Chapter 1 - Trapped
Chapter 2 - The Watchers
Chapter 3 - Intangible
Chapter 4 - In the Halls
Chapter 5 - Cool
Chapter 6 - Observation
Chapter 7 - No Choice
Chapter 8 - In Between
Chapter 9 - Keeping Tabs
Chapter 10 - The Watery Grave
Trapped
Fuzzy.
Everything's blurry.
White. Everywhere, white. Misty. Glowing.
Warmth. Joy. A man's smile.
His eyes are green. Can't see them. Just remember.
Gold glistens. Pale and cool. Around my finger.
Diamonds in a line. Champagne flows.
Music. So much music. Laughter and dancing.
Fairytale.
Tin cans clinking. Open road.
Evening stars, sunset.
Reach over the backseat. Luggage.
Combs in my hair. White tulle everywhere.
Smiling at him. Green eyes. He has green eyes. What's his name?
Lights glare. Can't see! Too bright.
And I'm flying. Like a bird.
Bleeding. Red dots on white silk. Hurts.
Hurts so much. Blurry again. Hazy, red.
Black fenders. Crunched chrome.
Where is he? Green eyes.
Green eyes.
Light. So much light.
...Darkness.
With a gasp, she sat straight up in bed. Uneasily, she wiped her hand across her eyes, her chest. She dripped with perspiration; cold sweat brought on by the most horrific dream. It still flashed there, behind her eyes. The distant, diaphanous fingers touching lightly here, there, like butterfly kisses upon her churning mind. Slowly, she reclined on the pillows and let her arms fall across her breasts. Like a corpse in repose, she closed her eyes and sunk into the feather-filled depths of the bed.
With the nightmare burnt to cinders and dashed from her mind, she found herself curiously thoughtless. A vast, empty nothingness filled her head and she opened her eyes as a frown formed upon her lips. Concentration furrowed her brow, then a low, dull panic as the void expanded, leaving her nameless, soulless... a shell.
Green eyes. Light. Blinding me. So bright.
Darkness.
She sat upright again, throwing the think silken sheet from her body. A haze was descending now, flooding her senses. Memories came and went in a pulsating dance. Delirium. Pictures and scents and sensations. Nausea swept through her and she grit her teeth as her fingers clenched the bedclothes.
"Oh God."
She froze, the sound of her own voice alien in her ears. Eyes widened, unseeingly tracing around the room. It was white. So very white. The sheets, the walls. Tears swam before her eyes and the world went blurry again. Warm wetness slipped down her cheeks. She could taste the saltiness of her sorrow.
"Oh God."
She said it again, her voice breaking, her stomach heaving; she wretched, but her stomach was empty and the spasms fruitless. She clung to the sheets, the room began spinning. Everything was white. The floor. The ceiling. Tears fell faster now and she doubled over, vomiting bile into the back of her throat. Her fingers trembled as she let go of the sheets and pressed her hands to her face. Blocking out the light; blocking out the white.
"Oh..."
Her voice caught on the syllable. She gurgled and strained, leaning forward as if to expel the word by force. And then she did.
"God!"
An audible click reverberated through her skull. The simple sound of a key into a lock, the closing of a door. Click.
And then silence. With a shakey intake of breath, she dropped her hands, sitting upright again. Her palms cupped one other loosely, discarded into her lap limply. Tears dried upon her cheeks and she blinked others away as she turned her head slowly, seeking the source of that single, simple click.
"H-hello?" She managed, shifting her legs as if to climb out of the bed. She set her foot upon the floor; first one, then the other. They supported her, though she wobbled briefly, and she took a deep breath.
One step further; left foot forward, and then the right.
A second click echoed across her brain.
A whirlwind caught her, swirling through the room like chaos incarnate. Books and papers and sheets and clothes, all tossed to the cyclone as it pummeled her. She opened her mouth to scream, but in the thundering storm, she heard nothing but the wind. Hair lashed her face like a bullwhip, tearing fine lines in her flesh. Blood seeped like teardrops, smeared across her cheeks by the force of the tornado. Pain seared her, sundering her limbs from her body as the storm raged around her. Darkness replaced the white; darkness pressed in and everything else scattered before it.
She stumbled, and hit her knees, catching her weight on her wrists. Her hands flew to her face, feeling hysterically for cuts or contusions. There were none. The room came into focus, filled with clear, warm light. Nothing out of place. The bedclothes rumpled, but not torn; the bookshelf filled, the papers on the desk untouched.
"But I-" she frowned, pushing herself to her feet. They were bare, nails painted in a soft petal pink, and her pants pooled around the ankle. Her pajamas were cotton, loose in the leg and too long in the arms. Dark blue with pale stripes, masculine, in fact. She chuckled inwardly and hugged them close. They must be Orin's. Mmm... married at last. She turned to the bed, looking for him. Puzzled because it was not her bed; because it was empty.
"Where...?" She began stupidly, turning again in a circle.
An unfamiliar face peeked into the door at that moment. The woman smiled. Her teeth white and smiling, her lips thick and painted red.
"Jules, you planning on sleeping through the big day?"
"Huh? I'm-"
She blinked furiously, looking down at her hands in confusion. The nails were buffed, gleaming and tipped in white. There was no ring. She lifted her hand, palm facing in, questioningly.
"Where's my ring?"
The woman lifted a brow curiously. "You feelin' alright, Jules? You don't look so good. Nervous, huh?"
"Where's my ring? My wedding ring. Where's Orin?"
She stepped into the room and made to put a heavy, comfortingly soft arm around her shoulders. "Its natural to be nervous, Jules. It must've been some heavy nightmare though, to leave you trippin' like this."
"Who is Jules? Who are you?
"You're Jules, sweetie," the woman said guardedly as the younger one shoved away her affectionate advances. "Julienne Yeager. I've called you Jules since you were knee-high-"
"No! No, my name is Amara. Amara Morrigan. I- I just got married."
The woman shook her head. "Girl, don't tell me you were high last night! I told them girls to give you a safe night out!" She threw her hands up, exasperated. "I'll get you a glass of cold water. You just sit your behind down. You'll be right as rain soon."
"But I'm... I'm not..." Amara trailed off, confused. She could hear the woman talking to herself, berating someone named Charise as she stalked down the hallway. Her heels made a clacking sound on the hardwood floors.
"I'm... not Julienne." Amara whispered to herself weakly, shifting herself to the padded chair that sat before an antique dressing table. "I'm Amara. I am. Orin...where's..."
Her voice trailed on even after she froze in fascinated horror at the mirror before her. A stranger looked back at her. Creamy chocolate skin and wide brown eyes rimmed with green, but dark as night toward the pupil. She raised a hand to her face then looked down at it, clattering out of the chair. It was brown, the nails freshly painted in a brilliant lavendar, smooth and unveined, but- not her own.
"No! This can't be- I-"
Amara stumbled backward, bumping into the bed and turning around in a helpless circle. She dove for the edge of the vanity, gripping it tightly as she stared into the wild, crazed eyes of someone she had never before seen.
"This isn't real. I am Amara Marie Morrigan. My fiancé- no, husband, his name is Orin. Orin Luciano. I-"
The denial caught in her throat and her entire body shuddered involuntarily. A frightened, distant voice spoke within her and rose up, filling the strange voids that seemed to permeate her body. It whispered, it wrapped itself around her. Its fear and sorrow were strangling.
I am Jules, the voice spoke gently to her, slipping inside her very mind. I don't know why you came here, I'm so scared. So scared. Please, Amara, please. Let me go!
"Let you go?" She asked outloud, "Let you go?!"
You're hurting me. You have to get out! This is my body! My life! The voice's anger tempered its fear but it screeched, raging against her. Get out of me! Get out! Leave me alone!
"I don't know- I don't know how. I don't-" Amara cried, slumping against the bed. "I don't understand what's... I want Orin..."
The same older woman, with her cropped salt and pepper hair and thick red lips returned with a glass and a frown firmly stamped on her face.
"Oh no, honey, no. You ain't gonna mess this one up. That boy is too fine a man and your mama paid too much for this wedding for you to ruin it now. C'mon, Jules, take a drink, here have one of Rona's pills. You'll be fine. We'll get you showered, dressed. Its your wedding day, babygirl, you don't wanna keep Tyler waiting, do you?"
Amara stood, ready to defy the strange woman and opened her mouth to protest. In that instant, she felt the other presence surge forward and she was forced into the backseat.
"Aunt Gin!" Jules sobbed, throwing herself into her aunt's warm, broad bosom. She held the girl a moment, stroking her back until she contained herself, but was distubed by the crazed expression in her eyes when she forced a smile and nodded.
"I'm ready now, Aunt Gin. Dunno what came over me."
"That's my girl," Gin chuckled a little wearily and headed for the door. "We've got breffast downstairs, if you're hungry. C'mon down."
Amara felt the head bob in a nod, the lips softening into a more easy smile, but could not alter them. She saw through Julienne's eyes as the girl assumed full control of the body, felt the water she splashed on her lovely face, heard the jovial banter of cousins and friends in the kitchen below. She was helpless, she was powerless.
She was trapped.
The Watcher
What she didn't realize, as she looked at her face in the bathroom mirror, is that someone else was also watching her.
The eyes that studied her were not nearby, nor were they a far distance away. These eyes were watching from a place that didn't recognize time they way she did.
The screen flickered.
"Matthew." He turned briefly from his subject, and acknowledge the young woman who approached. "Any new development?"
Matt shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Amara is unusually sensitive to the downloading process. I think we might have a problem, but I'm not entirely sure." He touched a series of buttons on a console to his right and the image of Jules looking at herself in the mirror faded. "Have you filed the paperwork?" he asked.
The young woman indicated a clipboard in her hand. "I was just on my way to deliver it personally. I figure that most of the governing council will want to make a decision on this matter as soon as possible. I don't think anyone is interested in allowing time for the paperwork to circulate through the proper channels."
"Listen Emily," Matthew said. "I realize that this is completely unorthodox, but would you mind if I go with you?"
"Who will watch your station?"
Matthew shrugged. "I left the necessary safeguards in place. Amara will just have to exist inside Jules for the time being. There isn't anything that I can do until the council makes its decision."
"True," Emily agreed. "I can't believe that this happened. That car wasn't scheduled to hit them on their wedding night. I talked to Sara down in process management and she informed me that she had nothing to do with it. But," Emily tapped the clipboard knowingly. "There has to be some reason."
"Do you think that Amara is a new recruitment?"
"That's possible, although we haven't had any new recruits here for fifty years. Most of the stations are filled. I can't imagine why we wouldn't have been notified if a new person was coming on board. The training program is pretty extensive, and the council would have to have several people already prepared for the process." She looked around the small room. It was cleared of most equipment, just a few streamlined tables and the work station that Matt occupied. "I have to admit that if that is the case, I'm a little excited about the possibility of a new recruit."
Matthew pushed his chair out, the hiss of the air compressors as it moved, sounding rather sharp in the peaceful interior. "That might be a bit premature," he said. "We don't know what to expect. But something has to be done. We can't leave Amara as she is."
"That's true enough," Emily responded. She sighed, looking back at the clipboard. "Well, no time like the present to take care of this. Are you ready?" Matthew nodded.
Together they left the room, neither one noticing the screen flickering back on. Jules still stood at the bathroom mirror, looking intently at herself, fingers tracing the lines of her face.
Intangible
It's a little bit funny. This feeling inside...
Like her, the old Elton song, was stuck inside Jules' head. She was nervous - made more so by the presence of a second person in her body - and the song seemed to help soothe her. Amara felt nauseous, trapped inside the younger woman yet independent of whatever Julienne seemed to be feeling; she had no stomach of her own to be queasy.
Why is this happening to me? What did I do wrong? Oh God... where's Orin? Am I dead? Is he? Orin...please God, no. Let him be alright. I just- I just- And with no eyes of her own, Amara began to cry. She could feel Julienne clenching the fine muscles of her jaw responsively, trying to block out the unbidden thoughts. The bride-to-be reached up and fluffed out her hair, freshly arranged by Aunt Gin who talked non-stop about the wonders of marriage. Amara thought bitterly that she had never gotten a chance to discover those so-called wonders. Jules' anxiety increased at every mention of Tyler's name and Amara recognized the terrified excitement from her own wedding day. Yesterday...
The wedding was tasteful. More elegant even than her own. Amara bided her time silently, listening to Julienne's every crazed thought about each guest, the dress, the music. She never heard a peep about the groom though, not even when the body they shared moved rhythmically up the white-carpeted aisle. Not even as Tyler took her hand and placed his ring upon it - white gold or platinum, Amara noticed, wondering whatever happened to the traditional band of gold - and promised to love and honor her 'til death do us part.
He was a handsome man, Tyler Okri, with close-cropped black curls and unusually pale, almost green eyes. His complexion was one of the darkest Amara had ever seen and the few silvery stands in his carefully maintained goatee stood out like beacon signals against the rich color of his face. Amara felt her breath catch - or was it Jules' - when he met the eyes they shared. The love there was so familiar, so overwhelming, so intense. Only Orin had ever looked at her that way and she cried out for him now; the weight of her sorrow had finally broken her resolve.
As Amara wailed her grief, intermingled with fear and anger and thwarted love, Julienne went rigid. Tyler felt it immediately as he embraced her for the first kiss, and drew his head back in concern.
AMARA! You are RUINING my wedding! Fucking shut up! Get out of me! came the furious inner voice of Julienne.
Orin, oh God, Orin... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...
Leave me alone! Leave me alone you stupid bitch! Jules raged, trying to compose herself as Tyler descended for a kiss. Their lips met tenderly and Amara felt a flood of Julienne's emotions surround her, pinning her back, far away from the surface of her being. It was like a huge iron ball pressed up against her, squeezing her up against a cave wall, but the sphere must be hallow because although the pressure is strong, it wasn't enough to squash her.
Amara struggled against the sensation. Screamed in frusterated, impotent anger. Railed against her intangible bindings.
And then there was a third presence, sliding around her like some multi-armed monstrosity from a b-rated horror movie, only less slimy and more...comforting. She took a few hasty, deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but she could not tell where the idea for that came from - it was not her own thought.
For a woman with no lungs of her own but those she remembered, it took her quite awhile to catch her breath. As she calmed, she realized that Julienne's emotions had faded to a distant, barely noticible hum in the background. The darkness pooled around her and when she tried to view the world through Jules' eyes, it was as if she were peering out the end of a long tunnel; the picture was dim around the edges and far-off.
Very good, Candidate. Relax. It won't hurt. You haven't any nerves to stimulate, afterall.
Amara immediately began to panic again. She strained to hear Julienne's thoughts now, but the new bride was consumed by her nuptials and seemed not to notice the third presence in her body. Although she could sense the vague joy and a startlingly heated lust, it was distant and undefined. She was being severed from the young woman, the darkness and the tentacles were tearing her free!
What are you doing to me?! Who are you? Where's Orin?!
The illusory iron ball pressed closer and she gasped for imaginary breath. There was no pain, as the third had told her, but there was strong pressure. It squeezed her tighter and tighter, slipping between she and Jules and expanding.
Close your eyes, Candidate, clear your mind.
It was a female voice, soothing, and she obeyed as best she could, trying to clear her mind. One steady breath. A second. A third. A fourth. Darkness swam before her, even with her fictional eyelids closed, and then there was an audible pop. An almost familiar click.
Click.
Unlike the tornado of awakening, the chaotic maelstrom of memories that deluged her when she became aware inside of Julienne Yeager, when she opened her eyes here, there was nothing.
The room was starkly white and the glare hurt her eyes. My eyes! I have eyes! She lifted her forearm to shield them and noticed a plethora of tubes and wires strapped to them. There was an intravaneous device inserted into her flesh and she struggled into a seated position, staring in horror at her arm.
The flesh - was it flesh?! - was pale and grayish, hairless and featureless. The freckles were gone, the dark mole on her wrist, the single freckle in the center of the second knuckle of her middle finger. There were no nails, no fingerprints. She opened her mouth and let out a small, panicked moan - she was shaking.
A monitor behind her began to beep and a door slid noisily open on what had second before been a solid, white wall. There was a man there, a tall and slightly built. He was pushed aside by a harried woman, who stepped quickly over to the bed and placed firm hands on Amara's shoulders.
"Not yet, sweetling, not yet." The voice was familiar and Amara squinted to see the contours of her face through the shadows cast by the strong, medical lights.
As she lay back down, she could only whisper, "Why am I gray?"
The woman's voice held a smile, "You'll be right as rain, soon, sweetling. Once the residual memories have been awakened."
Although she was completely comprehensible, it was if she spoke a foreign tongue. Amara opened her mouth to ask more and was shushed by the woman. She spoke a single phrase, this one truly in another language, and the glare faded - the room filled with muted ivory light.
The woman was fair skinned and pleasant looking, with thick pink lips and very white teeth. Well-defined brows arched over eyes of thick, chocolate brown. She had a strong chin and a heart-shaped face with a severe widow's peak at her forehead. Despite obvious care to pull back and restrain every strand, a few wispy tendrils had escaped near her temple and the back of her neck; the chestnut-color hair was very curly.
"Who- who...are you?" Amara whispered, a hazy sensation filling her as a green liquid dripped silently into her veins.
She smiled again.
"My name is Emily."
In The Halls
"So she's awake. Emily, I don't think you are looking at this from the right angle."
Emily mustered a small look of shock, that played across her face briefly, then vanished, as she focused her attention on the clipboard that she carried. "I really don't believe you are saying this Patrick. I just spent the last full shift trying to balance out the appropriate measurements of fluid, in order to sedate Amara. She is already aware of us, or what little she's seen of us." She tucked the clipboard under her arm and pointed towards the elevator at the end of the long white hall they went down. "And now we are being called in for an emergency meeting with Councilman Luttraque. What angle pray tell do you think I should be looking at this from?"
Patrick, his sea blue eyes smiling, put an arm around his comrade. She flinched slightly, but he squeezed back in a friendly manner. "Don't get so worked up Emy," he spoke. "We both know that if something was truly wrong we wouldn't even be here right now. The Council would have rebooted and you and I would be shifting through two hundred million quadrabites of historical data." He stopped suddenly and turned, taking Emily by the shoulders. Staring directly into her eyes he said; "This is a very intricate world we watch over. There isn't room for things to go completely wrong. Think about it. Things must be alright then. You are just letting the small matters get to you."
Emily tried to smile, and managed to do so, if only for a moment. Thankfully that moment was enough to remove some of the doubt from Patrick's mind, at least doubt about her feelings. Patrick was such a carefree soul, entirely content with doing his job and clocking out at the end of the day. It mattered very little to him that each day they maintained a very delicate balance between good and evil. He realized the importance, for that she was sure of. Everyone in Neleviesti knew how important their work was, but some just took a bit more to heart.
"What about Matt?" Patrick asked unexpectedly. "Shouldn't he be at this meeting? It is his account after all. You and I only ran outside interference. I mean, you are the top gal when it comes to go-between." Emily smiled, again slightly. Patrick was too involved with his own conversation to notice. "Matt had this account for a while. Wonder why it.." He stopped, as Emily reached past him to press the UP key.
"Matthew is visiting the mainland." She caught a look of surprise on Patrick's face. She wondered why she delighted in that, but disregarded entertaining the thought. "When that car hit Amara, it broke two souls out of balance. We were able to keep an eye on Amara, but Orin is another story entirely. Matthew is attempting to move a few pieces into play that will bandage the problem until the Council sets up the next batch of files to download."
Patrick ran his hands through his dusty blond hair and sighed. "You mean Matt got to visit the mainland without reaching Guardian status? That's completely not fair." Emily shrugged, as the elevator doorway opened. "Don't tell me about it. I'm not the one who ordered him to go. Frankly, I adore Matt, but I don't think he is anywhere near prepared to walk among the humans. I guess he went through a quickly crash course in what to do and not to do, but I hardly think that will help if he starts panicking."
"We will see, won't we?" Patrick said. "Just seems a bit out of place if you ask me."
Emily smiled, this time with intent. "You are only jealous that you didn't get to go." She ushered them into the elevator and the door closed.
Cool
Blurry. Why's it so blurry?
What's wrong with my eyes?
Bright light. So bright. Hurts.
Must remember. Remember...
What? Remember what?
Crickets. Crickets chirping.
Light. So much light.
...Darkness.
With a gasp, he sat straight up; his heart was thumping wildly in his chest, sweat dotting his flesh.
"What a fuckin' nightmare!"
He shoved his legs off the side of the bed and moved to push himself to his feet. That was when it hit him; tore off the top of his head and devoured all thought and comprehension. A profound void filled his skull, as if there was nothing at all inside him but air. Invisible wires pulled the corners of his lips into a frown and he reached up to touch his temple, thinking hard - or attempting to think at all.
Must remember. Must...
His eyes raced around the room, searching. Nothing was familiar. Noontime sunlight flooded the small, bare room. It glared off the mirror in the corner, dazzling his senses. He opened his mouth to voice a complaint and froze. A thick, tangible haze swirled through his empty head; memories pulsing as they appeared and vanished before his eyes. Images and sounds, smells and tactile rememberances. His stomach jolted, bile rising, and he lurched off the bed.
"What the-"
The world swam before him and he stumbled a few feet into the room, swaying as if the entire earth was quaking beneath him.
"What-"
His voice broke and turned to vomit, but his belly was empty and his wretching resulted in nothing more than bile in the back of his throat.
"The fuck?"
The last two syllables were spat out, expelled as if he had been kicked in the gut. And then there was a loud clicking sound in his head, the sound of a jigsaw piece snapping into place.
The silence was deep and echoing as he looked around, confused. There was someone else in the room, their eyes were closed. He strained to hear breathing, pausing for a moment half-crouched on the floor.
A second click broke the quiet within his skull.
A maelstrom caught him, tossing the room, destroying everything around him. The mirror shattered, throwing shards of glass into the air. Winds whirled around him, beds clattering off the walls. He felt his arms and legs ripped violently from his body as the cyclone raged around him. Darkness crept in upon the current, pressing its way inside and all light bowed to its weight.
He hit the floor with a dull thud and blinked rapidly. Laying prone, he thrust himself to his knees in a panic, searching for slices from the broken glass. There were none, no blood. His eyes traveled around the room; it was pristine, not a single item out of place. The sunlight was warm and comforting as it slipped through the window and warmed his naked back.
"Holy shit."
He coughed, levering himself to his feet on the edge of the bed.
"Holy shit," he repeated, chuckling as he shook his head like a swimmer trying to dislodge some water. He moved to the mirror, running a hand through the wild, spikey blond hair, touching the chiseled cheeks and healthy, tanned complexion with a grin.
"Now that's one helluva ride," Matt smirked, admiring the unfamiliar face of the body he now inhabited. "No wonder they train Guardians so fuckin' long. That was in-tense!"
"'Scuse me?"
Matt dropped his hands guiltily, turning to confront the speaker.
"Oh! Sorry man, didn't mean to startle you," the fellow in the next bed managed a weak smile. "Just wanted to be sure you were okay. Looks like you were having a nightmare or something."
"Yeah, no, man. I'm uh- I'm cool," Matt stuttered, stepping closer. His roommate was heavily wired and there were tubes crawling from his nostrils, his wrist. His hospital gown sunk low around his neck, revealing a patch of freshly shaved hair around a large bandage stained with rusty red and his left leg was buried in plaster to his thigh. There was gauze wrapped around the crown of his skull. He had green eyes.
"Yeah man," Matt grinned. "I'm cool."
Observation
"Does that look familiar to you?" her sweet yet firm voice inquired, setting slender fingers to rest on an image displayed before them all. Emily nodded. "It's the Section Offices Ma'am." Her eyes followed the blueprints as they shifted through several stages, each one focusing closer in on details.
"And this?"
Emily hesitated before replying. It was obvious that the Council wanted to figure out if she had any idea where the leak had originated. The 'leak', that was what they were calling it now. Amara and Orin had apparently gotten lost in the system, severed from their original destinies, or Ripples, as referred to professionally. This type of problem did not happen on its own, there were far too many fail-safes to guard against it. Someone had to manually change the code in order for certain players to get tossed off their intended paths. Frankly, Emily wondered if only one person was involved. A situation of this manner was very delicate and often had to start in Situation Oversight, the offices that took care of natural disasters and war, murders and other matters that resulted in casualties of some sort. From SO the code would have to travel through Emotional Oversight and Relationship Oversight, and several other offices to result in a complete breakdown. Realistically someone should have caught this way before the accident that sent Amara careening into another body.
"That's Devin Haberdasher's office. Why do you ask?" Emily, for the first time, looked directly at the Council member who was asking the questions. Madame Ingenue, the foremost authority on Internal Security. It was her job to interview anyone associated with matters of this sort, although this sort of matter happened once in many generations.
"It is the Council's belief, mine in particular, that the leak originated from Director Haberdasher's section. A minor glitch perhaps?" Madame Ingenue was phrasing her comments lightly, although Emily was sure that it was not intended that way. Naturally the Council looked down on section members that did not execute their jobs with proficiently. In fact, often those that did not, were terminated. Emily had to walk a very fine line in this case, in order to keep suspicion from falling on those that had nothing to do with the problem at hand.
"Director Haberdasher has recently been assisting First Division Oversight with the latest global warming results. I don't believe he has been in his office for many days. Someone could have compromised his system without him immediately being aware of it."
"Is that so?" The Councilwoman paused, but did not continue. She was staring past Emily, her eyes on Patrick, who sat in the background. The moment stretched, and in that time Emily wondered what exactly was going on. At first she had assumed that Amara was part of a recruitment campaign. After seeing Amara, she thought otherwise, but the idea that someone had compromised the system seemed a lot harder to wrap her mind around. Why anyone would dare, was beyond her. Although their section duties did not manage a high level of entertainment, they demanded a loyalty that she did not doubt her comrades possessed. To think that any of them would endanger the end-goal made her literally shut down.
"I will be back shortly," the Councilwoman suddenly said, gathering herself and leaving the room. Unlike those that worked under Emily, the Council did not have to explain immediate shifts in direction, as this direction had obviously taken. Emily and Patrick would have to wait until they were official dismissed before they could leave.
Sighing, Emily walked over and took a seat next to Patrick, who fidgeted with the silver trimmed edging on his white uniform. "Will you stop that," she admonished. "It makes you look guilty."
Patrick blushed, his usual perkiness overshadowed by the case of circumstances. "I'm sorry," he stammered back. "I didn't think it would take this long. I thought we would just be delivering paperwork, you know that sort of thing. First Councilman Lurttraque then Madame Ingenue, who is next? Vice Chair Gray?"
Emily threw her hand over Patrick's mouth. "Stop that right now!" she hissed. "Don't even think about it. It is one thing to discuss what is happening to us at the moment, another entirely to suggest that VC Gray gets involved. Neither of us want that. You know what type of man he is." Patrick nodded, pushing Emily's hands off his face. "You're right Emy. I'm over-reacting. It's just that this is all so unusual. I've never been in this type of situation."
"Like I have?" She shook her head, absently adjusting her hair so that a few dark strands were pinned back behind her head. "We will just have to see this through. You know that neither of us are part of this thing," She paused. "Well not entirely, or at least not like the Council wants us to be. Just be honest. They have to be up to something, otherwise they wouldn't have sent Matt to investigate Orin. It's just followup, that's all. Just say what you know and walk away. We both still have plenty of work to do outside of this." Patrick nodded.
They both sat in silence, Patrick unable to keep himself from his fidgets and Emily unable to stop dwelling on what was going on. If it fell to her to be the 'strong one' then she was more then capable of shouldering the responsibility, but it did not distract anything from her own inner questions. And one that was coming to the surface, she did not care to verbalize. She wondered if perhaps the Council had sent Matt on a doomed mission, in some way his demise would set things straight. Historically it had been done before, many cycles ago, but the level of clean up afterwards had been monumental. That would be a difficult undertaking for a Council that had very little training in that matter.
Madame Ingenue reappeared without ceremony, striding over to Emily. She glanced quickly at Patrick, but only a glance. "Emelia Vistrought, you are hear by commanded to the take up the position of Guardian to the one in our facility named Amara. You will assist her in adjusting to this organization, explain its function and find her proper care in the community. She will not be trained, yet. The Council has deemed it necessary, though for her to remain here for a while. She cannot be introduced back into the system until further investigation uncovers why she was compromised to begin with. Do you understand?"
Emily stood up, obviously shocked, but nodded nonetheless. "Yes Ma'am." "You are dismissed." That was all a Council member had to say. It was not Emily's place to question their decisions further.
"Patrick Undister, you will accompany me." Patrick looked over at Emily, but she did not look directly at him. Instead she watched Madame Ingenue lead him away. What was going on? The questions she posed to herself just seemed to stack up with no apparent answers. "Well I guess there isn't anything to do but what I've been told," she said out loud. "Back to Amara."
No Choice
Guardian, she thought, the heels of her sensible, black boots making too much noise as she stalked up the hallway. The soft, leather-like material was like a second skin from her toes to mid-calf and there was an itch beneath it that she did not have time to stop to scratch. Me? Emelia Vistrought? Dr. Nerdy-pants? I'm really going to be a Guardian? It was not that she didn't wish for the honor, or hadn't often wondered what it would be like to accept the vows, succumb to the training, and then walk in another person's skin upon the mainland. It was just that she never dreamed that they would choose her. She was, quite frankly, too valuable in her current position. Irreplaceable, in fact, the reviews said time after time. Absolutely indispensible.
"So why me?" She asked aloud, holding her clipboard close to her chest, her knuckles turning white as she clutched it too tightly. Her nerves were resurfacing. She worried for Matt. She worried about Patrick. She worried about herself. "Why me?" Emily asked again, licking her lips.
The sound of her footsteps was like cannonfire in the silent halls. It was startling - that silence. Eerie, even. Door after door was closed tightly, no voices drifted out, no laughter or bickering. It was down right disconcerting, to tell the truth. The proverbial shit must have hit the fan, Emily thought sagely, Trouble must be flooding down every channel. Somebody should have caught the glitch before it reached the surface. "Hey hey, Doc! What's the word from the Glassbox?"
Emily stopped mid-stride and turned to face the suddenly open doorway. A smirking face winked at her, the man attached to it was leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and one leg lazily looped over the other. He was the picture of casual, the very essence of cool - even if it was horribly pretentious, fake and (she suspected) well rehearsed.
"God, Scooter. You are too much. Just all, leaning there like..." She exhaled, exasperated. "Do you practice that look in front of a mirror or something? Its really creepy."
"C'mon, Doc. You know this is the real me. Au naturalé and whatnot." Scooter Riggs leaned forward conspiratorially. "So? Tell me, Doc, who's going to the gallows over this little cock-up?"
Emily pursed her lips, scrunching up her nose in distaste. "Its need-to-know, Scooter and you, well, you just- Gah. You don't need to know. Okay?"
He smirked again. Those knowing hazel eyes, that floppy, sexy reddish hair. Oh God, he really is foul! She berated herself for the attraction - not to mention her complete lack of eloquence in his presence.
Scooter sidled forward another step and tried to wrap an arm around her side as his pelvis thrust toward her provocitively. "C'mon Doc," He wheedled and she could feel his breath on her neck, "Gimme the dirty details. I know how you love to talk dirty."
"Ew!" She pushed away at him suddenly, flustered and reddening. "God! Ew! Just- ew!"
"What?
She slapped at his hand as it snaked around her again. "God, Scooter, you're just-" And then it came out, her voice so loud it echoed across the hallway. "I so completely wish I had never slept with you!"
And then she was running, making a beeline for her offices. Humiliated and angry, she wanted to punch Scooter for his presumption. That night, exactly sixteen half-cycles ago - Not that I am counting! Or that it was that memorable anyway she thought to herself - had been a celebratory mistake. He had never let her forget it and was ever trying to improve his own position by association with her.
The door closed behind her with a soft whirr and Emily flopped down in her chair with a heavy sigh. Repercussions from this situation were going to be far-reaching within the faculty, someone would eventually have to take the fall for it. Secretly, she hoped it would be Director Haberdasher. The smarmy bastard. Anyone, really, as long as it was not her or her staff. "But why ME?" She asked herself aloud, tossing the clipboard to the desk again. It clattered loudly and she jumped at the racket.
"Why not you, Candidate?"
Emily looked up, "How did you get- I-" She blinked rapidly, then stood and gave a deep, awkward bow. "Guardian Alberé! Greetings. This is- this is a surprise."
Guardian Marcus J. Alberé smiled briefly at her, indicating that she should sit, but the expression never reached his eyes. She was struck, momentarily, by the fact that his eyes were a rich hazel, limmed in mossy green, very similar to Scooter Riggs'. Then she sat and stared up at the man silently.
"Yes, it comes as a surprise to many of us, Candidate. One of your stature has never before been elevated to Guardianship - not because they are incapable of it, simply that most prefer their chosen position and are not comfortable with the mortal danger of Candidacy. You, however, have no choice. The Council has spoken and I shall be your guide."
Emily swallowed thickly. Guardian Alberé, the preeminant member of the Order, he was himself going to prepare her for the jump? She quite literally was struck speechless. "It is fortunate that you have such experience projecting into Candidates' minds to communicate with them. That will facilitate your progress. However," He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his uniform. "You must leave this all behind. You will not need these material things once we begin."
Silently, Emily stood and shed her badge, her timepiece, her jewelery. The Guardian nodded but once and then turned on heel and departed. Emily had no choice but to follow.
In Between
She drank in the light warmth, gathered the throbbing radiance around her body and breifly washed away the shackles of responsibility that her position held. The first Movement in her Candidacy was a simple release. Her naked form communicating with the light of the mainframe, sharing her past, her joys and awkwardly her fears. It was necessary for all those that dare tread the path of Guardian to face the probing light of the main system and release their holdings. It was with this complete relevance that the downloading could be performed.
She was mildly aware of the Marshall who stood outside the small room, watching her progress through a small window. Although the thought of someone, bearing his stature, seeing her naked might be embarrassing, she found in this case there was little need to turn away. Inside the light, she felt nothing but collective oneness.
The process lasted for only a small while, then she was stepping from the room and slipping into a long white robe.
"Your training will start after you introduce Amara to the facility." The low camber of the Marshall's voice echoed the deep warmth that the light had only moments ago touched her with. She inclined her head, realizing that this was not the right time to question why she needed to make such allowances. Amara wasn't prepared, at least not in her mind, for what she would see. In fact, unless she was officially designated as a recruit, Amara had no place inside Section. Much like the rest of her time today, Emily felt confused and full of inquiries. This, however, would have to wait until after she completed the job assigned to her.
The Marshall gestured towards the exit and waited until she had inclined her head again, then he left.
With a tense smile on her face, Emily followed, trying to muster up enough strength to tackle a whirlwind introduction she must perform for Amara.
Keeping Tabs
The cool water splashed across her face came as a welcomed relief to the stuffy interiors. Although streamlined and very neat, the Section Facility was never what she would refer to as comfortable. Often she found herself duck into the restroom to cool herself with a quick spritz of water, or fan herself outside of watching eyes. Her position as the Senior Internal Affairs Official or SIAO required that she adhere to certain guidelines, one of which suggested that she not fan herself in front of her subordinates.
"Silly rules," she spoke quietly to herself. "Sometimes I wonder who comes up with these." She glanced briefly at herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair and straightening her silver trimmed collar. "Perfect," she cooed to the reflection in glass. Her eyes fell on the clipboard sitting next to the sink. "Now let's see, who do I have next?" She traced the electronic pen down the list of names on the clipboard monitor coming to the one she was looking for. Her eyes rolls to the side as she sighed. "Dear gods, it's Sara. I can't believe I have to see her again. Wasn't it just a few days ago I was there?" She tapped her pen a few times, gathering some information. "What's this?" she paused. A notification had popped up on the screen. "Amara is in Emily's care?" She shook her head. "Emily is a Guardian, showing a human around the complex." Another sign. "Well, I figure it's none of my business. If the Council did this they must have had a reason."
With one more look in the mirror to make sure she was suitable for the halls, she exited the restroom and made her way to Sara's office.
Her knock was stiff and firm, announcing her presence. She did not wait for an answer. The gliding motion of her access card, and she was inside within moments. "Sara Neglier." A thin, rather ordinary looking blond woman turn from her computer screen to address her.
"Yes, SIAO, may I help you?"
"This is a follow-up visit. Your position in the Recycle Section is still under investigation. Not to worry though, you are not being singled out."
Sara didn't seem to take any comfort from the words. Naturally the SIAO said the same thing to all those she visited. "Concerning recent affairs, all stations will be investigated for compliance and efficiency. What is your current assignment?"
Sara indicated her monitor. "Typical download and placement, SIAO. Incoming souls from the mainland are given new assignments. I'm working on filtering out some regular phenomenons."
"Elaborate," the SIAO stated.
"I'm looking for outside interference with the two souls recently diverted from their paths. I need to send information up to Processing in order for them to complete their next batch of reports for the Council. I believe Claire and Ryan are also working on the same assignment."
"I will be checking in on their progress soon. I would like to know..." Before the SIAO could continue the door opened and Emily walked in, leading Amara into Sara's office. "Excuse us, I'm sorry to bother you," Emily apologized. "I'm currently filling in my charge Amara." She indicated the woman standing next to her. "I'm filling her in on the inner workings of each Section. Getting her up to speed."
The SIAO smiled, thin and tight. "This isn't the best time to be doing this, but as I've already been told that the Council has ordered this, I assume it's best that I allow you to do what you must." She looked at Sara. "Miss Neglier, I will return to finish this follow up in the near future. Good day." With that she left.
Sara exhaled, obviously relieved. "It's tough with those stiff necks," she commented, sharing an inside joke with Emily. "That's the second time in three days she has interrupted me." She ushered the other two women over to her monitor. "Take a seat you two." She stared quickly at Amara. "Must be pretty overwhelming to be here huh?"
Amara nodded. "I'm still adjusting. I woke up, thinking all this was some sort of crazy dream. Emily explained much of what had happened, but I'm still not sure what most of it means."
Sara smiled. "Well, you will figure it out eventually. Now," she tapped at a keyboard in front of her, "let's see if we can't shed some light on a few mysteries, shall we?" Emily placed a hand on Amara's shoulder, getting her attention. "As I said before we entered here, this section is all about data processing and recycle. What you refer to as a 'soul' is actually energy."
Sara lifted her hand. "It's powerful energy. Like this," she indicated an image on her screen. Amara noticed a young woman in a hospital bed. She looked as if she was prepared to give birth. "What you see here is a normal labor. In most cases my job is to make sure the 'soul' energy is circulated to the newborn at the appropriate time, just as another 'soul' elsewhere is put back into the collective."
"It's necessary to keep a certain balance, if you will," Emily explained further. "Death and life are very delicate equations."
Amara's brows furrowed. "So you mean to tell me that you have the power over human life?"
Sara giggled. "In a manner of speaking, I guess you could say that we do, but we are just carring out the orders from other stations in the processing section. Each soul has to be placed at the right time to affect the course of things to come."
"Cause and effect," Emily said.
"So in order to keep this 'balance' you speak of, someone dies and someone lives?"
"Well," Sara replied touching a series of keys, "it's not that simple. You will get a lot more understanding of things after you visit the rest of the stations, but we here in Recycling tend to call ourselves the First and Last Breath Division. You come here if you are taking one or the other."
Amara cocked her head in confusion. "That seems like you are poking a bit of fun at something very serious."
Emily didn't look directly at Amara when she replied, instead continuing to look at the monitor. "Well no one actually dies. Gruesome though their ends may be at times, people get several chances to run through the system before they reach recruitment, or go into storage." "What do you mean?"
Sara raised her hand again. "Shh," she hushed them. "It's about time to hit enter." She watched as the young woman pushed, the doctor urging her onwards. Push push, he was saying. "And now." Sara hit the enter key at the exact moment when the newborn started to cry. "Ahhh," she said in satisfaction, "another perfect delivery."
"Good job Sara," Emily said, then she added. "At least you don't have Doug's spastic fingers." They both laughed. Sara nodded. "I just don't know why they keep him on the job. Just last week there were two botched deliveries and several dozen cats."
Amara threw out her arms. "Stop it!" she screamed. "What is going on?" For a moment neither woman looked up, but then she felt pulled, almost yanked backwards, although her body stayed seated in the office room with Sara and Emily. "What's happening," she screamed. But they could not hear her.
The Watery Grave
Deep breath, Candidate. Deep breath.
Emily obeyed, confused and fuzzy. Inhale. Exhale. Air filled her lungs and it was a soothing, warm feeling. She felt her brows knit, then realized she was submerged in some thick, pink-tinged goo. Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to see through the haze.
The tank was at least three feet high and long and wide enough to easily accomodate her body. She wriggled her toes, her fingers. Everything appeared to work. After a moment's hesitation, Emily struggled to sit up. She could not; it was as if a heavy hand pressed against her chest, trying to drown her. Panicking resumed.
Candidate, lay still!
At the sound of the familiar voice, she tried again to calm herself. Memories began to return to her and she sucked in an eager breath, hungrily devouring the air supply.