by M. L. Ryan
We remained like this for perhaps five minutes before he looked at me and grinned. I placed my hands in my lap and waited expectantly for the details.
“Sebastian was ambushed in his hotel room by Otto Kashanian, the thug he was sent to arrest. Mortally wounded, and without hope of being found before bleeding to death, he elected to test his theories of convergence as a last ditch effort to stay alive. He encrypted his essence into binary code and then intended to broadcast himself into his laptop, which was on and in the room. He predicted that his spiritual being would remain intact and protected there until he could be reunited with his corporeal self.
“Unfortunately, he believes that during the melee with Kashanian, the computer was damaged and was no longer receiving data. There was a warehouse nearby, which he assumes to be a Kindle manufacturing site. Luckily for Sebastian, someone must have been testing the wireless capabilities of one just as he became disembodied, and he was intercepted by this,” he declared as he dramatically picked up my Kindle. He looked at the eBook reader with both wonder and admiration and whispered, “He did it. That crazy bastard actually did it.”
I shouldn’t have interrupted his obvious veneration, but I couldn’t contain myself. I vaguely recalled that data is transferred over the internet using the ones and zeros of binary code, but turning oneself into computer speak seemed unimaginable.
“So how is that even possible?” I queried.
He stared at me for a long time. Eventually, he shook his head slowly, a look of total incredulity sweeping over his handsome face.
“Let me get this straight,” he began, finally. “You’ve accepted that you are essentially possessed by a supernatural being who trapped himself in your Kindle, to avoid destruction by a sociopathic outlaw, but you are questioning if the processes is technically feasible?”
“Well, it’s a lot to wrap your head around all at once.”
I dropped back into the sofa, my elbows resting on each knee, and my now pounding head cradled in my hands. “I guess I’m more comfortable trying to understand what I can understand, understand?” I paused momentarily and then was overcome with angst. “Damn it! When the website said ‘Special Offers’, I thought they just meant advertisements! Instead, I get a possessed eBook reader!”
He furrowed his brow and crouched next to me. He gently placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Are you sure you’re alright? You are sort of babbling.”
Truth be told, I wasn’t alright. Who is prepared for this kind of revelation? I could imagine the conversation at work on Monday, “What did you do over the weekend, Hailey?”
“Not much, I was taken over by a man in my Kindle.” There were so many things I wanted to ask—I didn’t know where to begin.
Eventually, I settled on the one thing that seemed the most important.
“Can’t he just put himself back in the Kindle?” I asked, my voice coming out small and shaky.
Alex frowned again. “I doubt that he is able to, now that he has no physical body with which to help him focus his power. It was difficult enough for him to compel you to dial my number and say a few words.”
“Can you do it?”
He paused before he answered, as if he was carefully considering his response. “I don’t know exactly how he accomplished this. We’ve discussed the concept for years, but without knowing the specifics, attempting to recreate the feat could do great harm to both of you. It’s too big a risk.”
Alex seemed to sense that I was starting to panic at the thought of being permanently inhabited and he quickly added, “It’s too risky now, but I promise you that I will find a way to disassociate the two of you.”
“So what do we do in the meantime?”
“You are going to get some rest,” he said as he helped me to my feet and guided me toward the bedroom. He pulled back the comforter, sat me down on the bed, and took off my shoes.
“Tomorrow I will try to channel some of my energy to Sebastian so that we can communicate more effectively. And then we will formulate a plan.” He cupped my face in his large hand and I felt a pleasant wave of calm sweep through me.
“What was that?” I murmured sleepily as I stretched out on the bed.
He tucked the comforter around me, turned out the bedside lamp, and said slyly, “Think of it as a paranormal Xanax.”
~6~
The next morning, I woke after almost seven full hours, feeling well rested and refreshed. If Alex could bottle whatever sleeping spell he used on me, he’d be rich.
I got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and went into the living room. The blanket that was usually draped over the end of my bed was stretched over the cushions of the sofa; Alex must have snagged it and slept on the couch. I glanced around—one could take in pretty much the whole place while standing where I was—and saw Alex, sitting on the back patio, petting Vinnie, who was curled up in his lap. Opening the sliding door, I took a deep breath of the crisp air, fragrant with the scents of the desert in winter.
Alex turned his head and greeted me with one of his brilliant smiles. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”
“Yeah, I did,” I responded. “You know, I don’t let Vinnie outside at all. Between the coyotes, bobcats, and various large birds of prey, there are too many things out there that could eat him.”
“Sorry, I didn’t even think about predators,” he said. Alex looked down at his furry companion with mock admonishment. “He was very insistent, but I won’t let him dupe me again.”
Alex ousted the cat from his lap and carried him into the house. It was unusual for Vinnie to cuddle up with a stranger. Although lately, his behavior had been so out of character that who knew what was going on in that little kitty brain of his. Upon further consideration, however, another explanation occurred to me.
“Alex,” I began. “Does Sebastian like cats?”
“Hates them. Why?”
It was all starting to make sense. “Does he like rugby and drink coffee with tons of cream and sugar?”
He looked at me suspiciously as he answered with a drawn out “Yes…”
“Well, that explains a lot. The last few days I have been doing all kinds of things that I normally would never do and Vinnie has been acting like he’s afraid I might kick him when he’s not looking.”
“Fascinating.” Alex placed his thumb under his chin and curved his forefinger under his nose in contemplation. “That must have been why you ordered Glen Fiddich last night. Sebastian is extremely particular about his scotch. You really wanted tequila, didn’t you? That’s the only alcohol I found in your house.”
“Yes, and every time I ate or drank something unusual, I both loved and loathed it at the same time.”
“Fascinating,” he repeated. “You can experience his appetites, both victual and diversional.”
“You know, Alex,” I observed, “You have a very old fashioned way of expressing yourself sometimes.”
“Really? I try to keep up with the evolution of your language, but sometimes it is easy to overlook the finer points. What did I say that was anachronistic?”
“Well, anachronistic, for one,” I chuckled. “And no one uses the word ‘victual’.” Then I recalled our original phone conversation. “You called me ‘toots’, too,” I added quickly. “I think my great-grandfather used to call me that sometimes. Did you learn English from a book written in the nineteen-thirties?” I said teasingly.
“No, I learned English in the nineteen-thirties.”
I don’t know why that tidbit should have thrown me off. After all, I had come to grips with the idea another world coexists with ours. So it really shouldn’t have bothered me that instead of Alex being somewhere around my age, he was way older. Probably way, way older.
“Ah, exactly how old are you?” I asked.
He turned around and headed to the kitchen. “One hundred and twenty-four,” he called out over his shoulder. “You hungry? I could make pancakes.”
“Whoa!” I exclaimed. �
��You can’t just say ‘a hundred and twenty-four’ and then blithely discuss breakfast.” I stared at him, my mouth open in disbelief, trying to comprehend that he had already experienced three different centuries but he looked thirty—tops.
“I know it’s shocking; I bet you’re thinking I don’t look a day over one hundred.”
When I didn’t laugh, he answered me more seriously. “We age at a much slower rate than you,” he began. “Physiologically, I’m the equivalent of a twenty-five or thirty-year-old.” He grinned mischievously and added, “Think of it as doggie years in reverse.”
I shook my head slowly. What’s that make their normal lifespan, like, three hundred? I wondered. “Okay, Fido,” I said finally. “Let’s make some victuals.”
Surprisingly, I had all the ingredients necessary for Alex to prepare pancakes. The only item I was missing was the maple syrup, but I did have some apricot jam my mother sent for Christmas. She claimed the brand—called “Heavenly Preserved”—was especially delicious because all the fruit was grown organically and prayed over while ripening on the trees. Despite my skepticism that religious fervor could influence produce, as well as the company’s motto—Delicious because you can taste the Jesus in it!—it did make an excellent substitute.
After we stuffed ourselves and cleaned up, it was time to attempt a more efficient method for brainstorming with Sebastian. Alex explained that, while he could communicate with Sebastian through physical contact with me, it would be more productive if whatever Sebastian wanted to say could come out of my mouth. I was initially reluctant to be his mouthpiece, but eventually I saw the sense in having a more direct way for them to confer.
As we did the night before, Alex and I assumed our seated positions across from one another. This time, I opted for resting my upturned palms on my knees instead of outstretched in front of me, as my arms still ached from last night’s session. We touched, and after about ten minutes, the electrical buzziness morphed into a relaxing hum. I even felt myself starting to nod off once or twice.
Alex finally pulled his hands away, and he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a few moments. When he finally spoke, he said wearily, “That was much more draining than I imagined.”
“Fortunately, I feel quite rejuvenated.”
I jumped at least a foot at the sound of the voice. “Shit,” I shrieked and then spent the next minute trying to resume normal breathing. “Did that come out of my mouth, or is he still just in my head?” I panted out finally.
“Well, the profanity was loud and clear, but other than that, I didn’t hear anything” he said, frowning. “Evidently, my efforts were unsuccessful.”
“Tell Alexander that while he failed to achieve verbal communication between myself and him, he did manage to significantly enhance my ability to communicate with you.”
“Apparently, you only made it easier for him to talk in my head,” I complained.
Alex tried twice more to accomplish his original goal; both attempts ended without a favorable outcome. Ultimately, Alex accepted the limitation of communication using me as a conduit. The good news was I couldn’t hear Sebastian’s thoughts. The bad news was he felt the need to verbalize whatever popped into his mind. So now, instead of an occasional, unexpected word or two, I was bombarded with a running commentary about anything and everything. He had an opinion about the color of my throw pillows for god’s sake.
After about a half an hour, I’d had enough and I insisted that he limit himself to speaking only when he had something important to say. Maybe he was just making up for the months of forced silence, because he did tone it down after I complained.
By the time the afternoon became evening, Alex and Sebastian had formulated a plan. Sebastian believed that it would be easiest for his essence to return to his own body, as it was already configured for him. They hoped that using their considerable web of contacts, they could determine if the body could be located, and if so, if its condition was such that reconvergence was possible.
The alternative approach was inserting Sebastian into a different physical form. This scenario was problematic for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the necessity for a suitable body being available when he and I separated. As neither Alex nor Sebastian intended to kill someone for their body, they agreed that finding Sebastian’s body was the best strategy.
My stomach started to grumble, and I realized that we had skipped lunch entirely. Alex and I decided to get some dinner before we stopped by his hotel so he could get his laptop. We went to one of my favorite places, a small hole-in-the-wall diner that looked so seedy from the outside that no one who valued their health would venture in without a prior recommendation.
As usual, Pancho’s was crowded, but we lucked out when a table for two opened up after only a ten-minute wait. The joint was open twenty-four/seven/three sixty-five. In fact, they didn’t even have locks on the doors because they never closed. The menu items spanned everything from eggs to enchiladas and the clientele included college professors, motorcycle gangs, and suburban housewives. Even the mayor ate there.
I knew the menu by heart, but I grabbed one for Alex before we sat down. “What do you recommend?” Alex asked after a few minutes of perusal.
“Hopefully, something without Salmonella,” Sebastian groused. “I have no desire to watch you retching out your dinner later tonight.”
“Lighten up. I’ve eaten here for years, and I’ve never had a problem.”
Alex looked up from his reading and chuckled. “Let me guess, Sebastian objects to the less than five-star ambiance.”
“He’s worried about food poisoning. You know, Sebastian, you really are a snob.”
“It’s not snobbery to be concerned about the sanitary conditions of one’s surroundings. But don’t mind me; it’s your gastrointestinal tract.”
The waitress came by, glanced appreciatively at Alex, and asked if I was having my usual— huevos rancheros and an iced tea. I smiled and nodded and Alex handed her the menu before ordering the same for himself. Sebastian remained mostly silent, only complaining when I refused to put sugar in my tea.
The food came quickly, and we enthusiastically dug into the warm, spicy layers of refried beans, eggs, cheese, and salsa that topped crisp, corn tortillas.
“This is fantastic,” Alex murmured distractedly, as he spooned more salsa on his plate. “What do you think, Sebastian? Ambrosial, yes?”
Sebastian must have been sulking because his only comment was a huffing sound. Just as well. I was too busy stuffing my face to deal with his issues.
After we had both cleaned our plates, and shared a chocolate tamal for dessert, we made our way to the hotel. Alex was booked into one of those industrial-strength places that are generally clean with few frills. His room, which was on the third floor, had a passable view of the Santa Catalina Mountains that spanned the north end of town. Tucson is surrounded by four mountain ranges: the Catalinas, the Rincons, the Santa Ritas, and the Tucson Mountains. All have somewhat different topography and elevations, but they are all beautiful.
Glancing around the impersonal surroundings, I suddenly said, “It seems silly for you to pay for a hotel room. If you don’t mind the couch, you can stay at my place. Besides, it’ll be easier for you and Sebastian to strategize if you don’t waste time going back and forth.”
I’m not sure why I extended the invite, but I didn’t feel like Sebastian had a role in it. It’s not like I made a habit of asking guys I barely knew to basically move in, but then again, it’s not like I made a habit out of sharing my body with a supernatural essence either. The whole bizarre mess I was in seemed, I don’t know, not so messy when Alex was around.
“Thanks, Hailey. If you are sure I won’t be intruding, that would probably simplify things.”
He began to put clothes and such into a small duffle bag that had been on the end of one of the twin beds. When he finished, he slung the bag over one shoulder and grabbed the laptop before we went downs
tairs so he could check out.
When we returned to my place, I cleared off a section on the counter in the bathroom and gathered a towel and some bedding for him. I didn’t really have anything to use as a dresser in the living room, but I moved some paperbacks onto the floor so he could use the now empty shelves for his stuff.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t bothered to shower this morning, so I excused myself, got some clean clothes from my bedroom, and went into the bathroom. I turned on the shower to let the water heat up and as I started to take off my clothes, I absentmindedly glanced at myself in the mirror.
Son of a bitch! If Sebastian could see that Pancho’s looked like a dump, then he could see what I’m seeing. There was no way in hell that I would be comfortable taking a shower knowing that he could see me naked.
I frantically racked my brain for a solution and finally settled on the only thing that seemed to make sense. I turned out the lights. The little glow from the clock radio on the shelf above the toilet emitted too much illumination, I decided, so I quickly removed the batteries. That was better; I could barely see anything I wouldn’t want Sebastian to see, so I figured I was safe. I removed my clothes, pulled back the shower curtain, and adjusted the water temperature before climbing in.
When I finished showering and washing my hair, I shut off the water and stood there dripping. Shit. In my haste to eliminate any chance of supernatural voyeurism, I had forgotten to put my towel on the hook next to the tub.
I pushed open the curtain and carefully lifted one leg over the side of the tub. Damn, it was dark. I rotated my body slightly—to facilitate what I hoped would be an easy journey to the other side of the bathroom, where the towel was located. Unfortunately, I slipped. Without visual landmarks to guide me, I reflexively yanked at the thin vinyl panel in a vain attempt to prevent myself from falling. The shower curtain tore from the hooks, plunging both it and me to the floor.
