Escaping the Pyre, Part 7
by Jayel
Devon watched the sun sink behind the horizon with a cold, numb fear that felt like the beginning stages of full-blown panic. She was being childish, she knew. John had said he would be gone "a couple of days," and this was only the second sunset she had watched without him. But couldn't he understand how afraid she was? Didn't he realize how often the fates hadtried to snatch the very thing she so desperately wanted out of her reach just at the moment it seemed her fingers had grasped it? Her precious son, taken from her arms at the moment of his birth by Syndrome. The hardwon clearance to escape the stations withdrawn hours before departure. Her own newly-discovered strength sapped to save the people and planet she had come to cherish. Now . . . John had kissed her--for at least that moment, he had shown her that he felt just exactly as she wanted--no, needed for him to feel. Then he had gone. And the longer he stayed away, the more insistent the unreasonable voice in her heart became, the voice that warned he would never come back on his own.
Yale came and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him with all her fear shining wildly in her eyes. "Yale, I'm going after him," she insisted. "He should have been back by now--"
"Should he?" Yale asked gently. "But I thought you said he would be gone for two days? It won't be two days until tomorrow afternoon."
"I realize that, Yale, but . . . " She looked around frantically, fighting off the tears she had become heartily sick of shedding. "Yale, what if he doesn't come back?"
"Whatever makes you think Danziger wouldn't come back?" Yale asked, genuinely mystified. He put his arms around her, and she clung to him as tightly and fearfully as the child who once had come to him with tales of monsters lurking under her bed. "His daughter is here," he soothed, patting her back. "And you, Devon . . . " He pushed her away a little so he could see her face. "*You* are here," he told her urgently.
"I know," she agreed, wiping her eyes. "But there's something else, and I don't know . . . Something he needs is out there, Yale, and I don't know what it is or how to fight it, and I just feel like it's taking him away from me--from all of us, even True."
"Don't you think perhaps your own feelings have clouded your judgment somewhat?" Yale suggested. "True hardly seems worried."
"No," she agreed with a fragile smile. "She doesn't, does she?"
"Why don't you give Danziger a little more time?" Yale advised. "If we hear nothing from him tomorrow, I will organize a search party myself." He pulled her close again and gave her a squeeze. "What could possibly be out there to keep him away?"
"I don't know," Devon admitted, taking comfort as always in the tender strength of this somehow-more-than-a-father. "But he's looking for something, Yale. And it isn't mountains."
***
The moons were high in the sky, and the night was so still Cameron and Alonzo were actually whispering to one another on watch and still they could be heard at the tents. Tara got up from her knees and kissed the crucifix before returning it to its safely cushioned compartment in her pack. Then she removed her three-item selection of Val's old shirts, choosing the one which seemed to retain the most of his smell before slipping out of her clothes and donning it. She was just about to turn off the light when someone knocked lightly outside. "Come in," she called.
True slipped inside, carrying a bedroll. "Can I sleep in here?" she asked without preamble.
"Sure, if you want to," Tara answered. "But aren't you staying with Devon and Uly until your dad gets back?"
"I told her I'd rather stay with you," True explained, spreading her bed close to Tara's.
"And she said?" Tara pressed, climbing into bed.
"She was unthrilled, but I don't care," True said, yanking off her boots and slipping under the covers. "She's not my mom, no matter how many times Dad kisses her."
"Your dad kissed Devon?" Tara said, turning out the light.
"So Uly says," True answered.
"Well, I wouln't think Uly would be any happier to see it than you are to hear about it," Tara said. "You've both been ruler of the roost way too long to take kindly to competition."
"What's that supposed to mean?" True demanded.
"Not much," Tara retorted. "Just that you might ought to start getting used to the idea that there are going to be things going on with your daddy that have nothing to do with you. That VR program, just for instance. And now Devon." She rolled over, pointedly turning her back on the child. "He was a man before he was your dad, you know."
True didn't answer for a long time. "Hey, Tara?" she said at last.
"Yeah?" Tara answered, her voice non-committal in the dark.
"You really like my dad, don't you?"
Now it was Tara's turn to be silent. "Yeah, I do," she admitted at last. "But that doesn't mean he likes me, which he doesn't . . . " She rolled back over, and True could see her blue eyes shining even in the dark. "Look, True, you're a big girl," she said. "Big enough to understand what I tell you and keep it to yourself, right?"
"Of course," True answered, flattered and a little scared to hear something like this from a grown-up.
"I'm not ready to love anybody but Val yet, and maybe I never really will be," Tara explained slowly. "But sometimes, for reasons you really are too young to hear about, I can't help but think about what it would be like to love your dad. And I think he feels exactly the same way--about your mama and Devon. He still loves your mom, but it's Devon that's keeping him up nights."
"You don't know that," True protested.
"Not for sure, no," Tara admitted. "But I strongly suspect you and I had better both start getting used to the idea."
***
"Good lord, Danziger," Elle complained, examining a series of fingerprint-sized bruises on her inner thigh. "If this is what you do when you're glad to see me, I'd hate to think what I'd look like if you decided to beat me up."
"Poor baby," he soothed, reaching for her again. "Saddled to a brute . . . " He kissed her stomach, his tongue flickering briefly into her navel before he moved on to press his lips to the offending marks.
"Ummm . . . interesting choice of metaphor," she laughed breathily, running her fingers through his hair. "Wait a second . . . hey, wait." She gave his hair a painful tug. "Look at me," she ordered.
"I thought I was," he said, nuzzling her leg.
"Look at my *face*," she clarified with a giggle. "Come on, baby angel, I'm serious." She touched his cheek. "We have to talk, kiddo," she said. "Before one of us turns into a pumpkin."
He didn't want to hear what she meant, and he was fairly certain that, with the proper persuasion, she could be convinced to forget it. But he also knew she was right. "I know," he admitted, sitting up and drawing her into his lap. How could he have forgotten how warm the was, the softness of her skin, the way she felt like liquid fire in his arms?
"You look really different," she remarked, running her hand over his face as if testing the roughness of his beard. "Healthier, I guess. This new place you're in--do you like it?"
"You remember that?" he asked.
"I do now," she explained. "The longer we're together, the more I can remember of what you've told me." She kissed his mouth. "So answer the question."
"Yeah, I like it here, when we aren't up to our necks in disaster," he said, cuddling her close. "It's better for True--do you remember about True?"
"Oh yeah," she replied, her face against his chest, hidden by the veil of her hair. "The competition . . . "
"No," he said gently. "Our daughter."
"Your daughter," she retorted hoarsely. "I never saw her . . . I never even knew I was going to have her."
"Really?" he asked, brushing her hair away. "I've always wondered about that . . . "
"I never had a clue," she laughed in spite of the tears he could see in her eyes. "Isn't that stupid? I thought we were just working too hard."
She seemed so real . . . how could this woman, this warm, living spirit, be an illusion? "Elle, do you remember the accident?" he asked.
"You mean do I remember dying?" she retorted bluntly. "Not really. I remember my mask going out, and being scared." She snuggled closer as if afraid he might disappear. "And I remember your holding on to me, telling me to hold on. But I don't remember any pain or actually . . . ceasing to be." She grinned. "I think some things are still beyond technological reproduction."
"Thank God," he murmured.
"Exactly," she continued. "John, you've got to remember . . . I don't want you to--this isn't real, okay?" She drew away from him, wrapping the sheet around her, a familiar trick for when she wanted his undivided attention for what she said rather than how she looked. "I wish it was real, more than anything," she continued, holding his hand in both of hers. "But that's because I don't know any better--this is all I know."
"What are you talking about?" he demanded, trying to pull her close again.
"The stations," she said, keeping him at arm's length. "Me and you. A world where there's no planet. No True. No Devon Adair." She was crying now, and his own heart felt like it might shatter at any moment. "That's my world, John. In the new world, I'm dead and gone, and no amount of wishing and wanting and telling me things is going to bring me back. I can't ..." Her voice broke, and he tried to embrace her again, but she held up her hand, warding him off. "I can't be part of your reality any more, John," she finished, looking up into his eyes. "So you've got to let me go."
"What if I can't?" he asked.
"You already have, baby angel," she said tenderly. "Isn't that why you're here?" She reached down and handed him his clothes. "You belong to somebody else."
He wanted to tell her she was crazy, to convince her with kisses and protestations of undying love until the decision was made and it was too late to turn back. But he knew he couldn't--couldn't convince her, couldn't forget True. Couldn't pretend Devon was no more than a troubling dream.
He dressed, although he doubted it was necessary--he suspected his material self was still sitting, fully clothed, beside a long-dead fire. Eleanor wouldn't look at him, and again, this was familiar. Whenever he had been forced to leave her for a job, she had done this, burying her head under the covers and pretending not to cry until he was gone.
He noticed a set of VR gear lying on the computer which had almost certainly not been there a moment before, and he reached for it, forcing himself not to look back.
Suddenly he was caught from behind. "John, no," Elle sobbed, and he turned and found himself captured in her sweet embrace. "Please don't leave me," she begged, clinging to him with all her strength. "I thought I could stand it, but I can't--"
"Shhh, baby girl," he soothed, gathering her up off her feet and holding her close. "I'm not going anyplace."
***
True stirred uneasily in her sleep, and Tara reached out and touched her cheek. "It's all right, True-girl," she whispered, lovingly stroking the little girl's hair in the dark. "Daddy'll be home soon."
End of Part 7.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Have y'all noticed, this thing keeps getting longer and longer? I think we're in the home stretch--how does two, maybe three more installments sound? Also, there's some fairly explicit stuff in this section, too (turkey and dressing has the strangest effect on some people . . . ), so be warned. Again, if you don't want that, just write me, and I'll be happy to send you an edited version.--Jayel