this is a work of pure fiction... and the outcome of an obsession for Michael Biehn for more than 12 years. I had taken it in a romantic angle, because that's how I have imagined Biehn and sorry, if this is not the nitty-grritty, hardcore piece you would expect. yes, it is my own fantasy, and let me know whether you all like it.
...
Michael Biehn looked out of the pent house at the city below. He had always wanted to visit India and see for himself whether it was indeed a land of snakes and fakirs. And THAT, it was not. So far, he had not seen one snake or fakir. And it was not uncivilized or ancient either. Though the dirt and grime in the streets, the reserved nature of the locals and the almost primitive modes of transport repelled him, he was too taken up with the simple pleasure of traveling in an unknown city. He was now in Agra, the city of Love and Taj Mahal. It was one of the main places he wanted to see in India. And staying in the Carlton, which was at least reminiscent of the comforts of the Hilton. He would be visiting the Taj Mahal tomorrow.
God, it is hot, he thought, stretching himself. You ARE near the desert, Michael, he reminded himself. He had come here alone. Sometimes he needed a break away from everything, from the stage, from the limelight and sometimes from mankind itself. He loved his family and he almost wished he had brought Caelan and the twins along, but he wanted to be alone, really ALONE. He wanted a time for himself, Michael Biehn, the human and NOT as Michael Biehn, the actor.
Luckily, (he thought), nobody seemed to recognize him here. Some other time it would have pissed him off, but here it was just fine by him. Guess one can never be THAT famous, he thought, amused. The Indians were accustomed in seeing fair-skinned foreigners roaming around their city. The local people gave him the usual share of stares and giggles, but there were no panicky shouts or girls mobbing him. It was just too good. His wife understood about this need to recharge his body and mind in solitude and he felt lucky to have had such a good and happy family among the shitty battlefield of Hollywood.
...
I was floored. Stunned. FLABBERGASTED. I just could not believe my eyes! I kept on pinching my wrists till they turned a bright red. So it was really Michael Biehn. I wanted to shout HALLELUJAH and kiss the earth. My GOD!!! Am I seeing him? Or am I dreaming? May be the lovely sight of the Taj Mahal, a marble masterpiece, built by an emperor in the memory of his dead wife, was making me delusional.
Yes, he was far from the impossibly handsome Kyle Reese, and he had changed a lot. He must be at least 45 now. But he was still lean and gorgeous. Not to mention the tan... he was looking all brown and shiny in the sleeveless t-shirt. His lean legs were covered only in denim cut-offs. I was glued to his supple legs. I could not see much of his face from the turban and the cools he was wearing to protect himself from the merciless sun. But what I could see was his side profile that branded him as Biehn.
I got all hot and bothered now. I didn't know what to do... What do I do now? Leave the place and visit a psychiatrist? Scream MICHAEL and fall in his feet? Do I go, intro myself quietly and ask for his autograph?
What are you THINKING? My mind screamed at me. You think of him every time you masturbate for the last 10 years and you want his AUTOGRAPH? Don't let this chance escape, Tammie, a small voice pounded in my mind. you had always wanted him, right from the moment you saw him fall naked out of the sky to save Sarah Conner. And that was when you were 12. For 10 years you had his face before him... Even when Gautham was making love to you, you fantasized that it was Biehn and not he.
Follow him, dear, the sly voce guided... it is not enough if you are just a writer of mystery stories... be one of you heroines for a change. Follow him and find out where he is staying. And then... Let's see.
I got up from the bench and I slowly circled the place, gauging how far is the distance to be maintained between him and me, so that he wouldn't get suspicious. My mind was made up now. I usually get what I want fairly. And now I am going to work like shit to get what I had wanted for ten years, it was almost my first time, in every way possible.
...
There was an ache in Michael's throat as he returned to the lobby. It was late in the evening and he was hungry. He never imagined what the first sight of Taj Mahal would do to him. The guide had told him about the story behind it and he admired the passion of Shah Jahan, the Mughal emperor who had built the beauty. He had food in the restaurant and watched the musician play a melodious tune in his sitar, but his mind was elsewhere. I should have brought her with me, he thought. He realized he had made a mistake by not having his wife near him, to enjoy his first sight of the symbol of love. Well, there is always another time, he decided and climbed the elevator.
He unlocked his suite and went inside. And immediately tensed. Something was wrong. There was a strange vibe in the air and it was unnaturally quiet. Then he felt it. A wet patch in the carpet under his foot. Michael bent down and realized that it was a footprint. He followed but they ended near the toilet. He returned to the living room and picked up his backpack, pulling out a. 32 mm. The hotel officials told him that Agra was a peaceful city and that the locals would never harm a tourist, but he didn't take a chance. And he was glad about that.
He checked inside the toilet, but nobody was there. But the floor was still wet. The intruder must have washed his feet and hiding in some other part of the suite. Michael was edgy, but he also felt a twinge of thrill. It was not acting, but real life, and it was turning his senses on. He slowly cruised the suite and entered his bedroom. And almost dropped his gun.
"Please don't shoot me," came the quivering voice... no, quivering FEMALE voice "I'm not a thief. I just wanted... to meet you"
All at once Michael felt weary. So it was just some broad who had recognized him and turned psychotic. He felt a little irritated and a lot fed up. Girls who would fall over him, intoxicated by the image of Kyle Reese. For a while, it excited him, made him feel like a king in the world (sorry, Cameron, old chap) but all the glassy eyed obsession of these chicks tired him. Sure, It had thinned out for a while, now that he was no longer young or handsome as before, but still this was too much.
Some times he wished he had never accepted the part of the savior from the future. Partly because, it was his best performance that never got what it truly deserved and another was people always searched for the remnants of Kyle Reese in him, and that made him mad as hell. He would bet that this one dreamt herself as Sarah Conner, waiting to be rescued and given a sexual nirvana by him.
He could not still see her clearly. Her body was silhouetted in semi-darkness and he switched on the light. She covered her face instinctively, the sudden light blinding her for a moment. Then she squared herself and faced him. Michael was surprised to see a thin, intelligent-looking Indian girl looking at him curiously. He had half expected her to be a white person, because of her American accent. He almost felt relieved in a self-important way that someone in this place knew him. She was far from the horny seductress or slobbering wimp he had anticipated her to be. She appeared quite composed and sure about herself. Hmmm. Curly brown hair highlighted with gold. Small eyes and large lips. Slim body. No earth-shaking beauty. He placed his gun on the dresser and looked at her.
"Out. NOW"
