I was the one who was angry. Infuriated. She needed me. Not him! I had to find a way to stop all this nonsense with Ron.
Em, he called her and she liked it. Showed what love did. Overpowered good sense, that’s what. Em. Such a little name for such a grand soul.
*
Ron woke alone the next morning, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He pulled Em’s pillow to his face and inhaled deeply. Her lingering scent aroused him again. He looked around for her. She wasn’t there. He panicked, cursed, and flailed about.
“Em! Em!” Ron searched for her dress, yanked the bathroom door open. “Em!”
“What? What’s wrong?” She ran into the bedroom. He spun to face her.
“Where the hell were you?”
“Pardon me?”
“I thought you’d gone. I woke up and you weren’t here. I thought I’d imagined the whole thing. God, Em! Don’t do that. Don’t disappear on me.” He was almost shouting.
“Jesus, Ron. Stop it! Just stop it, will you.” She couldn’t handle his fears. She had enough of her own.
“Em, you scared the hell out of me. Don’t you see? I thought you were gone. I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d imagined the whole thing. I thought—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t leave without telling you. Don’t you know me better than that?”
“No, I don’t! Hell, I don’t even know if you’re real.”
“After last night? You don’t know if I’m real?” She was furious with hurt. How could he say that, after the lovemaking, the intimacies they had shared?
Her anger dissolved at the sight of his stricken face. “Let’s start over.” She walked out of the room, watched the news from three different countries; nothing to worry about at the moment. She took a deep breath. Time to try again. She went back to the bedroom. Ron’s hair was wet from the shower and he was wearing the red plaid robe she’d left for him. It matched hers. He was opening and closing dresser drawers.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” She tried to keep her voice light but it wavered a little. “Throw me your towel. I’ll add it to the load.” She returned from the laundry room with an armful of fresh linens. She showed Ron how to make the bed with hospital corners. He countered with army strategy. They decided they were both anal and collapsed on the bed laughing. They’d recovered nicely, thank God.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.” Em took his hand and dragged him to the kitchen. He glanced back at the bed and she knew he was hungry for something other than food.
As they walked through the living room, Ron pulled her to a stop. “Em, this house, is it yours?”
“No, on loan.”
“The decorations and the furniture, are they what you would pick for yourself?”
She looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “No, I would like a house that didn’t look so much like a showroom and the decorations would be family mementos or souvenirs from trips mostly.”
“What's your favorite piece?”
“A small bronze statue of a goatherd from West Africa. He's walking with a stick over his shoulders, his hands resting on the ends of the stick. For me, it symbolizes everything about the remoteness and solitude of life in the sub-Sahara.”
“Your house is lived in, but neat and tidy. No clutter.”
“Um.”
“And not too big.”
“Smaller than this, I think.” Now why had she said that? Images of rooms, furnished as she’d described, floated in her head. Was that her real home? Something on the television cruelly interjected. Damn, she missed it. Oh well, if it was important the voice would do something.
She reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss, then opened the fridge and took out a carton of eggs.
Ron found onion and tomatoes and cheese. “But Em, why me? I mean, the whole world is in love with you. Children idolize you and play Miracle Madame games of heroic adventures. Teens imitate you and are involving themselves in social issues. Women want to be your friend. As for men, they all want to get you in the sack.”
“Okay Ron, go ahead. Pull the other leg.”
“Em, it’s true. Don’t you watch the news, read the papers?”
“I stopped watching anything related to me after the first couple of weeks.”
“Why?”
“The reports told me nothing.” Nothing that I needed to know.
“Then you don’t know about all the speculation either? That you’re—”
“No, don’t tell me. I’d rather not know.”
“But how do you—?”
“It just happens.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. All I know is that I have a job to do. Powers gave it to me.”
“What do you mean, powers?” He spoke softly and held his breath.
She smiled grimly. I guess he thinks that if he keeps me talking, he’ll have some answers. “Ron, I can’t explain. Powers is what I call them. They tell me so little. I don’t fully understand it myself.” That was true, but even if she did understand it, she wouldn’t tell him. She couldn’t. She thought it would be the voice that would stop her from telling.
“Do they have a name? Do you see them?”
“I hear a voice, a deep soothing voice. It’s seductive, that voice. Sucks me in every time. Never answers all my questions.”
“Where are they?” Ron had his back to her, chopping veggies and slicing cheese while they talked. She could see the tension in his stance as he waited for her reply.
“Somewhere up there.” Em glanced at the ceiling and saw the earth spinning away from her. “Way up there.” She found bread and the toaster.
“I don’t know if you can understand this, but try to imagine huge holes in your life. You have a shadowy feeling of who you are and what you are doing, but you know that you also have another self, a life that is apart from this one. Only you have no full conscious memories of that life. You don’t know where you live, what you do, but you do know that life is there. You have no real grasp of either self.”
“I don’t understand.” Ron turned to face her. “You mean you’re not Em?”
“Yes, I’m Em, but I’m someone else too. No, that’s not right. I’m me, but I have another life somewhere. A while ago you asked if my house was like this and I told you no. I know my house is different, but I don’t know how I know that. Remember at the restaurant, I told you all about my favorite movies, TV shows, what I like and don’t like. Or the next day with the kids? I told them I spent a lot of time with teens, never read Shakespeare and loved physics. That stuff just popped out as I talked so I guess it’s from the real me.”
“Do you mean that when you’re not Em, you go home, but then when you are Em again you have no memories of that home?”
“Exactly. And what about the time before Em? And when I’m me, do I know about this Em half of my life?”
“God, that’s like having amnesia or something. How do you handle it?”
“Not very well, most of the time. I’ve been having some bizarre dreams.” She gestured helplessly. “I remember every single detail, yet, they make no sense. I think maybe the dreams are trying to help me bring my two halves together.”
“But maybe if you watched the stuff about Em it would help, somehow?”
“I can’t.”
“Or won’t?”
Oh Ron, thank you for asking. That he dared to question made her proud of him and happy. She thought that meant he wouldn’t treat her differently just because of who she was and that was what she needed from him—some fragments of normalcy. “A bit of both probably. I’m too scared to watch.”
God, I’m such a liar. I wasn’t scared at all. I loved seeing myself. But, after the first couple of weeks something stopped me from watching the news. The Powers guy, I’m sure. Probably worried I’d become full of myself. I don’t think I would have.
“I can’t i
magine you afraid of anything.”
“I’m always worried that I’ve done something terribly wrong.”
“But if you watched the news you would know how successful you are.”
“Successful by whose standards, whose criteria? Mine? How the hell do I know what’s right for the world?” She heard the hysteria in her voice and fought desperately to control it.
“The powers.” Ron seemed to be attacking the eggs with the whisk. If he kept that up, the omelet would be black and blue.
“You watch the news. What do the so-called experts have to say about me?”
Ron’s movements slowed. “Some swear that you are God incarnate and saving mankind from itself. Others think you are the answer to all our problems and if only they could quiz you, they could write the definitive ‘how to’ book for living. You’ve been accused of interfering without the right to do so. There are even people who are convinced that you’ve been sent from another planet with the ultimate goal of destroying Earth.” Ron stopped. “There’s more, but I think I’ve already said too much.”
“You see! Nobody knows, least of all me. Only history will show if what I’ve tried to do is right or not and I’ll never know. Ron, I’m just this little person with a little life out there somewhere that I can’t even find and I’m playing with the world’s destiny. That scares the hell out of me.”
“But you never appear afraid of anything,” Ron ventured.
“When I’m working I’m not afraid, but after, the memories of the things I experience, the things I see….” The images, ever so vivid, with complete camera cruelty. She closed her eyes, went silent and still.
Looting, pillaging, and plundering not confined to the middle ages. Skinny wild dogs, heads lowered, snarling and desperate guarding the dead—their dinner. Distended bellies, dull hopeless eyes, street-torn children. But then, wasn’t everyone street torn? Decomposing bodies, blood-soaked blankets, mass graves, flies swarming. And the stench. The unsanitized war of the real world. She understood now—how dogs could smell a person’s fear.
“The things I hear….”
The rote platitudes of those afraid to speak freely. The growls and grunts of war machines as they settled into their jobs with relish and satisfaction. The whines and screams of live ammunition. The silence of death, which wasn’t silent at all—the rustling and scurrying of souls departing, of insects and carrion feasting, the mewling of orphaned kittens, the pathetic peeps of baby birds, the whimpers of broken trees, bleeding leaves, and crushed grass; they sounded the same everywhere, were recognizable, understandable in any language.
“The things I do….”
Ordering, threatening, coercing, terrorizing. Handling hundreds of photos attempting to help in the search of missing family. Consoling when they weren’t found—and when they were. Entering torture chambers—modern dungeons; such a thin line between past and present. Cleaning blood, excrement, and maggots from countless bodies, those bodies; little more than pliable bags of water. Attempting to place them in some semblance of comfort and dignity.
Flashpoint, fly-over, crossfire, blue on blue, checkpoints, rendition, shock and awe, bombs away, bombs astray—smart bombs that weren’t so smart after all.
In a rush, the reality of her memories erupted. “Not just in my dreams,” she gasped. “Not just in my dreams.” Her memories were grains of sand without the pearls, grown large and sharp, grating at her constantly.
She opened her eyes, saw Ron, his face a bloody gaping hole; his features reassembled on the dying echoes of her scream. He was her Ron again.
His face was white, his eyes wide. She had scared the hell out of him and she wasn’t sorry. His fears absorbed and eased some of hers and she could breathe again.
“Ron enveloped her, closed his body around her as if the physical act of a mere hug could protect and shield her.
Thank God I found you,” she whispered. “Thank God.”
Chapter 29
Elspeth! I needed Elspeth. She was the only one who could help me. I sent a message for her to come, then cancelled it and sent another saying I’d come to her. We met halfway, in the central gazebo which was blessedly vacant.
“Yves, what is it? Your call was so loud my ear vibrated.”
I thought I’d masked my emotional unease, but it had obviously leached into my message. “Elspeth, this is very … personal. You’re the only one I can talk to about….” Guardian, this was so hard.
Elspeth reached over and took my hand in hers. Her touch soothed me. “Take a deep breath.” I did. “Another.” I did. Very calming, this breathing business. “Now, can you talk?”
I nodded. “I’ve been watching them, Em and him.”
“Her lover.”
I gulped. “Yes.”
“What do you need to know?”
“Everything!”
Elspeth appeared to stifle a smile. It wasn’t funny. “Like?”
“Well, you and your guy...? Do you know things about him without him having to tell you?”
“Often, yes. I can sort of intuit what he’s feeling or thinking.”
So Ron wasn’t the only one. “Are you suffused with a warm glow when he plans something for you?”
“Yes. It’s like we have a connection.”
“Ron and Em do too. But I didn’t put it there.”
“No one has to ‘put it there.’ It happens with love.”
That was what I dreaded hearing. So, Em did love him. She would tell him things. But not everything. Ron was a pathetic fool to expect otherwise. Her loyalty is to me. Me, first and always.
The way she had turned inward, away from him, away from the world. She turned to me then, I think. At least that’s what I hoped. Ron felt momentarily bereft and alone. I knew those feelings, too. Feelings I’d never experienced before knowing Em.
Ron had stared at her while she was lost to him, trying to imagine the disconnect she described between the two halves of her life. He wondered what lurked beneath the surface of her calm. I could answer that. Me, Ron. Me. I’m here. I’m the one who keeps her sane.
“Yves.” Elspeth tugged at my sleeve. “Are you okay?”
“I think so. I just needed to know….”
“Love is hard sometimes,” she said. “But wonderful too.” She blushed. I hoped her boyfriend knew how lucky he was to have my sister’s affections.
“If you’re sure you’ll be okay, I have to go. My art class starts soon.”
I sat for a long time after she left. I had more to worry about than my feelings. Em had revealed much to Ron that I hadn’t been careful enough to see. And she had been right to confide in him for he heard not only her words, but felt the ominous dark colors of her emotions. They were heavy and sinister, those blacks and blues, like bruises on her soul.
The memories she had, diminished her somehow, made her appear smaller, tired, forlorn; a soul overburdened, less superhuman, contrary to everything Ron knew her to be. Contrary to everything I knew her to be. It scared me a bit and yet I knew she needed to work through this—without me.
*
“I had no idea. I never knew how deeply she felt, the agonies she went through.”
“You weren’t attentive enough,” Mentor’s words stabbed through my heart. “You didn’t delve into her subconscious.”
“But that’s so invasive.”
“Invasive!” Mentor snorted with what could only be termed disgust. “You’re too damned emotional. I warned the Grand Council. A Drone!” She snorted again. “It’s your job. What happens down there and what will happen—under your tutelage—is all that matters. One little human with all her stupid fears means nothing. Got that?”
I nodded weakly. She turned to walk away.
“Wait!” I called after her.
Mentor froze mid-step and turned back ever so slowly to face me. “Yes?” One little word, but never had I heard her voice so caustic. I knew I should apologize, let her go, but I couldn’t. I had to know.
I took a deep breath.
“That’s just it,” I said. “I’m a Drone. I mean I was a Drone, my parents, my grandparents, all of us. Why did the Guardians choose me to be a Power, to do their bidding on Earth? Was it because I had studied Earth since childhood and I knew the planet better than anyone else?”
“Oh for…. Anyone could study the planet and do your job—any of the other Powers.”
“Why me?” I persisted. I had to know.
“The Guardians are experimenting and you’re their guinea pig.”
I’m sure I stood there with my mouth gaping for she gave a snort of laughter. I guess I seemed pretty pathetic to her.
“But … but….”
“Apparently they’ve been accused of being racist and they want to dispel that notion.”
“Guinea pig?” I stammered.
“Tag, you’re it.” I could have sworn I heard her laugh as she walked away.
*
Em stood in the circle of Ron’s arms for the longest time. Finally she dared to look up at him.
“My mind plays ‘what if’ relentlessly.” She gulped, swiped furiously at tears, and spoke slowly. “I try to see things as right or wrong, black or white. But human dynamics are much too complex to be judged that way.”
“Are they really? I believe we’ve made life way more complicated than it needs to be.” Ron turned the burner on to heat the pan. “Perhaps simple is what the world really needs.”
Em stared at him. “Oh God, Ron. You may be on to something but how can I know it’s that easy? I know so little and the more I experience, the less I know. I know nothing about foreign policy, international relations, and the balance of power. I know nothing. If all the experts can’t agree, how can I possibly know?” Thousands of years from now will war prove, in some horribly twisted way, to have been a boon to mankind? Maybe war is part of the natural selection process, a warped version of survival of the fittest.
Em took several deep breaths, fought against the steel-band feeling that encased her chest, and counted to ten.
Power. Control. Greed. Hitler, Milosevic, Idi Amin— dozens of names came to mind. No country was immune. Some were simply more subtle or more vicious, their weapons and strategies more elaborate, more sophisticated.