Peter laughed as he handed me a slice balanced on a napkin. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, Kipp. If you have tortured dreams, the rest of us will suffer.”
Kipp was eyeing me closely, his amber gaze half shuttered as I poked among the little playing tokens. The game was a genuine vintage set with tokens that became obsolete as time marched forward. There are advantages to having a long life span and being able to carry some choice items with you through the years.
“Where is my top hat?” I cried, unable to find my favorite piece. I always took the top hat, and I’m not embarrassed to admit I’d become a little superstitious about that particular token. A soft roll of thunder echoed from outside; I could feel the slight tremor in the floor beneath me.
“I hid it,” Kipp replied, as he finished the pizza crust, the crunching sound echoing loudly against the thin walls of the room.
“Why on earth would you do that, Kipp?” I was annoyed that he’d taken such liberties, and my thoughts quickly spiraled to agitation.
“You are too comfortable…too set in your ways. I think it’s good for you to break out and do something different.” He rose and walked over to me, nuzzling the side of my face. “You need to get a little crazy and unpredictable from time to time,” he added, as if he thought I was incapable of getting his point.
“So you took my top hat! I hope you didn’t lose it.” I was close to tears and didn’t know why.
“Your little top hat is safe and sound. Pick something else. You might as well,” he added. “You’ve had a consistent losing streak with the top hat.”
I started to have a tantrum and refuse to play, given his high handed behavior. But, reason was maintained, as well as my temper, and I decided to take the thimble, which was a sentimental second choice to the cherished top hat. Kipp, always the aggressor, took the battleship, while Peter chose the race car–an appropriate choice—and Elani the iron.
“Okay, now that I’ve committed myself to the thimble, where is my top hat so I can put it back in the box?” I didn’t want it lost, given my longevity with the set.
“It is in the side pocket of your duffle, goof. You know I wouldn’t lose it.” Kipp yawned, his mouth opening to alligator-like proportions, all his teeth exposed.
Peter, good naturedly, rose and crossed over to where my duffle was crumpled in a swaybacked chair that had suffered the weight of way too many fannies over the years. He reached in the deep side pocket and, with a smile, lifted out the metal top hat, displaying it with a little flourish. In retrospect, perhaps my relinquishing my nostalgic control of the top hat was well advised, because I won the game, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. Hotels on all the green and red properties had given me a distinct edge. And I’d left the playing field owning Marvin Gardens, my favorite piece of real estate on the board.
“Now didn’t that feel good?” Kipp asked, raising a furry eyebrow. “You’re finally not a loser.”
I rolled my eyes at him. The game had been long, as Monopoly can run, and we were tired. After carefully repacking the pieces, Peter and Elani retired to their room, leaving me and Kipp alone. The closed curtain allowed some softly filtered light into the room, the shape of the windows highlighted on the far wall. A rumble of thunder sounded, followed by a crack of lightening that flashed bright against the backside of the thin curtains. The rain intensified; the room felt cozy and safe in the midst of the storm outside. Kipp snuggled closer, his chin upon my chest, my fingers gently caressing the back of his neck.
“Mmm…that feels good,” he murmured, his eyes half closed.
“Before we get home–and now that we are alone–what are your honest thoughts about this ghost business?” I asked. Shifting slightly, I moved my leg since I had a cramp in my left calf. Outside the room, we heard a couple of people laughing as they raced by in the rain and thunder, trying to get to their room as the wind slapped the driving rain against their fleeing bodies. A minute later, we heard a door slam.
“I never mind trying anything new, Petra.” Kipp took a deep breath and sighed. “But honestly, I didn’t care for the ghost gig in general. I wouldn’t mind exploring distinct episodes of paranormal events but just to be thrown, as we were, in the midst of so much activity was unpleasant. I have no true interest in doing that sort of thing again.” He paused and shifted his heavy weight to his left side. “There were experiences that I didn’t even share.”
“Like what?” I asked, turning towards him in the dark, his profile a graceful silhouette against the occasional flashes of light from outside.
“When we were in the Triangular Field, I saw a pit where bodies would have been thrown to be buried in a mass grave. Some of the men were crawling, their hands digging in the dirt on the sides of the pit, trying to get out. I could hear them moaning in pain.” I felt his shiver resonate on the bed. Reaching out, I scratched the top of his head and heard his sigh of approval. “Do you think what Elani said is true? Will Technicorps attempt to use me?” he asked.
It had happened before–or at least would have happened, had I not intervened. A totally despicable character named Max Stone had plotted to clone Kipp in the hopes of manufacturing an army of advanced symbionts for what end, no one knew. I didn’t trust the entire governing body of the Twelve, but I did trust Philo implicitly. And Juno, a long term member, was without deception and was as close to a pure spirit as came.
“Philo won’t, and since he is in charge, I wouldn’t worry about it. And you know, Kipp, I’ve told you before, if you ever are pressured to evolve into something you despise, you and I can just disappear into the past and never be found.”
He turned slightly to gaze at me. “You’d give up everything for me…your home that you love, your friendships, security…all of it.” He swallowed. “I knew my mother loved me…and you love me. That’s enough for me.”
Pulling him closer, I listened to the rain fall. The occasional sound of thunder was oddly comforting and almost acted as a sedative, helping us nod off to sleep. At some point, I awakened during that time of early morning when all is still and the world seems to be holding its breath in wonder of what might happen next. Kipp’s thoughts were restless as his dreams became mine. Resting my hand along his chest, I felt the heavy thud of his heart as it beat, his mind consumed with the ghosts he’d encountered as they pursued him, unrelentingly. Taking a deep breath, I timed my interventions and one by one dismissed the specters which plagued the memories of my friend. With a satisfied smile, I watched the last one pop into oblivion. Kipp awoke suddenly, startled; the sound of the pop had reverberated in his head. After a second, he regained his bearings and glanced at me.
“Thanks.”
“It was nothing,” I replied. “Just don’t take my top hat again,” I added wryly, trying to inject some mild humor. Thirsty, as result of too much pizza, I walked to the bathroom to get a cup of water. Clicking on the overhead light, I blinked at my unflattering reflection in the harsh glare of the too bright bulb; my dark hair, which fell past my shoulders, was in disarray. The pizza consumption had left my face slightly puffy, and there were unbecoming dark circles beneath my hazel colored eyes. The days in Gettysburg had caused my freckles to pop; they stood out vividly in a haphazard pattern across my nose that was too large for conventional standards of female beauty. Leaning forward, I splashed a little cold water on my face, hoping it would help with the swelling that gave me a Humpty Dumpty look. Hearing the soft pad of feet, I turned. Kipp left our comfortable nest and came to stand behind me.
“I’m glad pizza doesn’t make my face swell up like yours,” he began, trying to get a rise out of me. “You look awful.”
“Thanks,” I replied drily.
“You need to stick to salads for a few days and try to detoxify.” He sat, cocking his big head to one side.
“Okay,” I said.
“Petra?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for what you said. I know you’ll always be on guard for me, and it so
rt of goes without saying. But it’s nice, all the same, to hear you say it again.” Kipp’s mouth fell open to expose gleaming teeth in a bizarre, grimace of a smile.
I walked past him to the window, pausing long enough to pull back the curtain and gaze outside. It was still raining but the torrential downpour had slowed, and it was more of a drizzle. The pitiful halo of wavering yellow from the nearby street light gave off enough illumination to reveal a fog bank that had settled across the hillsides like a blanket of soft down.
“There must be a cold front behind this mess,” I remarked. “Peter will have to drive slowly tomorrow, and that will aggravate him, no doubt.” Turning, I smiled at Kipp. “I’m looking forward to getting home.”
“Me, too,” he answered. “I can’t wait to see what Lily managed to break in your room.”
Chapter 5
My house rested comfortably on a quiet, tree-lined street where the sidewalks were uneven and broken from the stubborn roots of old trees that didn’t know when to stop growing. Some symbionts–and people–enjoy a dwelling that is spare of belongings and perhaps appeals to the esoteric side of nature. But my home reflected my long life, and for reasons that perhaps only an analyst would understand, I carried pieces of history with me to the present. I had filled most of the walls with pieces of art work found in obscure corners of antique shops or at estate sales. On my battered table tops, which I refused to refinish, bits and pieces of what some might classify as junk were displayed in all their dusty glory. Such clutter and lack of a decorative theme might not be for everyone, but it suited me quite nicely.
As Peter slowed and pulled to the curb, I noticed, critically, that the iron porch rails, as well as the front door, were begging for a fresh coat of paint. It was Saturday, so Fitzhugh, my one time reluctant roommate, would be home. In any case, the front door was open, and I could see Lily sitting inside, on the other side of the storm door, watching our arrival. The minute Kipp hopped out of the SUV, Lily began to weave back and forth, dragging her furry feline sides across the glass leaving a smear of tabby hair to mark her progress. Kipp had found her abandoned in a grassy field, and she imprinted upon him, if such a thing is possible with cats, and loved him like he was her mother. Despite a mild level of embarrassment over her attachment, he tried to humor her, with his natural compassion for all the abandoned of the world.
We’d left the bad weather up north, and it was a typical late summer day in North Carolina. A robin that had reared her young the previous spring in a nest in a large hickory tree to the right of my yard greeted me. It seemed there were a few more robins present than usual, making me wonder if her kids were loathe to leave home. Well, that seemed to be the current state of affairs for many human parents, too. Peter, who obviously felt the need to act as my cavalier, brought my duffle, which I was completely able to handle, to the door.
Reaching out, I lightly touched his arm. “Come back tonight so we can debrief with Fitzhugh. I’ll pull something together for dinner.”
With a little salute, he grinned and ran back to the idling SUV. He had to return the vehicle to Technicorps and retrieve his own smaller car so he and Elani could go to his apartment. As I watched him drive away, I wondered if he had any social life at all before recalling when I was his age I, too, was single-minded about one thing—and that was to become a traveling symbiont.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” I called out cheerfully as the door swung open, hoping to irritate Fitzhugh with the mock familiarity.
After all our time together, he still exited his bedroom covered from neck to ankles with pajamas and a robe. If I were ever to see a bare chest, I might faint dead away with the vapors. Fitzhugh appeared, tall and lanky, in the kitchen doorway, a teapot in his hand. I must have caught him in an extra casual moment, because he was wearing stretched out sweat pants and a tattered shirt with long tails that trailed over his concave backside.
“Hi, sweetheart!” he replied with a smile, launching his own broadside in response. “Just getting the tea going,” he added. Juno stuck her grizzled muzzle around the corner; I could hear her thumping tail hitting the drywall as Kipp went forward to touch her nose with his, dragging Lily behind him as she determinedly clung to his hind leg with her forepaws. At some point, she bit his leg; in response to Kipp’s growl, Lily detached and ran down the hallway, her feet pounding the worn wood floor. I knew she was laughing in the manner of rambunctious cats.
I took a moment to dump the contents of the duffle into the washer–I wasn’t one for sorting clothes–and added some soap. With a turn of the knob, another chore was done. Since I’d been born in 1604, I knew all about doing such things as laundry the old fashioned way–from beating clothes on rocks to using a scrub board. Of course back then, hygiene was a totally different matter, and daily ablutions were an activity that was frowned upon. Some of that history had to explain why the advent of indoor plumbing and hot water accessible by the turn of a handle were two of my favorite human achievements.
Taking a seat, I begged for all the recent gossip from Technicorps. When I was not traveling, I assisted Fitzhugh in his beloved library and worked to translate old scripts into modern English. The originals, many of which were deteriorating, were scanned into the computer so a visual record remained. My translations accompanied them so that our kind maintained a running historical record of our activities. We had divisions at Technicorps where we worked side by side with humans who had no idea of our origins and merely thought of us as people oddly attached to our canine companions.
Fitzhugh sat down opposite of me at the battered dinette set I’d found in an obscure junk store many years before. Fondly, I ran my hand over a burn mark that marred the surface of the table; it was comforting to know some things didn’t change and familiarity bred comfort. The fragrance of the Earl Grey steeping in Fitzhugh’s antique tea pot filled the confines of the small kitchen. The sun angling in from the rear of the house created a cheerful checkerboard light pattern on the wooden floor and highlighted some dust and cat hair that had escaped my less than optimal cleaning routine. Kipp waited for Juno to situate her arthritic body in the golden patch of sunlight before circling to lie next to her; he was too much of a gentleman to hog the prime space, in deference to her advanced years. Lily, not needing an invitation, crawled up his body to sprawl across his back at the base of his neck. Her little paws began to knead the thick pelt of fur, her eyes squinting almost shut, such was her joy that her beloved one had returned.
“Philo has introduced an assistant for me,” Fitzhugh remarked. “He kept it a secret, I think, fearful I’d refuse to break in a new worker after having watched Margaret Shelton come and go so quickly.” His thick gray brows drew together. “I don’t like change, as you well know.” The old symbiont took a sip of tea. Rather delicately, I thought, he dabbed at his mustache to make certain no droplets quivered from the adornment.
My mouth compressed in a hidden smile. His comment was the understatement of the year—Fitzhugh was known for his unbending rigidity. I still found it remarkable that he had decided to let me become a confidant and, yes, friend. Fitzhugh, when he was younger, had a bonded symbiont and traveled, as did I, in search of information, truths and mysteries to be solved. Some of our kind, however, never bonded with a lupine and took, instead, a same type mate for purposes of marriage or partnership. Philo fell into the group that had never experienced time travel. At least when I talked to Fitzhugh, he had an understanding of the demands of being a traveler. I’d had the indulgence of both: a bonded lupine as well as a beloved marriage partner and little family. But the latter was a long time ago, and I chose to not linger in those bittersweet memories.
“So who is she?” I asked. Reaching forward, I poured a smidgen more tea into the fragile cup. Fitzhugh had named the pattern of the fine bone English china, but the title eluded me at the moment. Feeling decadent, I added some honey to the steaming brew.
“She is a he,” Fitzhugh replied. “And apparently a very desira
ble he. Suzanne seems to find new reasons to visit the library as well as a covey of other females.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m just relegated to the junk pile.”
I knew the latter comment was made in jest but reached out to touch his forearm, nonetheless. “You’re top of my heap,” I said.
“Better wait until you meet him. He seems to have some type of hypnotic effect…” Fitzhugh’s voice drifted off, indicating he was bored with the subject.
“And the name of this Adonis?” I asked, daring to look at Kipp, who was amused with the novel concept of a male babe magnet.
“Mark Elliot,” Fitzhugh replied.
Deciding to change the topic, since I was uninterested in Mr. Elliot, I told Fitzhugh that I was going to run to the store to buy something to throw in the crockpot. Peter and Elani were coming later so that Fitzhugh could debrief us–unofficially, of course. After getting Fitzhugh’s consent to add Philo to the small gathering, I called him at home to make the invite.
“This will be officially off the record,” I began.
“So, even though I’m the leader of the Twelve, you are going to tell me things you don’t necessarily want me to share. Right?” he asked, his voice sounding rather flat and expressionless over the phone. I could imagine the look of displeasure crossing his face.
“I’m not always sure you like your job,” I remarked.
“Not always. I’ll be there at seven,” he replied gruffly before hanging up.
I managed to create a meatless Creole-style red beans and rice, leaving it to simmer in the crockpot, which was my favorite cooking method as it required the least amount of effort and more than a little promise to deliver something edible. Kipp was anxious to run, as was I, pacing the kitchen floor impatiently while I rinsed off a sauce pan. It was mid afternoon when we set out, taking a familiar route. I always kept a slip lead wrapped around my waist in case a vigilant police officer stopped to remind me of the local leash law, but such events were few in the quiet neighborhood. Kipp began to dance in circles around me, barking softly, trying to nudge me to go faster.
Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure Page 5
