She shook her head, smiling, “I know you told me you are really speaking a different language and I’m just hearing it in mine but, sometimes, it seems like you are still speaking gibberish.”
“Pish posh. I don’t even know if that’s an accurate description of what’s going on, but if I waited to fully understand the things I’m doing, I’d end up sitting in a corner drooling.” Kellan raised both hands into fists, “Gotta grab it by the horns!”
“So, when?”
“When what?”
“Are you leaving?”
“Now.”
She looked down again. Kellan struggled to find something to lighten the moment. “Hey, but you can see my future house as I go. That’ll be cool, right?”
“Sure…cool,” she replied without emotion.
“Ok, I’ve really got to concentrate because I’m having to make a portal to a place and time both very far from here, so don’t distract me or I could end up on the moon or something.”
She slapped his shoulder, “Yeah, like that. Don’t do that.”
“I won’t. I want you safe.”
She watched as Kellan’s brow knitted in concentration and his eyes came alight moments before the portal resolved itself and he leaped through. He turned to look back at her—through the miles and centuries.
She stood there in the sunlight, hair ablaze, bright brown eyes staring into his as Kellan felt the power rushing from him in a torrent while he struggled to keep the portal open. He gestured around him. “
This is my home, Shannon. I can’t wait for you to see it. I think you’ll find this time very interesting. What do you think?”
He saw her pause for a moment, then straightened slightly, lifting her chin. All semblance of childhood evaporated like breath on a mirror. “I think, Kellan Thorne, that…I love you, and did even before we met.”
She watched his eyes widen in surprise and a very self satisfied smile spread across her face as the portal winked out.
Chapter 9
REUNION
Kellan continued to stare, mouth agape, at the space in his living room where, moments before, he spoke to Shannon across both miles and centuries.
“You what?!” he said to open air, then grumbled as he turned towards the bedroom, sparing a glance backward over his shoulder, “Just a kid…”
Kellan dropped his iPhone onto the nightstand by his bed and plugged it in, but it merely acknowledged the event by showing a low battery image while refusing to power on. He sighed, stripped off his clothes, and threw them into the canvas hamper located in one corner of his closet while grabbing a fresh pair of faded jeans and a T-Shirt emblazoned with the image of Jeff Bridges along with one word: Abides.
Kellan stared at the shirt a moment. “I need a fucking drink and then I’ll abide too, Dude.” With the clothes still in his hands, Kellan heard his iPhone power up and begin to make all manner of customized tones to indicate a series of e-mails, text messages, and alerts had just been received. He walked over, threw his clothes on the bed, and glanced down at the now glowing device. He ignored the e-mail indicators and tapped the Messages app which indicated 12 new text messages: Three from Juliet, one from his mother, and 8 from James Clinton.
Mom: “Kellie…I told you I wasn’t feeling well and you didn’t call. I could be dead for all you care. I’m the only mother you have. Call me.” Jewish on his mom’s side and Catholic on his Dad’s, Kellan was used to having a double dose of guilt and shame. He stood there admiring his mother’s ability to wield maternal guilt like a finely honed sword. Still, she would have to wait to berate him until a bit later. He tapped the next name.
Juliet 1: “Kel. Where are you? I tried to track your phone and it’s nowhere. I know you never turn it off. Where are you?”
Juliet 2: “Kellan! You are being a jerk. I’ve been running the store by myself for two days. Call me, right now!”
Juliet 3: “Kellan Thorne…you have me completely freaked out. It’s been three days. WTF!”
“Shit!” Kellan said, as he bent down to tap on the iPhone.
“Juliet. Sorry, I’m an ass, and shitty time-traveler—must have screwed up my reentry. Just got back. Am ok—will see you soon.”
Kellan stood back up, thought a moment, then tapped out a second message to Juliet. “Obviously, don’t show this to anyone.” He hit send, then plopped on the side of the bed, sliding his finger to James Clinton.
James 1: “Kel, brotha, you have got to see my new gadget. It kicks ass. Call me.”
James 2: “Kel, dude, let’s hook up tonight at Dark Horse Tavern. I’m dating someone new—need to fill you in.
James 3: “Ok, it’s been two days. I’m not your bitch. Call me or I’m not texting you again.”
James 4: “Fine. I guess I am your bitch. Dude…call me.”
James 5: “Day 3 asshole. I’m going to make you pay.”
James 6: “U R A Dick”
James 7: “W!”
James 8: ”T!”
James 9: “F!”
Kellan smiled and looked at the charge on his iPhone—20%. He unplugged it and hit the FaceTime icon next to James’ contact info. A few seconds later, James Clinton’s face appeared on the screen. James was an empirically handsome guy with light chocolate colored skin and meticulous grooming habits. In years past, he had called himself a ‘metrosexual’ and while the term had died out, James’ passion for a clean shaved face, head, and trimmed eyebrows had not.
“Hi handsome,” Kellan said with a grin.
“Fuck you, asshole.”
Kellan made to kiss his phone.
“Oh, please dude, you would turn a gay man straight with that shit, and as the straightest man in Atlanta, just imagine what that does to me.”
“Ha! Straight,” responded Kellan, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“Yeah, whatever. Hey, where have you—wait, what are you wearing?”
“Huh, oh, I was just about to jump in the shower actually,” said Kellan, grinning as he started to tilt the phone down.
“Stop!”
“Stop! Dude, I mean it!”
“I’m not looking!”
Kellan laughed and moved the phone back up to where it was squarely pointed at his face, then laughed even harder as he saw James peering out between the fingers of the hand he had been using to cover his eyes. James started laughing too.
“Seriously, dude, that kinda shit could detach a retina or something and, look at me, you don’t want me having surgery that could alter this kinda perfection, do you?”
Kellan gave an exaggerated sigh and inwardly realized how much of the last week’s tension had just unwound in the span of the past few minutes. “So,” he began, “You said something about a girl, a gadget, and the Dark Horse.”
James became animated. “Oh, yeah. So, I bought a coffee station. It’s all stainless, imported from France, and it’s actually built into my cabinets like a microwave, but, well, cooler, and for coffee. It’s connected right up to the main water of my house so I never have to fill it. It grinds beans, makes expresso—the works. Did I mention it was from France?”
“Yeah, you mentioned that because, as we all know, the French are known for their fine appliance craftsmanship. What about the girl?”
“Oh, she’s cool. But wait, I don’t think you fully appreciate this coffee station. It grinds beans and makes cups of coffee, espresso, or a whole pot. You have to come over right now and see it.”
“How do you clean it if it’s built into the wall? What if it leaks?”
“How do you clean it? I don’t know!” exclaimed James with exasperation. “Dude. You are missing the point. It’s from—”
“France. Yeah, I get it. James, I ask you three times, what about the girl?”
James laughed, “Ok, Kvothe, I tell you three times, she’s pretty, hot, smart, and hot.”
“Smart, like Brandy was smart?”
James grim
aced. “No dude, and that was like 10 years ago”
“Two,” reminded Kellan
“At least five. And there was no way for me to know she had an active warrant. Are you ever going to let me live that down?”
“Nope.”
“Well, fuck you then. Maybe I won’t even let you meet Naomi. Ask me where she works, douche.”
“Where does she work, douche?”
“The C…D…C,” James said, slowly enunciating each letter in turn, “She’s literally a scientist for the CDC. You know what that means?”
“That she might be able cure that raging case of herpes you got from Brandy?”
“Hardy fucking har. No dude. It means…if there are ever real Walkers, she’ll know how to fix it. And I’ll be right there, safe and sound, while you go out eating brains and looking like shit.”
Kellan laughed despite himself. “So your argument for this gal isn’t that she’s obviously clever to both have earned a doctorate and a position at the world’s preeminent public health institution. It’s that she will be handy in case of the zombie apocalypse?”
“‘Zactly.”
“Ok,” said Kellan seriously, “I can respect that.”
“Guess what else?” asked James with a look that gave Kellan pause.
“What?”
“She looks like Zoey Deschanel.”
“Bull. Shit!” Kellan had barely gotten the word out when his phone buzzed indicating a picture had been received. He tapped a few icons and groaned as he looked at what appeared to be a smiling Zoey Deschanel, arms draped around James’ neck while the two posed for a picture. Kellan switched back to his FaceTime session to find James grinning like an idiot.
“So, she going to be at the Dark Horse?”
“Nah, she has to work tonight. Some kind of virus thing going on somewhere.”
“Walker Virus?”
“Nope, I asked, Ebola I think. Hey, you think it’s safe for us to, you know?”
Kellan narrowed his eyes at the image of his friend. “No, idiot, I don’t think it’s safe for you guys to, “you know,” because there is a chance that it could result in your passing on your double helix and that gene pool needs to stop with you. What, do you think she sprays live ebola on herself like perfume?” Kellan held up a hand in front of the camera. “Don’t answer that. I’m hungry. I need about 20 beers and I’m going to take a shower. I’ll see you there in an hour.”
“No no,” said James frantically waving one hand. “Come by my place and we’ll take Uber down. I want you to see that coffee station.”
“Oh my God. Fine, I’ll be at your place in 45.”
Kellan didn’t wait for a response before he disconnected the FaceTime, plugged his iPhone in, and padded over to the shower.
Kellan glanced at his phone as he pulled up to James’ building—8:30. He was late, having taken longer in the shower than planned. But, Kellan reasoned, he had, quite literally, centuries of dirt to wash off. So James could just deal with it. The doorman, a twenty something with sandy brown hair, waved and walked around to Kellan’s side of the car, running an appreciative hand along the hood and left fender.
“Hi Baby. You are looking fine as always,” he said.
“Why thanks, Tommy, but you’re gonna make me blush.”
Tommy narrowed his eyes at Kellan. “Very funny, you know I was talking to the car. I don’t suppose you want me to call up the valet?”
“Hells no!”
Tommy chuckled. “Yeah, don’t blame ya, just pull over there,” he said, pointing to what was supposed to be a second lane of the turnabout, but was, in reality, parking for folks who drove cars Tommy liked. Kellan raced the engine a moment before putting the car into gear and got an appreciative nod from the door man, as he made a sweeping gesture toward the offered parking spot. Kellan deftly slid the Impala in-between a Tesla P85D and a BMW 650 convertible, killed the engine, and hopped out.
“Thanks for the spot, Tommy. Baby’s slumming a bit next to those two heaps, but it’s better than her being lonely in some dark garage. Did you tell the idiot I was here?”
“Yep; he says you’re late and that you should do something anatomically improbable,” said the doorman with a grin. “By the way, be prepared, he just got a coffee station installed. I didn’t even know what a coffee station was, but he has one, and it was made in—”
“France. Yeah, Tommy, I know all about the miraculous coffee contribution the French have made to world in general, and James’ condo specifically. If anyone complains of screaming or of loud crashes coming from his place, pay it no mind.”
Kellan paused and turned back. “Oh, we’re going to take Uber down to Highlands and grab some beer and food at the Dark Horse, so I’m gonna leave Baby here till we get back—that cool?”
Tommy waved the question away. “No worries, Kel. I’m here till six. Hey you want to leave the keys with me? You know, just in case.”
“No.”
Kellan walked into the lobby and waved to the security officer, who waved back from behind the large, industrial, desk made of brushed steel and carbon fiber.
“I’ll sign you in, Kel”
“Thanks Mike,” said Kellan with a smile as he headed toward the bank of elevators, each of which depicted a slice of the Atlanta skyline, such that with all elevators closed, you had a pretty good view of what the city looked like by night. Kellan tapped the “up” button and the rightmost elevator slid open with a soft electronic chime. Once in, he quickly pressed the top button for floor 36 and a pleasant British woman spoke from the air, the voice affecting a slightly mechanical cadence.
“Secure floor access—prepare for retina scan.” Kellan placed his eye near the scanner with a huff, annoyed at the fancy security measure for the umpteenth time. “Identity not confirmed,” said the voice.
“What?” said Kellan.
“Identity not confirmed,” repeated the voice.
“Do it again.”
“Secure floor access—prepare for retina scan. Identity not confirmed.”
Kellan ground his teeth and mumbled, “What did you do to my eyes, Raphael?” He reached to slide open a small panel in the elevator that covered what looked like a phone keypad, then said, “Manual identification.”
“Secure floor access—enter access code now.”
Kellan quickly tapped out the 12 character combination: STNGNCC1701D.
The door slid closed and the British woman spoke again with slight pauses as the system inserted custom responses James had previously programmed. “Identity confirmed. Welcome…Kellan Thorne. You are late for your appointment with Mr. Clinton. You, sir, are a douchebag. Enjoy your visit at Peachtree Executive Tower.”
Kellan flipped off the security camera, just on the off chance that James was monitoring it. With his ears popping from the rapid ascent, Kellan left the elevator and turned right down the long hall that led to James’ corner unit. He heard his shoes making soft squeaks as they moved along the gleamingly polished concrete; the interior of the hall was exposed brick while the exterior wall boasted long brushed steel panels that ran its length with intermittent carbon fiber accent lines.
As he approached the door emblazoned with the number 3604, Kellan heard the door lock click, having been informed of his arrival and paired to the bluetooth in his iPhone. The door opened on an expansive open floor plan that made up James’ executive palace. The whole place made Kellan think that an Ikea designer had his head explode, with every jettisoned thought taking shape in the place. Everything was glass and steel with the only nod to anything organic being the gray washed bamboo flooring which, Kellan reminded himself, was a concession James had made after Kellan threatened to never set foot in the place were it left with acid etched concrete floors.
Kellan immediately saw James in the kitchen, his back to the front door, engrossed in doing one thing or another. Kellan walked over and leaned both forearms on the polished concrete breakfast bar.
“So, this you will
actually use?” he began.
James turned, grinning at his friend. “Huh, I use this other stuff.”
“Oh really?” replied Kellan, gesturing to the massive 60” Wolf range, “Turn that on.”
“Well, I don’t cook with it if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s an oven, James.”
“It’s a display piece, Kellan. Look at those Hammersmith copper pots on it. If I used the oven to cook, it would get dirty and I imagine the copper would likewise; doesn’t it turn green if you cook with it? Besides, do you have any idea what real copper pots cost? I’d never actually use them. And, Mr. Reclaimed Wood, which is another name for old rotted shit, the Sub-Zero is filled with beer, and Lisa filled the Miele,” he pointed at the dishwasher, “with wine glasses just yesterday, so I use that too.”
“Your maid uses it.”
He waved a hand. “Same thing. And, look, let’s not forget the microwave. I use that to warm up coffee,” James paused. “Well, I used to, but this baby here will shoot out a perfect cup whenever I want, so maybe I’ll swap that out for a Skybar.” He shrugged. “We’ll see. C’mon over, check this out.”
“How about you check your privilege,” Kellan said grinning. He noted the slightly crazed look in his friend’s eyes. “Exactly how much coffee have you had this thing make for you?”
“Don’t know—now shh, ok, so this,” James waved in front of the appliance like a model on Price is Right, “is the Cafe Pristo CS24/S. It makes long or short coffees, espresso, cappuccino, late, or macchiato in seconds. It’ll steam or froth milk for,” James paused thinking, “for chai latte or even a kid’s hot chocolate.”
“James, you don’t have any kids; you barely have a girlfriend, but I get it, the Cafe Pristo goes to Eleven.”
The coffee station had been hissing and spitting during this exchange, but went quiet. James reached in to remove a cup. He took a sip, rolled his eyes, and handed it to Kellan.
“What? I don’t want coffee. I want beer.”
Sentinels of Creation: A Power Renewed Page 21
