On The Count of Three

part 1

"Yes," she said, grinning from ear-to-ear. With this, she should be able to reach the other plane—the spirit plane where her parents resided now. It hadn't been an easy calculation, but the theory was solid. All she needed was to put it to a test.

Another crackling noise sounded from the gramophone speaker. With renewed energy, she grabbed the communicator and held it to her mouth.

"Hello, hello? Testing... One.Two.Three... Is this thing on?" Twila flipped a switch and heard her own words repeated in a monotone voice. If everything went according to plan, she would soon hear her father's words.

"No better time than the present," she muttered. Just one more click.

Her neck ached, but she ignored it. A lump formed in her throat, and she braced herself for whatever outcome. She couldn't get emotional. There was a slight risk that this wouldn't even work. Besides, this call was only for the chiller box. After all, Twila was sixteen summers now. She couldn't be seen as a little girl who missed her mommy and daddy.

With a deep inhalation, she reached out and let her hand hover above the small lever. This was it. Blinking once, she let out her breath and then flicked the switch.

For a second nothing happened. Then the room exploded in prismatic splendour. A burst of light forced Twila to her knees, her arms covering her eyes. Around her, the world shook. The sound of breaking glass echoed in her ears.

What is happening?

After what seemed like an eternity, Twila nervously rose from the floor. Her heart sank as she took in the damage. Chaos. Havoc. Mayhem worthy of another world.

Her limited vocabulary couldn't find any way to accurately describe the wreckage before her. Shards of glass littered the floor, and all of her papers were strewn across the place. Worst of all, everything was silent. Panic rose inside her.

It didn't work, she thought.

A tear slid down her cheek. All her father's work had been destroyed. It would take months to puzzle his notes together again.

The smell of smoke mixed with the sour odour of kerosene. Waving a hand in front of her, she tried to clear the air as she spun around. A painful cough forced it's way out of her throat.

At least, she was intact. Some of the glass had cut the skin on her face, but the hardened leather apron had protected most of her body. She tore it off and ran her hands down her body, noticing some tears in the fabric of her shirt. Groaning, she pulled the shirt over her head, leaving only her undershirt behind. Now she would have to suck up to Madam Rose, praying that the old hag would stitch up her ruined clothes.

Someone cleared their throat. Tensing, Twila turned around slowly. Across the room, she could see a large silhouette. A man. 

"F-father?" Twila asked, her voice shaking.

The figure moved, opening a window. When the smoke finally cleared, her jaw dropped as she looked upon the intruder. Their eyes met, and a million sensations happened at once: She found it hard to breathe, her heart skipped a beat, and a shiver ran up her spine.

It wasn't her father, that was the first thing she noticed. It was a boy, roughly around her own age, and he was dressed in some kind of uniform.

The next thing she saw was the skewed smile and his raised eyebrows. She followed the direction of his eyes, and instantly felt heat stream to her cheeks. 

Apparently, the shiver had been from the open window. Crossing her arms over her chest, she backed away from the stranger. Several questions formed in her mind, but she didn't know where to start.

"It looks like someone dropped a bomb in here," the boy said. "I hope you didn't call me here for the clean-up duty."

Twila frowned. Who was he? Where did he come from? Was he a ghost? Her eyes widened. That would make sense. After all, she had tried to reach the spiritual plane. Feeling a bit spooked, she took another step back.

Too late, she realised that she should have looked before moving. Her foot caught in a piece of cord, and she was unable to stop the fall. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the impact of her body hitting the floor.

Except... it didn't come. Instead, she felt a pair of arms scoop around her waist, hoisting her up in the air. Opening her eyes, she looked at him. 

"Are you spirit?" she whispered. He was so close.

He chuckled. "Not as far as I know. Pretty sure I wouldn't be able to hold you if I were."

As if he was trying to prove a point, he swung her so he could hook one arm under her legs, while the other stayed at her waist.

She was certain that her face resembled a tomato. "Do you... do you often hold strangers in your arms before asking their name?"

The boy shrugged. "I have a more hands-on approach than most. Save the girl first, chit chat later." He gave her a wink. "I'm Tristan, by the way."

Twila didn't know how to respond to this... flirtation? In fact, she didn't know how to respond to him at all; there was something off about the way he spoke. Almost as if he weren't speaking english at all.

The warmth from his skin seeped through her thin undershirt, and she became painfully aware of her own appearance. Horrified, she squirmed in his arms.

"You may put me down now," she said as she continued to struggle against his hold.

When he didn't release her, she looked up to meet his amused stare. "Is there a problem?"

"Perhaps you should wait until I can set you down in a spot that isn't covered in shards of glass?" Tristan raised an eyebrow. His eyes were the color of the sky.

"Oh..." Twila looked around. In her embarrassment, she had momentarily forgotten the state of her workroom. She cleared her throat. "Yes, please... The door is over there."

When they reached the hallway, Twila gasped for fresh air. Tristan set her down, and immediately, her knees buckled and she bent over in a coughing fit. When he reached for her, she held up a hand to stop him. "Just... a mo...ment." She wheezed.

"Perhaps I should give you some space," he said, staring at the wall above her head.

"What?" Another cough forced it's way out. "Why? I'll be fine in a second." Twila stood straight up, glancing at him.

"Well..." He averted his eyes to the other side of the hall. Twila could see the tips of his ears redden. 

"Just spit it out."

Clearing his throat, he gestured to her torso. "Your... uhm... It's showing."

The shriek that escaped Twila couldn't be described as human. Horrified, she ran towards her room and shut herself inside. "I'll just be another minute," she yelled.

It could have been her imagination, but she was sure that she could hear him chuckle behind the door.

Leaning against the door, Twila inhaled deeply.

Bath first, questions later.

***