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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Alicin Wonderland Part 16
Change Is Gonna Come
Day 2—Early Evening
= = = = = = = = = =
wonderful
Homeward Bound
= = = = = = = = = =
Patrice exited her office, the camel hair coat thrown around her shoulders. “I’m going home for awhile, Jo. I need to unwind. Angelo was wonderful company, but we kept each other awake with our snoring. I knew there was a reason why we’re still single!” she joked with a wry smile and a shrug. “Besides, Em is no doubt royally pissed at me by now for missing his dinner, poor baby. I wonder who spoiled him so badly.” Jo smiled and rolled her eyes while her boss continued. “Half the fun of living with him is knowing for certain that there will be major payback for my waywardness! So I guess it’s time to face the music. I’ll check Sydney on my way out.”
She took a few steps toward the corridor and then stopped suddenly. “Ohmigosh!” she said, punctuating the exclamation with a palm-slap to her forehead. “I just remembered, he was supposed to visit Jarod today and I’m not sure that he did that. AND Jarod usually lifts weights with Sam on Saturdays, and that didn’t happen.” She paused for a moment to think. “After I’ve seen Sydney, I’ll try to visit Jarod. If that doesn’t work, I’ll get a message to him. Somehow.” She knew that, with Sydney unable to perform his duties, William Raines would be swift to step in and assume—or perhaps usurp was the better word—his colleague’s responsibilities.
Joanna raised a finger as if she were placing a bid at an auction. “If you need to get a message to Jarod, I know someone who can guarantee delivery.”
“Angelo?” the doctor smiled.
Joanna nodded. “If you have something, just leave it on my desk and I’ll see that it’s delivered.” The nurse raised her eyebrows and smiled broadly. “The boy’s been spending a lot of time in our neighborhood lately, so he isn’t hard to find.”
“Good enough,” Patrice smiled back as she turned once again toward Sydney’s room.
= = = = =
It was the soft voice of a woman that had roused him to partial consciousness. He didn’t catch the name, but she was telling him that everyone was taking good care of him. Talking to him as if he were fully conscious, she gave him an update about his condition and his afternoon visitor, and encouraged him to squeeze her hand or open his eyes. Sydney tried to move his arms and legs, but to no avail. His voice and mouth weren’t working either and attempting to open his eyes was like trying to raise two heavy garage doors. No amount of concentration could summon the muscles to action. Eventually, the woman with the soft voice left the room and Sydney was once again alone and feeling vulnerable, trapped in his body, much like Jacob, but hoping that he was not now sharing his brother’s fate.
Just as he was losing track of the world around him, the door whooshed open and the squeak of sneakers on the tiled floor heralded the arrival of another visitor. The hand that landed gently on his forehead was soft and cool. The fingers trailed down to caress his cheek, then proceeded along his carotid artery, crossed his collar bone and finally came to rest over his heart. For a time, he was content to focus his attention totally on his heartbeat and the quiet hand that now measured its rhythm. Then he heard a faint yet familiar voice.
“Syd? I’m on my way home for a little sleep, but I wanted to see you first. Lillian tells me your fever has peaked and wavered a few tenths of a degree over the last two hours. That’s good news. Alicin wavered just before she came back to normal. When your fever breaks, you’ll lose degrees in a hurry, but don’t worry. There don’t seem to be any ill effects from the rapid drop. All the others were fine and you’ll be just fine, too. I’ll stop to see Jarod on my way out to let him know what’s happened so he won’t be worried by your absence.”
Suddenly the gentle hand was gone from his chest and Sydney felt soft lips placing a kiss on his brow, followed by the receding squeak of the sneakers and another whoosh of the door. With a sigh, he sank back into welcome oblivion.
= = = = =
Surprised that she was allowed access to Sydney’s Pretender, Patrice made the most of her time with the young man, explaining Sam’s absence and quickly dispensing the news about Sydney.
Jarod was concerned, and didn’t hide it well. “How long has he been unconscious? What measures have been taken to reduce the fever? Have you tried…?”
“Jarod, we’re doing everything we can,” she assured him.
“But you said it yourself. None of the others lost consciousness. Are you sure it’s the same virus and not some mutation? It could be another pathogen altogether!” The tension in his voice was building.
Patrice moved to Jarod’s side on the sofa and took his hand and held on to it despite his attempt to pull away. As the doctor had expected, the hand relaxed in her grip after only a few more seconds. “I know you care about Sydney, we both do. That’s why I came down here to tell you what I know about him. His condition is good, believe me. The fluctuation in his temperature is a good sign that he’ll be returning to normal and waking up soon. If I didn’t believe that, Jarod, I wouldn’t be telling you.” She paused and lowered her voice. Rubbing Jarod’s back and fussing with his hair to make a show of comforting him for the camera, she leaned in close and whispered, “If you want to talk some more, tell Angelo.”
They stood and said their goodbyes as the Pretender escorted his unexpected guest to the door. “I’ll let you know when there’s a change, Jarod. Keep in mind what I said.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I will.” His smile was beautiful, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
With that, Patrice stepped into the hall and was on her way to the elevators when she heard the apartment door slide shut, once more locking its tenant inside. Outside, with the first deep breath of fresh air, she was acutely aware of the lives Alicin, Jarod, and the other Centre “residents” were leading. As she slipped under the steering wheel of her black Jaguar, deep inside she knew that a change was in the wind. She also knew that such a change would most likely come at a high price to everyone involved.
= = = = = =
Mr. Emily
= = = = = =
Patrice rode home in silence, unable to settle on what music she wanted to hear, and every mile traveled only made her desire to be home grow stronger. Her property sat three miles from the highway along an upward-winding lane, and her stone and log house seemed to rise out of the earth to blend in flawlessly with its surroundings. That far into the woods, the only sounds were nature’s own. It was her haven, her refuge, her home. A glass of wine and a lap full of cat was what she needed most and it was now just minutes away.
As she turned off the state highway and began the climb to the house, she thought about Mr. Emily and of that day nearly sixteen years ago when she’d brought him home from the shelter, a tiny purring ball of fluff that she could hold in one hand. The kitten’s fur was tri-color, mostly white with patches of gray and black tabby stripe, a pattern almost exclusively found on females. Its tail was all tabby, a large patch on each side of the spine resembled saddlebags, and the swatch on top of its head gave the impression of a hat that had been put on slightly cockeyed. It was love at first sight and Patrice named it Emily after her favorite American poet and took it home. It wasn’t until after the operation, six weeks later, that Patrice discovered that Emily was—make that ‘had been’—a male. So when he began to exhibit a rather prickly temperament a few months later, she made up her mind that in similar circumstances she might have developed a similar attitude. She laughed out loud at the thought as the Jag crunched up the final few yards of single-lane gravel road that broadened into a large pool of crushed stone in front of the house.
= = = = =
He jumped up from his nap and raced to the kitchen like a much younger cat than he was. In his younger days, he could have leapt to the table in one graceful move, but age and its attending body changes dictated that he make the trip in two stages. So up to the chair cushion and thence to the smooth, cool maple boards he traveled to wait for his wayward housemate. He arranged himself in a classic cat pose and glared at the kitchen door as he waited for the sound of her key in the lock. Everything was in place. At last, he heard her footsteps on the porch.
Patrice tossed her keys on the counter as she entered, and set a tall paper bag next to them. “Emily! I missed you, baby boy,” she crooned. “It’s good to be home!” She hung her coat on a peg behind the door and started across the room to pick him up, but stepped on something in the middle of the floor that nearly turned her ankle. With a cry of alarm, she caught her balance. She bent down and retrieved the obstacle, a can of tuna which had been rolled to the precise center of the room. Patrice rose slowly from the floor until her eyes were locked with the culprit’s golden gaze. “Your idea of a land mine, I suppose? Clever boy, but I’m still the only one here with opposable thumbs. Remember that next time.” Her smile gave the lie to her threat.
The next few steps produced a hard crunching noise against the floorboards. “What on earth is going on here?” she exclaimed as she backtracked to the door to flick on the brightest light in the room. There was a wide scattering of dry cat food pieces that lead from the open doors under the sink (When did he learn to do that?) to Mr. Emily’s water dish on the opposite side of the room. “Okay, okay!” she conceded, “I should have been home earlier.” Then she added, with a wry smile, “But it is reassuring to know you won’t starve if I get buried in a snow storm this winter. In the meantime, I suppose it’s the least I can do to keep your snack bowl filled.” Mr. Emily sat casually by, grooming a paw as Patrice grabbed the bag of dry food and turned toward the feeding station, laying down a swath of nuggets onto the floor from the hole he had chewed in the bottom of it.
Patrice glowered at him as he hopped down from the table and disappeared into the relative darkness of the hallway. “I’ve always thought you’d make a handsome opera muff. Did I ever tell you that?” she yelled after him, shaking her head and chuckling to herself.
“Wonderful! I’ve always dreamed of shedding on your black cashmere opera cape! Did I ever tell you that?” He continued walking until he reached the sunroom, where he curled up in his orthopedic bed, resting on top of a t-shirt that smelled like the woman in the kitchen who was now sweeping up five pounds of crunchy cat chow. He groomed his ears for a few minutes and then drifted off to sleep as the sun was setting. He never heard her open the can of tuna.
Meanwhile, out in the kitchen, Patrice stashed her broom and pulled a bottle of merlot from the tall bag on the counter. After a moment of uncertainty, she opened the freezer door and snuggled the bottle into the ice cube bin for a few minutes while she indulged in a quick shower and pulled on her favorite dark satin pajamas. Barefooted, she padded back to the kitchen and selected a beautifully etched wine glass from the lighted display cupboard and a matching plate from the drawer beneath. Retrieving a few wedges of hearty cheese from the refrigerator door, she shaved several slices from each and arranged them on the plate with a few of the crackers that had arrived from Moena earlier in the week. She exchanged the cheese wedges for the merlot, uncorked the bottle and placed everything on a wooden butler’s tray which she carefully carried to the sunroom.
= = = = = =
Elsewhere
= = = = = =
He had no idea how long he had been drifting in space before he felt the cold floor of the Simulation Lab beneath his bare feet, but what truly unsettled him was the awareness that he was standing unclothed in front of Jarod’s isolation tank…and the hatch was laid open for him. Testing the water inside with a toe and finding the temperature agreeable, he stepped into the box, turned, and lowered himself onto his back until only his face remained above the water’s surface. Unconcerned, he watched as the hatch drifted shut and the warm darkness embraced his tired body as he closed his eyes and surrendered to it. The gentle movement of the water made him open his eyes and turn his head toward the perceived source of the waves that gently rocked his body. His gaze fell upon his own reflection, or so he thought, until the reflection spoke.
“Well, Sydney, you certainly were easier to find this time. You really need to simplify your life, you know. Shove over, will you? You’re taking your half out of the middle, as usual.”
Dumbfounded by what he was seeing and hearing, the fevered psychiatrist reasoned that it was a hallucination induced by the setting. Nonetheless, he ‘shoved over’ as he was asked to, but continued to stare. “Jacob?” he ventured.
“Ve-ry good, brother!” was the reply.
Sydney was nearly certain that he was dreaming now, but decided that he had nothing to lose by playing along. At least it would be a welcome diversion from his frustrations in the conscious world. “And to what do I owe the honor of your visit?” he asked with mild amusement. “And don’t tell me you were just in the neighborhood!” He paused to look at his twin for a moment and then added, “You do remember that you’re in a coma, right?” As soon as he’d said the words, Sydney thought he knew what might be happening, although he had never been one to admit that such a thing was possible and the scientific evidence just wasn’t there to support it. Yet still he played along.
“You have a problem, Syd.”
“I’m painfully aware of that, Jacob,” he said dryly.
“No! You don’t understand. This isn’t about you; it’s about a friend we both care about.”
Confused, Sydney thought that his fever must be climbing again and said so.
“It’s Patrice,” Jacob explained. When he saw his brother frown, he explained further. “Patrice’s curiosity overtakes that of her cat and it’s about to get her into trouble with some very dangerous people.”
“Is Raines is one of them?” Sydney guessed.
“He is chief among them in the sense that he can set in motion the events that could lead her to harm. Perhaps even her death.”
Sydney was shocked by the revelation. “And the others, Jacob, who are they?”
“That’s harder to see, but the Triumvirate is troubled by what Patrice has learned about the young researcher, particularly her background and the personnel involved with her early development.”
“This is too fantastic to believe,” Sydney declared. “It’s hard enough knowing that you’re not here, but I also know that I’m not here, either! Wherever here is!”
Sensing his brother’s strengthening grip on consciousness, Jacob spoke in comforting tones. “Sydney, you know we’ve shared a connection. After the accident, when you thought I had died, that connection told you otherwise. You cannot deny it! Well, we’re connected now and I’m telling you that the danger is real and there’s not much time before you will have to act on Patrice’s behalf. She needs a plan of escape, but it has to be in place before the powers that be make their move. Please, Sydney, trust me. Time is short.”
“How short?”
“Two, maybe three weeks. Then there will be a great upheaval in the Centre and Patrice will be regarded as one who assisted in bringing it to pass.”
“And will she?”
“You already know the answer to that, brother. But the truth won’t matter by then, only the Tower’s perception the truth.”
“Raines is certain to spin this to his advantage.” Sydney’s expression was grave as he turned away to consider Jacob’s words. He turned back to say, “I will do what you have asked,” but Jacob was gone and Sydney was alone, floating in water that was becoming uncomfortably cool.
= = = = = = = = = = = =
Even in the Stone House
= = = = = = = = = = = =
Patrice finished the last of the cheese and crackers, except for the two that Mr. Emily had licked and then batted onto the floor, and settled back in her leather recliner with the merlot and a magazine about country living. He hadn’t tried to get onto her lap and when she tried to give him a pat on the head, he scrunched his neck and squeezed his eyes shut in distaste as he ducked away from her touch. From the corner of her eye, she could see him hop to the broad windowsill and make his way around the perimeter of the sunroom, snaking between potted plants and pieces of Roman and Etruscan antiquities, until he was standing directly behind her chair. Patrice knew what was coming next. She felt paws weigh in on the back of the recliner and heard sniffing noises as Mr. Emily examined her hair. Then he was on the chair, walking across her shoulder and chest, and coming to a stop on top of the open magazine. Making a graceful turn, which afforded Patrice a generous view of his hind parts, he lay down across the pages that she was reading.
“You’re the only male on this earth who treats me this badly and gets away with it, you know,” she said, managing to rub the top of his head and getting snapped at for her trouble.
“Make that ‘former’ male, M’lady.” The feline was righteously indignant. “You let them cut off my family jewels and pluck out my front claws. If you wanted a smaller cat, you should have bought a smaller cat! I can’t wait for my shot at that damn cape!”
“That’s it, Em! We’re even. Off!” she said quietly with a snap of her fingers to get his attention. He was scowling at her now. She snapped her fingers again and repeated, “Off! Yes, you. Get down now.” Pulling the chair upright, Patrice reached to remove the recalcitrant pet just as he leapt to the floor and headed for the kitchen and his supper plate. “Brat!” she muttered.
“Philistine!”
Five minutes later, Patrice heard the unmistakable sound of retching in the living room. She shot out of her chair and rounded the corner just in time to see Mr. Emily coughing up his canned supper on the only piece of floor covering in the room, Patrice’s hand-woven Mayan hearth rug. As soon as he had recovered, the furry companion bolted past his lady, into the hall, and then sauntered to the kitchen for a drink.
“NOW we’re even.”
= = = = = = = = = =
End Chapter 16 Alicin Wonderland
TBC
Feedback is the air I breathe lizzkirsch@hotmail.com
Change Is Gonna Come
Day 2—Early Evening
= = = = = = = = = =
wonderful
Homeward Bound
= = = = = = = = = =
Patrice exited her office, the camel hair coat thrown around her shoulders. “I’m going home for awhile, Jo. I need to unwind. Angelo was wonderful company, but we kept each other awake with our snoring. I knew there was a reason why we’re still single!” she joked with a wry smile and a shrug. “Besides, Em is no doubt royally pissed at me by now for missing his dinner, poor baby. I wonder who spoiled him so badly.” Jo smiled and rolled her eyes while her boss continued. “Half the fun of living with him is knowing for certain that there will be major payback for my waywardness! So I guess it’s time to face the music. I’ll check Sydney on my way out.”
She took a few steps toward the corridor and then stopped suddenly. “Ohmigosh!” she said, punctuating the exclamation with a palm-slap to her forehead. “I just remembered, he was supposed to visit Jarod today and I’m not sure that he did that. AND Jarod usually lifts weights with Sam on Saturdays, and that didn’t happen.” She paused for a moment to think. “After I’ve seen Sydney, I’ll try to visit Jarod. If that doesn’t work, I’ll get a message to him. Somehow.” She knew that, with Sydney unable to perform his duties, William Raines would be swift to step in and assume—or perhaps usurp was the better word—his colleague’s responsibilities.
Joanna raised a finger as if she were placing a bid at an auction. “If you need to get a message to Jarod, I know someone who can guarantee delivery.”
“Angelo?” the doctor smiled.
Joanna nodded. “If you have something, just leave it on my desk and I’ll see that it’s delivered.” The nurse raised her eyebrows and smiled broadly. “The boy’s been spending a lot of time in our neighborhood lately, so he isn’t hard to find.”
“Good enough,” Patrice smiled back as she turned once again toward Sydney’s room.
= = = = =
It was the soft voice of a woman that had roused him to partial consciousness. He didn’t catch the name, but she was telling him that everyone was taking good care of him. Talking to him as if he were fully conscious, she gave him an update about his condition and his afternoon visitor, and encouraged him to squeeze her hand or open his eyes. Sydney tried to move his arms and legs, but to no avail. His voice and mouth weren’t working either and attempting to open his eyes was like trying to raise two heavy garage doors. No amount of concentration could summon the muscles to action. Eventually, the woman with the soft voice left the room and Sydney was once again alone and feeling vulnerable, trapped in his body, much like Jacob, but hoping that he was not now sharing his brother’s fate.
Just as he was losing track of the world around him, the door whooshed open and the squeak of sneakers on the tiled floor heralded the arrival of another visitor. The hand that landed gently on his forehead was soft and cool. The fingers trailed down to caress his cheek, then proceeded along his carotid artery, crossed his collar bone and finally came to rest over his heart. For a time, he was content to focus his attention totally on his heartbeat and the quiet hand that now measured its rhythm. Then he heard a faint yet familiar voice.
“Syd? I’m on my way home for a little sleep, but I wanted to see you first. Lillian tells me your fever has peaked and wavered a few tenths of a degree over the last two hours. That’s good news. Alicin wavered just before she came back to normal. When your fever breaks, you’ll lose degrees in a hurry, but don’t worry. There don’t seem to be any ill effects from the rapid drop. All the others were fine and you’ll be just fine, too. I’ll stop to see Jarod on my way out to let him know what’s happened so he won’t be worried by your absence.”
Suddenly the gentle hand was gone from his chest and Sydney felt soft lips placing a kiss on his brow, followed by the receding squeak of the sneakers and another whoosh of the door. With a sigh, he sank back into welcome oblivion.
= = = = =
Surprised that she was allowed access to Sydney’s Pretender, Patrice made the most of her time with the young man, explaining Sam’s absence and quickly dispensing the news about Sydney.
Jarod was concerned, and didn’t hide it well. “How long has he been unconscious? What measures have been taken to reduce the fever? Have you tried…?”
“Jarod, we’re doing everything we can,” she assured him.
“But you said it yourself. None of the others lost consciousness. Are you sure it’s the same virus and not some mutation? It could be another pathogen altogether!” The tension in his voice was building.
Patrice moved to Jarod’s side on the sofa and took his hand and held on to it despite his attempt to pull away. As the doctor had expected, the hand relaxed in her grip after only a few more seconds. “I know you care about Sydney, we both do. That’s why I came down here to tell you what I know about him. His condition is good, believe me. The fluctuation in his temperature is a good sign that he’ll be returning to normal and waking up soon. If I didn’t believe that, Jarod, I wouldn’t be telling you.” She paused and lowered her voice. Rubbing Jarod’s back and fussing with his hair to make a show of comforting him for the camera, she leaned in close and whispered, “If you want to talk some more, tell Angelo.”
They stood and said their goodbyes as the Pretender escorted his unexpected guest to the door. “I’ll let you know when there’s a change, Jarod. Keep in mind what I said.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I will.” His smile was beautiful, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
With that, Patrice stepped into the hall and was on her way to the elevators when she heard the apartment door slide shut, once more locking its tenant inside. Outside, with the first deep breath of fresh air, she was acutely aware of the lives Alicin, Jarod, and the other Centre “residents” were leading. As she slipped under the steering wheel of her black Jaguar, deep inside she knew that a change was in the wind. She also knew that such a change would most likely come at a high price to everyone involved.
= = = = = =
Mr. Emily
= = = = = =
Patrice rode home in silence, unable to settle on what music she wanted to hear, and every mile traveled only made her desire to be home grow stronger. Her property sat three miles from the highway along an upward-winding lane, and her stone and log house seemed to rise out of the earth to blend in flawlessly with its surroundings. That far into the woods, the only sounds were nature’s own. It was her haven, her refuge, her home. A glass of wine and a lap full of cat was what she needed most and it was now just minutes away.
As she turned off the state highway and began the climb to the house, she thought about Mr. Emily and of that day nearly sixteen years ago when she’d brought him home from the shelter, a tiny purring ball of fluff that she could hold in one hand. The kitten’s fur was tri-color, mostly white with patches of gray and black tabby stripe, a pattern almost exclusively found on females. Its tail was all tabby, a large patch on each side of the spine resembled saddlebags, and the swatch on top of its head gave the impression of a hat that had been put on slightly cockeyed. It was love at first sight and Patrice named it Emily after her favorite American poet and took it home. It wasn’t until after the operation, six weeks later, that Patrice discovered that Emily was—make that ‘had been’—a male. So when he began to exhibit a rather prickly temperament a few months later, she made up her mind that in similar circumstances she might have developed a similar attitude. She laughed out loud at the thought as the Jag crunched up the final few yards of single-lane gravel road that broadened into a large pool of crushed stone in front of the house.
= = = = =
He jumped up from his nap and raced to the kitchen like a much younger cat than he was. In his younger days, he could have leapt to the table in one graceful move, but age and its attending body changes dictated that he make the trip in two stages. So up to the chair cushion and thence to the smooth, cool maple boards he traveled to wait for his wayward housemate. He arranged himself in a classic cat pose and glared at the kitchen door as he waited for the sound of her key in the lock. Everything was in place. At last, he heard her footsteps on the porch.
Patrice tossed her keys on the counter as she entered, and set a tall paper bag next to them. “Emily! I missed you, baby boy,” she crooned. “It’s good to be home!” She hung her coat on a peg behind the door and started across the room to pick him up, but stepped on something in the middle of the floor that nearly turned her ankle. With a cry of alarm, she caught her balance. She bent down and retrieved the obstacle, a can of tuna which had been rolled to the precise center of the room. Patrice rose slowly from the floor until her eyes were locked with the culprit’s golden gaze. “Your idea of a land mine, I suppose? Clever boy, but I’m still the only one here with opposable thumbs. Remember that next time.” Her smile gave the lie to her threat.
The next few steps produced a hard crunching noise against the floorboards. “What on earth is going on here?” she exclaimed as she backtracked to the door to flick on the brightest light in the room. There was a wide scattering of dry cat food pieces that lead from the open doors under the sink (When did he learn to do that?) to Mr. Emily’s water dish on the opposite side of the room. “Okay, okay!” she conceded, “I should have been home earlier.” Then she added, with a wry smile, “But it is reassuring to know you won’t starve if I get buried in a snow storm this winter. In the meantime, I suppose it’s the least I can do to keep your snack bowl filled.” Mr. Emily sat casually by, grooming a paw as Patrice grabbed the bag of dry food and turned toward the feeding station, laying down a swath of nuggets onto the floor from the hole he had chewed in the bottom of it.
Patrice glowered at him as he hopped down from the table and disappeared into the relative darkness of the hallway. “I’ve always thought you’d make a handsome opera muff. Did I ever tell you that?” she yelled after him, shaking her head and chuckling to herself.
“Wonderful! I’ve always dreamed of shedding on your black cashmere opera cape! Did I ever tell you that?” He continued walking until he reached the sunroom, where he curled up in his orthopedic bed, resting on top of a t-shirt that smelled like the woman in the kitchen who was now sweeping up five pounds of crunchy cat chow. He groomed his ears for a few minutes and then drifted off to sleep as the sun was setting. He never heard her open the can of tuna.
Meanwhile, out in the kitchen, Patrice stashed her broom and pulled a bottle of merlot from the tall bag on the counter. After a moment of uncertainty, she opened the freezer door and snuggled the bottle into the ice cube bin for a few minutes while she indulged in a quick shower and pulled on her favorite dark satin pajamas. Barefooted, she padded back to the kitchen and selected a beautifully etched wine glass from the lighted display cupboard and a matching plate from the drawer beneath. Retrieving a few wedges of hearty cheese from the refrigerator door, she shaved several slices from each and arranged them on the plate with a few of the crackers that had arrived from Moena earlier in the week. She exchanged the cheese wedges for the merlot, uncorked the bottle and placed everything on a wooden butler’s tray which she carefully carried to the sunroom.
= = = = = =
Elsewhere
= = = = = =
He had no idea how long he had been drifting in space before he felt the cold floor of the Simulation Lab beneath his bare feet, but what truly unsettled him was the awareness that he was standing unclothed in front of Jarod’s isolation tank…and the hatch was laid open for him. Testing the water inside with a toe and finding the temperature agreeable, he stepped into the box, turned, and lowered himself onto his back until only his face remained above the water’s surface. Unconcerned, he watched as the hatch drifted shut and the warm darkness embraced his tired body as he closed his eyes and surrendered to it. The gentle movement of the water made him open his eyes and turn his head toward the perceived source of the waves that gently rocked his body. His gaze fell upon his own reflection, or so he thought, until the reflection spoke.
“Well, Sydney, you certainly were easier to find this time. You really need to simplify your life, you know. Shove over, will you? You’re taking your half out of the middle, as usual.”
Dumbfounded by what he was seeing and hearing, the fevered psychiatrist reasoned that it was a hallucination induced by the setting. Nonetheless, he ‘shoved over’ as he was asked to, but continued to stare. “Jacob?” he ventured.
“Ve-ry good, brother!” was the reply.
Sydney was nearly certain that he was dreaming now, but decided that he had nothing to lose by playing along. At least it would be a welcome diversion from his frustrations in the conscious world. “And to what do I owe the honor of your visit?” he asked with mild amusement. “And don’t tell me you were just in the neighborhood!” He paused to look at his twin for a moment and then added, “You do remember that you’re in a coma, right?” As soon as he’d said the words, Sydney thought he knew what might be happening, although he had never been one to admit that such a thing was possible and the scientific evidence just wasn’t there to support it. Yet still he played along.
“You have a problem, Syd.”
“I’m painfully aware of that, Jacob,” he said dryly.
“No! You don’t understand. This isn’t about you; it’s about a friend we both care about.”
Confused, Sydney thought that his fever must be climbing again and said so.
“It’s Patrice,” Jacob explained. When he saw his brother frown, he explained further. “Patrice’s curiosity overtakes that of her cat and it’s about to get her into trouble with some very dangerous people.”
“Is Raines is one of them?” Sydney guessed.
“He is chief among them in the sense that he can set in motion the events that could lead her to harm. Perhaps even her death.”
Sydney was shocked by the revelation. “And the others, Jacob, who are they?”
“That’s harder to see, but the Triumvirate is troubled by what Patrice has learned about the young researcher, particularly her background and the personnel involved with her early development.”
“This is too fantastic to believe,” Sydney declared. “It’s hard enough knowing that you’re not here, but I also know that I’m not here, either! Wherever here is!”
Sensing his brother’s strengthening grip on consciousness, Jacob spoke in comforting tones. “Sydney, you know we’ve shared a connection. After the accident, when you thought I had died, that connection told you otherwise. You cannot deny it! Well, we’re connected now and I’m telling you that the danger is real and there’s not much time before you will have to act on Patrice’s behalf. She needs a plan of escape, but it has to be in place before the powers that be make their move. Please, Sydney, trust me. Time is short.”
“How short?”
“Two, maybe three weeks. Then there will be a great upheaval in the Centre and Patrice will be regarded as one who assisted in bringing it to pass.”
“And will she?”
“You already know the answer to that, brother. But the truth won’t matter by then, only the Tower’s perception the truth.”
“Raines is certain to spin this to his advantage.” Sydney’s expression was grave as he turned away to consider Jacob’s words. He turned back to say, “I will do what you have asked,” but Jacob was gone and Sydney was alone, floating in water that was becoming uncomfortably cool.
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Even in the Stone House
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Patrice finished the last of the cheese and crackers, except for the two that Mr. Emily had licked and then batted onto the floor, and settled back in her leather recliner with the merlot and a magazine about country living. He hadn’t tried to get onto her lap and when she tried to give him a pat on the head, he scrunched his neck and squeezed his eyes shut in distaste as he ducked away from her touch. From the corner of her eye, she could see him hop to the broad windowsill and make his way around the perimeter of the sunroom, snaking between potted plants and pieces of Roman and Etruscan antiquities, until he was standing directly behind her chair. Patrice knew what was coming next. She felt paws weigh in on the back of the recliner and heard sniffing noises as Mr. Emily examined her hair. Then he was on the chair, walking across her shoulder and chest, and coming to a stop on top of the open magazine. Making a graceful turn, which afforded Patrice a generous view of his hind parts, he lay down across the pages that she was reading.
“You’re the only male on this earth who treats me this badly and gets away with it, you know,” she said, managing to rub the top of his head and getting snapped at for her trouble.
“Make that ‘former’ male, M’lady.” The feline was righteously indignant. “You let them cut off my family jewels and pluck out my front claws. If you wanted a smaller cat, you should have bought a smaller cat! I can’t wait for my shot at that damn cape!”
“That’s it, Em! We’re even. Off!” she said quietly with a snap of her fingers to get his attention. He was scowling at her now. She snapped her fingers again and repeated, “Off! Yes, you. Get down now.” Pulling the chair upright, Patrice reached to remove the recalcitrant pet just as he leapt to the floor and headed for the kitchen and his supper plate. “Brat!” she muttered.
“Philistine!”
Five minutes later, Patrice heard the unmistakable sound of retching in the living room. She shot out of her chair and rounded the corner just in time to see Mr. Emily coughing up his canned supper on the only piece of floor covering in the room, Patrice’s hand-woven Mayan hearth rug. As soon as he had recovered, the furry companion bolted past his lady, into the hall, and then sauntered to the kitchen for a drink.
“NOW we’re even.”
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End Chapter 16 Alicin Wonderland
TBC
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