into his current situation.
"The time machine was written in ownership by your family, and due to your partial ownership, you have also been deemed responsible for this violation of the current time machine code. You should know about the technicalities of the industry. You work for it, don't you?"
He nodded.
"Mr. Ceiltra, I'm going to have to ask you to remove the technological device," said the female mediator who had been interrogating him, more like stating all the facts THE Alexander had allowed her to look at. Which seemed to be his and his entire family's life.
He took off his glasses, which he had been controlling with his miniscule remote control that he’d been using with his left thumb and forefinger underneath the table, making them scan the information of his "industry" for the locations of some of his company's time machines all over the U.S. All he could see through the lenses were where the new machines were being distributed, and where the old machines were being exchanged or returned to. He relinquished them without a fight, knowing they were of no use to him now.
The Mediator woman motioned for him to give her what controlled them, and he handed the tiny remote to her. She crushed it between her thumb and forefinger, causing the power to cease.
“Well... do you have any protests to these suspected crimes, Mr. Ceiltra?” she said, her mood now appropriately cold for a person of her supposed stature.
“No, Mediator. I confess to all of them. However_”
“No ‘howevers’, Mr. Ceiltra. I have been requested to be your corrector, so, come along with me,” she said. She had a communication device implanted in her ear, and it appeared she was listening carefully for further instruction.
The rumors, the suspicions, they had to be true... no one went to jail anymore, they only got corrected.
If someone spoke out against the government’s rule publicly, or were caught at all, they would be corrected. If someone violated the laws against religious speaking, they were corrected. If someone had committed a horrible crime, even they were corrected. At times, criminals and those with different thoughts would disappear.
But what was correction? What was it, and what did it mean?
The Mediator grasped his face in her hands, forcing him to stare into her eyes, as she pulled out something metallic and glowing blue.
“Do not look away,” the Mediator commanded. Correction...
“Patrik Ceiltra... you are a follower of Alexander Abbort the ruler of our country, a great ruler, you will follow all his laws You will only speak highly of him...”
“So, how was the trip?” he’d asked.
“It was... it was great, Alexander Abbort has become an even more incredible man. And he is going to promote my business, and I am forever grateful for that,” she’d replied.
“You will now follow all of his laws, you will do whatever an Abbort Leader commands. You will report any crimes against him that you know are being committed.”
“Where’s Kainni? I’ve been wanting to talk to her for the longest time,” she’d asked.
“Oh, up in her room, probably just on her meTop or something.”
“Thank you.”
“You will do whatever he or his subjects demands of you, no matter what he asks.”
“I’m sorry, but this just isn’t going to work anymore... I can’t seem to go through with the things I want to do with you here. I just need to be out there on my own to really make something of this business...” she’d told him.
“Kainni, I love you,” She said to their daughter.
“But I just can’t be held down by you any longer...”
Her gaze had been focused on him now, and though her expression was so convincing, he had hoped desperately that the look in her eyes had not been true. That these were not her true wishes, but he couldn’t hold her down; he hadn’t before, or at least, he hadn’t thought he had, and though it seemed to be out of nowhere, he couldn’t force her to stay.
“I just need to be away for a while.”
The document that told him otherwise was still on his busiTop at home.
“Patrik Ceiltra, look at me!” the Mediator demanded, suddenly jabbing the side of his temple frantically with the glowing blue metal. There was a shot of pain at this motion, and he realized she’d made a fatal mistake in the order of her procedure. The other Mediator’s shouting voice suddenly became present in her ear, and she yelled angrily back at it, her own eyes flashing a lightning blue for a moment.
He pulled the tiny chip out, grateful that it had submerged entirely, like a burrowing tick, and threw the bloody piece of metal back at the woman, standing to run from the conference room, the “Mediator” scurrying close behind him.
As soon as they reached the door at the end of the long, ominous room, it swung open. They were greeted by the man whom the voice belonged to.
“We have some new information on the whereabouts of the Leader’s son,” he said. He stepped aside to reveal another guest.
“Your daughter seems to be the second party that brought on the interference between your machine and mine.”
Kainni’s father could not, absolutely did not want, to believe that he was facing the one he was facing now.
“Pamela, we’ll speak later,” he said, eyeing the Mediator that had unsuccessfully attempted to correct him. She nodded once, curtly before leaving the room with her partner. As soon as he was deserted, Alexander Abbort spoke, an icy smile on his face.
“Patrik Ceiltra. It sure has been a long time. Why don’t we sit down and have a chat?”
Kainni
The next few days passed by uneventfully. Sunday evening, Terra's father had gone to play with the "worship band" at his church. Troy and I had just relaxed in the guest room, while Terra spent time on one of the strange old laptop computers that had once been so popular.
Things looked a lot better with that technology in the future, though her computer had seemed simple enough to use. Regardless, I preferred the ones I had in my time. But it was interesting to observe all the technology of this time.
Though the circumstances here were not the greatest, I wanted to make the best of them. And Mr. Sawyer was a little bit more hospitable than Mrs. Sawyer. I tried not to consider this fact very much, knowing the reasons were most likely not entirely her fault.
Monday, Troy and I were left at home, while Terra was at school, her father at work. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to leave, like we had been able to at Terra's mother's house. It made sense, considering people our age were usually in school. I knew we could have dropped out at our age, which would make sense, considering our elusive "story". I didn't know what the plan for us would be while we stayed here much longer, though Troy had insisted we make a promise to leave as soon as possible.
I wondered, vaguely, how we'd managed to get past the law-keepers that we'd seen in the hospital. It wasn't as though, despite Terra's somewhat telling appearance, either of us looked too similar to her.
Yet after our last visit to Shane on Tuesday, I was left unsure of that fact.
"You guys are all really great. You seem so close," the nurse, Lea, said to us as we took Shane's various things to the exit of the room. I had been forced to carry his crutches for the timebeing, while Mr. Sawyer took one bag of his clothes and other items, which Terra had dropped in the night before, and Troy had another bag, while Terra took the handles of the wheelchair Shane would be using until he recovered enough to use the crutches. I smiled weakly, trying to match her words like we seemed to do. Terra and I hadn't been too fond of each other the past night.
"Are you two sisters, or cousins or something? You really look alike," she said as we started out.
"Uh... cousins," Terra filled in, taking the comment with an odd look on her face. What on earth was she thinking, her expression said.
"Yup, cousins," I said. What a strange thing this nurse would say.
She nodded at us, smiling, before walking over to Shane.
"Now please, don't come back soon," she said to him.
"No promises. But I'll do my best," he replied.
"That's all I'm asking for."
"Ai'ight. Hope not to see you later."
"Good luck, and get well," said the sincere nurse as she walked off to another hospital room.
I didn't understand how someone couldn't be entirely dead serious with a job like this, but, I suppose I wouldn't be able to handle this kind of work without keeping myself a little light at times. And it looked like she really connected with the patients.
Shane just stared at the floor as Terra pushed him out to the car, an old van that had seemed to be collecting dust in Terra's mother's garage, which Mr. Sawyer, who insisted we call him Matt, had driven out earlier this morning. He tried to help himself into the car, though he had needed assistance to do so. Troy helped Terra put the chair into the spacious trunk, taking his seat next to me in the farthest row to the back of the car, while Shane to the middle row, and Terra the passenger seat. We always seemed to assume this kind of organization in the Sawyers' cars. I sighed, staring out the window as we drove along.
Terra had a CD in, a female artist this time, nothing too loud and screeching like she'd pretended to be into on Sunday. The cover of the old thing had a girl wearing a black sweatshirt with a red X on it, the CD itself titled "Under My Skin".
The lyrics that I could make out of the first track didn't seem to be all that positive, but it wasn't like the sound of Red, the screaming, supposedly Christian band on Sunday. I found that I actually liked this song and singer, and put myself to trying to get as much out of the music as I could as we took our otherwise agonizingly silent ride to the house.
It was so strange that someone would think Terra and I would look similar enough to be like sisters. Did we really look that close? I tried to get a better glimpse of her from the backseat, glancing into the rearview mirror, which reflected her face for me. I guess, in spite of my dyed, choppy, hair, green eyes, and ridiculous paleness, and her hazely, green-brown eyes, dark brown hair, and perfectly tanned tone of skin, we looked pretty similar. It was our features, the way our face was shaped, perhaps our heights, maybe the way we even observed things, which might make someone think we were related.
If anything, she still looked more like my mother. Her skin was tanner than mine, her short hair having darkened to only hold a slight twinge of red, more brunette than anything. She was slim and taller, her green eyes the only definite thing we shared. Yet I suppose I still had some resemblance to her. Childhood photos of her on the old meTop album showed me this. When I was young, I had always hoped I’d grow to look like my beautiful mother, though she’d always told me that outward appearances were not what made someone. I had always looked too young, too plain, and too girlish and peppy. I tried not to care, but as I grew older, I did as much as I could to change how I looked. My appearance now more reflected who I thought I was inside.
Regardless, it was impossible to deny the resemblance of Terra and I, and the even eerier semblances to my own mother. I found that I despised these similarities now. Tried as I might have, I could not get these thoughts out of my head. The most likely situation for Troy and I was that we were never going to get back. That neither one of us would be able to accomplish our earlier goals. I didn’t want Troy to succeed at what he’d earlier suggested; I couldn’t bear the thought of not having him here with me, now that we’d found each other again. If he could save his mother without forcing himself out of existence, that would be great. But I could not think straight on that issue, I wasn’t sure how we could do that.
I knew that my goal could be accomplished and still leave the two of us in tact. The ideal would be to save both of our mothers. But I had the feeling the chances for us to do that were very slim. Technology was just not advanced enough to fix our machines, if they were still functional at all. The rainstorm from when we’d arrived probably hadn’t done anything to them in our absence, but the interference must have been really damaging, considering the total blackout on my machine from that day.
We finally arrived at Mr. Sawyer's place, where he removed Terra's CD, handing it back to her as he turned off the vehicle. Terra and her father then exited their seats to unlock the door and assist Shane out of the car again. She retrieved the wheelchair quickly, and Troy climbed over the seats and hopped out the back, motioning for me to follow. I complied, figuring it would be quicker to go out this way anyway due to the circumstances. I found myself having more sympathy for Shane than I had ever had since the day I'd met him. I'd learned soon after I'd judged his ways that he was more than just a jerk; he was a jerk raised by a worse one. It didn't take the blame from him for his actions, but it did explain things a little better. He had a temper, which Terra's own reflected well, but his seemed to take over more, and he had bad habits, and seemed to be a little reckless after these two things took him over.
It almost fit that this would be what brought him down. I felt bad, though, cruel to think that way, but there were consequences to every action. Saturday night he'd been running, not wanting to get caught for what he'd seen and what he'd done, and then he was anyway.
I looked at the sky, and saw the cloud cover thickening like it had the day we'd came. It heavier than it had then, these four days here threatening to ruin the mood I'd once had. I had to make the best of this, I reminded myself. I would not give up hope. We still had a chance, even if it was a slim one, to get back to where we needed to be. We could still manage.
Troy had the crutches this time as we followed half the Sawyers and Shane into the living room. Terra's father had set it up so that Shane had the first level guest room, which would be easier accessible for him, and forced Terra to share her room with me. Troy kept the living room couch. He didn't seem to mind. Terra had silently fumed over the move, not wanting to outwardly complain to her father much more, and she knew it would be necessary for the arrangement, at least for a while.
As she went in to help her boyfriend get situated, to which her father had supervised, I made my way to Terra's bedroom, seeing my new space on her no longer cluttered, honey colored wood floor. Her room was set with less personal decor that the room at her mother's house, one wall painted deep red, the other painted black. There were a couple of old posters of the girl that had been on the CD cover on her wall, and some of unidentified rock-looking bands. I set my meager lack of belongings (clothes borrowed from Terra) on the floor next to the sleeping bag, thinking that Troy's idea to leave soon was not such a bad one.
Her old-fashioned radio played quietly in the background, playing some obnoxious rap song, and I scanned her walls for anything interesting. Searching her drawers would have made me feel, appropriately, like a complete stalker, so I avoided that. There were, however, turned down picture frames. I lifted a frame on her dresser gently, peering beneath it, catching a glimpse of a collage of tiny photographs of her family. I flipped it up to see more.
There were some of her and her parents when she was very young, one that looked to be cut out of a directory for something, and one from maybe a couple of years ago. There was one that seemed to be taken by another relative, where the young family made silly faces on the camera. All of these photographs surrounded one central, large one, what appeared to be the most recent picture, with her and her parents smiling at the camera, though it looked like they were trying too hard. Her mother looked much more tired, much less vibrant, than she had in some of the earlier pictures, her father looked like he'd lost his ability to make a sincere smile, and it looked like Terra was simply struggling to keep it together.
I cautiously began putting down the photograph, when Terra opened the door soundlessly, startling me. She had her arms crossed, glaring at me bitterly. She snatched the frame off her dresser, stashing it into the first drawer, nearly hitting me with the drawer in the ribs, for a second revealing many other hidden objects like the frame beneath a skimpy cover of bras, t-shirts, and tank tops.
"If you don't want to live in the hallway, then don't touch my stuff," she said, turning off her obnoxious radio and pulling out an MP3 player, or, at least that's what I thought it was, and plugging in her damaging earbud head phones. I glared back at her, disliking being reprimanded, yet I knew she had reason to be upset. She had been much kinder at her mother's house... but I suppose this kind of stress could do this to someone.
Terra pulled out the book from earlier, her music up loud enough for me to hear the muffled sound of another female-led band or artist blasting out of her headphones. I glanced at another poster, seeing a band with an orange-headed female surrounded by three guys, all of them making some sort of silly face. I wondered if that band was the same one as the one she was listening to, though it didn't matter much.
How had she gotten that book from me? Well... it was hers. Or the library's anyway. She devoured each page quickly, having her full attention on the book and her music, like I wasn't even there. Well, I suppose it was alright with me. I could just head down to Troy now anyway... we hadn't spoken since we had gotten back. I stood, taking one more glance at the room, the photograph and the silent Terra imprinted on my mind, as I started downstairs. And then it clicked.
What if Terra really was related to my mother? What if I somehow managed to save my mother through her? It was entirely far-fetched, and it would take forever for the impact to really happen, but was it not possible? I entertained the idea in my head, excited by the possibilities, as far-fetched as they were.
Troy was in the kitchen with Mr. Sawyer, the two of them talking about some stuff I couldn't catch too well, and I assumed Shane was resting in the guest room. I continued downward, taking a turn into the kitchen, knocking on the wall as I came in.
The two stopped talking for a moment.
"Oh, hey Kainni. Sorry if Terra's not being the kindest about the new arrangements. She doesn't always take too kindly to this kind of thing," he said.
"It's fine. She seemed to be doing fine earlier," I lied.
"Well, that's good. It was nice of her to take you guys in the other night... I'm sorry about all this, I wouldn't mind letting you guys stay for a while longer_"
"No, Matt, we just couldn't," Troy interrupted. "You and your daughter have just been so generous to us, and we should really be on our way..." said Troy.
"I just don't want to have you kids be out there on your own. Don't worry about it."
"Thank you, Matt, but we wouldn't want to be anymore trouble. You have Terra and Shane to worry about and we wouldn't want to be a burden," Troy interrupted again. Why was he in such a hurry to leave?
Mr. Sawyer sighed. "Alright, alright. If you insist. But you guys can stay as long as you need."
A sound started coming out of nowhere, some loud, yet positive, song came on, and he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.
"Hello? Oh, hi, hon...Yes, they're still here..."
He put his finger up in a "one minute" motion, as he headed up the stairs, nodding and talking. I glanced over at Troy, who seemed to be deep in thought, as he stared at the table.
“Hey,” I said to him, sliding my arm around his shoulders. He made a weak attempt to smile at me, though I could see he was in a rather serious mood.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked gently, staring into his deep blue eyes. He didn’t answer, pulling away from me gradually and staring at the table.
“Oh... nothing. Nothing important,” he replied, omitting his thoughts from his response. I knew he was lying. And every thought of his had become important the moment I remembered we were best friends. Which I realized now, was kind of strange. How could someone so intimately involved in my childhood be wiped almost entirely from my memory until the day I left home for the past?
“Troy, is something wrong?” I asked, curiously, trying to put away my own thoughts for the moment. He was beginning to worry me.
“No, no... nothing’s wrong...” he replied, absentmindedly, waving his hand like he was physically dismissing the notion. It seemed like he was telling the truth this time. But whatever was on his name, must have been fairly serious. I sighed, beginning to get frustrated at his lack of speaking. We’d gotten to know each other fairly well over these past four days, taking our earlier romance a little slower, and I couldn’t understand why he would want to keep anything, significant or not, from me.
My glance got sharper, before I crossed my arms, and turned away from him.
“I was... I was just thinking about how to fix the machines, Kainni,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t like when I looked even the slightest bit upset with him. I suppose manipulating him wasn’t the kindest thing to do, but I wanted to know what was so important that he would... keep it from me.
“What do you mean, exactly, Troy?” I prodded, not wanting him to confirm what I found myself suspecting of him.
“Well... as much as this place has grown on me, I just don’t... It’s great here, safe, but we can’t keep putting a burden on this family, Kainni. And... I can’t just leave my mother there like she is. I can’t let her... I can’t let her... go the way she did.”
I stared at him, unable to conceal the shock and hurt on my face.
“Troy, I thought we talked about this... I... There has to be a way, if we can even get those things to work, that doesn’t...”
“There is no other way. Kainni... you don’t understand...”
“You can’t do that, Troy, you can’t just go and erase your birth, you can’t just...”
“Sh... keep it down,” he said, motioning for me to lower my voice, as he did his. I did, staring at him, my arms still crossed. I would not let him do that. No matter what, I would not let him erase his birth.
“Kainni... soon after she married him, he started working on something for the government. His father, who had climbed up in the ranks, was working very close to the president, and pulling tons of strings, to get his son to where... where he is now. The project my father was working on gave him lots of knowledge and information for an invention his father had given him plans for a long time ago.”
Troy’s voice grew quieter.
“He was making the chips, Kainni. He was learning methods of hypnotism, he worked on these things all the way until the leaders’ terms before him ran out. His father had cleared the way for him to make the world he was making now,” he said, swallowing.
“But the important thing is, she was the first... to... to be... brainwashed, basically. It didn’t always work, but that’s the point. She was the lab rat, and if I don’t stop her from being involved with him before that, then there’s no point. She’ll be done for, Kainni. If I can do something about it, I won’t let it happen. I can’t let it happen,” Troy said, his voice having diminished to a whisper.
I felt my heart racing with a thousand shades of horror and anger and pain, feeling like I’d had the wind knocked out of me, and I simply could not catch my breath to respond.
“Hey, guys,” said Mr. Sawyer as he returned from his phone call. I tried to compose myself as quickly as possible, turning to face the direction from where he was coming from, away from Troy.
“We’ve had a change of plans... if... it’s alright with you guys.”
Troy and I silently urged him to continue, nodding.
“Alright, well, my wife offered to take one of you back at her house, and...” he paused, his gaze having landed on me. “And I was wondering if you wanted to go stay with her for a while, Kainni. You don’t have to go, she just offered_”
“Please, go Kainni,” Terra cut in, as she sauntered down the stairs. Her father looked at her, not pleased with her desperate, unkind tone.
“I mean... I don’t mind, you don’t have to go, but... I mean, it’s hard on us, this is a crowded place, and...”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I snapped. “I can see when I’m not wanted.”
“Kainni, that’s not what I meant,” said Mr. Sawyer. “Of course we want you here, it’s only an offer, and_”
“Kainni, I don’t care. Just try to understand, we’re all stressed here, and...” Terra blurted. I glanced over at Troy, then at Terra on the stairs, Mr. Sawyer standing near us. I recalled, they could all be my relatives. And Troy, if I wasn’t here, I could easily lose him again.
“I... I think I’ll stay... if that’s okay,” I spoke up.
“I’ll go,” Troy offered, immediately afterward. I gaped at him, trying to catch my breath again.
Nobody protested, but it looked like “Matt” had a combination of some strange concern and relief on his face. He might not have said it, but I could see he’d been feeling a lot of pressure with these three new guests here. But Troy couldn’t go... there was no telling what he’d do to get one of our machines fixed.
“I guess I’ll call my wife about this alteration... you really don’t have to go if you don’t want to Troy, I’m sure we could...” started Mr. Sawyer.
“No, really, I want to go. It’s alright,” he said.
“It’s your choice.”
“I want to go,” he repeated, firm on his decision. I couldn’t believe he was doing this.
“Alright, well, I’ll get the okay from my wife about the changes,” Terra’s father said, pushing one key on his phone to dial her up.
I forced my gaze to stay on the floor, unable to look at Troy as he gathered the clothes he’d been lent into a bag on the floor by the couch. How could he do this? It wasn’t betrayal, I tried to tell myself. He just wanted to finish what he’d started. But I could not let this happen. As much as I wanted him to have what he wanted, as much as I wanted to let my mother’s best friend be saved, I couldn’t let him do it this way. And I had my own mother to save. No, it couldn’t go this way. But he still packed, and Mr. Sawyer finished his call, and he got his keys, and headed for his car...and Troy followed. I wanted to run, to step in front of him, force him not to go, knowing what his purpose was. But all I did was stand there pathetically and watch him leave.
Patrik Ceiltra was in great distress. Last night, his daughter’s note just rang in his head. Mom in danger, took the time machine, be back soon, don’t worry... those few lines just repeated themselves. But he couldn’t help but worry. She just took the time machine out of nowhere? How had she even known where it was? Regardless, he paced, thinking over the last few stressful days.
All he’d done was work, trying not to remember the fact that his wife had come home from the capital only a few days ago to announce that they couldn’t be together anymore. It seemed random, but he’d realized how she’d stopped returning his chats, how she had nearly cut off all communication with him while she was gone.
He’d tried to tell himself that it was okay that she was feeling this way, that she would come back. But now, it was not only his daughter’s words on his mind, but the words on the document that had recently appeared, obscuring the work on his busiTop. The document requesting his signature, the one that asked him to do something he’d never thought of doing.
It seemed that these past days had only forced him to work harder, but now he’d been caught completely off guard. And everything was turning upside down. The main computer screen told the story of the Leader’s son going missing, and his great concern for him and how he was searching for him desperately now.
“Even amongst all his other business, Leader Alexander Abbort has such devotion for his family,” announced the mediawoman, before continuing to another government/dictator worshipping story. “And now, onto his most recent accomplishment in...”
Patrik turned off the screen after that second, sighing deeply. He’d had enough of that, those lies, propaganda being shoved down everyone’s throats, as they all listened blindly. And to think, he’d known the perpetrator of it all... he pushed the thought away, exiting out of the document requesting that he sign to end his marriage, trying to work again, trying to think of a way to get out of this, to fix all of it.
“Patrik Ceiltra? Please come to your door, Mr. Ceiltra, we have important manners to discuss with you,” came a syrupy voice from outside his door, their faces appearing on the security camera screen from within, their voices projected from the outer microphone. He knew they could see him inside with the camera outdoors showing the activities of his home.
Mediators. It seemed like there was really no difference between day and night for them, considering the miserable time at which they had now arrived. Those voices, those uniforms, their strange expressions. How deceitful could this place get? For a long time, he’d been doubting the ignorantly accepted “government” system, yet he’d shoved those thoughts down , and now, they were taking the front and center of his mind.
Reluctantly, he opened the door, and the two mediators, a male and a female in identical midnight-blue uniforms stepping inside with no formal welcome.
“Hello city mediators. What brings me the honor of seeing you in my home?” Patrik said, attempting to sound as genuine as possible, silently cursing his own hypocrisy. The odd, blank eyes of the female mediator met his.
“We’re here to inquire a few bits of information from you, if you do not mind,” she said, her voice so perfect, so soothing, desperate to move one, yet behind that voice, he heard a threat. Her true words were, in his mind, “We’re going to ask you questions, and if you don’t answer, there will be consequences.”
The two “mediators” sat down on the couch, and pulled out the newest, sleekest models of busiTops, as he sat across from them.
“It appears there has been time machine usage within the past 48 hours, is this so?” asked the male mediator. Lying would not be tolerated.
“Yes, this is so,” Patrik replied. It was safe to now, in the very least, though with every response to come, he expected to be digging himself and his family deeper into a hole they may not be able to get out of.
“And we understand that you have an older model time machine, correct? One that you had not yet returned to its manufacturer, yes?”
“Correct.”
“Well, sir, you do understand you could be reformed for this action?” said the female mediator. Patrik nodded.
“Regardless of such, it seems that the Ceiltra-owned time machine has traveled out of legal range and is currently out of detection.”
Where had Kainni gone? He thought. Even if she’d gone back a few months, or even years, it would still be in detection range... the only way for her to be out of range now would be...
Patrik desperately attempted to keep calm.
“Is that so?” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Yes, it is so. We’ve just stated it so. Now, Mr. Ceiltra, if you would please follow us back to our office, we will continue your questioning there,” said the female mediator crisply, standing in unison with her partner.
In laymen’s terms, “Mr. Ceiltra, you are under arrest.”
Kainni
When I awoke, I found that Troy was not next to me. It was not a pleasant feeling, considering last night’s events, and it took a few moments to remember where we had ended up. The guest room looked different, and there were no blinds in this guest room, only heavy curtains that now filtered in bluish light from the overcast outside.
That dream, though I didn’t understand it, just kept coming back to haunt me. And why would I want to fight, and especially, defeat, Troy? Why would he be my enemy? Other than obvious reasons... but those reasons, were literally, from yesterday. In the past. I’d done my best to keep them in, but I knew this was all going too fast, and that I should get back to listening to my common sense sometime.
I rose to my feet and started for the door of the guest room, which cracked open before I could even reach it.
“O-Oh... sorry, did I wake you?” Troy whispered as he let himself in. I shook my head, recovering from the momentary startle, laughing slightly to myself at his eerie timing.
“No, no, I was actually just about to leave the room and look for you...” I said, keeping my voice low as he did, assuming that others may still be asleep.
“Heh... yeah, Terra’s dad made me sleep on the couch...” he said, trailing off, rubbing the back of his neck like he felt sort of nervous.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s alright,” I said, tentatively sliding my arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. He smiled hesitantly, kissing my forehead and wrapping his arms around my waist. I mirrored him, and we stood there for a moment, until...
“Good morning, guests,” said Terra’s dad as he opened the door, his arms crossed, smiling with a half-smugness as he interrupted us. I felt my cheeks turn hot as we pulled away.
“I thought I’d stay home this morning for you two and Terra, if that’s alright. Anyway, what do you guys want for breakfast?” he asked.
Terra came down the hall, her hand on her forehead, looking greatly annoyed at her own rude awakening. She glared at her father for a second, before stalking back up the stairs, yawning.
“Uh... I don’t care,” I said, feeling the need to break the awkward silence. He seemed satisfied with that answer.
“I think it’d be nice to go out today, don’t you think?”
It looked like it was going to be another rainy day... of course it was a good day to go out again.
“If that’s alright with you two.”
We nodded, desperately hoping he’d let us get ready in peace.
“Alright then,” he said, starting toward the stairs.
“Terra! Time to get up, we’re going to get breakfast...”
I heard her groan from upstairs, before her dad peaked over at the guest room again.
“Oh, right, Troy, I have some clothes for you to borrow.”
He tossed a stack of folded clothes to him, motioning for him to leave the room. He gave me a backwards glance as he headed for the bathroom. Terra soon dropped by, still looking half-asleep, half-dead, and barely awake, handing me a pile of not too neat, yet clean, clothes to borrow from her.
“Here,” she said, yawning. “Sorry about my dad... he’s just... I dunno, him.”
“It’s alright,” I replied, making a weak attempt to smile reassuringly.
She responded a similar way, but I knew it would be harder for her. I closed the door after she was gone and slipped on a pair of dark, tapered jeans and a fitted button down shirt that had was checked with black and red and a combination of the two. The sleeves were three-quarters length if one buttoned their cuffs, just above my elbows. I slipped it on over a white tank top and put on my somewhat muddy boots.
Looking at myself in the mirror, though I accurately appeared a little sleep-deprived, I was satisfied with the look I had. I stepped into the hallway, Terra at the bottom of the stairs, Troy exiting to meet us there. Terra’s father was a little bit taller than Troy, so the clothes were a little big on him, yet the black button down shirt, with the three buttons open, sleeves rolled up, and dark jeans somehow seemed to work very well for him.
“Uh, Kainni, you can keep that outfit... I don’t really wear those clothes that much, so, yeah,” said Terra. I didn’t know why she didn’t like it. Troy took his place next to me, as Terra’s dad came downstairs, tossing his keys in the air as he made his way down.
“You all ready to go?” he said. We nodded collectively as he led us to the garage, where he must have put his car while we were sleeping. We assumed our spots from the night before, Terra in the passenger seat, her father driving, Troy and I in the back. Mr. Sawyer keyed a code into a remote control that opened the garage door, backing up as soon as our seatbelts were buckled, closing the door with the same code as soon as we were out.
Terra turned on the radio, and some soft song with adoring, but odd, lyrics came on, to which she changed the station. Loud guitar and a guy with a voice slightly whispery, then came on, to which her father, strangely, allowed to remain on the station, even when the guy’s voice rose, almost to a scream. Even when he did scream.
“Wow, I’m impressed, Dad, not changing the station to ‘good’ music... and on a Sunday,” Terra jeered, sarcastically. He just a smug look on his face, as he sang what sounded like the chorus under his breath, barely audible compared to the loud song bursting through his car speakers.
“Breathe your life into me, I can feel you, I'm falling, falling faster, breathe your life into me, I still need you, I'm falling, falling, breathe into me...” he sang. The song soon ended with a bang of even louder music, and screaming, which transferred into a man on the radio announcing that this was From the Heart, a program sponsored by Life for Christ Church...
“This is the POP station, why is there...? How is that even a Christian song, I mean, it’s like hardcore metal or something...”
“You don’t know hardcore metal, Terra.”
“I’m surprised you ever used to,” she muttered, “And that is really creepy, Dad.”
He just laughed to himself, as we arrived at a restaurant. A chain diner that looked like it was trying too hard, but still seemed popular, named “Denny’s”. I’d seen it in really old movies, and I mean, very, very old, but never did I think I would ever be face to face with an old chain restaurant like this.
Troy was staring at the floor of the car as our doors automatically unlocked and some song about scars on your wrist and that it was the last night you’ll spend alone came on, and Mr. Sawyer cut the engine. How would he know what hardcore metal was?
“Sometimes I cannot believe you went from being in a band that played like, Metallica or whatever, to being in the freaking church band...” Terra said to her father, annoyed, as Troy and I trailed the pair into the restaurant.
“One day you’ll understand,” he said, as we stood in line to be given menus and taken to a table. The place seemed pretty packed this morning.
“What time is it...?” I said, mostly to myself.
“Ten-thirty,” said the woman at the counter as I found ourselves suddenly at the front of the line. Well, that was quick. All the people must have been done with “church” already. What a weird place this was...
Hardly anyone I knew went to church anymore. In fact, none of my friends did. My parents didn’t. I didn’t, naturally. My parents said that I didn’t need to have someone, or, something, tell me how to live my life. And I agreed with them. And that I had to be logical about things, not to just blindly accept something. That, I was certainly good at.
But my mother never went as far as to diminish the intelligence of those who did believe in something beyond the earth. I knew that most people did, but didn’t like to say, for fear of being thought of in that light. She said that even if I didn’t agree with someone, however, that I shouldn’t judge them. And that I should never belittle them for what they believed.
Even when it seemed rather unbelievable. I thought about these things, trying desperately not to ache for her, my mother, as we took our seat at the table.
This whole time, Troy had not let his gaze leave the floor. He just didn’t seem to have anything to say. I glanced away from him at the father and daughter. Terra had given up her comments, now pretending to be absolutely fascinated by the many ways to put together a “Grand Slam” as the menu’s separate, laminated companion stated. Hm... food that I would never eat at home. I glanced through the menu, trying to see if anything familiar or appetizing resided there.
Nothing familiar, lots appetizing. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s meager lunch. Before that, nothing but about an eighth of a mug of coffee.
Troy seemed to be feeling the same way, trying to hide the ravenous look he had when other people received their orders. I kept my eyes on the menu, trying not to smell anything, trying not to be tempted to order whatever seemed like the largest, most caloric, meal that was available on the menu.
“Hello there, I’m Sandra, I’ll be your waitress for today. So is there anything you’d like to drink, coffee, tea...?”
Our waitress had light brown hair, and looked to be in her late teens, to early 20’s.
“I’ll take a coffee,” said Terra’s father.
“I’ll have coffee as well,” said Terra, a few odd moments too late, still keeping her eyes fixed to the menu, though her mind was elsewhere.
“Just water for me,” said Troy.
“I’ll have water as well,” I said, though I really did want more coffee. But I knew I wouldn’t need it. And it wasn’t good for me. Neither was much of the food here, I could see, but that I couldn’t really change much. Soon, the waitress returned with the tray of our drinks, handing the coffees to their respective persons, the water to Troy, and setting three miniature bowls of cream packages on the table.
“Are you guys ready to order?” she asked us.
“I’ll have the grand slam sandwich,” said Mr. Sawyer.
“One Slamwich,” said Sandra the waitress as she wrote down his order on her notepad, taking his menu in one swift motion afterwards.
“Wheat pancakes, please,” said Terra, still staring at the menu, and then at the table as it was relinquished.
“Hearty wheat hotcakes,” she said as she wrote her order down.
“I’ll have the vegetable and cheese omelet,” I said.
“Veggie-cheese omelet... and you, sir?” Sandra said, eyeing Troy, who still seemed undecided.
“I’ll have the French toast,” he said.
“The Fabulous French Toast platter?”
“Uh, yeah, that,” he replied, quietly.
“Alright then. I’ll be back with your meals soon,” she said, cheerily stepping to the next table. I wonder how much caffeine it took for her get so chipper working at a place that was so busy and crowded. Conversations passed throughout the restaurant like the tides of an ocean going in all different directions.
“...And your grant aunt Sam went to your great uncle’s house with...”
“...So therefore, there is no possible way that the thing could pass without great resistance and...”
“What’d you think of the game on Friday?”
“The songs in church today were nice...”
“...and in the dream, there was this evil muffin slash alien overlord chasing me and...”
“...and Mrs. Reynolds was talking to Lisa’s neighbor, that man on fourth street...”
“...Chris Nichol is so annoying...”
“...no sweetheart, don’t be digging in mommy’s purse, no that’s my keys...”
Someone’s search alarm went off in the parking lot a few moments after that. In spite of all the waves surrounding us, our table was an island of dry silence.
“Why did you take us here, Dad?” groaned Terra, finally making our table blend into the conversational masses.
“Well, I just wanted to get you guys some breakfast, and maybe talk a little or something... I haven’t hung out with you and your friends for a long time and...”
“Couldn’t we have just stayed home to do that?” she grumbled, as I eyed another family entering the restaurant. They were a neatly dressed group, most of them dressed somewhat formally, the mother in a black skirt and a rose-colored blouse, the father in a white, collared shirt, and black dress pants, their daughter, a little girl with a light brown hair, wore a dress. Their son was an exception—his hands were in his pockets, he had on a white t-shirt that had the logo on his shoes printed upon it in various colors, dark jeans, and a hat on over his shaggy dark brown hair.
As the family was led to the table, I caught a glimpse of his eyes, his deep, night-sky blue eyes. Immediately, I looked over at Troy, who seemed to be just as immersed in his thoughts as Terra had been earlier. I tuned out their conversation now, glancing back and forth between Troy and the guy who shared his eyes.
Troy now seemed to notice this guy who had an eerie likeness to himself. Quickly, he glanced away as our waitress arrived, setting up a stand for the two plates that she would later hand out.
“Hearty wheat hotcakes and a Slamwich,” she said, setting down Terra’s plate and her father’s in front of him.
“One fabulous French toast platter,” she said, annoying stating the menu’s titles for the dishes again, putting Troy’s plate in front of him.
“And a veggie-cheese omelet. I hope you all enjoy!”
She set my warm plate in front of me, taking the empty platters away and finally giving me permission to keep my mind from more pressing matters and focus on my food.
Troy
Where I had been nearly starving earlier, I found that I could not focus on eating now. That family, that other guy, over there, the name they called him, his face, reminded me of my own family tree. Each one of us looked like the ones we grew to hate, and he was one of them, I could see it.
Although, it didn't make sense; he had a little sister, a living mother. I morbidly wondered when these things would disappear for him. Unless he was the first one that cracked.
This was on my mind as we finally left the restaurant, after listening to the fractured conversation between Terra and her father, and his attempts to communicate with Kainni and I. It seemed he meant well, though his occasionally overbearing ways didn't really please Terra very much.
He didn't even ask us where we were from, or express aloud if he wondered why we were "running". Just asked us about our interests, maybe he asked how we knew each other. Conversation came naturally for him, and he listened as well as he spoke.
I, of all people would know a person who covered up their terrifying behavior and personality with something calmer and crowd-pleasing, but I could tell that Terra's father was genuine. I had never really experienced what a good male parent would be, but it seemed he would probably be pretty close.
It seemed impossible to understand why Terra would ever take for granted someone like that. Yet, I could see there were topics that he would avoid.
On the way to the hospital, the car radio on a station Terra seemed not to enjoy, a quiet and emotional and confusing song about being held in the worst of situations started to play.
"Remember when Mom used to listen to this Natalie Grant chick? You brought her to that concert...you were so sure that you could cheer her up with it..." she said, crossing her arms, her soft words like a serrated knife.
He didn't respond, eyes on the road, all the words he might have said having ceased.
"I mean, you'd think that she'd need someone like that with her while she's going through this... you'd think someone would be strong enough to help her..." she continued.
He turned off the radio abruptly, almost looking angry for a split second, though the anger was not aimed at his daughter, nor his currently absent wife. A few more blocks brought him the escape from the subject he so obviously wanted to avoid, the hospital rising as he parked in the lot.
Terra stepped from the car, her father following close behind, Kainni and I the last ones out. We walked inside, and I was grateful to be out of the emergency waiting room; it had been miserable in there, and though the hospital was tense with emotions of all states, being anywhere but there or within an actual hospital room seemed to be a breath of fresh air.
We approached the desk in a different wing, Terra the one with the most anticipation, as she asked: "Hi, we were wondering if Shane Trenton is able to take visitors right now," she said.
The receptionist looked up his name on her ancient computer, and nodded. "It looks like that would be okay, but you'll have to check with his doctor before going in. I think he's actually got some visitors right now, but..."
"What room is he in now?" Terra interrupted.
"Room 240, but it seems like he has some other visitors right now_"
"'Kay, thanks."
Terra immediately bounded for the room, disregarding the receptionist's subtle warnings as she dragged us behind her. It seemed she was in quite the hurry for this visit. Not as she had been the night before; it seemed she was panicking still, now, desperate to find if last night's reassurances had lasted and to make sure everything was okay.
"Hey, Ter, are you sure you don't want to pick something up from the gift shop downstairs first or...?" her father started, but she was already miles ahead of us.
And then she came to an abrupt halt in front of a door, room 240. Her gaze was fixed on the little door's window. Kainni and I soon arrived behind her, glancing inside as well.
There was a suited woman in the room, carrying a large case with her, as well as the doctor from the night before. I couldn't see Shane from behind them, and it appeared they were quite involved in their discussion.
"...made attempts to contact your..."
"...a backup for..."
"You're going to need a place to recover until we can reach one of your relatives. Is there anyone you know who could do that for you?"
At this opportune moment, the anxious girlfriend fumbled with the door's knob, before tapping lightly upon it. The doctor responded by opening the door a tiny bit.
"Well, it looks like our time is up," he said, more so talking to the woman in the suit than any of us. He walked back to his patient for a moment. "Shane, you think you can handle a few more visitors for a bit?"
Terra blocked the doorway, and we still couldn't see him.
"Sure," he replied, his voice hoarse and quiet, coughing slightly as he spoke.
The woman in the suit came to the door with the doctor.
"Alright. Don't be afraid to call the nurse if you need anything," he said, and the woman nodded.
"We'll be back soon."
We finally occupied the room, Terra immediately taking the seat closest to Shane.
The encounter with his father the other day had obviously not helped his current state, the more apparent bruises from the other day having been amplified, and there were several on his face, as well as many cuts and scratches, and a bandage over his forehead, probably more on his arm, one of which resided in a cast. It appeared that his ribs might be bandaged underneath his hospital attire, and his left foot, the one he'd been avoiding using the other day, was casted softly up his calf. All in all, he was very battered, though we all knew that it could have been much worse.
Which is why Terra seemed to cling so hard to his uninjured hand.
"Wow, don't I feel popular today," he managed to croak out. Terra smiled weakly at his attempt to lighten the slightly dim mood. He coughed. She was watching him closely, and then glanced over at her father, as if to ask a question. He didn't seem to understand.
"Who... who was that lady, Shane?" Terra prodded gently.
Shane attempted to sit up, but cringed back down onto the bed, coughing as he did so.
"Just... some... social worker or something."
"Ah. Well, it sounded like you needed a place to stay outside of the hospital."
Her father shot her a warning glance, to which she responded by looking pleadingly at him. She wanted to add another guest to their growing list of unpaying boarders, an injured one at that.
"Well..." Terra started.
He sighed. "We'll think about it."
"I... I was going to ask, Mr. Sawyer" Shane said, coughing slightly. "But I didn't... want to... cause any trouble..."
Trouble seemed to come easy to Shane and Terra, all too common in their disquieted lives. Those words and the apology in his reluctant, but almost desperate gaze seemed to satisfy Terra's father.
"I'll take it up with them with they come back in, alright? No promises, though. I want to help, but... I can't make any promises."
Shane nodded, but automatically seemed to regret this motion as he winced afterward, shooting himself into a coughing fit. Terra looked very distressed at the sight.
"Are you okay? Shane, calm down, take deep breaths..." she said, more panicky than really helpful was her tone. Eventually, he stopped coughing, taking a few long moments to catch his breath.
"Are you okay?" she repeated, quieter now.
"Y-Yeah... I'm fine..."
I heard the doorknob being turned, a young nurse stepping in with a tray of lunch food. I realized we'd eaten breakfast late, but not quite this late. Or maybe it was just the hospital schedules.
"Good morning again, Shane. And visitors," she said, greeting us all with a nice, positive smile; she was oddly a lot less annoying than the waitress.
"Morning again, Lea," he coughed out.
"Just thought I'd drop by and bring you some delicious hospital cuisine," she said, jokingly as she brought the tray to his right side, forcing Terra out of the chair and away from him.
"Oh, I'm sure," he replied sarcastically.
Lea the nurse, who seemed to be only a couple of inches shorter than me, with sun-bleached blond hair, smiled. "Well, it looks like you're doing pretty well. Anything you need?"
Shane was looking at the unappealing food. "Nothing for a while... maybe a little more_" He coughed again. "Some more meds for my ribs, if that's okay..."
"Alright, but we don't want to overmedicate you right now. Try getting something in your stomach first. I'll be back in ten. Enjoy your popularity," she said, winking, another genuine soul, as she headed for the door of the room.
"Wait... uh, Lea?" said Mr. Sawyer.
"Yes?"
"Would you mind taking me to Shane's doctor? I need to talk to him about something," he said.
"I could try. I think we can leave these kids alone for a minute," she said, and Terra's father followed her into the hall as she pulled out her strange radio-thing.
"Sorry I didn't bring you any food or anything..." said Terra, also looking at the unappetizing soft foods on the tray.
"At least... I'll be able to get out of here soon if they let... me stay... with you," he said, having forced himself to sit up and scoop up some yellowy-apple-colored mush into his mouth. His face scrunched at that moment.
"Can't wait to get out of here..." he muttered.
Terra put her hand on his shoulder, gently, sympathetically. She sighed. "I hope they do..." she said.
I wondered what the house would be like if we all had to live there. Albeit more spacious than Terra's mother's house, I could tell that things might not go very well with the four of us in one place again.
But there really wasn't much I could do. And it wasn't as though I would ever want to neglect an injured person a place to stay. But it wasn't even my house... I couldn't believe Mr. Sawyer could actually sacrifice his home like that. It was rather admirable to me.
After sitting back awkwardly and trying not to pay too much attention to the conversing couple, Terra's father, the doctor, and the social worker came to our rescue.
"Shane, as soon as you are recovered enough to leave the hospital, Mr. Sawyer is going to make arrangements to take you in until we locate a relative," announced the woman.
Terra looked like she was internally rejoicing at the news, and Shane seemed to be pretty happy about it as well. Her father seemed to be a little warmer to the idea now that he had it arranged.
The doctor scanned over us, the small crowd. "Well, I think it's time you guys be heading out for now," he said, as the nurse walked back in with some odd looking supplies.
"Hope your breakfast was good," she said. "Gotta check your vitals, make sure you're alive and all that..."
"Well, see you later, Shane," said Terra, her reluctance to leave coating her voice.
"See you later," he replied, smiling weakly. "Don't worry... I'll be seeing you a... lot more... seen..."
She brightened a little at this, as we all left the room.
"Mr. Sawyer, you're taking Shane into your place too?" said Kainni questioningly. He laughed slightly at the first of her statement.
"Call me Matt," he said. "And yes, I am. Is that alright with you?"
"Uh... sure," she replied, as we strapped ourselves into the backseat again.
"Thanks so much, Dad," said Terra, gratefully, embracing him tightly for once. "That was... really... really great of you."
"Gotta open my house up, you know? It's not really my house, it's..."
"Yeah, yeah, it was really nice, Dad. Thank you."
"Mi casa es... well, it belongs to whoever needs it," he replied. Terra sighed, her mood had not become weightier like it had been a while ago. I was glad this man was so kind to us, all of us. It was like nothing I had seen before. I watched the city as it flew by us, and though there might be chaos to come, I reached for Kainni's hand. I felt that we finally might have found someplace safe.
October 22, 2109, 12:00 PM
"It appears that you and your daughter have been violating the law for a long time. Your web history is loaded with illegal websites, to which you have been contributing to."
Upon the large screen in the conference room, were images of the websites the father and daughter had visited, places he wasn't even aware that his daughter had been to. Many of the sites had been closed. Responses that were tracked from her meTop showed up on the screen, speaking about suspicions, and against Alexander Abbort, some venting, some utterly passionate in emotion, anger, resentment, and all of it intelligent conclusions, and possible solutions to go about the way the seemingly peaceful nation was ruled.
He had one or two replies on some of the sites, but the vast majority of them were his daughter. A part of Patrik Ceiltra swelled with pride at his daughter's brilliance and willingness to stand up to injustice, though he was soon forced back into his current situation.
"The time machine was written in ownership by your family, and due to your partial ownership, you have also been deemed responsible for this violation of the current time machine code. You should know about the technicalities of the industry. You work for it, don't you?"
He nodded.
"Mr. Ceiltra, I'm going to have to ask you to remove the technological device," said the female mediator who had been interrogating him, more like stating all the facts THE Alexander had allowed her to look at. Which seemed to be his and his entire family's life.
He took off his glasses, which he had been controlling with his miniscule remote control that he’d been using with his left thumb and forefinger underneath the table, making them scan the information of his "industry" for the locations of some of his company's time machines all over the U.S. All he could see through the lenses were where the new machines were being distributed, and where the old machines were being exchanged or returned to. He relinquished them without a fight, knowing they were of no use to him now.
The Mediator woman motioned for him to give her what controlled them, and he handed the tiny remote to her. She crushed it between her thumb and forefinger, causing the power to cease.
“Well... do you have any protests to these suspected crimes, Mr. Ceiltra?” she said, her mood now appropriately cold for a person of her supposed stature.
“No, Mediator. I confess to all of them. However_”
“No ‘howevers’, Mr. Ceiltra. I have been requested to be your corrector, so, come along with me,” she said. She had a communication device implanted in her ear, and it appeared she was listening carefully for further instruction.
The rumors, the suspicions, they had to be true... no one went to jail anymore, they only got corrected.
If someone spoke out against the government’s rule publicly, or were caught at all, they would be corrected. If someone violated the laws against religious speaking, they were corrected. If someone had committed a horrible crime, even they were corrected. At times, criminals and those with different thoughts would disappear.
But what was correction? What was it, and what did it mean?
The Mediator grasped his face in her hands, forcing him to stare into her eyes, as she pulled out something metallic and glowing blue.
“Do not look away,” the Mediator commanded. Correction...
“Patrik Ceiltra... you are a follower of Alexander Abbort the ruler of our country, a great ruler, you will follow all his laws You will only speak highly of him...”
“So, how was the trip?” he’d asked.
“It was... it was great, Alexander Abbort has become an even more incredible man. And he is going to promote my business, and I am forever grateful for that,” she’d replied.
“You will now follow all of his laws, you will do whatever an Abbort Leader commands. You will report any crimes against him that you know are being committed.”
“Where’s Kainni? I’ve been wanting to talk to her for the longest time,” she’d asked.
“Oh, up in her room, probably just on her meTop or something.”
“Thank you.”
“You will do whatever he or his subjects demands of you, no matter what he asks.”
“I’m sorry, but this just isn’t going to work anymore... I can’t seem to go through with the things I want to do with you here. I just need to be out there on my own to really make something of this business...” she’d told him.
“Kainni, I love you,” She said to their daughter.
“But I just can’t be held down by you any longer...”
Her gaze had been focused on him now, and though her expression was so convincing, he had hoped desperately that the look in her eyes had not been true. That these were not her true wishes, but he couldn’t hold her down; he hadn’t before, or at least, he hadn’t thought he had, and though it seemed to be out of nowhere, he couldn’t force her to stay.
“I just need to be away for a while.”
The document that told him otherwise was still on his busiTop at home.
“Patrik Ceiltra, look at me!” the Mediator demanded, suddenly jabbing the side of his temple frantically with the glowing blue metal. There was a shot of pain at this motion, and he realized she’d made a fatal mistake in the order of her procedure. The other Mediator’s shouting voice suddenly became present in her ear, and she yelled angrily back at it, her own eyes flashing a lightning blue for a moment.
He pulled the tiny chip out, grateful that it had submerged entirely, like a burrowing tick, and threw the bloody piece of metal back at the woman, standing to run from the conference room, the “Mediator” scurrying close behind him.
As soon as they reached the door at the end of the long, ominous room, it swung open. They were greeted by the man whom the voice belonged to.
“We have some new information on the whereabouts of the Leader’s son,” he said. He stepped aside to reveal another guest.
“Your daughter seems to be the second party that brought on the interference between your machine and mine.”
Kainni’s father could not, absolutely did not want, to believe that he was facing the one he was facing now.
“Pamela, we’ll speak later,” he said, eyeing the Mediator that had unsuccessfully attempted to correct him. She nodded once, curtly before leaving the room with her partner. As soon as he was deserted, Alexander Abbort spoke, an icy smile on his face.
“Patrik Ceiltra. It sure has been a long time. Why don’t we sit down and have a chat?”
Kainni
The next few days passed by uneventfully. Sunday evening, Terra's father had gone to play with the "worship band" at his church. Troy and I had just relaxed in the guest room, while Terra spent time on one of the strange old laptop computers that had once been so popular.
Things looked a lot better with that technology in the future, though her computer had seemed simple enough to use. Regardless, I preferred the ones I had in my time. But it was interesting to observe all the technology of this time.
Though the circumstances here were not the greatest, I wanted to make the best of them. And Mr. Sawyer was a little bit more hospitable than Mrs. Sawyer. I tried not to consider this fact very much, knowing the reasons were most likely not entirely her fault.
Monday, Troy and I were left at home, while Terra was at school, her father at work. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to leave, like we had been able to at Terra's mother's house. It made sense, considering people our age were usually in school. I knew we could have dropped out at our age, which would make sense, considering our elusive "story". I didn't know what the plan for us would be while we stayed here much longer, though Troy had insisted we make a promise to leave as soon as possible.
I wondered, vaguely, how we'd managed to get past the law-keepers that we'd seen in the hospital. It wasn't as though, despite Terra's somewhat telling appearance, either of us looked too similar to her.
Yet after our last visit to Shane on Tuesday, I was left unsure of that fact.
"You guys are all really great. You seem so close," the nurse, Lea, said to us as we took Shane's various things to the exit of the room. I had been forced to carry his crutches for the timebeing, while Mr. Sawyer took one bag of his clothes and other items, which Terra had dropped in the night before, and Troy had another bag, while Terra took the handles of the wheelchair Shane would be using until he recovered enough to use the crutches. I smiled weakly, trying to match her words like we seemed to do. Terra and I hadn't been too fond of each other the past night.
"Are you two sisters, or cousins or something? You really look alike," she said as we started out.
"Uh... cousins," Terra filled in, taking the comment with an odd look on her face. What on earth was she thinking, her expression said.
"Yup, cousins," I said. What a strange thing this nurse would say.
She nodded at us, smiling, before walking over to Shane.
"Now please, don't come back soon," she said to him.
"No promises. But I'll do my best," he replied.
"That's all I'm asking for."
"Ai'ight. Hope not to see you later."
"Good luck, and get well," said the sincere nurse as she walked off to another hospital room.
I didn't understand how someone couldn't be entirely dead serious with a job like this, but, I suppose I wouldn't be able to handle this kind of work without keeping myself a little light at times. And it looked like she really connected with the patients.
Shane just stared at the floor as Terra pushed him out to the car, an old van that had seemed to be collecting dust in Terra's mother's garage, which Mr. Sawyer, who insisted we call him Matt, had driven out earlier this morning. He tried to help himself into the car, though he had needed assistance to do so. Troy helped Terra put the chair into the spacious trunk, taking his seat next to me in the farthest row to the back of the car, while Shane to the middle row, and Terra the passenger seat. We always seemed to assume this kind of organization in the Sawyers' cars. I sighed, staring out the window as we drove along.
Terra had a CD in, a female artist this time, nothing too loud and screeching like she'd pretended to be into on Sunday. The cover of the old thing had a girl wearing a black sweatshirt with a red X on it, the CD itself titled "Under My Skin".
The lyrics that I could make out of the first track didn't seem to be all that positive, but it wasn't like the sound of Red, the screaming, supposedly Christian band on Sunday. I found that I actually liked this song and singer, and put myself to trying to get as much out of the music as I could as we took our otherwise agonizingly silent ride to the house.
It was so strange that someone would think Terra and I would look similar enough to be like sisters. Did we really look that close? I tried to get a better glimpse of her from the backseat, glancing into the rearview mirror, which reflected her face for me. I guess, in spite of my dyed, choppy, hair, green eyes, and ridiculous paleness, and her hazely, green-brown eyes, dark brown hair, and perfectly tanned tone of skin, we looked pretty similar. It was our features, the way our face was shaped, perhaps our heights, maybe the way we even observed things, which might make someone think we were related.
If anything, she still looked more like my mother. Her skin was tanner than mine, her short hair having darkened to only hold a slight twinge of red, more brunette than anything. She was slim and taller, her green eyes the only definite thing we shared. Yet I suppose I still had some resemblance to her. Childhood photos of her on the old meTop album showed me this. When I was young, I had always hoped I’d grow to look like my beautiful mother, though she’d always told me that outward appearances were not what made someone. I had always looked too young, too plain, and too girlish and peppy. I tried not to care, but as I grew older, I did as much as I could to change how I looked. My appearance now more reflected who I thought I was inside.
Regardless, it was impossible to deny the resemblance of Terra and I, and the even eerier semblances to my own mother. I found that I despised these similarities now. Tried as I might have, I could not get these thoughts out of my head. The most likely situation for Troy and I was that we were never going to get back. That neither one of us would be able to accomplish our earlier goals. I didn’t want Troy to succeed at what he’d earlier suggested; I couldn’t bear the thought of not having him here with me, now that we’d found each other again. If he could save his mother without forcing himself out of existence, that would be great. But I could not think straight on that issue, I wasn’t sure how we could do that.
I knew that my goal could be accomplished and still leave the two of us in tact. The ideal would be to save both of our mothers. But I had the feeling the chances for us to do that were very slim. Technology was just not advanced enough to fix our machines, if they were still functional at all. The rainstorm from when we’d arrived probably hadn’t done anything to them in our absence, but the interference must have been really damaging, considering the total blackout on my machine from that day.
We finally arrived at Mr. Sawyer's place, where he removed Terra's CD, handing it back to her as he turned off the vehicle. Terra and her father then exited their seats to unlock the door and assist Shane out of the car again. She retrieved the wheelchair quickly, and Troy climbed over the seats and hopped out the back, motioning for me to follow. I complied, figuring it would be quicker to go out this way anyway due to the circumstances. I found myself having more sympathy for Shane than I had ever had since the day I'd met him. I'd learned soon after I'd judged his ways that he was more than just a jerk; he was a jerk raised by a worse one. It didn't take the blame from him for his actions, but it did explain things a little better. He had a temper, which Terra's own reflected well, but his seemed to take over more, and he had bad habits, and seemed to be a little reckless after these two things took him over.
It almost fit that this would be what brought him down. I felt bad, though, cruel to think that way, but there were consequences to every action. Saturday night he'd been running, not wanting to get caught for what he'd seen and what he'd done, and then he was anyway.
I looked at the sky, and saw the cloud cover thickening like it had the day we'd came. It heavier than it had then, these four days here threatening to ruin the mood I'd once had. I had to make the best of this, I reminded myself. I would not give up hope. We still had a chance, even if it was a slim one, to get back to where we needed to be. We could still manage.
Troy had the crutches this time as we followed half the Sawyers and Shane into the living room. Terra's father had set it up so that Shane had the first level guest room, which would be easier accessible for him, and forced Terra to share her room with me. Troy kept the living room couch. He didn't seem to mind. Terra had silently fumed over the move, not wanting to outwardly complain to her father much more, and she knew it would be necessary for the arrangement, at least for a while.
As she went in to help her boyfriend get situated, to which her father had supervised, I made my way to Terra's bedroom, seeing my new space on her no longer cluttered, honey colored wood floor. Her room was set with less personal decor that the room at her mother's house, one wall painted deep red, the other painted black. There were a couple of old posters of the girl that had been on the CD cover on her wall, and some of unidentified rock-looking bands. I set my meager lack of belongings (clothes borrowed from Terra) on the floor next to the sleeping bag, thinking that Troy's idea to leave soon was not such a bad one.
Her old-fashioned radio played quietly in the background, playing some obnoxious rap song, and I scanned her walls for anything interesting. Searching her drawers would have made me feel, appropriately, like a complete stalker, so I avoided that. There were, however, turned down picture frames. I lifted a frame on her dresser gently, peering beneath it, catching a glimpse of a collage of tiny photographs of her family. I flipped it up to see more.
There were some of her and her parents when she was very young, one that looked to be cut out of a directory for something, and one from maybe a couple of years ago. There was one that seemed to be taken by another relative, where the young family made silly faces on the camera. All of these photographs surrounded one central, large one, what appeared to be the most recent picture, with her and her parents smiling at the camera, though it looked like they were trying too hard. Her mother looked much more tired, much less vibrant, than she had in some of the earlier pictures, her father looked like he'd lost his ability to make a sincere smile, and it looked like Terra was simply struggling to keep it together.
I cautiously began putting down the photograph, when Terra opened the door soundlessly, startling me. She had her arms crossed, glaring at me bitterly. She snatched the frame off her dresser, stashing it into the first drawer, nearly hitting me with the drawer in the ribs, for a second revealing many other hidden objects like the frame beneath a skimpy cover of bras, t-shirts, and tank tops.
"If you don't want to live in the hallway, then don't touch my stuff," she said, turning off her obnoxious radio and pulling out an MP3 player, or, at least that's what I thought it was, and plugging in her damaging earbud head phones. I glared back at her, disliking being reprimanded, yet I knew she had reason to be upset. She had been much kinder at her mother's house... but I suppose this kind of stress could do this to someone.
Terra pulled out the book from earlier, her music up loud enough for me to hear the muffled sound of another female-led band or artist blasting out of her headphones. I glanced at another poster, seeing a band with an orange-headed female surrounded by three guys, all of them making some sort of silly face. I wondered if that band was the same one as the one she was listening to, though it didn't matter much.
How had she gotten that book from me? Well... it was hers. Or the library's anyway. She devoured each page quickly, having her full attention on the book and her music, like I wasn't even there. Well, I suppose it was alright with me. I could just head down to Troy now anyway... we hadn't spoken since we had gotten back. I stood, taking one more glance at the room, the photograph and the silent Terra imprinted on my mind, as I started downstairs. And then it clicked.
What if Terra really was related to my mother? What if I somehow managed to save my mother through her? It was entirely far-fetched, and it would take forever for the impact to really happen, but was it not possible? I entertained the idea in my head, excited by the possibilities, as far-fetched as they were.
Troy was in the kitchen with Mr. Sawyer, the two of them talking about some stuff I couldn't catch too well, and I assumed Shane was resting in the guest room. I continued downward, taking a turn into the kitchen, knocking on the wall as I came in.
The two stopped talking for a moment.
"Oh, hey Kainni. Sorry if Terra's not being the kindest about the new arrangements. She doesn't always take too kindly to this kind of thing," he said.
"It's fine. She seemed to be doing fine earlier," I lied.
"Well, that's good. It was nice of her to take you guys in the other night... I'm sorry about all this, I wouldn't mind letting you guys stay for a while longer_"
"No, Matt, we just couldn't," Troy interrupted. "You and your daughter have just been so generous to us, and we should really be on our way..." said Troy.
"I just don't want to have you kids be out there on your own. Don't worry about it."
"Thank you, Matt, but we wouldn't want to be anymore trouble. You have Terra and Shane to worry about and we wouldn't want to be a burden," Troy interrupted again. Why was he in such a hurry to leave?
Mr. Sawyer sighed. "Alright, alright. If you insist. But you guys can stay as long as you need."
A sound started coming out of nowhere, some loud, yet positive, song came on, and he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.
"Hello? Oh, hi, hon...Yes, they're still here..."
He put his finger up in a "one minute" motion, as he headed up the stairs, nodding and talking. I glanced over at Troy, who seemed to be deep in thought, as he stared at the table.
“Hey,” I said to him, sliding my arm around his shoulders. He made a weak attempt to smile at me, though I could see he was in a rather serious mood.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked gently, staring into his deep blue eyes. He didn’t answer, pulling away from me gradually and staring at the table.
“Oh... nothing. Nothing important,” he replied, omitting his thoughts from his response. I knew he was lying. And every thought of his had become important the moment I remembered we were best friends. Which I realized now, was kind of strange. How could someone so intimately involved in my childhood be wiped almost entirely from my memory until the day I left home for the past?
“Troy, is something wrong?” I asked, curiously, trying to put away my own thoughts for the moment. He was beginning to worry me.
“No, no... nothing’s wrong...” he replied, absentmindedly, waving his hand like he was physically dismissing the notion. It seemed like he was telling the truth this time. But whatever was on his name, must have been fairly serious. I sighed, beginning to get frustrated at his lack of speaking. We’d gotten to know each other fairly well over these past four days, taking our earlier romance a little slower, and I couldn’t understand why he would want to keep anything, significant or not, from me.
My glance got sharper, before I crossed my arms, and turned away from him.
“I was... I was just thinking about how to fix the machines, Kainni,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t like when I looked even the slightest bit upset with him. I suppose manipulating him wasn’t the kindest thing to do, but I wanted to know what was so important that he would... keep it from me.
“What do you mean, exactly, Troy?” I prodded, not wanting him to confirm what I found myself suspecting of him.
“Well... as much as this place has grown on me, I just don’t... It’s great here, safe, but we can’t keep putting a burden on this family, Kainni. And... I can’t just leave my mother there like she is. I can’t let her... I can’t let her... go the way she did.”
I stared at him, unable to conceal the shock and hurt on my face.
“Troy, I thought we talked about this... I... There has to be a way, if we can even get those things to work, that doesn’t...”
“There is no other way. Kainni... you don’t understand...”
“You can’t do that, Troy, you can’t just go and erase your birth, you can’t just...”
“Sh... keep it down,” he said, motioning for me to lower my voice, as he did his. I did, staring at him, my arms still crossed. I would not let him do that. No matter what, I would not let him erase his birth.
“Kainni... soon after she married him, he started working on something for the government. His father, who had climbed up in the ranks, was working very close to the president, and pulling tons of strings, to get his son to where... where he is now. The project my father was working on gave him lots of knowledge and information for an invention his father had given him plans for a long time ago.”
Troy’s voice grew quieter.
“He was making the chips, Kainni. He was learning methods of hypnotism, he worked on these things all the way until the leaders’ terms before him ran out. His father had cleared the way for him to make the world he was making now,” he said, swallowing.
“But the important thing is, she was the first... to... to be... brainwashed, basically. It didn’t always work, but that’s the point. She was the lab rat, and if I don’t stop her from being involved with him before that, then there’s no point. She’ll be done for, Kainni. If I can do something about it, I won’t let it happen. I can’t let it happen,” Troy said, his voice having diminished to a whisper.
I felt my heart racing with a thousand shades of horror and anger and pain, feeling like I’d had the wind knocked out of me, and I simply could not catch my breath to respond.
“Hey, guys,” said Mr. Sawyer as he returned from his phone call. I tried to compose myself as quickly as possible, turning to face the direction from where he was coming from, away from Troy.
“We’ve had a change of plans... if... it’s alright with you guys.”
Troy and I silently urged him to continue, nodding.
“Alright, well, my wife offered to take one of you back at her house, and...” he paused, his gaze having landed on me. “And I was wondering if you wanted to go stay with her for a while, Kainni. You don’t have to go, she just offered_”
“Please, go Kainni,” Terra cut in, as she sauntered down the stairs. Her father looked at her, not pleased with her desperate, unkind tone.
“I mean... I don’t mind, you don’t have to go, but... I mean, it’s hard on us, this is a crowded place, and...”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I snapped. “I can see when I’m not wanted.”
“Kainni, that’s not what I meant,” said Mr. Sawyer. “Of course we want you here, it’s only an offer, and_”
“Kainni, I don’t care. Just try to understand, we’re all stressed here, and...” Terra blurted. I glanced over at Troy, then at Terra on the stairs, Mr. Sawyer standing near us. I recalled, they could all be my relatives. And Troy, if I wasn’t here, I could easily lose him again.
“I... I think I’ll stay... if that’s okay,” I spoke up.
“I’ll go,” Troy offered, immediately afterward. I gaped at him, trying to catch my breath again.
Nobody protested, but it looked like “Matt” had a combination of some strange concern and relief on his face. He might not have said it, but I could see he’d been feeling a lot of pressure with these three new guests here. But Troy couldn’t go... there was no telling what he’d do to get one of our machines fixed.
“I guess I’ll call my wife about this alteration... you really don’t have to go if you don’t want to Troy, I’m sure we could...” started Mr. Sawyer.
“No, really, I want to go. It’s alright,” he said.
“It’s your choice.”
“I want to go,” he repeated, firm on his decision. I couldn’t believe he was doing this.
“Alright, well, I’ll get the okay from my wife about the changes,” Terra’s father said, pushing one key on his phone to dial her up.
I forced my gaze to stay on the floor, unable to look at Troy as he gathered the clothes he’d been lent into a bag on the floor by the couch. How could he do this? It wasn’t betrayal, I tried to tell myself. He just wanted to finish what he’d started. But I could not let this happen. As much as I wanted him to have what he wanted, as much as I wanted to let my mother’s best friend be saved, I couldn’t let him do it this way. And I had my own mother to save. No, it couldn’t go this way. But he still packed, and Mr. Sawyer finished his call, and he got his keys, and headed for his car...and Troy followed. I wanted to run, to step in front of him, force him not to go, knowing what his purpose was. But all I did was stand there pathetically and watch him leave.
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