Sci-Fi/Fantasy

Date Published: 01-06-2024

Publisher: 44th Morning LLC

 

 

Haunted by insurmountable grief, the nearly indestructible Susie Drake
temporarily sacrifices all memories of her human friends. Unbeknownst to
her, Ren Pith, a semi-immortal plagued by seizures and OCD, snatches her
remembrances in pursuit of a time traveler, with the hope of rewriting the
past.

Meanwhile, recruited by the grandchildren of her forgotten friends, Susie
confronts a murder investigation intertwined with her purloined past and
teams up with a private eye to unravel a perplexing link between her stolen
recollections and a man who taunted her nearly a century prior. Racing
against the possibility of total memory loss, Susie and the detective
navigate time and space to follow a lead and venture into the future of an
alternate Earth.

Susie’s quest intertwines self-discovery, justice, and a high-stakes
race into a tangled web bridging past, present, and parallel worlds.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1: Misty Susie’s Detached Memories

 

August 17, 2050

 

Midnight in a cemetery on the outskirts of Tucson.

 

“ALL THESE DEAD PEOPLE,” SUSIE said to no one. “I didn’t kill any of them.” Flashlight in hand, she aimed the beam toward one of the graveyard’s older sections. “Scratch that. I see three headstones for guys I murdered. Hmm. I thought the caporegime had them buried in Phoenix. In fact … I know I have three dead guys there. Just not the same fellows.”

Soon, the illumination carried across a tombstone bearing a more recent date. “Sacha Fitzpatrick Ahern. The last of my Earthling friends. Gone at ninety-one years of age. You lived a long, full life. Why’d you have to leave me?”

Did she expect an answer? There wasn’t any other human around, living or deceased. Trilling insects, yes, and maybe a fox or coyote.

During the act of transferring the lantern from one hand to the other, the light weaved over something which made her perform a double-take. She held the torch firmly by the handle, scoffing as it poured across the anthropomorphic form.

“A full-sized granite angel. Wings, too. Nice.” Spotting a bronze bench located in front of the statue, she eased down upon it. “Me in the presence of a carved occupant of heaven. Who’d’ve thunk it? Let me introduce myself. Oh, yeah, I do talk to myself and inanimate objects a lot. More than I do people.” She quickly patted the figure’s forever-praying hands. “Are you asking something from God or me? Ha! Not a lot I can give you. How about a fast rundown of who I am? Good, because it’s all I got time for.

“I’m Susie Drake. I was born in 1902. Yep, I’m one hundred and forty-eight years old, and I don’t look much older than twenty-one. My parents had powers. I inherited some myself. Besides being almost immortal, I’m practically impervious to harm, can manipulate people’s will and memories by touching them, run short distances very fast, and am very strong. My pops was a nutcase. He killed my mom and almost done me in. In the aftermath, I had memory problems for a long time.

“What does someone with a face compared to a long-ago actresses do for a living? Model? Act? Not I! Assassin! It became my profession for half a decade or so before I met some people whose kind ways changed me. This led to my working for the government, doing greater good stuff.

“Later, I wander into a war between my friends and an army of alien wizards. It’s a battle unknown by ninety-nine percent of the world at the time—the 1970s. Not long after the fighting ended, I became a soldier of fortune. Many times, I used my strength and speed to save people, tampering with their recall, as I don’t want publicity. Make that … didn’t want publicity.”

Drake directed a shimmer at Ahern’s resting spot. “My late friend testified before Congress about the secret war after being the first to publish a book on the subject. The Joint Chiefs reluctantly backed her story, and then all hell broke loose. Uh, sorry, all heck broke loose. By then, all but a few of my friends’ children survived, except for some exceptional off-world pals and myself. The press hounded me, made me a superstar. Poor me, yeah.

“Tiring of the attention, I traveled incognito into most every country before receiving an invite from Sacha. She and her hubby have a guesthouse, and would I like to stay? Indeed, I did for seven years … until she passed six months after him.”

Rising, she paced the ground between her and the sculpture. “What do I do now? On her deathbed, Sacha recited the same ol’ lecture. Make new friends. Understanding others, she insisted, will make me understand myself better. Sweet old gal she was, but I already know me as best as I ever will. I. Don’t. Make. New. Friends. Very. Well. Too much trouble.” Susie halted, moving her face close to the stone object. “You’re stuck in mid-prayer. Pray me an answer. I need one.”

Drake scanned the night sky. A shooting star streaked diagonally before burning out above the angel’s head. Rather than admit grief overwhelmed her, Susie interpreted the meteor’s movement as a sign.

Nose to nose with the stone spirit, she attempted communication. “You got an answer to the prayer, didn’t cha? Tell me. What do I do now?”

Silence … until something clicks.

“E’tatanya! Of course. She’s an Exile. I’ve been in exile from living for years. I know another Exile whose name is Angel. It all fits!”

 

PEANUT BUTTER CRACKERS, BEEF JERKY, and vanilla cream soda, Susie had stocked her cooler with these snacks. Seated at a picnic table on the outskirts of Lambly Lake, twenty-two miles northwest of Kelowna, British Columbia, she finished a package of beef links. The sun’s reflection on the water added a halo around a green-haired woman who sparkled from the ether into reality.

Susie burped after sipping the soft drink. “’Bout damn time you showed. Why didn’t you meet me at Bunyan’s Flapjack Restaurant like we agreed? Y’know, I worked there for a short time back in the 1960s.”

Both hands rested firmly on the newcomer’s hips. “Everyone in town, including the tourists, knows you worked there. There’re photos of you plastered on the wall. Journalists and opportunists scour the forests searching for Lointain. They harass older Kelowna families rumored to be the Exiles’ allies and trample the protected forests looking for a world they can’t possibly see. Sacha’s confessional books altered all of our lives.”

In the early 1800s, the Exiles had begun inhabiting a magically manufactured floating world above the woodlands outside Kelowna, invisible to the eyes of Earthlings. These once prosperous inhabitants of a farther-away realm had provoked its ruling class by seeking eternal life (only partially achieved) and revealing their planet’s existence to Earth (accomplished centuries later via Sacha’s testimony). To keep the forced expatriates mum on where they had originated from and other cult secrets, a spiritual patriarch had placed a curse on the Lointainians. Every few years, demons and unimaginable creatures attacked the colony as a reminder to the citizenry to maintain secrecy. These skirmishes had produced injuries and property damage, but seldom any deaths. Both the atmosphere inside the fabricated globe and the elixir for near-immortality instilled a variety of powers in its residents, providing an edge over the bizarre invaders.

“You know there’s no longer a curse on Lointain. My long-dead friends ended it for you. Don’t worry about the news media and other thrill-seekers; they’ll never get past the false entrances and other wussified decoys.” She bared her teeth then eased up on the bitterness. “Sacha passed away. She won’t cause you any more harm.”

Relaxing her arms, E’tatanya cocked her head. “I’m sorry about Sacha. She was your final mortal connection with a bygone age. You do still have others who care about you. Forgive me my petty concern about annoying outsiders. I’m not accustomed yet to the changes in my people’s outsider status.”

Drake patted the wooden plank on which she sat, long legs stretched outside the table. “Come sit. I have two favors to ask.”

After tying her emerald hair into a wavy ponytail, E’tatanya positioned herself a half-foot from Susie. “I hope you request my transporting you into Lointain. There are many who long for your company again.”

“Listen to me.” Drake leaned an elbow on the table, adding a civilized, “Please.” After a pause, she continued, “Tell everyone … I said hello. It’ll have to do. First favor: I want you to send me to another world, dimension—whatever. Somewhere not very populated. A place in dire need of help. A job which’ll take a long time finishing. You know all the sorcery stuff. Should be easy, right?”

“I’m not a sorceress. I’m a healer, a shamaness. I don’t dabble in the dark arts. Contradictory as it may sound, I do what I do in the name of Jesus Christ.” Serious-eyed, she added, “I can do as you ask. I know the perfect place. Let me explain it.”

E’tatanya resituated her body on crossed legs. “Nearly three million persons currently dwell on the old planet. Over a hundred times, many died when a spaceberg collided with the world. I’m alluding to a living galaxy-iceberg, or Galacteeq. Normally, these creatures splat on a globe and birth one frozen tundra. Here, after decimating a majority of the population, it created two living polar shelves; a huge one in the north, a smaller one just above the equator. Alive, yes, and both create a thick, unbroken ring around the sphere. Baby Berg is moving ever so slightly north to join its buddy. Unfortunately, the human survivors are stuck in the dry plains between the monsters and will end up squashed no matter where they venture.”

“Teleport the people over the ice. There’s your solution. You Exiles exceed at it.”

“Only certain powers work on this world. Teleportation is not one of them.”

“How do you plan on taking me there if teleporting doesn’t work?”

“A three-seat spaceship, given to Lointain by a world in another dimension. I worked there as an exchange shamaness.”

“Okay. Can’t they use explosives and blow a hole through Baby Berg? How wide is it?”

“At its narrowest point, thirty-five miles. That section is also the most jagged with high- velocity winds. Even if munitions worked, I couldn’t do it. These shelves are living beings. They aren’t hostile. They seek survival like all of us. Another reason is just as important. To strike against them, separate or together, they would release a toxic gas for defensive purposes. The poison would wipe out thousands of natives. I can communicate with Baby Berg telepathically, gaining its trust—Galacteeqs are peaceful when not provoked. What I propose you do is lead parties over its flattest region, a length of forty-four miles.”

“If you can speak with it, tell it to stop moving or have one or both shelves back up. They’ll meet eventually.”

“I tried negotiating those points and failed. The smaller piece will slow its pace if it detects us transporting people.”

Susie snorted. “If the Baby burps, it’ll swallow us, right? Okay, seriously, how will we travel? We’ll need traction cleats, ice axes, special harnesses, yada, yada, yada. You got all that prepared?”

“The human leader will provide everything you need. You and those crossing with you will ride inside procophants. They’re like a combination kangaroo and elephant. Each can tote four people and adequate supplies inside their pouch. Resistant to cold, they have cleated feet, can detect ice cracks miles away, and leap onto safe formations. On the downside, only ten of these intelligent animals have given their cooperation for the transport. They only jump when necessary, so don’t force them. I mention this because they travel slowly. Forty people, including yourself, out of a few million at thirty-five miles one way. You said you wanted a job ‘long-time finishing.’ This is it.”

“Intelligent ice, intelligent procophants. I like bossing around dummies. Who are the dummies on planet … whatchacallit?”

“Planet Ouspenskrankyla. Breathable air. Nice people, not dummies. When you show up, Susie, they will be in awe of you. The Ouspenskrankylaians have only one race, one culture. Each person is amber-skinned and white-haired. One look at you, and they’ll beg to obey.”

Tapping her foot, Susie exhaled. “I don’t want fans. Guess I’ll have to whip ’em into shape. I’m definitely in, no matter how long it takes.” Hiding a grin, she said, “Ouspenskrankyla, huh? You chose a world with the word ‘kranky’ in it. Did you pick it on purpose as a reference to my personality or was it merely a Freudian slip?”

The near-immortal blinked, never certain how to deal with her friend’s always off-kilter disposition. “It’s ‘kranky’ with a ‘k’. You needn’t search for hidden implications that don’t exist. I’ll write it off as part of your grief. So, what’s the second favor you ask?”

Hesitation mounted a skirmish across Susie’s face before she found the words. “I want certain memories severed. Not eliminated, just stored away. I know you can do it. You’ve told me so yourself. If I could do it correctly with the memory adjustment part of my suggestive power, I would. But it’s too tricky using it on myself.”

E’tatanya turned her head in the lake’s direction, biting her lip, wishing she hadn’t been open with Drake regarding her skills. Then, facing her companion, she said, “I know what you’re asking pertains to the deaths of your friends. The simpler, easier approach would be making new ones. Like it or not, people feel drawn to you.”

“New friends who’ll live and die while I won’t age an iota. I know I gotta face those facts and start over. First, I need a break from the grief.” The former assassin stood, kicking at the ground. “It won’t be forever. Remove remembrances of specific people while I’m away. You gotta admit, it’s not everybody who’s forced to live beyond the lives of their friends and their friends’ children.”

“Withdrawing recollections can alter your personality. You were once a very violent person. I don’t want you reverting back to her.”

“I’ll keep the proper reminders so that it won’t happen. I’ve made a list of who stays, which is everyone I’ve murdered, and who goes, namely all my friends.” From a satchel on her motorbike, she removed a pad of paper, handing it to the Exile. “I’ve thought this over for months now. I’m not changing my mind.”

The healer read the names to herself. She knew Susie well enough to know arguing represented a waste of breath. “I’m very much indebted for your agreeing to help the Ouspenskrankylaians. I had no other option regarding their relocation. Assisting them across the berg and remaining long enough for their resettlement will pay for the second favor. I’ll check in on you now and then. When you’re ready again for Earth, I insist on restoring your memories.”

“No problem. Where will you store them?”

“There exists a universe which, when first formed, projected massive-sized cliffs alongside a steep, congruous galaxy. Quite unique. The planets within are very small, all uninhabited, each orbiting its miniature sun with a singular bluff. I’ve claimed one for a storage facility and a place to practice any magic I shouldn’t attempt on Lointain. I’ll keep your remembrances there, inside one of the enchanted pouches I always carry with me.”

“All you had to say was somewhere far away. When will you remove the memories and when do we leave for Ouspenskrankyla?”

“Now and immediately after. Have a seat. It won’t take long. Though I must warn you about something.”

 

I’M DITCHING MY ORIGINAL PLAN of asking Susie for help. She’d probably turn me down, anyway. After hearing her and the green-haired witch chat, I’ve formed a new scheme.

A light breeze blew a pine needle beneath the Lambly Lake picnic table. Unobserved, the leaf transformed into an ant. The insect made its way onto E’tatanya’s yellow shoe and morphed into a tiny dot of fast-bonding glue on the outer heel. Former Exile Ren Pith, an expert at shapeshifting into living creatures (for no longer than ten minutes) and inanimate objects (no set time limit), knew this moment to be his best opportunity at hitching a ride on the sneaker of the woman he despised.

On Wednesdays, Pith enjoyed ruminating on his unhappy life. Today being a Wednesday, he happily commenced his mental tale, imagining himself relating it to a movie producer.

Life was fine up until I was seven years old. I lived with my parents and two brothers on the outskirts of Lointain’s main city. Halcyon days. In 1974, the curse hit. Monarch bees were part of a horde of prehistoric bats and insects infiltrating the planet. During a curse attack, the adults herded most youngsters out of town, toward shelters installed in the mountains. My folks and siblings were on an Earth vacation. Left in the care of my grandparents, we were seconds away from teleporting to a sanctuary when I felt a sting on my arm.

Inside the safety cave, Grandpa examined the bee sting and waved it off as ‘just a little puncture’ and ‘Rennie will recover nicely.’

‘One stung me, too,’ he said. ‘I’m a-okay.’

But I wasn’t. I passed out a couple times.

My so-called protectors showed no concern, telling anyone who asked how I was merely tired. When we returned to the city, I asked Grandma to please send for E’tatanya.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘She’s already healed those who truly suffered. Now she’s on Earth, helping a needy group.’

What was I— garbage?

Because the sting mark faded and I displayed no physical side effects, my parents heeded the grand idiots’ advice and kept me out of the healer’s sight.

Age twelve, the seizures started.

Here, the producer would ask, ‘What about your powers? Don’t all Lointainians have super-gifts?’

Yeah, I would tell her, all of us can teleport. Everyone has at least one primary power. I can shapeshift into any inanimate object and most living creatures up to ten minutes.

After I had the seizures for seven years, I became able to whip up geomagnetic storms, one releasable every fifty years. Remember the 2035 massive blackout in Russia and China? It was mine.

‘Cool! Makes for great special effects. Did you get in trouble? I predict magnificent dramatic scenes!’

Those two countries wanted me prosecuted. Jack Boudreaux, Lointain’s leader, said no, not until there was a full-scale investigation, even though I admitted what I had done. It wasn’t intentional, and no one was hurt.

There’s a bigshot Exile landowner, Luther Fontenot, who wanted me banished. He argued how my reputation scarred our world, but the truth was he had business dealings in both those nations, and they were pressuring him … I guess.

‘These convulsions,’ the film coordinator would begin, ‘any way we can jazz them up on screen?’

What I experience is no ordinary bout of epilepsy, no grand mal seizures. When I tremble, blue lightning surrounds my body, lifting me up. I never remember what happens next. My Dad told me I screamed like he imagined a banshee would wail before my skin turned a dark black. My older brother would joke afterward, “No wonder you like soul and funk music!” Of course, my skin changes back to white when the seizure ends. I’ve always thought that if I had remained black, then maybe I would’ve felt connected to a community. I sure never fit in with the Exiles or Caucasian Earthlings.

Finally, my parents requested E’tatanya. Do you know what she said after witnessing a spasm? ‘Why didn’t you contact me immediately after the bee sting?’

Not responding, ‘stupid grandparents,’ took every bit of restraint.

E’tatanya couldn’t help me. She required a living or recently dead monarch bee to extract its DNA or ‘spiritual blueprint,’ as the healer called it. They’re extinct. Too bad, Renaldo. I was given a pill which decreased the number of spells by a fraction. Big damn deal.

About now, the producer would stare at her watch, wanting me to hurry the story up. ‘I need a director of epic-type movies for this project,’ the organizer would state.

A few months pass. I start performing rituals, habits. Tapping fingers x number of times. Not walking certain streets because they might bring me bad luck (even if it meant taking a much longer route). Leaving my apartment only when my digital watch read certain times in the minute column (never leave on a 3, 8, or 9—again, bad luck). I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I counted (since I’m obsessed with counting) one hundred and seventy routines and fanatical thoughts. I added seven more only to make it one hundred and seventy-seven, which is a ‘lucky’ number, although it doesn’t make sense being ‘lucky’ to have massive OCD.

Seemingly unimpressed, the production overseer would ask, ‘Any Oscar-worthy moments with the OCD?’

Isn’t it enough that the disorder debilitated me? Most common sense thinking gets overruled by what I call the OCD voice. I lost out on experiencing all the important social skills because my friends shunned me! All I’ve known is unrequited love. I keep telling myself Isabella loves me, but I think I’m nothing more than her pity boyfriend.

Guess what? E’tatanya couldn’t help me this time, either. ‘Both your ailments are curable, but I still need a single monarch bee. I’ve made inquiries to my many sources. They must exist somewhere.’

Yeah! In the past, you green-haired witch! No one’s invented time traveling yet. Really? Seems I recall hearing campfire tales about a guy, last name Rodanthe, who traveled back from an alternate timeline to 1960s Earth and caused a helluva lotta trouble. This fellow owned an obsession for Susie and interfered in her life.

What’s that, producer? My story not interesting enough for a film? How about this … I’m hitching a ride on E’tatanya’s shoe into a pocket dimension and will steal Drake’s memories. Somewhere in those recalls lies information on contacting Rodanthe. Find him. Get me a monarch bee, or steal my younger self the heck away from the heartless grump-parents. Destroy anything which gets in my way! I’d call the film a blockbuster, wouldn’t you?

 

“IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAD a good time.” E’tatanya piloted the spaceship on its fifteen-hour journey from Ouspenskrankyla to Lointain before teleporting onto Earth. “By the size of the reception and outpouring of thanks, you’re a hero on two worlds now.”

“The people there are amazing. I’m glad you gave me extra time. There was persistent bitterness between some factions I managed to sort out.” Susie rested her feet upon the recliner’s lift. “I’ve blabbed too long about how I spent my hundred years off Earth. Tell me what’s happened since I’ve been away. It’s 2150. Do they have flying cars yet?”

“About 2150.” A nervous exhale passed. “There exists a huge time difference between the two worlds. When you arrived on Ouspenskrankyla, by their calendar, it was 1950 Earth time. The fifteen-hour trip there and back costs you, not me, seven years. I know magic charms which work in my favor timewise.”

“Hurrah for you. It feels like a hundred years for me, and it’s okay. I haven’t aged any. So, do they still have gas cars?”

The healer altered her rehearsed speech. “You mentioned flying cars. The Thrusk brothers developed them a few years ago, based on a blueprint drawn by an old friend of yours. The government awarded first usage to parcel delivery firms like UPFX. In the last year, someone started sabotaging the aerofreight vehicles, or Zeps, as they’re known by. Four aeropilots died in the explosions, so did five people on the ground. There’s been an arrest, a man who was once part of the Amish. The evidence against him is pretty flimsy. A friend of ours wants your help in clearing his name.”

Susie’s eyes paced all over the pilot. It wasn’t the information which set off an alarm; it was the tone used. “You know what you sound like? Like a TV newswoman reading about a murder, and the victims were members of her family. I can tell there’s more significance going on here. These friends of mine … I’ve no idea who they are and probably won’t recognize their names until I get my memories back. How’s about you put the ship on autopilot, zap off to your cliff universe, grab my recollections, and whip ’em back in my head?”

Weakly, E’tatanya said, “Susie, I can’t—”

“Y’see, there’s this song stuck in my head, and I desperately need to figure out who sings it before I start killing people! Just kiddin’ about offing folks.”

Starting over, E’tatanya told her, “Susie, I can’t! Someone stole your memories. I am so sorry.”

“You’re shittin’ me, right? C’mon!” The side of her mouth became small, fighting anger. “What was the place … uh … ‘congruous galaxy,’ you called it? Uninhabited planet? A place where people can’t rip you off because there’re no damned people. Right?”

The sea of silence engulfed the celebrated heroine of Earth and Ouspenskrankyla, drowning her in the unfathomable reality of the situation.

“You stored ’em in a pouch and said some magic words, rendering them touchable only by your hands. They gotta be there. Hit the autopilot, and let’s go looking.”

A rare sweat bead lingered on her forehead when the words she spoke made matters worse. “I also placed a trackable hex on the packet. Every six Earth months, I planned on looking in on the sack. It was gone after the first check. The tracking spell led me to an empty container on a nearby planet. Memories gone. I applied every trick I know to find them and called in assistance from Lointain as well as other dimensions. The results were always the same. Now—”

“Argh!”

At that moment, she expected Susie’s interruption would either precede loud profanity or extreme violence. Through E’tatanya’s breath, a cool mist escaped, floating toward Drake. Within the unseen cloud, a calming complex of molecules. The vapor worked fast. Her confrere behaved rationally.

“Someone knew the magic words you spoke and followed you to the hiding place. Who else could do this except another Exile? Correct?”

“Yes. It’s where I was leading. One of our most sensitive trackers discovered an essence near the Lambly Lake picnic table where you and I met. This unique substance was also on the shoes I wore at the time. The extraction was not present on the uninhabited world, due to its unusual atmospheric conditions. Renaldo Pith is the owner of said ethos.” She initiated a short background on the man, one a movie producer might relish. “Before you say, ‘let’s go get him,” I must tell you he could be hiding anywhere among thousands of galaxies and dimensions, if he even lives.

“Five years ago, Pith, whose powers include the manufacturing of geomagnetic storms, forged one so devastating that it destroyed electric grids on Earth, including the entire internet. Only two years ago did the planet fully recover, although much information never returned to what’s now called the GNet.”

“And Pith?”

“He bragged about causing the calamity. Because he originally hailed from Lointain, our leader, Jack Bordeaux, commissioned a task force to capture Pith. He naturally resisted and escaped by both shapeshifting and teleportation.”

“Why would he want my memories?”

“I don’t know. I spoke with his parents and friends. They didn’t know. We checked all the spots he frequently visited. His reasoning remains a mystery.”

“Maybe he sold them. I was a badass criminal once. Those days, especially my killings, are about all I can recall.” Frowning, she said, “I don’t remember much of my life. Even less than when I left Earth.”

“I warned you about it before I made the snip. Any singular memory lends itself to hanging onto strings of other remembrances. Once those threads remain untethered, they can dissipate, fade. Restoring what I removed would reseal the strands. Recollections never become extinct.”

“How certain are you about Pith?”

“That he swiped the bag? Ninety percent. Finding him? Forty percent.”

“Who wins the ten percent as a suspect?”

“Does the name Hugh Rodanthe mean anything to you?”

Susie rubbed her chin. “Gee, how come I can’t place it? Oh yeah! Some scumbag leaped on your bod and swiped what doesn’t belong to him.”

“He is, or was, a time traveler. In the 1970s, he sent you several letters. Their purpose being to goad you into remaining, uh … a criminal badass. You resisted. There was much more to his scheme. Rodanthe may be back. I’ll explain it in detail later.” She allowed the information to sink in.

“When we reach Earth, I have a friend who will present you a treasure trove of documented data on yourself. It’s not meant for replacing what’s temporarily lost.” The quality of her voice wavered. “We Exiles are no longer welcome on Earth. The havoc Pith caused brought the ire of nations upon us. There are pockets of allies who risk jailtime to speak with us. We’ll visit a special one. Memories or not, I believe you can help the ex-Amish man.”

The earlier calming spell erupted yawns from Susie. “I’m gonna doze off. When I awake, tell me this crap about my memories being gone was a joke. Nobody would wanna have what I went through in their head. I know it was bad stuff. Really bad.” Into a deep sleep, she sunk.

E’tatanya radioed a psychic message. Susie and I will arrive at your house, Liam, seven p.m. on May 13th. I have yet to tell you about the problem with her memories, and I haven’t told her about the pandemic. There is still plenty of hope for Matt and his brother.

 

Intermission (April 2022 and May 2057)

 

SUSIE CALLS OUT MY NAME, “Jay! Hey! I gotta beef with you.”

I don’t immediately answer because I’m surprised she’s already learned my name. What else does she know? Only one way of finding out.

“Hello, Susie. I can see you sleeping in a brown recliner. Dreaming about me, are you?”

“A nightmare is more like it!” she growls. “Somehow … maybe because of a graveyard angel, maybe not, but I know you’re writing a book about me. I read some of it before it mysteriously vanished. You wrote a short recap of who I am, what I’ve done, my deal with E’tatanya, and her telling me my memories are missing. There was a blank spot over a page between my going to and coming back from Ouspenskrankyla. It’s where someone, likely the Pith guy, swiped my recollections, right?”

“I really, um … can’t say.”

“Sure you can. Just tell me where I can retrieve my recall, and we’ll go our separate ways, okay?” Stuffed inside her “okay” was the threat of annihilation if I don’t comply.

“Listen, it wouldn’t be fair to the readers—if there are any—if I gave away information regarding one character to another. You and me … we’re tied together, and I don’t know all the rules, let alone the why of it.”

“I am not a made-up character! I’m flesh and blood, bones, and muscle … enough strength for flattening you like a pancake!”

Highly doubtful even if she were real and powerful. She and I exist in different worlds and timelines. There’s no way to bridge the gap.

Breaking what I know is a law of fiction, I inform the protagonist about my lack of knowledge regarding her memories’ whereabouts, which is true. I don’t mention Pith’s name or anything on the page introducing him. Discovering such info is her job.

Instead of exploding when I tell her this, she acts nonchalantly.

“Fine. I don’t need the help of a psychotic voice, anyway.”

From inside Susie’s head, I can hear her thoughts. Hmm. There’s gotta be a way for reading everything he writes before I lose access and it vanishes. By “vanishes,” she’s referring to my saving the document onto the cloud. I can’t allow it. Too much breaking down the fourth wall will dilute the plot!

I try for a truce of sorts. “Susie, I’ll try giving you a few spoilers now and then, contingent upon how they affect the pace of the story. Okay?”

“Depends. I don’t like the notion of a ‘story.’ Makes it sound like things are gonna drag on too long.” Sneering, she spits, “This isn’t a series you’re writing, is it?”

“No way! The book will be self-contained.”

“Movie deal?”

“I hope. I have no idea who’d play you. It’s not exactly a role that would fetch an award nomination.”

“Ha, ha! Then who’d you cast as [MULTIPLE NAMES DELETED]?”

“I had to remove your friends’ names. They’re not integral to the story.”

In response, Susie sticks out her tongue at me. “Forget the book. Sell Hollywood a manuscript and then—”

“Then you hope the movie can somehow transcend time and space, allowing you to see it and figure out where your memories are without working for it. Forget it!”

Out her mouth flies an onslaught of obscenities and when finished, insults. “Coward! No agent will want your crappily written novel, nor could you sell it to a movie studio or even the most pitiful streaming service. I hope, when I find my recollections, that you’re nowhere in sight ’cause you haven’t the imagination for solving the theft yourself!”

“Stop fishing for clues,” I snarl assertively. “You’re asleep on the spacecraft. Return to your dream. Over and out.”

“Moron!”

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