by Ann Aguirre
“You don’t look, or sound, much like a geek,” I said.
“Oh, really?” He grinned. “And what do you think defines a geek?”
“I guess I’m not sure, really. Here.” I reached into the fridge and offered him a bottle of water, which he took. Now I was feeling slightly bad about how quickly I had made assumptions of him, based purely on his clothing and his accent. It made me no better than his friends.
“In science, you only need to scratch the surface of something, to reveal the elements that make up what’s beneath it. The same can be said for people.” Darwin proceeded to unbutton his tweed coat, and then unzipped the lining beneath it. He yanked the two lapels apart dramatically and said, “See!” He was wearing a Comic Con T-shirt.
“Ah,” I said. “See, I would never have guessed.” I offered him a small smile.
“Well, I wear two faces. A gentleman in constant conflict, you might say. Maybe I feel like I want to reveal my hidden identity to you, so you’ll offer me yours.”
I scratched my cheek, unsure of the reason he was showing an interest in me. And while I was in no position to share any details about my past, for it was one I didn’t understand, I also wasn’t about to reveal what I did know of my peculiar present, either.
“Conflict?” I backtracked, again diverting the conversation away from me.
“Nature versus nurture. Nurture being all the influences from the environments I have been privileged enough to be placed in. And of course, nature being my moral fiber, what’s bred into me,” he explained.
“Yes, I do understand the concept.” I drummed my nails on the bar top.
“Well, my nature is the product of an affluent man, driven by money, status, and family.” He paused. “But I am also a free-minded geek who devotes himself to uncovering the mysteries of the universe.”
“So what—preppy and posh on the surface, mad scientist who perhaps dreams of becoming a superhero underneath?”
“Not quite. Theoretical physicist, emphasis on theoretical. I let others do the practical implementation, I just set the wheels in motion and then stand back and watch. Sadly, I am but a mere mortal, capable of the very best and the very worst of my own humanity. And there’s not a lot I can do about the preppy-and-posh part, as you put it. So, tell me, what’s going on below your hard exterior?” He unscrewed the cap of his bottle and took a swig of water.
I fidgeted uncomfortably. Darwin had asked the very question that I myself was searching for the answers to. “I didn’t realize I came off as hard,” I said.
I caught sight of Mr. Broderick loitering at the other end of the bar, and so I seized the opportunity. Excusing myself from Darwin I made my way over to our best customer. I poured Mr. Broderick a pint and as I mopped up the spilled fizz from the countertop, I peered at Darwin, who had followed me down the length of the bar. He placed his water down and, once again, eyed me as though he were trying to strip away my layers to see what my insides were really made of.
“I don’t mean to keep you from your friends.” This was my way of asking politely why he was still here.
“You’re not. Besides, I far prefer your company to Betty Boop’s over there. She’s quite scary.”
Unable to stifle a laugh, I let a small snort escape. As wisps of blond hair fell into my eyes, and I reached to push them away, Darwin’s fingers met mine. He reached over the bar and twirled the hair around his fingers, tucking the messy strands behind my ears. “Your smile is very lovely, you know. You should let yourself laugh more often,” he said. His hand grazed my cheekbone. “You’re avoiding all my questions. Despite my best efforts, all I know is your first name. Your eyes give nothing away, they are … absent.” His words sounded almost caring when he said, “What did you lose?”
A lump began forming in my throat.
Darwin’s hand moved under my chin, where he tipped it up. “Maybe I’m asking the wrong question.” He paused, stroking his thumb against my skin. “Who did you lose?”
I blinked rapidly. My body stiffened. I placed my hand over his arm, but instead of batting him away as I had intended, I found myself gripping it tightly. Finally, I whispered, “I don’t know anymore.”
He sat back and nodded thoughtfully, as though I had answered in some profound manner, gifting him with a surprise add-on to the puzzle he was trying to solve.
A chill spread over my arms, and the rattle of the side door sounded as it met the exposed brick wall. I felt a pinprick of heat on my chest—my gem sparked. I reached for it, sliding my hand below Dwyn’s top, pressing my palm to its edges.
“Did your necklace just … glow?” Darwin asked, startled.
I ignored him, my gaze fleeting down the corridor, where I caught a glimpse of long hair whipping behind a woman’s back as she left. I sprinted toward the door, and it swung closed as I reached it, slowing me down. I yanked it open and propelled myself onto the grass, scanning the area. For the second time this evening, a strange sensation crept over my skin. I turned suddenly—I thought I saw something, but it disappeared into a shadow, melting into the darkness of the night.
My thoughts instantly turned to the girl in shadow, but as quickly as I thought it, I tried to unthink it. Maybe the sounds in the hallway had just been house sounds, maybe no one was spying on me in the woods, and perhaps whoever just left the pub had nothing to do with me whatsoever. I hoped that was the case. Given the nature of my existence—knowing that I was able to die, but that I would wake up again, that I was some weird, immortal freak of nature was one thing—I didn’t want to add schizophrenia to my long list of crazy.
I ground my teeth together, perplexed, and marched back to the bar, where Darwin was waiting for me. “Everything quite all right?”
“Uh-um,” I replied.
Darwin leaned back over the countertop, eyeing the gem around my neck with a look of avid curiosity. To my relief the crystal had reverted back to cool against my skin, and oddly it made me feel more assured that I hadn’t imagined it before.
“May I ask how you came into possession of that crystal?” Darwin’s gaze remained steadfast.
Protectively, I tucked it back into my top, another question I was not going to answer—yet something else I didn’t even have an answer for.
Darwin’s cell phone started to ring loudly, breaking his concentration—a well-timed distraction. He slid off the tall stool and answered the call.
“Two more hours,” he said as he hung up. “They’re busy tonight, it seems, rugby fans on route home from Millennium Stadium. I don’t think we’ll make the last ferry, after all,” he informed me.
“What’s wrong with your car?” I inquired.
“Can’t say I know. It just stopped.” He shrugged. “I’m a physicist, not a mechanic.”
“Why don’t I take a look?” I offered, walking around the bar.
“You know your way around an engine?”
“I worked in a garage, once—picked up a few things.” I was about to call over to Dwyn, but Haydon stumbled through from the back shouting to her first, clearly annoyed at seeing his missus being overly tactile with one of Darwin’s group.
“Oi! Dywn! Get yer arse back over to the bar!” He turned his attention to me and said, “Where are you going?”
“I hope you don’t mind, sir. I just need a moment of your bar staff’s time.” Darwin placed his hand on my lower back and extended his hand in front of him, guiding me forward. “You can charge me appropriately for her time—my Amex is behind the bar.”
Dwyn’s brow dipped as I walked past her toward the door, but she didn’t watch me for long. Haydon was hollering for her again and she scuttled off, tutting as she went.
Darwin’s truck had broken down directly in front of the pub.
“A spot of luck that it conked right outside where there happens to be a girl who knows a little something about cars serving this evening,” I said.
Darwin placed his hand inside his jacket pocket, checking for his keys, I assumed
, but he didn’t produce them. “No such thing as luck. Men make their own—or rather they take advantage when they see an opportunity,” he replied.
“Well, you didn’t see an opportunity with me—I had to reveal. But I guess I did offer you something to take advantage of.”
Darwin observed me shivering and said, “Yes, and rather to your own detriment—look where it got you. You’re now standing in the dark, dead cold.” He quickly unfastened his checked coat and placed it around my shoulders. I grasped the wool together, snuggling my nose deep into the collar. An exotic, musky scent met me, and I flinched. It reminded me of the way Frederic had smelled.
As we approached, the locks automatically released, and Darwin opened the door. He bent over, pressing a button underneath the steering wheel to pop the hood.
“Turn the key in the ignition, get her started,” I said, eyeing the expensive wooden dash, and the cream leather seats.
“That’s the problem, it won’t start up again.” Darwin slid a square card from his pocket and placed it into a slot. Nothing happened.
“Hmmm.” I walked over to the hood and gently lifted it, where it hovered without the need for the use of a stick to hold it in place. “Might just be your battery. Did you try pumping the gas pedal before trying to start it? Could it just be the cold?” I said.
“Yes, I tried that. No joy,” he said, making his way around to my side.
I crossed my arms, thinking, as I looked over the inner workings of the engine. “Did you hear a sort of clicking sound when you tried to start it before?”
“Yes, actually. And the headlights came on and the radio played, so all signs point to the starter, correct?” He actually sounded quite proud that he knew what a starter was.
I leaned over to have a quick peek at the battery. “Not necessarily. That sound you heard is probably the solenoid within your starter, which means it’s likely just a case of your battery not transmitting enough voltage, that’s all,” I said, jiggling some of the cables.
Darwin’s phone beeped, and he excused himself, turning around to check the message. I didn’t need to ask in order to know that it was likely one of his friends back in the bar, asking what on earth he was doing outside with the likes of me.
I placed my fingers to the negative and positive terminals of the battery, checking for any sign of corrosion. I wiggled the two round caps; it probably just needed a jump start. Suddenly, a weird feeling—a pulse almost—exerted from my palms. The headlights flipped on, producing a blinding full beam, and I stumbled back from the truck as the engine kicked in, growling angrily.
Darwin spun around, his hand falling down to his side, as he looked at me with a curious expression. He shook his head. “What did you do?”
I honestly didn’t know. I quickly convinced myself that I’d done nothing; The engine had kicked in all by itself, perhaps a delayed response to Darwin’s key card. “I didn’t do anything. It must have warmed up on its own.” I smeared the grease from my hands, down the top of my jeans.
Darwin looked from me to his truck, and then hesitantly lowered the hood.
“I guess you can leave now.” I shrugged off his jacket and passed it to him. I cupped my hands together and blew into the center.
Darwin hesitated for a moment, then placed his hands over mine, and rubbed them gently, creating additional friction. He looked to the night sky and then finally to me. “Your eyes are like the moon, you know.”
I gazed up at the sky. A bright half-moon shone down. I squeezed a sad smile, remembering the dream, and knowing that the moon would never appear full again. It would always be cast in a shadow of secret, until I found the blond-haired boy. I wondered whether Darwin saw a half-moon, or whether he was able to see what the sun tried to hide in the dark—could he see the moon’s true fullness, even if it didn’t reveal itself?
“I knew someone like you, once,” he said quietly. “She had the same look in her eyes that I saw in yours tonight.”
I listened, hearing the slight warble in his voice, and I knew it was not born from the cold breeze. “Who you lost?” I whispered.
“Yes. The words she wouldn’t speak, the things she found herself unable to say. I should have heard them through her eyes. I wasn’t listening.” He moved his hands to the tops of my arms, and squeezed, as though he were comforting me the way he wished he had comforted her.
I felt a stab of pain on Darwin’s behalf, but it didn’t seem right to satisfy my own curiosity by asking him questions, when I was unprepared to answer any of his.
“Life goes on, and I understand, memories fade. Whomever it is that you are struggling to remember, I am not offering to replace them. I’m looking in your eyes and I’m listening, Cessie. I think you need a friend.”
I half wondered if Will had bet Darwin to hit on me or something. I think, somehow, I would have preferred that to be the case. The word friendship was now something that filled me with a sense of dread.
Frederic had been my friend, but in the end I had fallen victim to the hate he had hidden from my view. I distanced myself from others, favoring dreams of the blond-haired boy as my company, even if they reminded me how alone I was now.
“I will drive back through here on Sunday night. Will you be working?” Darwin asked, breaking my train of thought.
“Yes,” I answered. “But you should take the M40 from Holyhead straight back to London. You’d be coming out of your way to stop here.”
“It’s not out of my way if I am picking you up. I’d like you to come to Chelsea with me,” he said.
I took a step back from him. “Why?”
“We’ll figure that bit out. I didn’t help her, but I can try to help you, Cessie.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t trust easily, I barely knew Darwin, and I had no clue as to what his idea of help meant.
No.
I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’m fine, really.” Holding my elbows with my hands, I offered him a sincere and grateful smile. I stepped up onto the pavement, and began to stroll back up the slope.
Darwin shouted after me. “Please, just consider it.”
“I’ll tell your friends that you’re ready to leave. I’ll give them your credit card,” I called behind me.
As I neared the doors, Dwyn’s shrill voice invaded my thoughts. She was arguing loudly with Haydon, and in front of the customers no less. My chest fell, knowing that whatever Darwin was offering, it had to be better than this. I hesitated for the briefest moment.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
“Think it over, Cessie, and I’ll see you on Sunday,” he shouted. “You’ll definitely be here?”
I stopped.
Slowly, I turned back to him and with a frayed tone I replied, “Yes, Darwin, I’ll be here.” I bowed my head as my shoulders sank, but then as I thought of his name—Gabriel—I found my gaze sweeping up toward the moon instead. “Unless of course, a miracle occurs…” I paused, and smiled. “‘Such stuff as dreams are made on.’ But the kind that only happens once in a blue moon.”
THE CYPRESS PROJECT
Gennifer Albin
BY GENNIFER ALBIN
~ The Crewel World Trilogy ~
Crewel
Altered
Unraveled
Meet Gennifer Albin
My debut novel, Crewel, the first in a trilogy, focuses on a group of talented girls who can manipulate the fabric of reality. The idea for the novel was inspired by a painting called Embroidering the Earth’s Mantle by Remedios Varo. In the painting, girls sit in a tower embroidering fabric that flows out the tower windows and becomes the world. If you look closely at it, one of the girls is watching the audience as she embroiders herself into the fabric—and by doing so, into the world. It’s a pretty awe-inspiring piece. One day I was thinking about it and I sat down and wrote the prologue to Crewel. From there I had to figure out a lot of about how this world came to be. It would have been easy to make it magical, but I like to do things the hard wa
y, so I chose to give it a science-fiction backdrop. The novel came together for me when I realized that our own history could be twisted to create the world of Arras. Inspired by Albert Einstein’s regret regarding his role in creating the atomic bomb, I asked myself what if the scientists had chosen a different option. That’s when I realized the history of the Looms.
Set in World War II America, “The Cypress Project” offers an insight into exactly where our reality and the Crewel World diverged. It was also an excellent chance to write science fiction with a historical backdrop. Sprinkled throughout the story you’ll find references to people, places, and events from the 1940s. And, yes, Marlene Dietrich really was the first woman to wear pants into the exclusive Beverly Hills Hotel.
Of course, look closely and you’ll also find plenty of subtle references to the people and places of Arras. If you’ve read all the Crewel World books, you might discover a few familiar characters as well.
Before I wrote Crewel, I earned my master’s in eighteenth-century literature and women’s studies from the University of Missouri. As it turned out there’s not much of a job market for people who can tell you all about the history of the novel. So, as a recovering academic stuck at home with a new baby, I turned to writing my own books. It turns out that it’s a lot more fun to make up stories than to write long research papers dissecting them.
I always considered being a writer, but usually found myself lured by other possibilities. For a long time I wanted to be an actress. In college an English degree seemed, inexplicably, like a more solid option than a theater degree. Now I understand that at my core I just love stories. I love to watch them, read them, and write them. I’m very fortunate to have the opportunity to spend my day in other worlds with strange characters caught in remarkable circumstances. Now that is a job anybody would love to have, and it’s mine.
