Day Four ∞ Monday afternoon
HE WALKED SLOWLY BACK TO THE SHOP, frowning.
She needs me? Was something wrong with Mickmi? Could he trust what the lady said?
His gut feeling said he should. He wished he could leave for home right now, but he hadn't finished working on the brakes yet. And he couldn't leave before five. Not after missing a whole day's work last Friday.
Ray paused with the sanding machine over the fender of a Cutlass S and peeked out from behind the plastic sheet partition. "Hey Danny, what did she want?" he said through his mask.
But Danny shook his head at him and, ignoring the remarks the Myers brothers threw at him, went to the office to borrow the telephone.
"Sure. Go ahead," said Mr Myers.
It rang without answer. He hung up before hearing the answering machine. He felt like something was wrong at home. Did she even know how to answer a telephone? He hadn't even considered that. He dialed his number again. This time he waited for the answering machine to pick up.
"Mickmi! Are you hearing me? If you're hearing me, please pick up the phone.... Mickmi?" He waited. "Mickmi? Pick up!"
He slowly replaced the receiver. Now he was really getting worried. "Sir... I—"
"You've got an emergency?" Mr Myers said, studying him.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm really worried."
"Go home and take care of it, son. I'll have one of my boys finish up the Chrysler."
∞
No one paid any attention to the girl in the intricately tailored, azure blue jacket walking the streets of Albany. Lora started with a six block grid from her starting point at the Transportation Center, mentally mapping the areas she covered, occasionally pausing on a bench to observe the life occupying this laid-back city.
She felt like she'd landed in the middle of a living museum. It was reminiscent of a childhood visit to the 5D holographic display of "Life Before The Great Desolation" which contained nowhere near the amount of detail she was witnessing now. The flood of new impressions, odors, sounds and the heat was almost overwhelming, and she had to deliberately filter out what was not important and focus on learning as much as she could about the people that occupied this place.
The people. She had never seen so many shades of skin color in one place before in her life—they covered a rainbow of earth tones. More than half of them here were of a darker hue, brown-eyed with black hair in multitudes of styles including straight, curled, braided, compact, halo—all going about their routine lives. Nobody wore a sinnesband, and as far as she could tell, these people were not augmented with brain implants like she was. But she did pick up the weak electromagnetic field of a mechanical implant in the chest of an elderly woman in a lively discussion with two others.
A noisy group of teenagers hung out at a bus stop. Lora found their behavior annoying and their dispositions disturbing. She crossed the street and passed a furrowed man in old clothes near the street corner, a hat in his outstretched hand. He did not approach her, just as no one would as long as she projected her personal sphere as repelling space.
Halfway down the block, she passed a restaurant. The tantalizing smells emerging through the doors made her mouth water, but she resisted the urge to follow it inside. Instead she followed a brown-skinned woman into a large supermarket and toured the aisles, noting the great variety of product packaging on the shelves, observing customers making their selections, watching a mother hugging her toddler. The sight caused a wave of homesickness to overcome her, and she had to turn away, take a deep breath and force the memories out of her mind.
She had to keep them locked away, keep them under tight control, she reminded herself. The burden of losing everything she'd ever known was too much. She needed to maintain her sanity by becoming someone without a past. How else would she be able to survive?
She gritted her teeth and looked up with cold purpose. She needed to know how people conducted transactions in this place. Did they use identity accounts like she was used to, where the scan of her hand accompanied by the digital signature from her brain would deduct the required amount of credits? She looked toward the checkout point and joined a line.
There were two white women in front of her, one pregnant. She stared past them, watching the elderly black man in front of the cashier. He opened a worn leather object with his hands, and pulled out some rectangular sheets of finely printed paper and placed them on the counter, then added a couple of flat round metal objects on top of them.
That must be what used to be called money, she thought as she stepped out of the line and walked past the man. She paused a moment to watch the female cashier sort the money into the cash register and pull out a five-dollar bill as change. Then she headed for the exit and stepped outside, contemplating.
If this city was an average reflection of this world, then it was far behind in technological development compared to her own. There was no evidence of Aumega-infused technology here. And many of the people radiated a discord of imbalance that jarred her senses. She would have to get used to that, learn to accept it and more as the norm; she knew she had only scratched the surface.
But she had one overarching problem. To be able to do anything, she needed money. She needed to be able to get food and transport. She would need clothes and shelter. But she was not in a hurry quite yet. She would dedicate the rest of this first day to observing life on this planet, in this city of Albany.
∞
They parked next to a neighbor's driveway and walked through the pine woods to Number 9. Dawson raised his binoculars and inspected the two-story wood frame house from behind a tree. "Negative contact on the vehicle. The dwelling seems empty."
He stepped cautiously forward as Weaver skirted the perimeter. Then they heard barking. A German Shepherd stormed out from around the side of the house.
Glancing at each other they retreated just far enough out of the dog's reach. After a quick reconnaissance of the building, they returned to the car.
Weaver spoke into the radio, "Negative contact with the asset at this time, please advise."
The response came with a crackle, "Maintain soft posture, continue tasking. Out."
They didn't have to wait long. Soon a blue F-150 came around the curve. It was driving a bit fast for this stretch of road and had to brake hard before turning onto driveway Number 9.
Weaver took a few photographs with the zoom lens. Dawson followed the vehicle as it turned, with the binoculars. "I have visual on an adult male... fits the possible subject."
"Okay. Let's go." Weaver looked around. "We'll return after nightfall. It's going to look mighty suspicious if we stay parked here right now. Nobody parks on this road and more people will be returning home from work soon."
∞
Zorro was barking in front of the steps at the front door when Danny hopped out of the truck.
Even Zorro is worried, he thought as his heart jumped to his throat. He ran to the dog and released it from the leash. "Stay, Zorro," he said as he ran up the steps, opened the doors and entered the hallway.
"Mickmi?" He stood still and listened. "Mickmi!"
No answer.
She must be upstairs.
He took the steps two at a time. She wasn't in her room. She wasn't in any of the rooms, nor the balcony. He rushed back downstairs and heard Zorro barking around the side of the house. He went into the living room and spotted through the study-den door newspapers on the floor.
Mickmi! But when he went inside the room he didn't see her there either.
He looked around. A volume of the encyclopedia lay on the floor by the bookshelf, the Bible open on the armchair by the window. At his feet were several issues of the Tribune. He turned around slowly as he looked at the newspapers.
What were you looking for? He bent to pick up the issue with the front-page cougar story when he saw her in the corner behind the door.
A wave of relief washed over him. "Mickmi," he whispered. But then he frowned with concern.
She was asleep, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, head resting sideways on the knees. Her brow was furrowed in distress; she was breathing irregularly. Every now and then she twitched or trembled, and then there was a sudden jerk. He felt his heart reaching out to her as if it had hands, enveloping her right there and then. It pained him to see her like this. He sank to his knees in front of her, studying her closely.
Mickmi, what happened? Had she remembered something?
Her memory will most likely return in bits and pieces, and some of it may be traumatic, the doc had said.
He brushed the hair aside and felt her forehead; it was clammy. He moved closer, pressing his hand against it, and waited. He could feel how she relaxed, her breathing steadying.
"Mickmi," he said softly. He lifted her bangs aside and noticed a strange mark on her skin right below the hairline. Some sort of tattoo. He stroked her forehead.
"Mickmi."
She gasped as her eyes flew open and met his. They were dark with despair. "Daniel," she whispered and pulled away from his hand, shaking her head slowly. "Where am I?"
He locked his gaze with hers as he considered what to say. He should tread carefully. Selina 'the guide' had said that Mickmi must find the answers on her own. Despite the strangeness of the encounter, there had been no sense of threat from the lady. He decided he would trust her in this.
He drew a deep breath. "When you asked if you'd reached the land beyond all horizons, what did you mean?"
She didn't answer, but her eyes spoke all he needed to know.
"Did you think you'd died and gone to heaven?"
Her nod was minuscule.
"But you know by now you haven't, right?"
She nodded again.
Selina said she was from Earth. He still wasn't sure what she'd meant by that. "You are in the state of Alabama, of the United States of America."
"United...?" She shook her head.
It didn't mean anything to her. Either that or... that wasn't what was troubling her.
"United Lands," she said eventually.
"There's no such place as United Lands here."
Was he really looking at scenario three? Was this what it was all about? Should I say it? No matter how crazy it sounds?
He inhaled deeply. "You are on planet Earth."
She shut her eyes tight, shaking her head. "Nay," she breathed. "It can not be. It can not—"
"Mickmi, look at me." He held her face and waited for her to open her eyes again. "Do you trust me?"
She blinked in the affirmative.
"This is Earth."
She shuddered as she looked past him. He sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder, pushing the door behind him closed. "What?"
"That... is not Earth," she whispered. She was looking at the globe. "Not now. All... low-lying coastlines were lost... long time ago."
"You remember that?"
"It's history."
"O...kay."
Danny exhaled a long breath. Was the universe playing a cruel joke on her? He rose to go for the globe, placed it in front of her and sat down beside her again. "Show me."
She reached out and sent the globe spinning on its axis. "This is not Earth. Where are the floating city-lands?"
Suspend disbelief, he told himself. She needed him to suspend disbelief.
"This is Earth." He stopped the spin, located the western hemisphere and pointed. "This is where I live. Alabama, USA. This is where we are—right now."
"I am from Earth. This is not what Earth looks like any more."
Don't question it. Just go with the flow. "Okay..."
She pressed her back against the wall, staring across the room, and lifted a finger. "Who wrote that book?"
"The Bible? That's written by... several men... It's mostly considered to be history and God's words."
"It is not right."
He looked back at her. "Why? What happened?"
"Why was it changed?"
"Why was what changed?"
She looked at the crushed newsprint in her hand. She straightened it out, right out to the edges, her hands trembling. "And this"—she pointed to the top margin—"how is this possible?" She tossed the page aside and buried her face in her hands.
"You're not alone, Mickmi," he murmured, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. "You must know that. Tell me what's wrong."
She inhaled shakily. "Adam sinned," she whispered. "Not Eve. ... Earth has not this much land." She lifted her head to meet his stunned gaze, her eyes shining.
She was so close, he could taste her breath.
"And the date..." She squeezed her eyes shut, tears trickling out. "The date!" She covered her face with trembling hands.
He barely dared to breathe. What about the date? "Today's August thirteenth, 1979."
"Nay." She shook her head several times without looking up. "It can not be!"
Was there another scenario he hadn't considered? Like... time travel?
No. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't care, not anymore. Whatever it was, IT had brought her to him. Now all he was interested in was that she'd find the answers she was searching for.
He stroked her hair back behind her ear, bent forward, and kissed her gently on her temple. "What do you remember?" he murmured and kissed her again.
She became still, holding her breath for a long time. Then she sighed with a shiver. "I remember not," she breathed. "I know only this is not my Earth—this is not my time. I know not why I am here or... how it is that I am here..." She met his gaze again, shaking her head, her eyes glistening. "I remember not..."
So close... He was tingling all over.
"Mi"—he cleared his throat—"Mickmi... From what you've seen so far... which do you prefer? Your Earth... or this one? Do you want to go back?" He put two fingers under her chin.
So close... He waited.
She blinked and inhaled shakily. "Nay...," she breathed, shaking her head. "Your Earth."
He leaned closer to her face and paused. She didn't move away, so he closed the gap, planting a gentle kiss on her lips, then pulled back a few inches and met her gaze. She stared back at him. A hint of incredulity was changing her expression of despair, and her lips parted.
"Daniel?" she breathed. The glow was emerging from the depths of the dark green.
I'll gladly drown in them, he thought and leaned forward again, tasting the sweetness of her lips. He slid his hand into her hair at the back of her head as he worked her lips gently, teasingly. She started to respond with small movements and touched his cheek with her fingers. He brushed her lips again.
It was electrifying.
"Mmm." He should stop before he got ahead of himself. He didn't want to take advantage of her vulnerable state—the moment was too precious.
Exhaling, he eased back, resting his forehead against hers. They remained like that for a while, eyes closed, their breathing and hearts pounding in sync.
I must be dreaming. But he could feel the texture of her hair between his fingers, the smoothness of her cheek in his palm, the heat of her breath brushing his face.
It's not a dream, Danny, he reminded himself. He looked at her as she raised her gaze to meet his.
Her countenance had changed. She seemed to have regained some of her equilibrium, her serenity. As if she'd come to a decision.
He stroked her cheeks dry. "You okay?" he said, his voice rough. He searched her gaze.
She nodded once with a small smile. "I need not fear any longer." She was breathing deeply.
"No need to fear, no need for fear," he quoted. They both smiled seriously. He pulled her close so she could lean against his shoulder, and she sighed as she relaxed into his embrace, leaning her head against his jaw. He stroked her hair, her face, and pressed his lips against the top of her head. He glimpsed the mark on her forehead again. He brushed his finger over it, feeling that it was slightly raised.
"What's this tattoo you have here?"
"Tattoo?" She straightened herself.
"Yeah. Some sort of mark." He held her face, parted her bangs with his thumbs and inspected it. It was small and neat, no taller than his thumbnail, with two curvy symbols at the top and some horizontal lines at the bottom. Then he noticed there was another tattoo a little further up, obscured by the roots of her hair.
She felt it with her finger and shook her head. "I remember not."
"You should see it. Maybe it means something," he said, but he didn't move. He was just gazing at her as she lowered her hand and looked back at him with a slow smile.
He had to feel it once more. He held her chin gently and brought her closer so he could kiss her again; he felt like their lips were perfectly fitted to each other.
He could get used to this.
But he still had a mission to fulfill.
He pulled back and sighed quietly, smiling. "Come," he said and got up. "Let's see if you recognize it."
He took her hand, opening the door as she rose. They went in front of the mirror in the hallway. He stood behind her, holding her hair out of the way.
"Do you know what it is?"
"A number."
"A number?"
"In ceremonial script, and again, in universal rod script."
"You mean, the number is written twice?"
"Aye." They gazed at each other through the mirror.
"Why on your forehead?"
She shook her head once. She did not know.
"What about the one up here? Can you see it?"
She bent her head, staring in the mirror. "Ceremonial script. But it is not clear."
"Okay. So... what's the number?"
"Thirty-eight." She turned around to face him.
"Thirty-eight? What does that mean?"
She shook her head.
He lifted her hair again and looked closely. Yes, he could make it out now: three horizontal tens, and an eight. Even the ceremonial script was legible once he'd figured it out. He kissed it and looked at her.
"You're a beautiful mystery, you know," he murmured as he aimed for her lips again, and this time it was more intense: the hunger growing stronger, his arms wrapping around her and her hands creeping up under his arms to his shoulder blades. Then she smiled into his lips and pulled away.
"Daniel," she breathed, her eyes burning wistfully into his. She placed the hand on his heaving chest.
The heat radiated through his entire body and soothed his tingling nerves. He exhaled slowly and cupped her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing her skin. They stood like that a while with eyes locked before she stepped back into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh.
Danny savored the moment. He had every nuance of every beautiful moment from the past twenty minutes committed to memory. He still felt the uncertainty of what the future held for them both, but at least now he had something to hold onto.
He sighed and looked into the mirror. That too would be imprinted in his mind. The image of himself with Mickmi in his arms. He closed his eyes, holding the snapshot in his mind's eye and inhaled her sweetness until he felt a grumble inside.
He chuckled and cleared his throat. "Have you eaten?" he said into her hair.
"Breakfast."
"What? Just breakfast?" He pushed her back, holding her by the shoulders and met her gaze. He shook his head. "That won't do. Come."
— ∞ —
©2016 by kemorgan65
Credit:
*Music video: Alex & Sierra – 'You Will Find Me' https://youtu.be/WDP7wO8Uc5U