It was not, perhaps, quite an ordinary day. Perhaps somehow, through the reaches of time and space, they sensed their eminent conversion and reacted, trying to show in their last hours that their life was of worth.

It was, of course, to no avail, for their lives were already cast. Then again, perhaps it was, for he that came that day saw them at their best, and perhaps that is what created his affinity for their kind.

To most it started a better day than usual. The traffic to work and school wasn’t so hectic, the violence was muted, and even the low drunkards and addicts of the city looked up at the sky with something resembling a human mind. In higher reaches of society, politics took on that boring, if productive drone that signifies that there is nothing, really, worth complaining about. Bosses decided to look favorably at their employees, and employees muttered somewhat fewer vile imprecations at their bosses.

A mother, whose name and personage were, to an outsider, of no real consequence, brought her son with her to the Boeing complex where her husband worked. The reason is lost to time, but given that the child was hungry and exited, it may very well have been for a family lunch.

Deeper in the secreted depths of the same building, several lives were coming to their culmination. Suspended in some aqueous substance was a fine silver ring, its roundness unbroken except where clear filaments pierced its skin to the silicon-and-gold wiring inside. It in itself was at least seven meters in diameter, and its container was another meter in all directions. The filaments all connected to the top and bottom of the container. When viewed in its entirety, it resembled some microscopic creature as seen though a lens; but that was not what was important to the men sitting at its base. Their eyes were focused on the flickering screens in front of them, their hands poised over keyboards with strange and familiar symbols on them. Resonating from some hidden speaker, a countdown began.

“T-minus 20… 15… 10…5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0”

Someone pushed a button, and a dozen different screens began to spurt out data, which was processed and then spit out again. The ring became filled with an opalescent light that glowed in more than just the visible spectrum. Something enigmatic slipped, and this little slip caused the massive computer to pause.

A set of parallel lines had just intersected.

A dozen humans began to whisper as their screens showed them what had to be impossible. Truly, they cannot be faulted, for how were they to know they had just imposed their space-time continuum on another? How could these beings that lived their lives constrained by the laws of Newtonian physics understand that the two lines, when stretched through multiple dimensions, could in fact intersect? But nonetheless, they did err, for amongst this wagging of tongues, no one thought to turn off the computer, which had decided to ignore this impossibility and continue. The slip grew, and as more and more dimensions filtered through the one, the more the basic principles became distorted and incomprehensible. Finally, the computer was no longer working with symbols it recognized, and men looked at screens that didn’t mean anything to them. The slip became a tear, and what had before simply been mathematical impossibility now became reality.

To the men it was a very large and impossible explosion. In fact, that’s how it appeared to most. What happened was that an infinite number of universes filtered through each other with such speed that matter of all kinds went flying, destroying most everything in perhaps a twenty-meter spherical radius in all of the universes, and distorting seemingly random objects for a much greater distance. Nothing within that twenty-meter radius was unchanged, but by a one in ten-to-the-infinity chance, there was one person who survived, or as some may look at it, two.

As the universes ran over each other, two beings of altogether different natures from radically different universes collided. Each struggling in a hostile environment, the two minds fused in that basic purpose that defines all life – the will to live; they became united, mind, soul, and body.

Dust cleared, and in the middle of Seattle was a barren crater, where all was dead except one being. With ashen skin, white hair, and silver eyes, he took comfort in a single, all-encompassing thought.

I think… therefore, I am.

With that he crumpled to the ground, willing to let the rest of the imprecations of his existence wait until he was rested.

~!~!~

She had never seen the like. It was so incredibly impossible, but even as she ran from one patient to another, it began to cement in her brain that this was real. There were tales to explain some of these injuries—combusting refrigerators, shrinking jewelry, melting cars, animated doors, and bolts of lightning that shot from the ground to the sky—but the majority of the injuries could not be accounted for, like the unexpected pain many felt, stones lodged in bones that had never been broken, and all kinds of essential organ failures. Indeed, there had even been a few cases of radiation poisoning.

Dr. Killian wouldn’t have given credit to half of the strange tales she heard from her patients had it not been for the fact that something very odd had also happened to her. Her computer mouse had turned into what seemed to be a potato. It had looked like a potato, smelled like a potato, and tasted like a potato. The last she was not quite as sure off, because until today, she had never witnessed a potato taste anything.

She was saved from the nauseating memory of the spud happily chewing on her mousepad by a call over the intercom.

“Dr. Killian to intensive care 106… Dr. Killian to intensive care 106…”

She frowned unhappily. She was, like every other doctor for miles around, busy taking care of the mysterious flood of even more mysterious injuries. She should not be called away for a single isolated case when there were hundreds yet to be diagnosed. Nevertheless, with a few silent curses and a quick check of her omnipresent clipboard, she rushed to the elevator to the third floor, where all the intensive cases were kept.

When she arrived in room 106, she paused in confusion. The reasons were several. First, she was confused at the patient on the bed, who was, to all appearances, a child of nine or ten; second, she was confused by the presence of a pair of marines each holding what was, in her mind, a very large gun; finally, no matter how hard she tried she could not place the doctor looking over the child.

She addressed the other doctor with professional contempt.

“Sir, I would think that a man such as yourself would not permit non-medical staff into intensive care.” She turned and spoke to the marines in an even more condescending tone. “If you don’t mind, it would be generally appreciated if you two scat.”

One of the marines raised an eyebrow. “Are you Dr. Killian?”

Dr Killian sniffed. “I am, and senior ER surgeon. Now get before I call in…”

She paused, first because she was being roughly grabbed by the shoulders, and second because she wasn’t sure who she could call to remove the marines.

The marines roughly turned her to face the other doctor. He was tall, blond, and wore half-moon glasses. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver stick with several small LED lights. He held this directly in front of her eyes. As the lights began to shine in a sequence she found difficult to follow, she became less resistant. Half-heartedly realizing she was being hypnotized, and she began to cuss in a muted, unenthusiastic tone. She cut herself short as the man began speaking, wanting to be consciously aware of the terms she was being bound to.

“Everything,” he began in a singsong tenor voice, “that you witness in this room will not be mentioned outside this room. You are to keep the existence of this patient an absolute and complete secret. If anyone asks what is in this room, you will tell them that it is being used to test a new, more sensitive heart meter. It is not important, but it is delicate and very expensive. You are not to bring anyone here without my approval.”

The lights all flashed five times, and went dark. The doctor replaced the device in his pocket.

Dr. Killian glowered at the man as she shrugged off the marines. She walked up to the other doctor and stopped two inches from his nose. He didn’t so much as blink.

“Who the devil are you?” she asked.

“I am a member of the science branch of the United States Secret Service. You can call me anything you like. ‘Sir’ will suffice.”

“Well, ‘Sir’,” she said in an even tone, “would you care to tell me what I am doing here?”

He gestured towards the patient. “I want you to diagnose this boy as well as you can, keeping in mind that there will be significant irregularities.”

Dr. Killian raised an eyebrow at him, walked over to the bed, and began to look over the patient. She wanted to act offended, but what she saw interested her immensely.

“Poor color, but high heart rate. Temperature far too low. Breathing, perhaps slightly faster than normal for his size. Third degree burns over most of the body, but he appears to be several days into recovery.”

The other doctor cleared his throat. “It has only been a little over an hour since he was injured.”

Dr. Killian looked up at the other doctor. She frowned. “Then he is part of this phenomenon.” She looked back at the patient. “His limbs are disproportionate to the size of his body – far too long – and he only has four digits on each hand and foot. His ears are pointed. In short, I wouldn’t believe much of human medicine would apply to him.”

“I said there would be irregularities.”

She ignored him and continued, noticing the drip he was tied to.

“What’s that?”

“Water, nutrients, anesthesia.”

“So human medicines do work?”

“As far as I can tell.” He walked up to the patient. “However, I’m not sure how far we can trust this.” He pulled a sterile needle from a dispenser on the wall, took it out of it’s casing, and pricked the boy’s thumb. A translucent, almost silvery liquid welled up. Dr. Killian looked at it with a mixture of fascination and confusion.

“Not blood, but certainly not pus.” She looked up at the other doctor, her features placid. “Sir, I believe that this is this boy’s vascular fluid, his equivalent to blood.”

The other doctor nodded. “I think so, too.”

Dr. Killian continued to examine the patient, mostly with eyes, due to his extreme state, but her practiced hands touched here and there. She questioned the other doctor as she worked.

“Sir, couldn’t you tell me something of what created all these injuries? It would help.”

He sighed. “I wish there was something to tell. A massive explosion over in one of Boeing’s buildings seems to be the source, but it was a private, company matter. We have no record at all of what caused the explosion. Twenty meters spherical radius, everything totally destroyed – and I mean destroyed, as in nothing left. Nothing ‘cept him. He was at the very edge of the blast crater.”

“So he wasn’t the source.”

He blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t even considered that. No, I don’t see how he could be.”

Dr. Killian stepped back. “If what you say is true, it’s not only a miracle he’s alive, but he seems to be recovering at an exceptional pace.” Damned exceptional, it is several times the rate of a human’s heal time. She picked up her clipboard, turned to a clean page, and began to take notes. She stopped and chewed the end of her pen. “Minor question, but why here? There are several other hospitals closer to the blast zone – we’re quite a distance from Boeing. And if he’s transportable, why not take him, er, elsewhere. ”

He grimaced. “If you think your hospital is busy, think about the ones closer to the blast radius. They’re all filled to bursting. In fact, we have most of our own doctors there, dampening the effect, treating some of the strangest cases. He’s not really transportable, but even if he was, we can’t take him. The US Government is trying to play this one down, passing it off as an accidental nuke explosion. The SS is also suing Boeing for all it’s worth.”

“How can the SS sue Boeing?”

The other doctor gave a one sided smile. “Secretly.”

Dr. Killian didn’t push the matter. Instead, she pushed in a more fruitful direction.

“So, can you give me the best guess of just what exactly he is? And what type of explosion it was?”

“As for the explosion, think of all the different kinds, antimatter, nuclear, chemical, and make a tiny bomb of each, and detonate them all at once. And for what he is, he’s quasi-human. We have been able to distill some DNA, and it appears to be human, but it’s not enough to get his genotype. I take it you have seen some of the stranger effects of the incident.”

“Let’s just say I’m not going near my computer for a while.”

He raised an eyebrow and continued. “We assume that he is a full transformation of a sentient being.”

Dr. Killian blinked and swallowed. Heavens, she thought, I can’t do this! “Well, Sir, you seem to have done everything that I can do and everything I can’t. What do you need me for?”

The other doctor looked about to speak when a ringing noise came from his pocket. He pulled out a device that didn’t look entirely unlike a cell phone, pushed a couple buttons, and put it back in his pocket. He resumed at a hurried pace.

“I’ll make this short. The Service has all members it can on this job and we are still drastically short staffed. This boy, or whatever he is, is the only clue to what happened in that building. We need him alive, and don’t have the time or manpower to ensure this. I’m giving you that job. Keep him alive, at least until we can get some people out here.”

Dr. Killian stood, absolutely aghast. She began to stutter, and finally got out one or two weak ‘buts’.

“Too late, arrangements have been made. Bring in whoever you need for 24/7 med watch, and have the marines clear them with me.” He walked out the door, half running. Dr. Killian stared after him. She then looked at the boy on the bed.

“This is insane.”

~!~!~

“This is insane!”

The patient was thrashing again. The plastic straps on his wrists and ankles snapped as though they were dental floss. His mouth was wide open, and a sound like a bicycle-tire leak, but much louder, was coming out of it. His eyes remained closed inside a face that was drawn, and the pulse, registered at the thin, bony wrists, was practically the same high rate that it had been when he first saw him. His breathing actually slowed, although it, like his pulse, was still fast for a human.

Which, she had firmly decided, he wasn’t.

Just a little bundle of contradictions, aren’t you? She thought bitterly as she pulled out four more plastic straps. The patient had begun to thin again over the last week, almost as though he wasn’t getting some vital nutrient. The result was these fits. She turned to the assistant she had convinced the Service to let her have. “Anita, open the blinds.”

Anita hesitated. “I thought Sir said – “

“I don’t care what he said,” she replied with medical serenity. “This is my patient, and I say open the blinds.”

Anita rushed over and opened the blinds, allowing full sunlight to fall on the patient. He immediately stopped his thrashing. His mouth closed a little, and the hissing slowly became quiet. Finally, the mouth closed, and the whole body went limp. His skin took on a strange opalescence, and Dr. Killian thought that if the sun suddenly went out, he would bee seen to glow.

It was usually like this. Somehow, the sunlight clamed the boy, but Sir had insisted that the blinds be closed. “Eyes everywhere” was always his reason.

She began to replace the straps that had broken during the patient’s fit. Anita stared at him in fascination. As Dr. Killian finished, one of the marines cleared his throat.

“What is it?” Asked the doctor, not looking up.

“Ma’am, he’ll be here within the hour.”

She stood up and groaned. “Oh well, there goes my peace and quiet.” She rubbed her head, running through her mental plan of action. It had been almost a month since she had taken on this patient, and she had done nothing but observe. She had finally decided to make an effort to help the poor creature. Weeks of anesthetic drip had to have had a negative effect. Well, that’s going to be the first thing to go. “Anita.”

The nurse looked up.

“Go get another drip, this one without anesthetic.”

Anita left the room without argument.

Dr. Killian sat down in one of the nearby chairs and began to record her observations of the patient. She noted his pulse, which had remained unchanged, and his breathing, which had now slowed to that of a deep sleep. She looked at the patient, and thought that in the last few minutes, the boy had become less thin. She looked at the monitor, and was shocked to find that he had, in fact, put on some mass. She shook her head, noted the change, and continued to write things down. She added this fit to her makeshift timeline, which dated such things as the disappearance of the burns, times when he was listless, and two other fits like this one. As she reviewed her data, she couldn’t help but sigh.

I never wanted this case, she thought with fervor, but it’s mine now, and I intend to help this boy! I don’t care what Sir says or does!

He arrived in half an hour, and Anita arrived just behind him with the drip. His face took on a stormy look as he noticed the blinds were open. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Killian cut him off.

“Just deal with it. I’ve installed those full-spectrum lights, and they didn’t help one mite. If you want to keep people from looking in, figure out how to do it without blocking the light.”

He looked at Dr. Killian in shock. He then shook his head. “I’m sorry doctor, it’s your case. I shouldn’t second-guess you.” He walked over to the window. “It’s safe for the moment because I’m here and we’ve got the place heavily covered. But I will see what I can do.”

“I have ordered some privacy glass, if you can pull strings to get it installed.”

He stared at her in shock again. She shifted in her seat. “What did I do wrong now?”

He blinked and laughed. “Nothing at all,” he said. “I’ve just gotten so used to thinking in high-tech terms that I hadn’t even considered it.” He turned and eyed Anita and the drip she was tying up. “What is in that?”

Dr. Killian stood up and walked close, stopping just behind him. “Just the water-nutrient solution.”

He turned and looked back at her. “You intend to let him come too. That could take hours.”

She shook her head. “Evidence points to a super-high metabolism. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

Anita pulled out one of the clean needles and attached it to the drip. She looked to Dr. Killian for confirmation, and slid the needle into one of the veins, and removed the other needle.

As an afterthought, Dr. Killian motioned for the marines to attention. They looked scared.

Sir looked around at all the somber faces. “What do you expect? He’s just a kid.”

“No,” replied Dr Killian, “He isn’t.”

~!~!~

Mikayla Killian fastened the combination lock on her bicycle chain. Standing, she brushed off her blue-and-gray plaid skirt and pulled up her single wayward sock. She reached down and hefted her backpack, flipping her red, straight hair out of the way as she did so. She walked up the short stretch of sidewalk to the large glass hospital doors. They automatically whooshed open as she approached. She walked inside and approached the second set, which also snapped open. She smoothed her hair down as she walked in. She strode up to the reception desk. The secretary looked up and smiled.

“Hello Mikayla.”

“Hello Ms. Jansen,” Mikayla replied. She blinked her hazel eyes as she studied the older woman. “Where is momma?”

“I’m afraid she’s working that machine again.”

Mikayla pouted her best seven-year-old pout. “That machine seems to need a lot of work.”

Ms. Jansen nodded. “It needs almost constant supervision. So why don’t you be patient and wait over there,” she said, indicating the waiting room chairs. “We got some new books just yesterday.”

Mikayla perked up a little at the word “books.” She thanked the receptionist and went and sat down in one of the never-quite-comfortable chairs. She picked up a book, entitled “Vampires don’t wear polka dots.”

She had just finished the first chapter when she heard a loud thump come from somewhere above her. She looked up, startled. A second loud thump shook the whole building, and the lights flickered out, and then back on.

Frightened, she ran to the front desk. Sorely shaken, she spoke in worried tones.

“Ms. Jansen, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” The woman looked down at her various machines, one of which told her what breakers could flip. The light for ICU 106 was out. “It looks like it’s from intensive care 106 – “

“Momma!” wailed Mikayla. Ignoring Ms. Jansen’s protest, she ran for the elevator, pushed for the third floor, and said a silent prayer.

God, please let my momma be okay.

~!~!~

Dr. Killian could barely breathe as she watched him stir. His hands clenched and unclenched several times. She looked up briefly to see Sir wipe his glasses on his shirt and then replace them. She then looked down just in time to see the boy open his eyes.

They were shockingly silver. The irises were perfectly round, but the pupils were taller than they were wide, giving the eyes something of a cat-like aspect. They shone with hardness that unnerved Dr. Killian. They scanned the room several times. He began to turn his head and then suddenly stopped, as though disturbed by the movement. He clenched his hands, deliberately unclenched them, and then, shaking, brought them close to his face. He looked at them, his face expressionless, but his body tensed in terror.

?!?

He managed to communicate his horror completely. It terrified him that he should have a body that consisted of mater, much less that he should exist in a world made entirely of the stuff. Underneath the horror laid confusion. He knew this should not be strange or menacing, but it was. It was an innermost conflict that almost knocked them over with its intensity.

Dr. Killian took a deep breath to steady herself. She looked down at him and smiled. Keeping her tone even, she spoke.

“Good morning.”

His attention snapped back to her. He stared at her. Slowly, he sat up in the bed. He was still shaking and his fear was beginning to show on his face. He examined her with those sharp silvery eyes. His eyes then slowly began to unfocus, still retaining their sharpness. His hands crept upward, digging into his wild, dingy white hair. His skin, which was a sort of grayish tint, pricked up in tiny goose bumps, and he continued to shake. The tension, fear, and confusion continued to build. Finally, he threw his head back, and his mouth opened in a screaming hiss.

No! I don’t understand!

Dr. Killian felt herself pressed back against the wall. She hit gently, but there was no doubt that massive amounts of energy were passing through her to the wall. The whole room was shaking. The pressure quickly let up. Dr. Killian fell to the floor and began to throw up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the marines step forward to restrain the boy. Before she could warn them, they too were pushed back. They fell to the floor unconscious. The window and door blew open with the second blast. She thought ironically that there were going to be, very shortly, “eyes everywhere,” and they were all going to be focused on this room.

Sir and Anita backed away from the bedside, but the boy was still out of control. The drip stand fell over, and papers went flying out into the hallway or out the broken window.

Dr. Killian managed to control her still queasy stomach. She stood up, discovered she was in a large amount of pain, and tried to approach the bed again. She tripped over her own two feet and fell flat on her face. She heard her nose break, cursed inwardly and tried to get up. She barely got to her knees when she heard a voice that didn’t belong here.

“Momma!”

She looked up in shock. In the open doorway stood her daughter.

Mikayla quickly looked at the two downed marines, then at Sir and Anita cowering against the far wall. Finally she looked at the boy, who was still screaming in pain and confusion. He was still broadcasting his pain and conflict, but unlike the others, who had reacted with fear, Mikayla reacted with compassion. She slowly began to walk into the room. She stepped on a piece of paper, and the boy paused his screaming to look at her. She stood still, holding both hands palm forward in front of her.

Please don’t hurt me! She thought as loudly as she could. The boy unclenched his hands a little and continued to stare at her.

Hurt? His eyes returned to Dr. Killian, who was busy trying to prevent copious amounts of blood from spilling out of her nose onto the floor. Mikayla took another step forward, and the sharp eyes immediately turned back to her.

“It’s alright. They just want to make you feel better. That’s what my momma does, she helps people who are sick.”

His doubt was felt by all in the room, but he lowered his hands and continued to stare at Mikayla. She took another step and another. Finally, she reached out and touched his hand. The two children locked eyes and stood like that for several seconds. Dr. Killian felt another surge of energy, but somehow wasn’t disturbed by it.

The children broke off contact. Mikayla sat on the edge of the bed, and all the tenseness seemed to have run out of the boy. He slumped, and his sharp eyes became hooded. Gently, Mikayla laid him back. Anita gasped, Sir sucked in a breath, and Dr. Killian just continued to stare dumbly. In Mikayla’s hands, the alien being large enough to be a ten-year-old boy had transformed into a perfectly human boy of perhaps six years.

A couple of heavily armed (Dr. Killian wasn’t sure with what) soldier-esque men appeared in the door. Sir began to converse wildly with them from across the bed. Dr. Killian finally regained her doctor’s composure. She stood up, still holding a sleeve to her nose.

“Hey!”

Sir, Anita, and the two men looked at her. “Out, all of you, except Anita.” She gestured at the two fallen marines. “Take them with you. My patient is resting and the last thing I want is for him to wake up again.” Sir looked perturbed, but went around the bed and out of the room. The two soldier-esque men grabbed the marines by the shoulders and dragged them out. Dr. Killian approached the bed.

“Mikayla,” she said softly. Her daughter didn’t stir. She repeated the name more firmly.

The girl looked up at her mother. She looked so sad; Dr. Killian’s heart almost broke.

“You need to leave, too. He really is sick and badly hurt. Like everyone, he’ll heal better if he isn’t bothered.”

“I know, Momma, but he is so sad. He lost all his family and he can’t remember who he is. He was just so scared when he woke up and nothing felt right.”

Dr. Killian peered down her aching nose at her daughter. “How do you know that?”

Mikayla continued to look solemn as she answered. “He let me in his head.”

Dr. Killian continued to chew on that as she ushered her daughter outside and closed the door. She stood motionless for a few seconds before turning back to look at the boy.

“Anita, close the blinds. What was is past, and we can always open them again.”

~!~!~

Mikayla entered her sparse apartment. She took off a black trench coat and hat. She hung them on the nearby coat rack, which was made of wrought iron. Streamlets of water dropped down, leaving a small puddle on the stone entryway. She walked through her living/dining room, leaving soggy footprints on the white tile and red area carpet. She opened the white door to her bedroom. As she entered she kicked a pair of brown dress boots off and sunk her feet into the plush red shag. She walked over to her bed and flopped face forward into her navy blue comforter.

“Pathetic. Just pathetic,” she muttered into the soft fabric. She tangled her hands in her hair. It was no longer pin straight, and the gentle auburn waves cascaded across her cheek as she removed the comb that held them up. She let one of her hands fall to the mattress while the other massaged her temple.

“I’m getting a migraine…” she said, her crisp soprano voice muted by the bedding.

In the bathroom, she opened a prescription bottle. She looked at the pills, and then looked at a drug manual. She ran her finger down the tissue thin page. She pulled out two pills, and then put the bottle back.

“Not quite enough to knock me cold…” she muttered.

Dressed in an XXL tee and broadcloth pants, she re-entered the bedroom. She flopped lengthwise across the bed; face up this time, with her head hanging down on one side and her feet on the other. She stared blankly out the large glass double doors and onto her small balcony. Even with her upside-down view, it was totally empty.

Some year, she thought to herself, I’m going to decorate that area.

She rolled over, sat up, and crawled between the sheets head down.

Sure the heck ain’t going to be this year.

Her long, thin feet rested on her pillow. One pointed straight toward the headboard, and the other pointed toward the large-face digital clock radio that was sitting, along with a phone, on the end table. The clock read 20:34

The phone began to ring, it’s clear bell waking Mikayla. Under the sheets she covered her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the noise. Finally, she emerged from the covers and picked up the phone.

“Hello, Mikayla Killian.” Her voice was crisp and clear, but her face showed tired red eyes, which she rubbed violently to wake herself.

“Hey, M.K. How you doing?”

Mikayla was suddenly wide awake.

“Jason? Is that you?”

“Yeah, been while since you’ve heard my voice, hasn’t it?”

“Since Junior year! How is the genius?”

“Don’t be sarcastic! Just because I graduated when I was 16 –“

“…Doesn’t make you a genius, you keep saying that.”

“M.K., that’s all I did. You saw my English grades. They were barely passing.”

“But your Math –“

“I hate math.”

“– Your Science then. It was astounding.”

“Correction: my Chemistry and Physics were astounding. You know I struggled with Biology. Not like you, Miz top-of-the-line RN.”

“I’m not an RN yet, I still need my residency.”

“Ah. So, what are you doing right now?”

Mikayla bit her lip before she answered. Is it possible he doesn’t know?

“I’m working in a nursing home. Good pay, good experience, nice bonuses, And I only work a few hours a day. You?”

“I’ve got a nice cushy job managing this company website. It pays pretty well, and it’s easy going because the guys over there are pretty tech-savvy.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah… listen, Mikayla, we both know that I didn’t call just to chat you up.”

Oh damn, he does know. She thought bitterly

“Darcy told me. How you holding up?”

“You hear me Jason, I’m fine.”

“I hear you… I don’t see your face.”

“I could take a picture.”

“Don’t dodge me. How are you?”

She didn’t say anything for a long while. Finally she spoke, letting the exhaustion creep into her voice.

“It’s tough, Jase. First all that red tape and the investigation, then the funeral. I’ve been too busy to hurt.”

“Liar.”

Damn! Thought Mikayla as tears filled her eyes. Why does he have to know me so well! Just because we’ve been friends since fourth grade!

“Jason, you’re making me cry.”

“Listen, if I know you, you’ve been tearing up, but won’t let yourself carry on. So I’m here to tell you to carry on.”

“Jason…”

“Go on already.”

The gentle command was more than she could resist. Mikayla burst into violent sobs. She pulled her knees in close and rested her head on them. She let the receiver fall and sat with tears running down her cheeks.

Oh, momma, what happened…

Visions of the wreck, memories of her mother’s broken face flooded Mikayla’s mind. The torturous time trying to find the other driver involved had kept her busy, as had the funeral arrangements. And all the people, none of whom had anything better to say than “I’m so sorry,” and “she’s in a better place now,” had taken their toll as well. Jason was right; she hadn’t let herself cry.

Faintly, from the receiver, she heard Jason whistling “only a fool” on the other side of the line. She continued to cry, and eventually her sobs disappeared into quiet tears. Finally, she stopped entirely. She picked up the receiver and spoke in an exhausted voice.

“Hey, Jase?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Anything for a friend. Oh, and some other news. The company I work for is based out of Puyallup. They want me to re-locate so I’m closer. I see no reason why I can’t find a place in Sea-Tac or somewhere therebouts. We’ll talk about it later. Night.”

“Night Jason.”

Mikayla put the phone on the hook. She crawled into her covers again, head up this time, as she yawned broadly. Good thing I don’t have duty tomorrow, she thought idly. She then recalled Jason’s words and his now mature, soothing voice. Anything for a friend. I wonder, she thought as she drifted off, if that’s it. She giggled like a schoolgirl and then closed her eyes and shut out the world.

~!~!~

“Hey! TV goes in this room!”

Mikayla watched in curiosity as Jason tried to herd the pair of muscular moving men in the right direction. She giggled as they stared at him with all the bovine intelligence they had as he physically blocked the way into the bedroom, waving his arms back the way they had come. The men tuned around and put their burden on top of a box labeled ‘books’. Jason cringed, but nodded in desperation.

“Close enough. Go get the box labeled ‘lamps,’ but be careful! The box actually has lamps in it!”

Mikayla looked at one of the other movers who was industriously carrying three boxes into the small kitchen. Unfortunately, they were labeled ‘sheets,’ ‘bathroom,’ and ‘pillows.’ Mikayla burst out laughing. She gasped as she fell over the small end table she had been carrying and landed on the linoleum floor with a loud thunk. Her laugh became hysterical. Jason glared at her; his face was something between amused and frustrated.

“Some help you are,” he said loudly.

Mikayla suppressed her laughter till it was only a quiet snicker. Hoping she was in control of herself, she attempted to stand up, only to find that she had tangled one leg in the decorative faux wood paneling of the end table. She tried to pull it free, but the table was too light and moved with her. She sat and wriggled for some time, to no avail.

Jason came to her rescue. He grabbed the table with both hands and held it steady as she pulled free.

“You know, I think I figured out why these guys get paid by the hour.”

Mikayla burst out laughing again, and this time, Jason joined her. She gasped and struggled to once again suppress her giggles.

“Jeez, Jason, it’s been to long. I can’t stand up to your jokes anymore.”

He glared at her in annoyance. “I missed you too, hyena. Are you going to help or what?” he proffered his hand. Mikayla examined him before accepting, taking in his long, toned limbs, his sculpted face, and sandy brown hair. His blue eyes danced in merriment, even as he glared at her. She grabbed his hand, and he pulled her easily to her feet. She brushed herself off, even though the apartment was clean. He eyed her in curiosity, and she blushed.

“So we’ve both changed a bit since high school,” she said, hoping to defuse the situation.

He grinned sheepishly and headed out the door to get another box, while she grabbed the end table and moved on to the bedroom.

_!_!_

Jason watched as she left, walking toward the bus stop. She looked so much more mature then when he had left for Montana.

I wonder how much of that has come about since Dr. Killian’s death.

He sighed inwardly, for half a moment wondering if that death was part of something bigger. He shook his head at his own paranoia, and turned back inside.

Boxes stood here and there, many of them in less than logical areas. The small three-room apartment was designed for those who had little, and intended to move on to larger things. The fact that he actually had quite a bit, and had no intention to go anywhere, didn’t change the fact that it was suited to him.

It was plain. There were no built-in shelves, not even a closet. He had brought in all of his own furniture, and had even brought in his own appliances. The walls were plain and bare, and he intended them to stay that way.

The windows were all privacy glass, and they were small and narrow. A person who knew him only a little would have been shocked at his preference for the bare-bones style and tight, private quarters. He had his reasons.

He went into his bedroom and walked through it to the bathroom beyond. It was only a tiny, ¾ bathroom, but he had managed to fit a small cabinet in it. He opened it up and proceeded to fill it with towels and rags from a box just outside the door.

A vibration in his pocket distracted him, and he briefly considered not answering it. He gave in, flipping open the cell phone and leaning against the white pedestal sink.

“Jason Livingston,” he said, allowing his annoyance to sneak in to the corners of his voice.

“Hello, Jason.”

A chill ran down his back as he instantly recognized the speaker. Darcy had been his caretaker and legal guardian ever since he was six. He was of no known relation to Jason, and while he had always been kind, he was rather aloof, and Jason had never really thought of him as a parent.

“Hello, Sir.”

“I trust you have found your accommodations to your liking?”

Darcy was always saying things like that, insinuating that he knew more than he could know within reason. Jason had long ago decided that Darcy was hiding something, and had soon after decided that he didn’t care what it was. All the same, he sort of whished Darcy could have left him alone for a few days.

“Of course.”

“I shall once again remind you that I disapprove of this.”

Jason rolled his eyes and groaned. Apparently Darcy was not going to let him forget the fight they had had just before Jason had left.

Jason heard Darcy sigh on the other end. “it’s more than the accident, Jason. Sometimes I really wish you could remember… oh forget it.” Darcy sounded thoroughly annoyed.

Jason stayed silent. He didn’t see what his past as a Boeing victim had to do with any of this. Especially as he couldn’t remember anything before his time in the hospital.

“Just, well, be careful. I’m not the only one with a skeleton in my closet.”

Darcy hung up. Jason sat looking at his phone for several minutes.

Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?

_!_!

“Hey! Mikayla! Are you awake?”

Mikayla started and looked at Rayane in surprise. It was weeks later. She was sitting in the staff room of the nursing home, eating her lunch. What had she been thinking about? Something to do with room 106… but that wasn’t even in her jurisdiction.

“Mikayla!”

She started again. “Sorry! Um, what were you saying?”

The older woman leaned forward. “I was asking if you wanted to go out with me and Jamie tonight. We’ll go to Lemon, get some of their java, and some dessert…”

“Sorry,” she said, flipping a strand of hair out of her face. “ I don’t think I’m up to it.”

“No kidding.”

Mikayla leaned back and stretched. “I don’t know what’s up. I just feel weird.”

“Whatever you say. If you change your mind…”

“I’ll text you.”

!_!

Jason sighed and dropped the forms on his bed. I had taken him almost two hours to find the meeting hall where the local recreational soccer team met from his company meeting. Three weeks from his move-in and he still had problems negotiating the terrain and roads, not that the rain had helped. Still, the deed was done, and the team here was far more competitive than the one he had been on in Billings.

He rubbed his face in annoyance. Of course, navigating the Puget Sound was hard on a good day, and he hadn’t been feeling up to snuff lately.

He shook himself out of a mild daze and decided a good drive was what he needed. No frantic looking for streets, just old fashioned drive-till-you’re-lost cruising.

He grabbed his corduroy jacket from the end table, pulled the keys out of the pocket, and was out the door without a second thought. He walked down the small steps, hardly proper-sized at all, and pointed the remote at the car. The lights blinked obligingly as he covered the last two feet to the door. He yanked it open, slid inside, turned the ignition, and was moving before the door closed again.

You’re not yourself, Jase. He thought as he drove. He made an arbitrary right turn.

“Ok, then what’s my problem?” he wondered aloud. He stopped at a light, waited, and then turned left. He pondered a while longer before giving up and turning his thoughts in a new direction.

It was nice to see M.K. again. She’s dong well.

Looking good too.

Jeez.

He made another left, found himself on the freeway, and set the cruise control.

She’s my friend, not my romantic interest.

But… why not? You act like it’s never been done before.

He took a random exit at one of the myriad of junctions. He adjusted his speed accordingly.

I should give it time. I’m too confused right now.

I’m always confused.

He passed a truck.

Pity. Shall I laugh or shall I cry?

“Cry,” he said definitively as he took an exit, knowing that another day would bring a different answer to that question.

He brought the car to a halt as he realized he was driving into an empty lot adjoining a chain-link fence. He looked around in surprise as he turned off the ignition. Slowly, he opened the door and got out.

The lot obviously hadn’t been used in years. There were bits of debris scattered about, and an old roll of linoleum sat decaying in one corner. He looked west, through the fence, and he could see the sun beneath the rain clouds, barely tinting them orange. As he approached the fence, more and more light began to creep from below the desolate gray, warming his face. He felt strange, as though he was halfway between his bed and the floor after rolling over one too many times. He reached out a hand and touched the bent, interlocking metal wires, trying to comprehend the wasteland on the other side.

“It’s Boeing,” he said suddenly, recognizing the barren crater from pictures he had seen ever since he was a child. And he knew it couldn’t be coincidence. There had to be a reason he had come here. Without warning, Darcy’s words from that day weeks ago echoed back to him.

“I’m not the only one with a skeleton in my closet.”

“Could he have something to do with this?” he wondered aloud.

He realized he was breathing heavily, but slowly. Still, it seemed that no mater how much air he drew in, it was just little less than what he needed. His heart began to race, and he felt like he was being pulled… well, not up, but certainly not in any of the other directions either.

Suddenly a curtain sprang out of the ground on the other side of the fence. It was clear and insubstantial, like a crack in a thick piece of glass. It expanded, rushing past him on his right side, and out toward the brightening horizon at the same time. Startled, he stepped back, still trying to take in gulps of air. The pulling sensation intensified, and he felt himself sliding in that direction. His grip on the chain-link grew tighter as he resisted. Then all of it, the pulling, the curtain, and the thin air all seemed to disappear.

A nagging feeling in the back of his throat suggested that it hadn’t gone far. He put a tentative hand out to where the curtain had run. The pulling sensation resumed, as did his rapid pulse. Quickly he drew his hand back again.

I could touch it, he thought. All I would have to do is let myself slip and I could touch it.

He walked back to his car, carefully avoiding the area where the curtain had bisected the lot. As he drove away, he knew that wherever he went, he could find that line.

The question is, he brooded, why?

!_!

Darcy picked up the phone. It had been ringing for several minutes, and he had decided the only way to get the solicitor to stop was to pick up. He held the phone to his ear, but said nothing.

“Mr. Coleman?”

He stayed silent.

“Your presence is requested at the local free-air meeting.”

He still remained silent, but noted the code words. He was retired, and had no real desire to go back to work in this lifetime, but if there was a real need –

“Mr. Coleman, we would like you to speak on the effects of the 2042 Boeing Tragedy – “

“WHAT?” he roared.

“The meeting is six o’clock, Tuesday the twenty-ninth. Will you be in attendance?”

He took several breaths and schooled his voice before he answered, using code words he hoped weren’t too out of date.

“I’m sorry, I have a prior engagement. When is the next meeting after that?”

“I’m afraid our next meeting won’t be for several months.”

He puzzled over that for a few moments, unsure of the hidden message. But it seemed that the situation was urgent.

“I suppose I could try to make arrangements. Are you available later this evening?”

“Certainly, sir.”

He hung up without comment, his mind intent on the purloined-letter topic of the conversation. He had thought the Boeing incident to be dead. He was wrong.

He walked off to find his most comfortable pair of shoes, knowing it was going to be a long evening.

!_!

Mikayla got off the bus from the hospital after her shift. To her surprise, Jason was waiting there for her.

“Thought you might like a ride,” he said, pointing to his car.

Gratefully she slid into the passenger seat and buckled in. He got in beside her and pulled out of the lot. They sat in companionable silence for a while as he drove.

“How is your job going?”

“A little rocky. They just lost their network admin, so I’ve been filling in here and there.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

“It’s been rough. We had some crazy cases this week. Especially today. Two of our workers got in accidents on the way to work.”

“Not that life is ever easy when it comes to medicine.”

She looked over at him. “Are you all right?”

He continued to stare straight ahead. “I’m a little jittery. Like the night before finals.”

“Weird.” she said. She unbuckled as he pulled up to the front of her apartment complex. She opened the door and carefully examined the placement of the puddles before turning back for a final greeting.

“Take care of yourself,” she said.

“You too, M.K.,” he replied as she closed the door. She watched him drive away before mounting the steps to get to her third-floor room.

!_!

In another universe so unlike this one that organic life was regarded as inferior, inefficient, and unintelligent, lives a race of beings that subsist solely on energy, and matter is by and large a poisonous substance. They have no body, only a mind. Living and growing slowly, maturing in periods of thousands of years, these beings are philosophers, collectors of knowledge. During the explosion, there was one of these, very young by it’s races standards, which hung in the very spot that the six-year-old boy did.