New Story

Mechs (About to Begin)

My people skills have paid off. Maybe it was a fluke. Today my “mechanics” (that’s what I’ve dubbed them) didn’t come in as a team per usual. Today it was just one. 

I got him to talk. First time they’ve said anything to me beyond procedural words.

His name is Michael, and he doesn’t seem happy. He’s good at what he does, but I don’t think he liked the job. He told me that just like they can’t tell me anything, they can’t tell anyone outside of here anything either. 

He told me if I leave (if, not when… I noticed that) then I’ll understand the burden of this secrecy. He told me the company, whose name he still won’t reveal, has a cover. It’s very covert. I wonder if he even knows the real name of this operation.

Michael even spilled that this place I’m in, that I’ve been brought to to be given new eyes, isn’t the only one. There are places all over the world doing this exact same thing. And by exact same thing I mean this:

These people take injured, or in my case disabled people, without anyone’s consent, and basically kidnap them. They bring the chosen people to a nameless, hidden facility, and without choice are given new parts. But not donated parts from live people. The parts are mechanical. I am becoming a cyborg.

I will have, supposedly, eyes that work when they are done. But special ones. Eyes that see further and see more detail. It’ll be like having a superhero ability. 

Most of me is angry, and scared. I never asked for this, I have lived my whole life blind, and that’s the life I am accustomed to. They took me right off the street. I was on my way to see a friend (who I can only imagine was left confused and hopefully concerned for me) and just walking down the street when I hear a van door slide open, and then… they just grabbed me. They covered my mouth before I could even begin to scream. Of course there was no way for me to see them coming, but I still blame myself for not paying more attention that day. I could have HEARD something. 

I was never told where we were going, why they took me, or any other defining information. I didn’t hear them talk at all until they were strapping me to a bed to begin their testing. But they only said things like “lay still” or threaten sedatives. If I was uncooperative they would drug me. I’ve lost track of how many times they have drugged me now, and tend to just go along with it instead. What point is there in fighting it?

I managed to get my “friend” Michael to tell me other thigns too. Mostly he just got comfortable chatting and spilled the beans on a few things. 

There was most certainly a reason they chose me (although he didn’t know what it was), as there was for each candidate. In fact, they chose so carefully almost no one was rejected from the procedure. And it wasn’t just blind people. Apparently my friend had seen others get converted to less-than-human status and I was the first blind man he saw. A lady with new feet and legs. A man with multiple injuries being repaired in another location right now, who had been hurt very badly in a factory accident (though part of me wonders how much of an “accident” it was… if they research their patients first). A woman who had been released after a successful addition of new hands. 

I’m not sure if knowing I wasn’t alone in this was comforting or scary. And then I couldn’t stop thinking about those people. They were… the only others who would ever understand what I was going through. Two had even come out of this successfully! Should I be excited? Is there actually a chance that implanting all these robotics in might be successful and wont kill me? 

It seemed that the befriended employee’s chatter only left me with more questions. I was so unsettled, he must have seen it on my face. He clammed up after that and sadly, Michael was never one of my mechanics again. 

Surely, there are cameras that monitor me. Surely, someone saw him talk. My only “friend” here lasted about fifteen minutes, but at least it happened. He did say in there somewhere that it wouldn’t be much longer until they would ask me to test out my new eyes. I should be excited. That little part of me that wasn’t angry… was hopeful.

I might see. For the first time.

Mechs (Already Begun)

Sliding into bed, next to the only man I will ever truly love, I become his little spoon and try to relax. Somehow I have managed to keep my secret from him. And I hate secrets. Aside from this one little… one HUGE secret… there is nothing hidden between us. 

Hearing him breathe, almost in my ear, I try to calm and clear my mind. But mostly I just grateful he was already asleep when the spasm hit. 

It’s amazing and so fortunate how he is never with me when these things happen. My fingers start moving independently of me and it’s horrifying. It should be less scary since while they are attached to my body, they are not my own. But it is.

It is the most bizarre thing ever to watch the robotic fingers on the robotic hands attached to my totally normal body just… freak out.

I’ll have to call… those people… in the morning. They said after the last time to call right away but I’m exhausted and don’t want Paul to find out. I’ll have to call in to work again, and go see them about it. 

“Them”. How stupid is that? I’ve been the product of their work for over a year now, been implanted with their robotics, and I still don’t even know what to call them. It’s THEIR fault I have to keep this secret. Well, that and it would freak people out. But they always come get me in some blacked-out vehicle, and all I have is a card with the contact number for situations like this.

More than my worry about the spasm (they do that sometimes but not often), I worry about Paul. How long can I keep up this lie? That i’m the ordinary girl he fell in love with? The one I pretend to be?

Sure, the rest of who I am is me. But having robotic hands is a pretty big deal to most people I’d assume…. it still blows my mind sometimes. 

And… it’s either this, or no hands at all. I AM grateful. I am. But all this hush around it. It’s hard to maintain and what if they DO spasm in front of someone? What if they revel themselves regardless of how well I hide the truth?

I even sometimes pretend to need Paul to open jars. Which is RIDICULOUS. I could pull the layers of a penny apart if I wanted to. 

And he always says, “Anna, what would you do without me?” 

Inside I know I couldn’t live without him and that question makes me panic, but only becasue I’m hiding such a massive thing. But outside I smile and shrug, and thank him for opening a stupid jar that was actually no challenge at all for me. It’s all those little things. I have to remember to pretend my hand have regular dexterity and strength. I can’t type too fast at work, or write to neatly. My writing is literally at robotic level neatness. And it looks like it. So mostly I prefer to type, and focus on slowing it down. I do about 65-70 words per minute as far as people know. I could probably do 200-220 if my brain could think as fast as my fingers can move.

But work is easier, I’m under the radar there. At home, with Paul… 

I just can’t lose him.

Do I think he would leave me if I revealed my secret? That I’m actually part robot, technically a cyborg altered after my hands were crushed, by people I can’t name? What would be a bigger deal to him- the cyborg thing, or the fact that I kept it from him? 

As I curl closer against him, I almost start to cry. Though the spasm don’t hurt, as my hands (thought they have censors for touch) aren’t real and the robotics aren’t set up that way, I am in pain. The pain of lying. The pain of paranoia. The pain of not knowing what happens when all this, at least in my mind, comes crushing down around me. No secret stays secret forever. 

When, just like my real hands have gone… will he?

Becca Running

She could hear them drawing closer, their voices getting louder as they approached the alley she had darted into. She knew it was dumb to hide in an alley with only one way in and out, but she could feel her legs starting to give, and needed time to rest. At least she was small, and could hide more easily than others could. It was a seriously wonderful coincidence that someone had wrecked a car into the back of the alley ages before, giving her somewhere to shimmy behind and disappear.

They were smart, whoever they were, and she knew this when they grew quiet as they entered the dirty, trash strewn alley. Dumb thugs would just taunt, and yell at their prey. These guys, whoever they were, knew better. They made their way toward the crashed car slowly, looking around for signs of her.

Knowing she had yet to silence her strained, heavy breathing, she pulled her sleeve over her mouth in attempts to at least muffle it. Through a space in the door of the heap, she could see them. If they didn’t approach the wreck at the same time, she might have a chance to dart between them and get away. But if they boxed her in, there was no chance. She was exhausted  and afraid, and knew her evasion skills were almost non-existent. She was amazed she had made it this far.

The bigger of the two, if one was even bigger, was almost to her. If he tried to pry the rusted door open, he would see her. And even if she was so wedged in that he couldn’t pull her out, he had a gun. She tried to be tiny, and silent…

and her phone vibrated. It didn’t matter that it was set to silent. The movement of her phone in her pocket took her so off guard she gasped, and she knew he heard. There was no stealth now. The bigger one called out to the slightly smaller one and they both pointed their guns at her hiding place.

Becca closed her eyes and braced for the inevitable, but then opened them again when she heard someone far away- probably at the mouth of the alley- yell at them. What could that person be thinking? Did it matter? She might actually have a chance to escape now! She peered through the space and saw them moving back toward the other direction. They were yelling at the mystery person, but since she didn’t speak the language they had spoken (screamed) at her she never had a clue what they were saying.

For the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes she told herself she would never travel to a country that didn’t speak English unless she knew their language again. IF there was a chance to have an again. She listened in amazement as the person was clearly taunting them, laughed outright, and took off back down the street in the direction she had come from. She may have been petrified but not so much to keep her from getting the hell out of there in a hurry. She jutted upright, and climbed back through the window the way she had come in, but got stuck.

Those thugs (or whoever they were) might have left for the moment but they way they had pursued her, there was no way they had completely given up. She knew this, and started frantically to un-wedge her shoe from the space it had gotten lodged in. It seemed like the harder she pulled, the more stuck it became and she knew the easy thing to do was to slip the shoe off her foot and just go. But how far could she run in one shoe? 

She decided to find out. After untying her laces and sliding her foot out, she said a goodbye to the shoe (she loved those sneakers…) and made a run for it. It was clear the best option was to turn the opposite direction from where those men went, and she did just that. It was a little weird and off-balance, but she managed a decent speed, glancing back to see if they had given up on that stranger and come back for her. 

She realized she was just turning corners now, and not paying attention to where she was headed. But, it suddenly stopped mattering when a door on a storefront flew open, and an arm reached out and pulled Becca off the street. Standing in almost complete darkness, panting, with one foot exposed and hurting, Becca just waited. She had run out of processing ability and had no idea what had happened. 

Of course her surprise was overwhelming when a light was finally turned on and she saw the person who had pulled her off the street. It was a girl, just her age. They could have almost been twins. And from the apologetic look on the stranger’s face, she finally had an idea as to why she was being chased by men with guns in a country she had never been to before. They had mistaken her for… whoever this was.

But who was she?

Neighbor Noise

For months, Veronica was convinced her neighbor above her apartment was just an inconsiderate ass. It was an easy impression to gather, considering. 

Sure, she had never actually gotten to know the man, but she had spoken to him a couple times and was convinced he was just rude. After all, management had spoken to him multiple times on her behalf about the noise. Oh, the damn noise! After he moved in it was tap tap tapping all the time! She thought maybe it was a nervous thing at first, but came to realize it was a pattern. Veronica came to the conclusion he was listening to headphones, and was just tapping to the beat of whatever music he had playing.

But then, about two months previous, the tapping stopped. Veronica was ecstatic, as you can imagine. She had felt up until then like she had been living beneath a woodpecker. The sweet relief of silence was better than any other noise. She thought maybe he had left town or something. Regardless of why, she was pleased.

But it didn’t last. Only two days after what she thought was the beginning of a new era noise-related joy, he started something even worse. Shitty, top 40 music, played at volumes unnecessary for anyone in a small apartment… complete with heavy, wall vibrating bass. She had thought nothing could be more annoying and frustrating than the tapping, and she was wrong.

And he played it at weird times. It felt like her neighbor was waiting for her to be sitting quietly with a book, or working at her computer to blast the craptastic music. After what felt like several lifetimes having been ruined by the tapping, Veronica wasn’t taking this. Over and over, she would call management to complain. The music was loud, complaint and no change. The bass was vibrating the pictures on her walls, no change. It’s after the time the law has deemed too-damn-late-for-loud-music, nothing. 

And that is why she deemed her upstairs neighbor a rude, self-consumed, jerk-face who had no respect for those living around him. 

She considered breaking her lease, but she had no where to go. She considered buying her jerk neighbor a pair of headphones, thinking maybe he was hard of hearing, but then raged because she deemed it stupid to spend money on someone ruining your peace of mind while at home. And being afraid of actual face-to-face confrontation, she knew she would never storm up there and let him have a piece of her mind.

* * *

It was a Saturday night, and Veronica was (as usual) being a homebody. Curled up on the sofa with a steaming mug of hot cocoa and a book, she was off in her own little world. Until. 

The music was as loud as ever, but she tried desperately to cling to her own little world, and stay wrapped in the story she was reading. But when she realized he wasn’t even listening to whole songs, her fury broke everything apart. REALLY?? She thought as loud as she could, hoping maybe to telepathically sold her neighbor. He didn’t seem to hear. But she did, and it seemed stranger and stranger.

He would start a song, let it play through the intro, the first verse, and a chorus  and that seemed to do it for him. Sometimes that wasn’t even half way through a song! What was the point? In Veronica’s logical mind, there had to be a reason, or a pattern or something. So, she started writing down the song titles. But he only played a few more songs… or pieces of songs before silence began again for the night. She tossed her notepad with the song titles she had guessed (it wasn’t like the music was muffled and hard to guess from) aside and went back to her book.

But again on Sunday night, the same thing. Veronica was ready this time, and jotted the song titles down, one after another. Sure, she probably looked a little nuts, making a list of Top 40 music heard through the ceiling  but she was beyond giving a shit. 

After about a week of this, she finally stopped. In fact, after about four days one thing had become apparent to her. There was DEFINITELY a pattern. But not in the song titles. Or their subject matter. No, it wasn’t even the artist (with a few exceptions). It was the albums they came from (which were in fact sometimes titled as the name of the artist).

Veronica knew this, because in some downtime on the following Friday  she looked them all up. It took some doing, because at first she looked into a pattern simply in the song titles and found no correlation. Then she looked up the artists and got nothing. Then she used her frustration fuel a crazy internet search for album titles and their art. Yes, she made a freaking chart. It was actually a very nice chart.

But if she hadn’t gone all crazy and made that chart, she would never have seen it. With the album covers lined up next to each other, it was very apparent. At least in a few where the lettering in the art was nice a big. Certain words seemed to pop out at her from the screen, and she started to put it together. 

Literally, and figuratively  After several hours of puzzle working the words in the titles, and a fully wasted Friday night, she decided she MUST have gone off the deep end and shut off the computer to go to sleep.

Veronica did turn on the computer the next day, but refused to look at the last arrangement of album art she came to the night before. She refused to try and rationalize what she had found, and decided to simply get out of the house for the whole of Sunday just to be away from thinking about it. But when even out in her neighborhood she heard one of the songs the jerk-face seemed to really like playing, she gave up and went home.

It wasn’t like he was writing a poem with album titles, or trying to contact aliens with a message made of them. It was way creepier. If, that is, she was correct in her deciphering, and she was pretty sure she was.

One doesn’t just accidentally stumble upon a message like this, even if they were trying. It felt like when someone tells you a funny story, that’s super ridiculous  It’s almost SO unbelievable that you know they couldn’t have made it up. And Veronica definitely didn’t make up the secret message meant for her that the neighbor was sending.

Yep, if she was right, the WHOLE TIME he had been trying to communicate with someone. She wasn’t certain who, but she had intercepted a message that was creepy as hell, and she hope that person was also getting the point. She hoped it wasn’t meant simply for her, because that was a lot of pressure. 

She had in fact made two discoveries at once the night before. One, was the message itself. Two, was that it wasn’t the man she had spoken to once or twice in the elevator that was sending it. Nope. The message was from someone else. Someone being held in that apartment. Her neighbor had had a hostage up there THE WHOLE TIME she had been so annoyed about the tapping and the music. After a facepalm and a little self ridicule she realized it totally wasn’t her fault. I mean, how was she supposed to know? What were even the odds she’s take the time to figure that shit out in the first place?

But she did, and now she knew that some poor woman was being held hostage just above where she lived, and that they were reaching out for help. But how to help? Should she call the cops? That didn’t feel like the right solution, with so little information they might just laugh in her face. And she couldn’t just barge up there and demand to look around. This guy didn’t seem menacing in her memory, but that was memory based on thinking he was a harmless a-hole with a passion for super-loud crappy music. He WAS way bigger than her. And she knew from movies that sometimes people did rash things when they knew they were found out.

She felt as if she had to do something about it first, try to figure out how accurate all this was. It was on her to Sherlock her way through this mystery. So she did the logical thing and spent a week collecting music to correspond with album art images from the internet, and composed a message to send back…

Karen Will Save The World! (maybe)

I have a secret. It’s a good one too. And no one is even a little suspicious of me… for anything. My name is Karen, and I know how to save the world.

Ok, I’m no super hero. I’m just a scientist. No, not the kind that gets bitten by a spider and develops super powers, or is effected by radioactivity. Just a regular one. Sorry to disappoint. But don’t let that fool you. I have been working with my boss/mentor for years on a secret project. Well, had been. See that boss/mentor of mine died very recently. His funeral was yesterday, and I don’t even have to be at work today, but I am. THAT’S how awesome this secret is. Honestly it was easier when I could share this highly confidential information with someone, because then at least we could talk about it. OK, we didn’t so much talk about it as pass encrypted notes. But you know what I mean. And now that that person is gone, it’s all on me. 

The problem is, the secret if found out, will most likely get me killed. I was told my boss died of a heart attack, but it was a closed casket funeral so I’m skeptical. And of course now also paranoid. I really just wanna finish working on the super secret thing I can’t tell anyone about and be done with it. 

You have to understand. We don’t live in a perfect world. And Professor Mitchell Seeds wanted to fix that. That’s my boss. He wasn’t just a super smart sciencey type. He was also a historian and deep thinker in general, and had theories. One of those theories was about fixed moments. Maybe you’ve heard of them? They come up form time to time on my favorite TV show, Doctor Who. But Professor Seeds thought they were a real thing. 

Now you’re thinking, I know, we can’t time travel, so it’s irrelevant. But You’re wrong. Or you will be, when I complete our work. We were SO close to finishing our work, completing the math, and putting the final work into our device. I call it “The F.P.C” for fixed point corrector, since that’s what it’s for, but Seeds just called it The Corrector. See, despite being a hopeful, deep thinking, reflecting type guy, he had pretty much given up on this world. The Earth I mean, and it’s stupid polluting, destructive people. Instead of trying to find a miracle cure to global warming or something, to him it just made more sense to undo it. 

Correct the situation. As in, travel through time, back to the point when things were irrevocably pushed in the direction of slow human destruction of nature. Many people think that even if you could pin point that moment, it’s fixed, or so complex that it can’t be undone. But we don’t think so.

But it makes sense right? At least on some level? Instead of fighting a losing battle with long standing damage, why not just go back and stop the damage from being done? 

OK, I’m aware of the theory that if you change the past you alter the future. But wouldn’t it be worth it to try? Go undo that thing… that first step in the wrong direction, and redirect it. Then just fly back to now and see what happened. Obviously if it was awful, it would make the most sense to see if that version’s suckiness could be corrected and just go fix that, but it sort of lends to the idea that it wold never end. What version of now would be good enough? 

I even thought about going back and preventing Professor Seed’s death… but that seems to cross a moral line inside me somewhere and I just can’t. I think I was just meant to complete the work myself and carryout the plan. 

That plan being finish the time machine and finish the math defining the point to travel to and go there. Change history for the better. Quite the opportunity, eh?

Well, there are some downsides. For one, it’s a lot of pressure! If I don’t complete the work (and I’m not as smart as my mentor so we’ll see if I can) then I’ll be a failure. If I do, and I let the secret slip before I can go, the technology could be stolen and that’s a whole new world of horrible. People shouldn’t just have access to this sort of thing. Or I could get killed for it and the plan could never be completed. And I’d be dead. There’s that one. But honestly, I could die in more ways than that. I could start the machine and it could malfunction and kill me. I could travel to the wrong time or place and get killed by events in the space. There could be some unknown side effect to time travel (this ain’t no TARDIS yall) and that could kill me. WORSE, at least in my mind, the change could be successfully made but that change could prevent my birth somehow and my return to now could create a paradox. That honestly creeps me out the most.

But will it stop me from trying? No! I have in my control a chance to rescue the WORLD. If I can get through another day or two without slipping up and telling someone, I might be able to finish. Then, I could literally be the cure. The cure to starvation, the cure to cancer, the cure to the ozone thinning out. Me! I could save the world. Not exactly how I saw my internship going when I started here fresh out of college. 

Her Past, Her Future

Karina was frustrated. And she was frustrated that she was frustrated. She didn’t like feeling that way. In fact, it was annoying to her. She was so mildly mooded most of the time that when she got annoyed and frustrated it was almost more than she could handle. Amazing how it was always the same couple of things. It was (usually) 1. family or 2. the weather.

She didn’t have a lot of relationships and that eliminated a lot of opportunity for life’s annoyances. But she did have family, and she was affected by the weather, and couldn’t control either one. The family thing wasn’t everyone. Well, it was a lot of them, but specifically one person. And that one person and her, despite trying to connect and get closer and be buddies… just couldn’t seem to make it work. Karina had pretty much given up on it. It was what it was, and you don’t get to pick your family (most of the time) so she accepted the relationship as it was and tried to avoid the person when possible to cut down on times like the current one. But some things cant be helped.

And holidays happen. And families get together on holidays. So, Karina did the smart thing and just went along with it. It’s hard to avoid people in your immediate family at holiday family get-togethers, and Karina knew if she was truly honest (as she had tried to be in the past) nasty things were said, and it just made things ugly for everyone. So what was the point? Instead she took this approach: show up, BS till her brain nearly exploded, and go home. The people she did love in her family made going at all seem worthwhile, and she didn’t want to give up time with them because of one person who got under her skin.

The weather, was like an annoying friend. Always changing their mind, showing up in the wrong season for the wrong thing. Rain on travel days, hot sun on days she wanted to be cool, etc. But like everyone else in the world, she had two choices with dealing with this. 1. She could get pissed and mope about the weather every time it didn’t coincide with what plans she had, or 2. Freaking deal with it. Almost every girl likes a little bitch and moan session on occasion, but Karina knew getting angry at nature was super pointless. And it was completely out of her control. It was better, and less energy wasting to choose option two.

So, the up coming weekend was the fourth of July, and while she really wanted to eat the expected barbecue and jello salad, and drink iced teas and watch fireworks, this one family member made her loathe this day. And it was one of the best holidays, because Independence Day doesn’t require lots of presents and money spending like Christmas does. And there’s fireworks!

So as the holiday weekend approached, she started bracing for it. Her mood was already inching lower with dread, regardless of how she tried to distract herself from thinking about it. And then she checked the weather report. She always did this the week before a holiday, so make sure she had the right clothes clean to match the environment. This year, it was to be hot. Like, wicked hot. Like, unbelievably hot. Ick. Karina kept thinking about having to deal with this person and having to be hot and sweaty and avoid getting a heat stroke. So much for holiday fun.

As the years had passed, Karina liked holidays less and less. She really wanted to escape. She wanted to get away, or skip ahead, and just avoid the weekend altogether. It was the Thursday before the 4th, and Karina had decided to make the most of the last cool day before the intense heat arrived, and was lounging in the park with a book, her iPod playing classical music to soothe her nerves. Reading usually was the best way for her to drop a bad mood, and the best way to escape reality.

She had only been there about ten minutes, and was just settling into a new chapter of her book when she had to look up. She was completely in shadow all of a sudden. But when she looked to see the cause of her ended sunlight, she could have never expected what she saw.

Not only was a giant blue phone box standing in place where there had been nothing before, but stepping out of it was a person she could never have expected to see. Karina turned off her music, and met eyes with the familiar woman in front of her as a second (but not familiar like the first) person stepped out behind her. He was cute, but Karina wouldn’t be distracted. The woman smiled pleasantly, looked around and at her, but didn’t seem to recognize her. Karina could only muster one word. A statement and a question in one.

“Mom?”

A New Companion

“So,” started Cate, when she was able to speak again. Somehow the tea was not only warming her up, but calming her. In her so wildly distracted and excited state, the idea of her tea being drugged by this stranger never crossed her mind. “In what situation would a man with a full beard being dressed in a woman’s gown being helpful? What WERE you doing undercover?”

She watched him as he watched her. His smile was friendly, and inviting, and somehow made her want to do risky things. But at the same time, he never seemed dangerous.

“Well you know, I was posing as an actor in the theater production of King Lear. This IS a period piece dress.” He spoke matter of factly, and did a little twirl to show off the fanciness of his attire. Cate tried to think of what question would properly follow that, but he started again. “Cordelia. you know, the youngest daughter. Women weren’t allowed to act yet, you know how it was. I just needed a chance to pick Bill’s brain.” Cate jumped back into the conversation.

“Bill? You mean, William Shakespeare? You’re telling me you were in his own production of King Lear?” Somehow, her being impressed by this superseded the fact that William Shakespeare lived hundreds of years ago, making this in her current reality, impossible. But something about this man, The Doctor, gave her a sense that things that were impossible were not.

“Well, it’s not so impressive. Whats so impressive was the first time i met him. Of course, I don’t think it was me that impressed him… there was a lot happening…” The Doctor trailed off in thought, but only for a moment. “Where are we right now? I mean, beyond the obvious being in a wooded area.”

“Colorado. We’re pretty high up in The Rockies. I was surprised to see another person out here, my friends and I come up to the cabin here to get away from everyone. You are the only person I’ve seen who I didn’t come up here with.” He nodded. As if to suggest, he already knew that and she was just reminding him.

“When?”

“We got here three days ago. Drove up from the city.”

“No, no. When is it? What day? Month? Year? Right now?”

Cate was confused at the question, but took a final drink from her tea cup, handed it back to him and answered.

“It’s Wednesday, the 17th of December, 2020. If you aren’t from right now, and you clearly aren’t from ‘Bill’s’ time, when are you from? And how did you get here? Thank you for the tea, but I’m gonna need some answers or I’m going back to my cabin. It is the middle of the night, you know.” And while she spoke she straightened up, took a firm stance, and eyed the door as if she was truly considering leaving. She wasn’t.

“Alright, Catherine McDonnell, here’s the situation. I, am a timelord. I look like a human, but I’m not. This,” he spoke gesturing the impossible space they were in, “is my TARDIS, and is my time machine. I can go whenever, and wherever I like. Or, whenever YOU like.”

He smiled broadly, clearly proud of his statement, totally unaffected by how ridiculous it sounded.

“Timelord. Time machine. Really?” Something inside Cate woke up. She had always been one to believe in the unbelievable, and hope for the impossible. Everything she was slowly pushing down inside herself that wanted for the amazing was bubbling up, wishing for it to be true. “If…” she started carefully, trying to keep her calm, “if you aren’t human, you’re an alien?”

He nodded, still smiling like he knew something (or a lot of things) that she didn’t.

“Hhmm. OK. So you’re an alien who goes traveling in a time machine. How do I know you aren’t leaving something important out? Like maybe what you are saying is true, but you’re also an escaped convict who travels in time and kidnaps girls and eats their brains?”

The doctor laughed, hard, doubled over. Cate was glad he wasn’t offended by her query but thought his reaction was a little much. She looked around while he enjoyed himself. This tardis… it was amazing. It sure looked incredible enough to be a time machine. It was pristine. Scuffed steel surfaces, and a center console with so many gadgets and buttons and screens and levers and… there were hallways leading off of the room they stood in. Of every question she had, to ask how they could be inside a thing so much bigger than it’s outside was very far down the list. Too many other things to ask.

The doctor seemed to be pulling it together at last.

“No, dear Cate. I am not looking for girls to kidnap and eat their insides. You have my word. I’m just… traveling.” Cate whole heartedly believe him. Regardless of lack of knowledge of him, or her safety, or how things were possible, she believed him, and wanted to travel with him.

“Can you take me to meet Shakespeare?”

His face went funny, as if he was unhappy with this question, of all she had asked.

“I was just there, Cate. And it’s best I don’t visit him again for a while. Think some more. We. Can. Go. Anywhere.”

She thought hard. What was better than traveling back in time to meet one of the world’s best playwrights? Then she knew, and she smiled. The doctor returned the grin, and waited for her response.

“Alright, not back in time. Forwards.”

Cate’s Discovery

Cate sat up in bed, with a start. As someone who could sleep through a hurricane easily, waking from sleep because of a noise was very rare. Which is how she knew something was going on. It wasn’t so much the volume of the sound, but the nature of the sound itself. She had never heard anything like it. Cate looked across the room, and saw no one else was even slightly stirring.

Without even a second thought, Cate eased herself down form her bunk and slipped on her parka and boots. The cabin was old, and she hoped the door wouldn’t wake anyone, because there was no way she wasn’t going to investigate. Somehow the door hardly creaked at all. Her footfall was silent in the snow, and she moved quickly.

There was light, just down the path. The cabin was fairly secluded, and Cate and her friends had seen no one since they arrived three days earlier. The light grew brighter as she got closer, but the sound was fading away. That didn’t make sense. Cate debated calling out. But then, in a moments recall of every horror film where a girl asked “who’s there?” she decided against it. As she approached the clearing ahead, what her eyes took in didn’t make any sense. A phone booth? In the middle of the woods?Had it been there before? And where was that noise coming from? She kept to the clearing’s edge, mostly out of sight, trying to make sense of it.

Then, as suddenly as she had awoken, the phone booth door burst open, and a scorched man tumbled out. Cate watched as he rolled in the snow, clearly enjoy the cooling sensation. Forgetting to keep herself concealed, she began to laugh. Despite the weirdness of it all, it was pretty funny. The man was clearly OK, protected by his… gown? What WAS he wearing? Obviously that wasn’t the biggest question, and now that the man recognized he wasn’t alone, she stepped forward to be seen.

“Are you alright?” she asked, still trying to keep her laughing under control.

“Hmmm? Ah, yes. I’m fine. Just a little… fire.”

The man was standing, trying to brush off some of the more charcoalized parts of his attire, but seeming to be totally OK with the situation.

“What…” Cate reached for words that wouldn’t come. Too many questions crowded her mind and left her just kind of pointing in the general direction of the man and the big blue phone box.

“What what?” he said, very inquisitively, but smiling all the while.

“I mean to say, all at once: Who are you? What are you doing in that phone box? What was on fire? Where did that noise come from? And a number of other things as well.”

Unbeknownst to her, Cate had been gradually moving toward the man. Curiosity overruled common sense, and he did seem alright.

“Ah. well, that’s a lot. I’m The Doctor, I was just putting out a fire in there, the fire was in the library, the noise was my arriving, and I’m sorry that none of that will make any sense. You are?”

She tried to analyze the situation. He was so quick with his answer, either it was the truth, or a very well pre-planned lie. She hoped it was the truth, however unlikely. He was, after all, a very good looking man now that she was close enough to see him clearly.

“Catherine McDonnell. But you can call me Cate. May I ask another question?”

“Well Cate, you just have but I suppose you mean something else. Go on.” He leaned casually against the box, the skirt of his dress slowly soaking up the snow.

“Why are you in a dress? I mean, I’m not too much into fashion, but that looks like a women’s dress.”

“I was undercover.” He smiled deviously, but not menacingly. If that were possible. “Would you like some tea, Cate?”

“Yes?” Her response was the only word available at the time. Her list of questions still growing, she wanted to stay in this man, who called himself The Doctor, as long as she could. If only she knew how long it would end up being.

He pushed the door open wide, and waved her in. So casually. Cate wondered how they would both fit inside the small space, but as she stepped in, the question was replaced. It was… massive. The inside was so much bigger than the outside. How could this be? Cate began trying to rationalize. She was either A. dreaming, or B. completely bonkers. Nothing else made sense. But she just stood there, taking in her surroundings with wonder on her face and consuming her mind. He was then there at her side, this man, holding a cup of tea.

Instead of freaking out at any of the many bizarre things going on at the present, or turning and running to return to the cabin and the safety of her friends, she accepted the tea, and took a sip.

Not Like The Comics

“Amazing…” Bree thought, as reflected back on how she had gotten here. Of course all bad turns in life for young women start with a boy. But this guy, he was something. Or, so Bree thought.

As a young professional working her first office job, a post-college life should have been exciting but had become monotonous. Wake up, work out, shower, take the train into town, sit at desk, eat lunch, sit some more, take train home, repeat. Bree longed for more, but knew the future would unfold on it’s own if she let it. And she wasn’t wrong.

One boring Monday, when she slid into the elevator at work at the very last second, she found herself alone with one person. A guy, a good looking one at that, she had never met before. And she was good at faces. She smiled, probably a little too enthusiastically, when he smiled at her but lacked the ability to speak. This seemed to happen often to Bree. Luckily, this guy was willing to start the conversation.

“Hi. Today’s my first day. I’m Jim. And you are?” He spoke with ease and a friendly grin, his bespectacled bright blue eyes looking right into her green eyes almost too intently.

“Bree. Good luck.” Bree would have loved to stay locked int eh elevator with this guy for all time, but she surely would have turned into her awkward self and said something horribly embarrassing so it was perfect that the lift reached her floor at the moment. A smooth, classy exit.

How was she supposed to know this guy would be not only following her off the elevator, but would get the empty cube next to hers, and become her motivation to get to work each day?

It took less than one day for them to become fast friends. Bree showing Jim the shortcuts on the computer, where to get good coffee nearby and how to avoid dealing with less fun co-workers. Jim showing Bree his favorite nerdy websites, chat rooms, and inviting her to fun (albeit odd) places around town she had never been. He seemed to be a part of a different culture. On the surface it seemed nerdy; comic books and computers and chess, etc. But the more Bree delved into her new friend’s world, she realized that was his surface identity to hide behind.
She had accidentally befriended hacker, and a thief. If was funny the first time Jim showed her a stolen comic book, or it was until she flipped it over and saw it was a collector’s first edition Spiderman that was worth several thousand dollars. She laughed hysterically the first time Jim hacked the work computers and changed their boss’s desktop to badly photoshopped pictures of said boss wearing a dress (it clashed horribly with his mustache). But when she realized this was more than fun and games, Bree was already in too far.

Not only was she  part of the circle at this point, but Jim and her had become… more than just friends. Whether or not Jim had also hoped for a romance between them Bree sure did, at least in the beginning. Now she was falling for this guy, and she was finding out just how bad this bad boy was. The trouble was no one would believe her. Jim? The nerdy guy from the IT? Jim with the superhero phone case and travel chess set? HE’S a bad boy? Up to no good? No way.

And if she was honest with herself, she never really tried to stop is from happening. So one Friday, while the two sat on the train together, sharing a pair of earbuds to listen to the latest Nerdist podcast, Bree finally fell in over her head. Jim pulled the earphones out of both their ears, smiled, kissed her sweetly, and asked if she was up for an adventure. It was impossible after one of his kisses to say no, and she didn’t. She never even thought to ask how legal, or rather, illegal this adventure would be.

Ok, she did think about it, but they were already sneaking into the convention center where the Comicon was going to be held that same weekend when she did. Jim, Bree, and a couple of their friends, dressed as Batman, Catwoman, Deadpool and Cyclops, breaking and entering. For most that would have been enough, but without asking Bree knew there would be more to this.

Jim had hacked into the warehouse computer inventory, and had discovered some expensive, and super nerdy awesome items being stored there, and decided they needed to be “liberated.” They had stolen passkeys, and codes, and made it to the warehouse with no problems. But the moment they lifted an actual light sabre, used by Vader in Star Wars, from it’s pedestal, alarms sounded. Jim already had a replica batarang in hand (their first “liberation”), and Bree knew their friends had already gotten what they wanted. Bree just wanted to get out of there, but as they all scattered toward various exits, Bree’s Catwoman costume became her downfall.

So it goes- the hotter you look, the harder an escape is… in real life. Her six inch boot heel got caught in a grate, and the boots were thigh high and no easy thing to pull off. By the time she had a chance to rethink picking the Catwoman costume over Tank Girl, it was too late. Batman, Deadpool, and Cyclops were gone.
                                            * * *
“What’s amazing?” The female cop hand-cuffing her asked, highly entertained by this situation. How often do cops actually get to catch a villain like Catwoman in the act?

“It’s amazing how stupid I am.” Bree hung her head, walking awkwardly on her now twisted ankle, in full costume, to the patrol car. Of COURSE a freaking crowd of police men had shown up. Who wouldn’t drop their doughnut to come see Catwoman go to jail?

“Let me guess,” the cop said, under he breath. “it’s about a boy.”

“How did you know?” Bree whispered, as they were now close enough for everyone to hear if they spoke clearly.

“A girl with no record gets caught stealing more than her weight in nerd goods from Comicon dressed as Catwoman and refuses to name names? Has to be.” The cop chuckled, but meant no malice. At least this lady was somewhat understanding. Bree groaned, hindsight kicking in. She climbed compliantly into the patrol car, sitting awkwardly as pleather on leather car seats is a little uncomfortable.

“He must have been some Batman.” The cop said, climbing in and looking back at her in the rear view through the plexiglass.

“More of a Two-Face,” muttered Bree as they drove towards the police station, the cop laughing just a LITTLE too hard.

The Well

Monroe was alone. For once. No screaming siblings, no parental banter. Just silence and peace for once. You’d think she would be please, a moment’s reverie from the chaos that was her home life. But no, that was certainly not the case. Instead, an unintentional replay of every scene from Silence of the Lambs with Buffalo Bill in them played on a loop in her head. And that wasn’t such an off-base response.

After all, she did wake to find herself with a head wound, in the bottom of a well. Inside someone’s house. Or at least, inside somewhere. There were definitely interior things peering down at her. A stucco ceiling. The triangular beam of light from a standing lamp. And TV sounds. Ok, so it wasn’t totally silent, but considering her situation, everything was so numbed out and dulled down it might as well have been.

Her head ached. She didn’t seem to have any broken bones, but she was definitely banged up. Monroe started to wonder how she came to arrive in the well. As in, was she lowered down somehow? Or dropped? She couldn’t focused hard enough to get any clearer on the matter. And despite her head banging away at her skull in mind numbing pain, she was preoccupied. With fear.

How did this happen? She wasn’t the type to be talking to strangers, or interacting with shady people online. She hadn’t left her house in a couple days actually. Finals. Those horrible end of year tests that would make or break her. Turns out stupid tests weren’t the only things that could do that. She couldn’t even recall what she had been studying. She must have fallen asleep again at her desk. It was embarrassing how often some family member would find her passed out, face first in her school books, fingers still gripping a pen, sometimes still mid word. While she tried to recount her evening, a new wave of dread spilled over her.

Someone came and took her from her house. There was no other explanation. And while that was bothersome on the highest of levels, it wasn’t what drained the blood form her face. It was her family. Her annoying, loud, irritating, distracting, wonderful, sweet family. Had they all been home when it happened? Had anyone gotten in her kidnappers path? Suddenly, and without a choice, her mental loop of Buffalo Bill was replaced with horrible images of her parents, her sisters, her brothers. Injured, blood spattered. She knew this was based on nothing, and her brain was panicking and running away from her. But now she couldn’t stop.

Without meaning to, Monroe let out a small cry. She instantly knew it wasn’t small enough. Even thought she had her hands clamped over her mouth, and her cry for her family had passed, the damage had been done. Seconds later, the fuzziness that had blurred the unfamiliar world around her refocused. And she heard the sound on the television playing above her stop. She tried not to hyperventilate, tried to breathe evenly, still clamping her hands over her mouth. Then, even more terrifying, she hear foot fall. BIG foot fall. Big, heavy, possibly booted footfall. And it was surely coming toward this place she had been delivered to.

Monroe debated her options. Obviously there was no where to go. So, her choice in actions were few. But still, there was choice. Should she pretend to be asleep? Delay the inevitable encounter with whoever this kidnapper was? Or face it, like the adult she often told her parents she was? And if she chose to face them, should she show her fear? Or be bold, and act unfazed? She was suddenly overwhelmed by the options. The steps were close. They would be over head in only a moment. She tried to think fast, but it was as if her fear became a liquid inside her, and was slowly filling up her lungs and brain and other vital organs so that functionality became impossible. At the very last moment, when there was already a bit of shadow overtaking the edge of her new home, she chose to pretend to be asleep. She dropped against the wall, let her self collapse, which took little effort a this point, and prayed they would go away. She needed time. To plan. To think. To get a grip on life again, somehow, and formulate a thought process that would not leave her a skin suit in some crazy person’s closet.

She could feel the light become completely blocked out, as her kidnapper, whoever they were, stood above her fifteen feet up. Monroe told herself NOT to hold her breath, but she was worried she would start hyperventilating again. The figure, the shadow blocking out the light didn’t move. They made no sound, and just stood there. Did they know? Could they tell she was pretending? She wished something would happen. Anything. This suspense was worse than the possibilities in her head.

It was fortune her face was tilted down, because then Monroe began to cry. Not hard. Not heavy sobbing, or weeping, or crying out. Just silent tears. The liquid fear inside her had clearly filled all available space and was now overflowing down her scraped cheeks. And then, what she had been trying to accomplish for her whole conscious time finally happened. Her brain went on auto-pilot. No more racing thoughts, no more looping buffalo bill, no escalating fear, no nothing. It would be similar to the feeling one has while drowning, after the struggle stops. The calm, welcome or not. And Monroe drank it in gladly.

It was impossible at this time for her to have any inkling of what would happen next. For one, she didn’t know where she was, how she had gotten there, or who it was that had brought her there. For another, she was no longer assessing the situation, and was calmly crying into the dirt beneath her. For a third, the thing that did happen, was so opposite of any previous worry or guess that had she been focused, it might have completely caught her off guard. Right before her auto-piloting mind shut her off, and blacked her out, she heard her kidnapper speak. It was only two words, but enough to throw the whole situation off balance as she faded out.

“Help me.”

The Emily/Beth Situation (story starter)

My name in Emily. But I tell people, at least some of the time, that my name is Beth. I hope you are thinking, “Why would you tell people, at least some the time that your name is Beth, if your name is Emily?” because otherwise, I’ll have a harder time leading you toward the story I’ve got.

There is a very simple answer to that question I hope you asked. Because that some of the time, when I tell people my name is Beth, I think it is. In fact, I have no idea that there’s this other chunk of time where I’m NOT called Beth. I have at those times, no idea I was ever Emily.

Hilarious, right? Well, no. Mostly it just leads awkwardness. You know how when someone is married and they are cheating and carrying on in a secret relationship (try to follow me here) with someone else, there’s usually an inevitable meeting between the two people, and it’s awkward for all involved. This is kind of like that, only I’ve got no idea I’m two timing. And I’m not cheating on a man, I’m cheating on myself. It’s like I have two separate lives.

Now, don’t get me wrong, they very rarely overlap, and a surprisingly large amount of the time the people around me are aware (unlike myself) that I am both Beth and Emily. Or rather, Emily, and sometimes Beth. It’s always surprising when I find out. If you have ever discovered your parents have been keeping a giant secret like your being adopted, then maybe you can relate. I literally have no idea that I ever carry on as some other person, regardless if the discovery is made as myself (Emily) or my other self (Beth). It’s mostly just sad, and I feel embarrassed and want to run and hide. And then i wanna yell at my parents.

You see, I live at home with them, regardless of being past the age where most have moved out, started careers, etc. I haven’t spent all my time living this way. Just since the accident. Yep. I have a tragic story. It’s very “boo-hoo” and when I tell it it’s usually followed by looks of pity and “awww”s and I HATE that. So, here’s the abbreviated version.

I was hiking up in the Rockies with my best friend, Cara. We were on a double date with a couple of show-off-rock-climbing types and there was a rock slide. One of the guys didn’t walk away and is paralyzed. The other didn’t walk, roll, crawl, or survive at all. Cara was the only one not permanently injured. And while I am slightly envious of this, I’m glad one of us isn’t all screwed up. Also she totally blames herself, as she set up the double date in the first place. We all make our own choices, I tell her this often, but I don’t know if she will ever let it go.

Anyway, my injury left me in the hospital for a very long time. I was told by my doctor that while my breaks and bruises would heal, my brain injury would be permanent. And that it would be best to live at home, until a time when I was to move in with someone who could also commit to being there. All the time. See, I thought I had blackouts, where my brain would short out, and I would pass out and could possibly hurt myself, and just needed to be monitored. That alone was hard to take in.

Whats harder, is that it was a lie. I don’t black out. I just black out from being Emily, and become Beth. I have no idea when it started, or what trouble it has caused me in the past. This is because the other part of my injury is that I have this “defense mechanism” that allows me to permanently block out negative memories (including the accident and my Beth times). In other words, every time i am made aware that I do this thing, I block it out. I don’t think i’ll ever be aware of it longer than the day it happens.

So if you see me in public some day, and holler out “Emily” in my direction, and I don’t turn around or respond at all, you can bet money I’m not Emily just then. But I doubt that would happen. I spend most of my time at home. And, there’s the OTHER other thing. I only ever turn into Beth at night. It’s like Beth is a freaking vampire and only comes out after the sun has gone. I wish I were joking.

Well, that’s my story. Or at least, that’s where it starts. With me, living my life as Emily, or thinking that’s the case, and having the people around me give up setting me straight due to the fact I would block it out anyway. You’d think that would be the worst I could get to. But boy, you would be wrong.

Pen Pal Improv Story Writing Idea!

Hello! It’s been a while….  So I got involved with the ze frank community, and it’s a great place. Lots of creative things happening there. It’s fun, inviting, there’s no hate, and as Ze Frank is the source of all this awesome, it’s very inspiring. So, I got an idea. It might fizzle into nothing, but I thought I’d put it out there. It’s a writing project =) A separate, yet, not single person project. Interested? Read on and hit me up if you like!

This project can be two people, me and one other, sending files or letters (thus the title- pen pals) back and forth, each reading the received one and responding with the next one and creating a story by playing off the others writing. Or if done with MORE than two, there would have to be some kind of organization to do it. Like going in rounds/turns, so people are sure to only write the next piece and not skip anyone or have two people write a follower to one piece.

In my head, we would be using a form of Tina Fey’s improv rules for improv (http://sostark.net/post/4965998605/tina-feys-rules-of-improvisation-that-will-change-your). One, to agree with those we are collaborating with. Two is the “yes and” rule, which means you not only agree with whatever the previous person suggests, or writes, but play off of it, so it builds and moves forward. The third rule is to make statements, which I think will be easier for writers than people doing actual improv, as that’s how a story is naturally written, but I’d add to also ask questions. If one person has something they want to add but wants to prod the following person into filling in a gap of info or something, that’s great. But don’t just prod the next person, add your own bit too. This gives it more depth, and keeps it from getting one sided. The last rule is there are no mistakes, which is key (this means, you don’t get to veto the direction someone else moves the plot line).

If one person writes a piece of the story, they should keep from starting their next piece until it is there turn again. I say this for the reason that if you start deciding where it goes next, and the other person (or people) take it another direction, it might feel like that other person has decided wrong, or made a mistake. And there are none (see above rules). So write your piece, and step back. See what direction it takes and stay with it, don’t try to get ahead.

I think seeing how other people move a story would be REALLY interesting. Partially because no two creative minds think alike and some people would approach a situation or plot point so differently, that they will write in a way another never could; and partially because it’s harder, and more challenging! It could be about anything, and go in any direction (I supposed boundaries might be needed, but that can be worried about if it happens) and end… who knows where!

So that’s the idea. A collaboration, but done separately. I would be totally willing to post the story here, and try to manage this if it actually takes off. Personally, I’m struggling to do anything but start stories these days (see… all previous blog entries haha) so it’s be awesome to create something without the pressure of doing it alone. And it’s be cool to see if it works, and if the outcome is as awesome as it is in my head. So, if you are interested, let know! Throw me an ask. I have no requirements really, just basic spelling and grammar (lord knows I’m not an expert at either) and a willingness to both try, and stick with it! Sound fun?

Daring To Begin

Gloria woke up, aware that she was in pain, but not aware of much else. Before she even opened her eyes, she was taking the different kinds of hurt she was feeling. Her head felt like it had be bashed in with a metal bat. Her arms, legs, and back all felt like she had been through a giant dyer full of sharp rocks. Her lungs ached, as though they were just finally getting the right amount of air again. She felt awful.

Despite the intense pain in her head, she opened her eyes. She had a feeling she wouldn’t recognize her surroundings, but it was probably a good idea to try. The only upside of her current situation, is that wherever she was wasn’t well lit so she wasn’t forced to look at any bright lights. It was… just dark.

In every direction she turned her head and saw nothing. There was a small amount of light so that she could see her own body, but nothing much beyond a foot away. Knowing the light had to have come from somewhere, she looked up. There.

Above her, so far away it seemed, was the light source. The brightly lit, star speckled night sky. She could even see part of the moon through the… it looked like a hole. A rough, broken edged hole. She must be underground. This revelation scared her at first, but after she got the nerve to feel around a bit realized at least she wasn’t in a well. No, this was a big space, whatever it was. And while the hole she could see the sky through seemed intentional, this place was natural.

The walls felt like packed dirt, or stone and rocks. She decided to stand up, and see if she could find hand holes and climb up, and out of this space. But as soon as she put pressure on her right leg, it buckled beneath her. She cried out in pain, and tried hard to muffle it. Of course, the sound was surely heard if anyone was near, but no one came. No sound at all.

No, that was wrong. After the pain subsided a little, Gloria began breathing evenly enough to listen closer. There WAS sound. But just of nature. Was it enough to indicate where she was?

She could hear a couple of things. The breeze, as it pulled over the surface of the hole. It sounded more wonderful than it should have, but it was so still and hot at the bottom where she was that it sounded heavenly. The ocean? Some kind of water for sure. That steady, somewhat eve, repetitive sound of waves breaking on something. Not big waves, but water on a shore. And crickets? Cicadas? Some kind of insect was signing in the night. What did those sounds indicate?

Gloria was trying very hard to be logical, and work this out, but the longer she was conscious, the more worried she got. About too many things.

Who put me here? How long have I been here? Is anyone coming back for me? Will I starve? Why is this happening? Again?

Of course, The last of the questions was the saddest. For while the other questions mattered, it was the last that broke her heart. This was not the first time Gloria had been nabbed and woken up in a scary place. There was little she could do about it. The firs time it happened, it was horrifying. She was sure the people who took her were going to kill her. But they didn’t. And when she finally made it home, she was paranoid for a very long time. Who wouldn’t be? She had good reason, as it did happen again. This time, this night, in this hole, in all this pain, was the third time.

At least Gloria had survived the first two times, she told herself. It should be reassuring. It should indicate that she would survive again. Right? Right.

Gloria knew this was a game now. She didn’t know who it was that was doing this. amazingly all three times she was taken she never saw them. But clearly there was some enjoyment for them. Otherwise why let make it home, just to do it again? Why let her live? If it wasn’t a game, it was a test. Those were the only two possibilities. In either scenario, she was either a game piece, or a test subject. And either way you look at it, she wasn’t in control. Which is bad.

But Gloria steeled herself, and attempted to get as much control as she could. OK. Well she didn’t know where she was, or how long she had been there. Or what all was broken/bruised/damaged on herself. So what did she know? She knew she was in a cave like natural space underground. She knew she was near water, and that it was night. She also knew that most likely, no one was coming to rescue her.

So, like she did the other two times (of course, those both took her a much larger amount of time to get to this point), she made a choice. Gloria WOULD survive. She WOULD escape. She WOULD make it home. But in addition to those ideas being planted in her mind as certainties, she added a new one. This WOULD be the last time this would ever happen.

She was going to have to figure out how, but she was for sure, going to stop this from happening. Gloria knew this was opening a whole new world of danger, but so what? What was a new danger compared to repeating the same terrifying nightmare over and over? She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but this person, these people, whoever it was, had to be stopped. This life was hers to live, not their to control. And with that thought, sitting aching on the ground in that unknown place, Gloria began to plan.

Grey Area: Chapter 4

“You did what?” Carrie wasn’t shouting, but her voice was definitely at least two octaves higher than normal.

Grey decided, in best friend fashion, to tell Carrie everything that had happened. Honestly, she couldn’t have kept it from her if she wanted to. Grey told her about her “genius” idea to share her pizza, the encounter, the fact that Alexander Wadsworth was clearly a made up name, his strange excessive enjoyment of the pizza, the awkwardness, and a detailed description of his home. Carrie was in that weird state between being appalled, impressed, and amazed all at once.

“Wow. Wowie wow. I can’t believe you did that Grey. He could have totally murdered you and chopped you up and made a stew out of you! Or worse!” Carrie was a little melodramatic sometimes.

“What’s worse than that? You are so weird. You were just telling me last night that he was just an eccentric guy and was nothing to worry about. Now you think he’s dangerous?” Grey was mostly kidding, it was always hard not to mess with Carrie when she got this way. Carrie was after all, meant to be on stage or in front of a camera. SO dramatic.
“Ok. You’re right. Well, you’ve certainly got us a start! When should we try and go back together? You know I totally need to meet him. I mean, I have lived below him for ages.” Grey watched Carries brain spin and her eyes got bigger. “Wait. was he cute? You said he couldn’t be that old right?”

Grey decided to derail that train of thought. The last thing they needed was Carrie getting all flirty before they really knew anything about this guy. So Grey laid down the law. As Grey was the first person to A. start investigating, B. create a friendliness with this guy and C. clearly was the mastermind between the two of them, she called the shots. Carrie wasn’t thrilled about this, but she was always so busy with her job, and it was true that Grey was more authoritative in general, so she conceded.

Grey announced the next step was waiting, and that didn’t please Carrie at all. But she supported this choice by the fact that this guy, this “Alexander Wadsworth” was super skittish, nervous, and hesitant to even give his real name, and that settled it.

But while they waited, something weird was going on. While Carrie swore she had never noticed her upstairs neighbor ever having anything delivered EVER, that suddenly changed. Grey and Carrie became aware that almost daily (or as best guessed by in their time at home) “Alex” -as they referred to him- started ordering pizza. The first few times it was just a single pizza from any random pizza delivery place. But by the time two weeks had passed, they could tell by his trash output that “Alex” had gotten more than 24 pizzas delivered from almost every single pizza place in the area. Definitely a strange turn, but there was technically nothing that bad about it. Nothing to really be scared about. Just more reason to be super curious.

One evening, after Carrie had finally gotten home from a long day, both girls lay around exhausted and discussing this.

“What if we took him some other food?” Carrie was pondering, lying on her back dropping chips into her mouth. Both girls were so tired they resigned to eating only food they had that required no cooking that night. Grey leaned against Carrie’s bed where she was lounging, scooping potato salad into her mouth by the spoonful.
“You mean, do you think he would become obsessed with something else if we took, I don’t know, hot wings up there?” They were joking around, but also very curious. Who in their right mind orders that many pizzas? In a row? Even people who really like pizza don’t usually do that. “I keep wondering. Is this happening because i literally introduced pizza to him for the first time? Or had he maybe only had it a long time ago? Or maybe he had only had crappy pizza? Or maybe…” Grey stopped herself.

On more than one occasion she got a random creepy vibe that the pizza obsession their  mystery neighbor was having was more about her than the pizza. But she always brushed it off. He hadn’t seemed creepy, just weird… and she really didn’t wanna be scared of him. SO, she refused to validate that concern.

“Or maybe, he’s hiding a pizza parlor under all the tarps and he’s just ordering pizza to create the ultimate pie! Now THAT would be awesome.” Carrie clearly never caught Grey’s creeped out vibe, thankfully, and Grey followed her friend’s lead and laughed. That WOULD be the best possible answer, she supposed.

But they both knew, the only way to really find out what the heck this guy was doing up there, why he was making those loud THUD noises they couldn’t explain, and what all the pizza was about, was to talk to him about it. Unfortunately he didn’t seem much for the talking type. Grey was sure her attempt at befriending him was a good call. Unless they could get him to explain themselves, their only other option was to keep making wild guesses.

A few more days passed, and the girls start to plot their next move. Waiting, seemed to be a completed step, and it was time for action. They just wanted to play it right. But  on the night that would have been perfect for plotting, Carrie was asked to stay late. As Carrie seemed to be working more and more (gotta follow that destiny, she kept saying, over and over, looking more and more tired…) Grey was not surprised, but bummed out. Of course, her pouting didn’t last long.

In fact, She had just come to terms with her night alone, when there was a knock at her door. Through the door window she saw it was him, the upstairs neighbor, in what Grey knew was the only time he had ever knocked on their door. Taken off guard, but excited to see what this was about, she put on her friendliest smile, and answered the door.

“Hey, neighbor.”

“Hello, Grey. I was… I just…” Though he was again dressed nicely and seemed relatively put together, the guy just seemed so put off by his own efforts. “I mean to say, I found this amazing pizza place, and they have the most incredible things. I was wondering, if maybe, I could repay your kindness with some food of my own? I mean, I didn’t make it, but… I mean to share it with you…”

The whole time, Grey grins, unable to believe her luck. She decides to just help him out.

“I’d love that! Let’s go eat! I’m super hungry.” Grey watched as relief covered his face. She stepped into her shoes that were sitting by the door, grabbed her keys off their hook, snagged her phone from the table, and followed this mysterious, awkward guy back to his house to eat more pizza.

Grey Area: Chapter 3

A minute, at least, passed while Grey waited. She was certain the upstairs neighbor was home. And eventually the door opened. Kind of.

Through a tiny crack of open space between the door and the frame a timid, but adult male voices spoke.

“Who is there?” And nothing else.

“Hi. My name is Grey Parker, and I just moved in downstairs. Yesterday actually. And I brought a pizza home from my first day at my new job at Tribianni’s Pizzeria and I wanted to share it with someone. My roommate won’t be home for a while yet, and I thought maybe you’d like to come eat with me?” Grey used her most friendly voice, and smiled big even though the man clearly can’t see her through the ridiculously small amount he opened the door.

“No thank you.” No hesitation, no nothing. But he was polite, sort of.

“Are you sure? I can’t eat it all myself. I’ll bring it up here, if you’d rather. It’d be nice to get to know someone else here in town.”

Silence. And even though Grey was raised not to enter stranger’s houses, she was sure this add-on to her offer will help. And it did. After a lengthy silence, the man said ok, and shut the door.

Grey went back down, and grabbed the pizza. As she was about to leave she thought better and wrote a note to explain to Carrie where she had gone…. just in case. Then she left for real, pizza in hand. When she knocked again, the man opened the door all the way, and she was taken aback.

He looked totally normal. Spiffy even. The “eccentric neighbor” is a man older than her but far younger than her father. He was clean shaven, had combed hair and was wearing a dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and suit pants and vest. He was not eccentric but physical standards, but as Grey thought this, he does some sort of awkward evaluation of her, like SHE is the questionable one. Grey decided to re-introduce herself, now that they were face to face.

“Hi,” she said, extending her free hand, “I’m Grey Parker.”

“Hello, I’m…” It was clear he is trying to make something up, or he forgot, the hesitation was too great, “I’m Alexander Wadsworth. Please come in.”

He may have be polite, but he was so off putting that Grey smiled and told herself to follow her instincts if it gets too weird. IE- just leave. But she was determined to give it a good effort and get some investigative work in.

As “Alexander Wadsworth” lead her through the house to the kitchen, she surveyed the place. While the man seems relatively normal, his place did not. There were only a few basic pieces of furniture, nothing of excess at all, but the place wasn’t empty.

All space that wasn’t filled with a small couch or a single chair here and there, were filled. But with what, Grey has no idea. Large shapes she couldn’t identify, odd angles poking out in strange directions under neath numerous tarps and cloths fill all vacant space. Her neighbor clearly didn’t want her to see whatever the things are that were covered, and decided the best course of action was to not ask about them. Instead she decided to be as friendly as she could manage, and offer information about herself without getting into too much detail. And mostly, avoid asking him anything and hope he offers info on his own.

When they reached the kitchen, Grey saw it was just as bare as the rest of his house, except appliances. While he did have a fridge and stove, there was no microwave, no toaster, no blender, none of that. Her host offered her a seat at his table and two chairs that make up his entire kitchen furniture set, and offered her a glass of water and a plate. Smiling and nodding, she sat and watched.

When he opened his cabinet to get glasses, it was evident that he has only a few dishes. Maybe two of each everyday item, if that. Besides those few items, the cabinets seem to be full of storable food. Lots of cans and other types of food stuffs that don’t go bad easily. It was a little weird, so when he returned, and sat, they just sort of look at each other.

Grey realized that all conversation will be driven by her, and so she opened the pizza box and tried to get one going. While she talked in between bites about herself, giving a mini bio of what she considers “stranger safe” information, more oddness emerged. Alexander seems to be really enjoying the pizza. And so was Grey (it was a very good pizza pie) but definitely not as much as he was. It was almost as though he had never had pizza before, or maybe it had just been so long he had forgotten how much he liked it. When Grey got to the part of her self-explanation where she mentioned the pizzeria, she asked if he liked the pizza. Almost to avoid conversation, he shoved the last couple bites of the slice into his mouth all at once, nodded and makes a sort of “mmm-hhhmm” sound.

“Please, have as much as you like. My roommate Carrie doesn’t like cold pizza and I can probably only eat two slices.” She smiled, took her second piece, and gestured for him to take more. Grey was quickly running out of things to say. She was hesitant to say any more about herself, so she went against her better judgement and asked him a question.

“How long have you lived here, Alexander?”

“Two years. No, five years. I keep losing track.” And without anymore elaboration, he went back to enjoying the pizza. While she slowly ate her second piece, she watched him eat a couple more and pondered this small nugget of information.
How does one lose track of years? Two and five make a pretty big gap in time. And even if it WAS only two years, you’d think he’d have more furniture by now, or at least would have hung something on the wall. It looked like he could have very recently moved in himself, but she knows he has been there at least long enough for him to totally creep out Carrie’s old roommate Melanie. Maybe the rest of his furniture is under the cloths.

But Grey was worried about making things more awkward, and was sure he covered everything for a reason, and she WAS trying to befriend this guy and find out more. So she avoided the topic. But small talk was clearly not his strong suit, or at least, he didn’t like to make it, and as Grey doesn’t want to seem nosy, they sat in silence while Alexander finished off a few more pieces. When most of the pizza was gone, he sat back and for the first time, smiled.

But when Grey smiled back he became aware of his own expression suddenly and the grin melted away. Grey decided this was a sign it’s time to go. So she looked down at her watch and pretended to find the time to be interesting.

“Well, I should get going. Still more unpacking to do. Keep the last piece though,” she said still smiling. She wanted very much to make a good impression. Regardless of whatever was to come of her investigating, he was her neighbor and she wanted to stand well with him.

“Thank you.” And that was it. At least he’s polite, Grey kept thinking.

“No problem! We should do this again sometime. Besides Carrie and the people at the pizzeria I don’t really know anyone here, and it’d be nice.” Grey was hoping to create another opportunity to come back into his apartment, and maybe bring Carrie to get a second opinion. “I’ll stop by next time I bring a pizza home, ok?”
“Um, alright. Yes, that would be…. nice.”

And without anything left to do, she left. A million queries ran through her mind as she walked back down to her own house. It was amazing how many things you can wonder about with so very little information. Without anything else to do but wait for Carrie to get home, she decided she would indeed unpack to pass the time. Of course she had only been at the task for a few minutes when she heard the soon to be all-too-familiar THUD from the floor above.