I've got to stop. I'm breathing so hard, I think I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm hoping a few minutes of breathing space, will let me figure this out. I've never seen anything like what I've just seen, heard, or felt. I feel a small part of me has lived, and died all within the span of a few short hours. I've seen things that no one should see, and felt things only whispered about in the dark dead of the night between children trying to scare each other.
My name is Michelle Warner. I'm an unemployed steel worker living in the outskirts of Pittsburg. I have no husband, no children. My parents divorced and later died when I was a teenager. I stayed with a foster family who did their best to love me for a few short months until I turned eighteen, and then I headed out on my own.
I did some time in the military; I was a Marine for six years. I learned discipline, I learned operations in Panama and South America. I was one of the gang, the one in the back that you can always depend on. I was the anchorman in many ways, and the younger recruits looked up to me in times of need. Now ten years later, my unemployment checks keep me one-step away from destitution. I use a motorcycle to get around on, so gas isn't as much a problem for me as it is for most people, but I still find it weird to spend twenty bucks to fill up a five-gallon tank. What few possessions I have are in my military footlocker, in a rented room. I figure if I can get to the freeway, I can get back to Pittsburg in a day of hitchhiking. My vision is blurry, and my hands are shaking, I'm not even sure if I could drive there or not, even if my bike was in once piece.
I hear the sound of her cool, dark, powerful voice call me.
She's coming.
I scramble to my feet and start running again.
Through bramble, past ancient trees, onto a dirt trail, Panting, sweating hard. I can't go any farther and I think I've lost her anyway, but how can you loose someone who doesn't need to rest? Someone who will haunt me for the rest of my days? I swear, after this is over, I'll never take a drink again, much less drink and get on a bike.
I hear nothing, and feel my heartbeat getting slower. If I can make it back to the main road and hitch back to Pittsburg I think I'll make it. I feel around in my pants and smile, finding my wallet. I guess she didn't have any use for my money. I relax just a little bit, and try to make some sense about what just happened.
I feel bad about wrecking my bike. It was a good, reliable Honda, and serviced me well. The long three-day weekend was too tempting to miss, I got a bottle of Johnnie Walker in a flash, and took a long ride out into the country.
It was getting dark, and I didn't see any sort of a town so I just decided to pull off on one of the side country roads and make a camp under a tree. I didn't see the dark mud patch, I must have been a little too drunk, and I slammed my bike into an old tree. I felt the shuddering of my bones, and then, lost consciousness.
When I came to, there was a dim light to one side, and then I saw him for the first time. I'll admit that I'm not normally attracted to men, most of my relationships have been with other women, but when I saw him there, he took my breath away.
In the dim candle light, he stood before me in a classic smoking jacket and a pair of dark slacks. His strawberry blonde hair brushed to one side, not a single strand out of place, and his warm, brown eyes looked down at me like a sleeping child. He knelt down, beside the couch that I was laying on and took one of my hands.
"Young lady," he asked, "how do you feel?"
"I, um, uh," I said, stammering.
He turned his head, and I saw the outline of a thin female figure toward the back. She was dressed in an old-style maid's uniform, like someone out of the fifties.
"Our guest is stirring, Celeste. Please prepare her some hot tea and prepare a bed for her." He then turned back to me, "I heard your crash from my house. You were thrown clear and landed on a grassy knoll. You're lucky to be alive."
"I, um, yeah. How long have I been out?" I asked.
"Several hours. It's about one o'clock in the morning," He said.
My head was swimming, and as I sat up, I noticed my host had a bundle of cloth bandages, some with blood on them.
"Take it easy, my dear. You're lucky, I'm a doctor. Well, a retired doctor, but I still know how to treat a wound." He smiled at me, with a tender gentleness that I had not seen since my father died.
"How bad?" I asked.
He shrugged, "I'm going to have Celeste prepare a room for you, and we should see you up and about tomorrow. We'll have a nightcap before you go, and you'll sleep like a baby. We can have the car brought around in the morning and we'll get you to a proper clinic."
A drink and a warm bed. It sounded great at the time.
"Thanks, I owe you one," I reached out to shake his hand. He shook it, tight, and strong, and when the grasp broke, I noticed his hand trembled. He softly grazed my cheek with his index finger, and then I heard the door open. Celeste brought the tea, and quickly left. I was still feeling dizzy.
