Always You Part 6
New to the blog? Read from the beginning here.
Just catching up? Read the previous installment here.
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Interlude
Okay, ladies and gents.
It had to happen at some point.
‘Always You’ has some…difficult story elements to it, if I do say so myself. I think I can say so myself, for obvious reasons, but I digress. For the moment, we’re stuck in teenage exposition mode.
We need to kick this up a notch.
There’s only one way for that to happen: through the infamous episode where people sit and talk. You know, the one you want to fast forward through, but know that if you do, you miss the entire point of the story.
Well, it’s not the entire point of the story, but a whole mess of it.
…And now that most of the audience has left the theater, let us continue.
3.
“I don’t suppose this was some kind of a set-up,” I said, severely hoping I was right, “Because if it was, I have to hand it to you and that Zack guy—”
“Zack is of no concern to me,” came the strong reply. In that one rushed, annoyed line of hurried dialogue, I realized that the blue eyes I had been daydreaming about were probably nothing like their real counterparts. Well, no, the eyes are exactly the same…as is the red hair, but the rest of it, I assumed, was different.
I took no chances. Nudging the door closed with my ankle to make sure nothing came at me with a pointy something-or-other, I pursed my lips and did absolutely nothing.
She took notice within a few seconds. Curious, though: she didn’t move a muscle. Not even a wince. The room just grew stuffier. If that sounds clunky and awkward, believe me, that’s what it felt like.
“No questions? Then why are you wasting my time?” She demanded. A flowery voice shouldn’t have been so demanding.
“I’m not trying to. This is difficult,” I whistled, “Just…be in my shoes for a moment.”
“I am.”
Fair enough. “Last night—”
“I told you already that Zack Forest is of no concern.”
Would she let me finish? She recited her apparent lack of concern with perfect composure. What, had she been practicing in front of a mirror before I came in? Still, excuses don’t solve everything. Not for me, at lest. “And what does that mean?”
“It means we have no pre-existing conflict.”
“The hell it does. Remember that kid from last night? He’s dead. You’re an accomplice—”
“The phrase ‘accomplice’ implies I have a choice in the matter.”
This was getting old faster than the average Disney teen sensation. “Fine!” I rolled my eyes, “Whatever you want.” I turned around.
This had bad news written all over it. Talk about a mistake. What the hell was Carina thinking? That’s the problem with having an Operator. This whole mix-up could have been solved so quickly had she looked at a picture of this chick and realized that ‘hey, that’s the same girl we saw help murder somebody at the pier.’
“If you have no questions of me, then I want you to sit down and listen to what I have to say,” the girl told my back with more confidence than I have on a good day. The last time I sounded that confident, I tried asking a girl out, and unwittingly discovered why I usually decided against acting confident in the first place.
There was no harm in throwing her an exiting one-liner as I left, I figured. It worked all the time during the eighties. “What, will it save my life one day?”
“It will save your life in forty-eight hours and twenty-seven minutes.”
That’s not a reply you hear too often.
“Now, Mr. Collins,” she motioned with the pristine hand of a little girl’s porcelain doll, “Please, take a seat.”
A small round, white table stood in the corner, surrounded by canary yellow walls and a small window facing onto the quiet neighborhood road. I walked to it carefully, calculating every step before taking it..
The girl waited until I was properly seated in one of the two cushioned and matching chairs before joining me. Her stare suddenly transfixed itself on my right leg.
“You have something that belongs to another.” The words rolled out analytically. My hand felt the hilt of that Rodney guy’s knife, and as if on cue, her eyes drilled into mine with a tiger’s ferocity.
“What?” When under the frighteningly exhilarating glare of a gorgeous woman, use sarcasm: “Did you want it?”
“As we speak, Cutting Edge—Rodney, if you will,” even she seemed thrown by the absurdity of such a name, “is meeting with the rest of the Tides.”
“So let him. We didn’t do anything to make…” I searched for a euphemism for our menacing friend, “…Mister Z angry, so what’s the worse that can happen?”
I smirked at the nickname. ‘Mister Z.’ My mother once had an eye doctor named Doctor Z. He was so not-menacing that going to see him always ended with routine disappointment. You think that maybe, just maybe, the good Doctor was planning oblivion.
What’s that phrase? The ‘Mister Z’ you know is better than the one you don’t?
“Within the hour,” the scarlet head pressed onward, “the Tides will have closed in on your Operator. She will be held at ransom by Forest, in exchange for the Third Familiar.”
“You will comply at the cost of losing the Jack of All Trades’ assistance. Forest then kills you and dumps the body in the ocean. Two hours later, the world ends.”
The silence ran my windpipe through a wood chipper.
My first reaction: Well, poor Rodney never does get his knife back.
Then: the world ends. The news felt much lighter than it always looked like it did in the movies. No musical motif, no close-ups of googly Anime eyeballs; it was fact. Undeniable, grounded, objective fact.
I remember I was more scared that I’d piss myself than I was of whatever caused my bladder to react that way in the first place.
“As the world ends,” the dramatic pause ended, “Forest leaps into the continuum in a desperate attempt to salvage what’s left of his plan. Carina is pulled through and spliced between realities. The end result sees half of Carina Guerrin as the successor to us.”
As if the world ending somehow didn’t make this entire summer suck the fat ass enough on its own, Exposition Girl pulls Carina in and the Jack out. But not really out though, because he’ll be dead too.
My response came as naturally as her monologue did. After being around the Jack for a while, I hoped I was getting the hang of stoic responses. “I won’t pretend to follow that as well as I should, but now you’ll tell me that I’m the only kid in this whole crapsack town that can stop him…right?” It’s just how these things work.
“Wrong,” she smacked down my attempt to contribute to the hackneyed conversation, “The only reason you are so important is because of those around you.”
“I have the power of friendship.”
“Precisely. Animal House must reform itself. As its leader, you are the center of this conflict. It is only natural.”
“Only natural,” I repeated with an intended tinge of disbelief. “Look, lady. You want to know what I think? I think you need to lay off the sauce.”
“There is no alcohol in my home. Familiars cannot digest it.”
I nodded in perfect agreement. After all, I perfectly understood everything that came out of that convoluted—albeit heavenly—mouth of hers. My other talents include teaching a course in the Philosophy of Iron Man and the requisite Gender and Society class. “…You’re a Familiar.”
“I would hope you could gather this much.”
“A Familiar’s a psychic?”
“Only some of us,” she sounded surprised herself, “I myself cannot see such things.”
“You just told me the exact time of the apocalypse.” The apocalypse that she ominously—but no doubt intentionally—had casually mentioned with vague conditions. Continuum?
“Such is my gift. It is why I am employed by Forest. I show him how close the plot is to ending.”
Boy, it was nice being able to flip to the answer key. Why didn’t I do this for the Econ 1 midterm? “You can’t say no,” I started, trying to follow the logic this discussion gave the façade of having, “Because what, you’re…contracted to him?”
The edges of her cherry-red lips curled up into a smile. A careful smile—as though she were afraid to do so—but a smile all the same. I didn’t notice how much more relaxed I became for another five minutes or so.
“There are four of us in Miranda Cove,” the smile remained intact.
“Are they all as melodramatic and bizarre as you?” It just slipped out, I swear.
“That is your job to discover,” I can’t say I was surprised. “Before Forest does.”
I wanted to say something, but the look on the girl’s face said nothing if not the word ‘don’t’. The smile had turned vicious. In its place hovered a scowl the subtlety of which I had never seen before. If I had passed her on the street, I’d think she was in her own little world, daydreaming of girly things like Ryan Reynolds and periods.
Really, what guy likes Ryan Reynolds? Look at him. He looks like the back of a horse. And not even a good horse; like, an old racehorse.
“I apologize, but that is all I can tell you,” she said.
I laughed shakily. Truth be told, I had the Henry-is-a-jackass-o-meter on autopilot while the rest of me took the help and made the honest effort to process it; ‘It’ feeling like a week’s worth of outlining. “You said enough already,” I said. “Find these Familiar girls, work from there. They have to know as much as you do, right?”
“I guarantee you, they do not.”
That’s what I get for being positive, right? Remember the ‘confidence’ bit? Same deal.
She stood up slowly, the grief on her face shouting loud and clear. It was worse than my mom’s on the day of my SAT. “Find Kenneth and you will have a path.”
I shot up like a bullet train to Saturn. “You’re obviously not a psychic. Kenneth won’t talk to me. I’ve got a better chance at winning the lottery.” Winning the lottery deaf, dumb, and blind. Possibly playing a mean pinball.
“That is not my problem. You are free to go.”
She opened the door and stood beside it, body language giving me the boot, if not the drunken bar-style toss. I stood up while paying careful attention not to stab myself in the leg. That would end this adventure real quick.
I stepped from our bright discussion hall to the filthy, THC-ridden black other part of the house when she finally looked at me again. My feet stopped without orders.
“I am Evangeline,” she whispered. “Please, do not hold me accountable.”
The door swung shut and the lock clicked into place.
Hold her accountable for the teenage boy she helped but a bullet into last night? Or better yet, don’t hold her accountable for the part she had to play that she withheld from me?
This Evangeline character owed me nothing—barring the whole ‘savior’ thing I had going on—so it felt weird wanting more from her. But then, if not an enemy and not an ally, what the hell was she?
No, saying she’s ‘a Familiar’ doesn’t help anything.
What the hell is a Familiar?
I power-walked out of the house before the rather potent herbs got to my head again. I leapt off of the front porch and into sickeningly-sweet sunlight. Jack and Paloma sat on Jeanette’s hood; they looked at me as if on cue.
I leaned against her door and took some deep breaths, partly to get a hold on the next move and partly to make Jack antsy.
He’s on my team. My team; not his. He can—and should—be in the reformed Animal House, but I need as many members of the old team as possible.
Of course, most of them went to college and never came back. I’ve found Carina, and the only one of us with zero career aspirations and no path out of the crew system was—drumroll please—good ole’ Kenneth.
I dialed the phone.
“I assume the Familiar had good news,” the Jack spoke up. I tuned him out as the phone rang on the other side.
“Operator.” Her smooth, golden honey voice never failed to soothe.
“I’m picking you up now.” The Jack’s protest went the way of moderate Republicans: unheard and talked over by terrible ideas.
“I’m not on the field for a reason,” she started with the excuses, “What do you need? Luci doesn’t get free phone, you know”
“Evangeline—”
“Who?”
“The Familiar. She said we need Kenneth.”
“Did you tell her that Kenneth might put an X-Acto knife in you?”
“That’s why I’m picking you up. You’ve got fifteen minutes.” The phone snapped shut and went into my pocket, replaced in hand by the keys.
The Jack got off the car with mild amusement. Paloma, as always, was off in another place or time. “I don’t recall her taking orders from me,” he mused.
“That’s because she doesn’t,” I snapped back. “Get in the car.”
He laughed at my efforts to be a leader, but helped Paloma down and into the back seat all the same. “Can I ask where this bravado comes from?” he asked with benevolent jest decorating his tone.
Jeanette roared to life, and made the highway in record time.
Where did the bravado come from? Well, how do you tell someone you barely know that the world is ending in two days?
You don’t.
Not yet.
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Read the next installment here.
