She picked up her overnight bag and made to put it on the bed, and froze. A sense of unusually strong déjà vu assailed her senses. So powerful was the experience she was rooted to the spot. The doorbell rang. She knew it would.
Feeling slightly apprehensive (a rare occurrence for her), she strode across the room towards the door. Still in the grips of déjà vu, she knew a tall man would be standing in the doorway. She hesitated for a second, then, gathering her confidence around her like a cloak, opened the door. Indeed, a tall man stood in the doorway. She had no idea who he was. The man, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly who she was. Without a word he threw her a quick nod then walked directly across the room and out onto the terrace. Like the woman, he showed not the slightest emotion as he surveyed the dismal scene.
She shut the door quietly, picked up an orange from the bowl and wandered out to join him. The man continued to scrutinise the horizon and seemed oblivious of her presence. Unused to this sort of treatment, she felt vaguely anxious, cross and unusually out of control. However, nothing on the surface gave even the slightest hint that anything was wrong. She leant nonchalantly against one of the posts supporting the balcony above, rubbing one of her arms with an immaculate hand in an effort to keep warm, whilst smelling the orange she held in the other. She affected a slight smile with a hint of a raised eyebrow in case he should decide to turn around. She desperately wanted to get the control back. A man walking into her room without speaking to her wasn’t going to get the better of years of self-control. In fact just thinking about it in such simple terms enabled her to see the ludicrously theatrical side of what was happening. She felt the power surging back into her and was once again thankful for ‘a good head on a good body’.
The man chose this moment to finally turn around but instead of speaking to her, he made a small gesture showing that he was beginning to get cold and re-entered the room. ‘Alright,’ she thought, beginning to enjoy the game, ‘Let’s see who’s best at it’. She knew how to walk, she knew how to hold herself, she knew how to get attention and she put all of this knowledge into action during the short time it took her to re-enter the room, drop the orange on the bed and cross the room to the bathroom. The man, already sitting in the leather armchair in the corner with crossed legs and joined fingers, the tips of which just covered his mouth, took no notice of her. He didn’t even follow her with his eyes. He appeared deep in thought.
She suddenly gave herself a mental slap round the face. Who was this man and why had she let him so calmly intrude on her space? Why was she even making an attempt to dally with him when she didn’t even know him? There was a reason that she’d come to this place. It was remote enough for her to do what she had to do with no interference. Men didn’t affect her this way. They were one thing in her life over which she had total mastery. She was giving this intruder her time and he wasn’t even paying her for it. As if sensing her frustration, the man murmured, “Alors, comment c’était cette fois?”
“What?” she said. “Oh I’m sorry,” he replied, “It’s English this time, isn’t it? What I asked was, ‘How was it?’” “How was what?” she replied. “All of it, this time around,” the stranger replied making an extravagant hand gesture indicating huge scope. As he gesticulated, she again had the powerful sense of déjà-vu. She knew this man...really knew him, but she couldn’t place him. “I know you,” she stated flatly. The stranger laughed. “I should hope so; still, you haven’t answered my question.”
She looked at him, really looked at him and he met her gaze full on. She saw a man in his late forties, very handsome in almost a Middle Eastern way but difficult to place. He wore a trench coat, an expensive one, which he had unusually buttoned up to the collar. His eyes bored into hers as she scrutinized his. She wasn’t sure what she could see within them. Whatever it was it was calling to her in a way that she found most difficult to deal with. She knew men’s eyes, but she didn’t know his. The déjà vu persisted unabated and was reaching a stage where everything was beginning to feel unreal. She broke her stare and sat heavily on one of the chairs feeling dizzy. The stranger stood up with a smile, “It’s never easy…I know…at least that’s the way you always make it for yourself,” he said.
Feeling too disoriented to talk, she gestured for him to continue. “Very well,” he said quietly, “Do you really believe that a hot bath, a bottle of vodka and a razor blade are going to solve anything?” She looked up sharply. “How did you know?” she demanded. “It is my business to know,” he continued. “It’s what I do.”
She took a deep breath and regained some of her composure. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt, then walked with some dignity to her overnight bag. “Whatever you think I’m going to do next, I need some of this,” she snapped and pulled out a bottle of vodka. As she poured a shot into a glass, the stranger observed, “I’m not here to stop you doing anything; I’m just here to give you a little perspective.”
Despite the bizarre situation the women still couldn’t reconcile the fact that he appeared unmoved by her. This ability was the one constant in her life. Ever since she could remember men were the one thing over which she had total control. Certainly it had been a pleasant discovery when she edged into her teens, but it had soon become a burden. She eventually recognised the uses of her gift and the financial opportunity it afforded her to lead the life of luxury she thought she craved. As time moved on, her loathing of men increased as did the quality of her lifestyle. There had been one or two individuals along the way, men who had managed to keep up the pretence of not being intimidated by her femininity and beauty, but their facades had eventually crumbled into what she hated the most: adoration.
Not so with this strangely familiar man. Her experience told her that he most certainly wasn’t gay, but the fact that he was uninterested was a jarring and unfamiliar sensation. She didn’t like this feeling. Rejection or disinterest from a man was alien to her and deeply unnerving. It made her feel drawn to his dark beauty. She found herself wondering what he’d be like. Was this how men felt around her she wondered?
His voice pulled her out of her reveries. “So, to the matter at hand. If you want to kill yourself, please go ahead. I won’t try to stop you. That’s not how it works. It’s just that it won’t achieve anything, as you’ll recall the minute you commit the act. As I asked you before, ‘How was it this time?’”
“What do you mean ‘this time’?” She asked, annoyed.
“Your life,” he replied. “This is not the first time you’ve been here, and you’ve reached the same resolution every time. You must be getting a little bored of it by now.”
She blinked at him in amazement. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she shot back.
“I’m familiar to you,” he continued. “You feel it but you don’t understand it. Indeed this whole situation is unnervingly familiar and yet you can’t put your finger on it, can you? That’s the way it’s supposed to be. If you could remember everything you wouldn’t get what you wanted from the experience. It’s your gig, but you’re alarmingly predictable. It’s like you’re stuck in a loop. I’ve tried to help. That’s what I do but you’re very difficult to reach once the game begins.” He walked over to her. She found herself unaccountably trembling slightly at his closeness. ‘Shit,’ she thought. Up close he was seriously handsome.
“You’re beautiful, rich and powerful,” he continued. “That’s exactly what you set out for yourself this time. It’s what you set out for yourself every time but it always ends the same way. You cut your losses and break for the border. What you fail to realise…what you always fail to realise when you’re here, is that what you seek is not dependant on these factors. You set these factors out for yourself for a reason. You gave yourself these gifts to provide a scenario, a scenario whereby you would have the opportunity to experience that which you desire to experience. I’ve tried to let you know in so many ways, but you’re very focussed down here; you rarely hear.”
&nb
sp; She didn’t fully understand his words but something within her told her that his bizarre monologue was in some way true. In that instant she made a brave decision. She dropped her guard a fraction around a man. For everything there is a first time she mused. “I don’t know who you are,” she confessed. “But I know I know you. I don’t know how but I do. I’m tired. I’m bored. I’m disillusioned. I’m depressed. A quiet afternoon with a bottle of vodka in a hot bath with a razor seems a very appealing way to check out of this mess and stop the hurting.”
The stranger smiled. “Progress, at last. In the past you’ve just ignored me and did what you felt you had to do. Somehow I’ve reached you this time. I know you don’t fully understand what I’m saying, but believe me my only agenda here is you and that which you desire the most. If you do what you’ve done in the past and not listen then it starts all over again. Sure, the scenarios are slightly different every time, but the basic outline is the same. It’s not till you start listening and noticing that you can make the changes necessary to get to where you want to be. You chose this scenario and you have to resolve it. Until you do you’ll keep replaying it. That was your choice too.”
She took a large slug of vodka and savoured the warmth rushing into her stomach. She was about to pour herself a second shot when the man, moving surprising swiftly, grabbed the bottle away from her. “I’d really rather you didn’t. I need your total attention.” She affected a mock pout, one of her best. The stranger didn’t react at all. “You had my attention but you’re talking in riddles,” she said. “Just give me a straight answer. Who are you and why are you here?”
“I am here for you. That is sufficient. I cannot be more specific because that will ruin your careful plans. You were most definite about this. Look on me as a guide if you will, through a difficult maze of your own making. I’m always available if you let yourself look for me. Seek me out in the quiet places in your mind and you’ll find me.”
“More riddles,” she retorted, but not quite so aggressively, “Look, you had what it took to get into my bedroom without reaching into your wallet. Believe me, you’re experiencing very rare air. Yes, I do feel that I’ve done this before but we all get déjà vu.”
“What do you think déjà vu is?” the man smiled.” It’s a crucial point in the game that has been important in previous playings.”
“So,” she said, “I’ve really done this before, but I don’t remember it?”
“You don’t remember it but you do feel it. Trust your gut. You know it to be the truth.”
She’d given up trying to make an impression on him. Nonetheless, as she reached for a cigarette, she couldn’t help but arch her back in manner designed to cause notice. The man smiled kindly. Not the reaction she’d ever engendered before with one of her moves. “What was the best moment of your life?” he asked.
Surprised by the question a moment popped into her head. As she was about to speak he cut her off. “No,” he said. “Really think about it. A moment when you were truly happy, when everything was just right. A moment when you knew you were loved. A moment that you loved. A moment when time seemed to stand still and you wanted to hold onto that moment forever. Dig deep inside yourself and tell me about it.”
His voice was so sincere she did as he asked. She closed her eyes and tracked back across the years, until she summoned up an event that she thought she’d long forgotten. The recollection of the long dormant memory stunned her with its power. She spoke, hesitatingly at first, then faster as she relived the experience.
“My tenth birthday. My parents surprised me by waking me up together. My mother kissed me. I can remember her perfume, she always wore Dior. I sat up in bed rubbing sleep from my eyes and then my dad hugged me. I remember his face was always shiny in the morning because he’d just shaved. I used to call it his smoothy face. When my dad pulled away my mom reached down by the side of the bed and picked up something. She told me to close my eyes and when I did she placed something on my lap. I opened my eyes and saw the most perfect kitten.” She paused, the emotion welling up inside her. “I picked her up and held her to my face. As I buried my face in her, my mom and dad hugged me together. I could smell all of them. I loved them so much I could have burst and I knew that I was loved in the same way.” She stopped, overcome. She felt the tears welling up inside her.
“I feel so silly,” she choked, “but I wanted that moment to last forever.” She tried to maintain control but the power of recollection threatened to overwhelm her. Embarrassed, she stood up to grab a tissue and in that moment the stranger held her. He embraced her as she allowed herself to let go. She cried for the loss of that long ago moment. She cried for her frustration. She cried in remembrances of a feeling that she hadn’t even realised that she’d forgotten. As she sobbed she was shaken to realise that there was an ecstasy in this release. Her barriers were down. She was raw emotion. She recalled unconditional love and the nirvana of the timeless moment.
As the stranger held her, he gently smoothed her hair. “This is what this is all about,” he murmured, “This is a hint of what you wanted to experience. The harder it is to get here makes the moment even more special. You gave yourself some tough barriers. You’re very brave but you insisted on the full nine yards. The door has been opened slightly. You can build upon this. The emotions you feel right now are the only reality. You wanted to forget them so you could experience the bliss of re discovering them. It’s the work of heros.”
A cigarette later, the woman looked at her mascara-streaked face in the mirror. Normally she would have reacted in horror. Instead, she laughed, a deep, rich, vibrant laugh that had the stranger chuckling as well. “Impressed?” she said.
The man stood up and grinned. “I’ve told you all I can. I’ve helped you have a peek at what’s going on. You’ve got to work the rest out for yourself. Your rules, remember? You know where to find me.” He turned and made for the door.
She moved quickly, blocking his path. “Don’t go,” she said. “I want to talk to you forever.” “You have been,” he replied gently.
“You’re here for me right?” she chuckled. He nodded. “If I need something you’re there for me, yes?” she continued. “In a nutshell,” he responded. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear.
As she lay on the bed in the half-light, she looked through the gloom as he entered the bedroom. He leant over her and gently ran his hands over her perfect shoulders and breathed in her powerful scent. She shivered in anticipation as she caressed the white downy feathers of his wings.
- The End -
TOP SECRET
For the umpteenth time Lieutenant Colonel Chester ‘Ches’ Washington, United States Air Force, call sign Bullseye, suppressed a smile as he drove past a ragged group of deluded no hopers on the desert road that led to his place of employment. Bearing their usual banners of ‘Aliens are here now’ and ‘Show us the captured UFO’s’, their amiable and enthusiastic haranguing almost made him feel affectionate.
He hadn’t always felt so sanguine about the interest his place of work engendered. Both the mad and stupid, and sometimes, to his abject dismay, the very intelligent, often posed of him the sort of questions which made him want to hold his head in his hands and sob with frustration at their gullibility. Two years previously, when he’d been selected to continue his cutting edge flight testing at the very outer limits of flight technology, his posting to Groom Lake Air Force facility had been a dream come true.
He’d graduated in engineering from a respectable college and joined the Air Force. There he discovered the unique skills needed in handling the awesome challenges of flying a fast jet were something he possessed in almost embarrassingly large quantities. This, combined with his keen engineer’ mind, came to the notice of the powers that be. After tours in Bosnia and the Gulf, the brass had encouraged him to take an Air Force scholarship to complete a PhD. Graduating top of his class, he was assigned to Edwards Air force base, the spiritual home of all test pilot eli
te. Like Yeager, Crossfield and Armstrong before him, for three years in the high desert he flew everything that was thrown his way. He tangled with the high concept experimental machines that were delivered from the legendary Skunk Works at Lockheed Martin and drawings boards at Northrop Grumman and others.
Noting with interest his flawless record of intelligent flight assessment and a flying logbook full of an astonishing array of aircraft types, the same generals who had encouraged him to take his doctorate conferred with shadowy colleagues in various government agencies, and a decision was made. Shortly afterwards, Chester Washington was invited to attend a meeting in the nation’s capital.
There he faced various bemedalled and very senior military types, together with a number of unnamed civilians whose function seemed a little unclear. Nonetheless, they seemed enthusiastic about him and his career to date. Evidently a full and thorough investigation had been carried out on his background, above and beyond what was normal for his position, and he’d not been found wanting. Upon hearing this he immediately assumed that he’d been selected for some clandestine CIA sponsored activity. About to protest, one of the civilians held up his hand before he could utter a word. “Colonel, before you say anything, we’d like you to sign this,” he offered and pushed a sheet of paper in front of him. It bore the legend ‘Top Secret’ Level C1/Majestic12/a51.
Unfamiliar with the clearance level, he raised his eyebrows and again, just before he was about to speak, the same civilian spoke. “No, you won’t be familiar with the clearance level, but suffice to say it’ll put you in the top point one percentile of all cleared personnel in the US. That’s a very small and select group Colonel. Only sign if you’re prepared to be bound by it. Clearances don’t really get much higher than this.” Naturally intrigued, Chester signed it with a flourish and sat back awaiting God knew what.
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