Ashes Remain

by Alethea Stauron

  His hands drip to his thighs, “I’m not allowed to tell you the things that you experienced today. I just can’t. Everything was bad.”

  “Why not,” slapping the air with her fingers and a flip of her palms, “I experienced them. You can’t tell me what I experienced?”

  “You’re not ready. The degree of that stuff, even if you knew…” his head shakes, “You’re just not ready.” His expression wears concern like a thick blanket, “I was only trying to protect you and was my only chance.” He takes half a step toward her and lowers his voice, “I want you to know, I would die before I let someone hurt you. I’m trying to figure it out, Josephine. I can’t tell you these things before I know you’re ready.” He re-gathers his spot against the door, balancing on the balls of his feet. “Just because you wanna know, doesn’t mean you should. There’s a way you learn about these things. A place you start from… and… that wasn’t the place.”

  Josephine’s eyes drift. She knows it. It’s written all over his face. He’s done explaining for now. She cranks one side of her lip up, and floats her hands toward a lonely expanse in front of her, “Well… I’d hug you… but as you know…” slapping over her lap, “I promised.”

  He grins, staring into her beaming eyes. She’s quiet and their gazes are fastened toward one another. Her irises shine with greenish-blue in the dim light. And her speckles of yellow glisten with a sparkle as she looks over at him. The soft glow from her bedside table makes her almost illuminate to him. Her hair lies in small bundles of string, still damp from her shower. Recently tossed around to look full on her head. The edges of her hair act as fountains over her shirt, allowing small areas of moist stripes. A smile raises her cheeks, realizing he’s studying her. She takes note to how she’s only seen him wear two different shirts. Maybe the same pair of blue jeans. Faded in the same places. His shirts appear clean and comfortable every time. Well-worn with a missing piece near his bottom button. The colors are less than vibrant. The same two shirts. As if he only buys the same two shirts from the same retailer and wears the heck out of them. His pants are just as tattered. Clean, but tattered. Like he washes them six times a day after dragging them through mud on a hiking trail. His appearance is humble to her. Her Lucius. The one she remembers, but a little more worn.

  His expression is gentle. The expression he’s been waiting for. For her to look at him all day like that, as if her very glance cures him of a painful ailment. He smiles as if he’s going to cry. Lucius breaks the silence by slanting his jawline, “Baby,” spoken softly and more debonair than she’s ever heard it. Her favorite sound from his mouth. Her favorite pet name. He says, “I know you’re tired. You’ve had a long day. We both have. You should go to sleep.”

  “Where are you gonna be?”

  “You needn’t worry of me.” He gestures back across the loft, “I know it’s not gonna be in your old bedroom.”

  Her lips tightened, holding in a small giggle. She nods, “That’s for certain.”

  “I’ll be downstairs…” he turns the knob, “like a good boy.” He points back toward her, “Don’t ask me to stay in here with you, or you won’t like the outcome,” rattling her knob in his hand.

  Her fingers flare up, “Loud and clear.”

  His steps are heavy, wishing he could tuck her in. He places one foot on the loft and as his other foot is still in the air, she speaks softly, “Good night… camo pajamas.”

  The side of his lip cranks upward, and soon both his cheeks are beaming, “Good night… little momma.”

  He continues to step, and she says, “Call me… baby. I like how you say it to me. It feels like I’m yours.”

  He rubs the rush of emotion pulsating through his chest. He bites it down, “Thank you…” his bottom lip quivers, “baby.”

  “We’re having breakfast in the morning? And talking?”

  He nods, “Yes,” he exhales, “In the morning. I’ll tell you who I am.”

  Josephine slides her legs under a blanket, readjusting herself to face the door. He smiles, realizing she turned like that because that’s where he’ll be. She puckers her lips into the air, and floats a kiss toward him. “I love you, baby.”

  He stands, cracking the door. Just before it shuts, he says, “I love you… more.” The door closes and he smiles.

  “Cheater,” she protested from her bed.

  He chuckles quietly against the door, swinging his head with an erupting smile. He pets doorframe, wanting more. But repelling the urge for more conversation. More of her debate. Or he’ll even take arguing with her so long as she’s smiling and spending time with him. He rests his hairline against the frame. His voice lighter than a silent storm in the distance, “I’m so in love with her.”

  Lucius passes down the stairwell, activating a band over his arm. An ultraviolet light, shines over bloodstained floorboards. He stretches his hand over the area illuminated like a blue bioluminescent glow. Using some of his power, he pulls leftover blood from the particles of board, forming a small ball. He levitates the ball several inches from the ground and hunches down. He unseals a hidden snap on his boot heel, pulling out a mechanism, and activates the device before sliding its functioning section beneath the levitating ball.

  Sparks shoot up around the evidence. Lucius turns off his ultraviolet scanner and watches as the other mechanism dissolves whatever remnants of Drake were left. Fragments are devoured into a black portal the size of a pea. With the sway of his hand, he closes the portal and deactivates the mechanism. He slides everything back under his boot, and says, “Like he never existed.”

  Lucius stands in the middle of her living area and closes his eyes, taking in the feeling of amity. “So glad that’s over,” he said. He glances at her room and activates his vision. Her hand drapes over the side of her bed.

  Fast asleep.

  He then glances at the couch as his brow sails. “That was close.” As soon as he knows she’s safe and the house is finally put together, all is as it should be. He makes his nightly rounds, realizing tomorrow… tomorrow is another day.

  Lucius’s cheeks are floating with an unwavering smile. He walks the perimeter of her tree line. Not five minutes into his sweep, and a portal opens from beside the barn. His face runs dry, and his shoulders sag. “Doggone it… here we go.” With apprehension, he walks toward his visitor.

  Standing firm, Dextorus closes the portal gate behind him. His expression is as dry as Lucius’s fake character at the moment. Dextorus observes Lucius very closely. Studying how he stands with his shoulders back. His posture is unreadable. And blocking his mind along with his expression. “Gamerin warrior,” Dex pulls a rather large cigar from a cargo pocket, “You had to have known I’d be here today.” Lucius respectfully listens, not allowing any ounce of his feelings to slip. But how could Lucius explain anything? How could he explain the happenings of the day when no rules were broken and she’s safe? The very testimony would sound asinine. Dextorus says, “You’re a little more solid and plaid wearing than I last remember.” But Lucius doesn’t respond, only nodding dutifully. “I received a communication today. A very troubling one,” Dex pauses to study Lucius’s reaction.

  But…

  nothing.

  Dex lifts a brow, “I spoke with the Mangoram.”

  Suddenly, like magic, Lucius’s face comes to life. “Why in hell… why would they wanna talk to you? They’re liars from the pits of hell, those guys.”

  “That’s more like it,” Dex tilts his jaw, staring at denim, “I was wondering if you were in there.”

  “Dex,” Lucius drops the act, “What are you trying to tell me? Why would the Mangoram be speaking to you? And why would you be telling me? I’m not the Council.”

  Dextorus balances the cigar on his lip, “This particular Mangoram…” his eyes grind through Lucius, as if a stiletto is penetrating through his head. “He said he spoke with you.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “You threatened him… wearing that.”
/>   “I happen to like this outfit.”

  He told me that you had something to do with Drake’s death.” His chin slants down, making his eyes look as though they weigh a thousand pounds each and forcing that burden onto Lucius. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  “Oh, that conversation?” Lucius strokes his chin, “Let’s see. It’s been an eventful day,” swaying his finger, “I didn’t kill Drake… for one thing. Just making that clear. I never laid a hand on him and followed orders the entire time. I could have healed him… but… I was ordered not to touch the guy. If I have to stand before the Hagia Sophia, then so be it. Take me now.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I wanna speak with him. I should clear my name. Take me now.”

  “Like I said, it’s not necessary. There was no evidence of you tampering with him at all. They inspected the body. I’m sure you’ve eradicated what lingered behind.”

  “Indubitably.”

  Dextorus squints his eyes, “Would you have healed him? If you were allowed to touch him?”

  Lucius hides his head under one shoulder, lifting a subtle hand up, “I mean… I could have. But —

  “You would’ve been conservative. Of course, with your powers draining so quickly out here. She’s your number one priority.”

  “That’s right, Dex. You know me… Mr. Frugality. All the way.”

  “Hmmm,” Dextorus hums, “But the Mangoram, he said you threatened him. We don’t threaten the Mangoram.”

  Lucius stops swaying his finger and starts jabbing it into the air, “That Mangoram bastard was just hanging around. Causing trouble. He was triggering electrical interference in her house with his abilities. I was keeping him accountable. He was the one trying to break rules.”

  “You mentioned accountability. He was scanning the air.” Dextorus says, “You’re not allowed to kill a human. The Mangoram know that. Even one such as Drake. They have every right to make sure you’re accountable as well. It’s not wise to ever threaten them by yourself. Don’t get cocky. You should never pick a fight when you’re not ready for that battle.”

  “I still didn’t kill him. I obeyed orders, Dex. That Mangoram was snooping where he didn’t belong, checking where he wasn’t allowed. I could feel him hovering around her, causing trouble. He was monitoring her for something. He had no right to scan her.”

  The commander stares at Lucius and studies his body language. “No… you’re hiding something else.” He lights his cigar, “I might not be able to read your mind as well as you can, Yuleshua.” Like a shockwave, Lucius is jolted when his real name is used. Dextorus continues, “But I’d hate to pull you from the war, imprisoned like your Gamerin brothers were.”

  Lucius’s jaw drops, “So you do know what happened to them?” He curls his bottom lip. “I knew you were keeping secrets.”

  “We protect you from yourself.”

  Lucius says, “They’re still alive and you hid it from me. Where are they?”

  “Not your mission. She needs to read the journal. She has to find her father and we’re running out of time.”

  “No offense, I speak to you as a friend,” pointing his finger toward the ground, “but I’m gonna find them and free them someday. They’re not bad people, Dex. They’re my family.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re saying, Lucius.”

  “I don’t?” Lucius’s eyes are slightly timid, like a child begging for answers, “Then what? What is it? Why do y’all hide it from me?”

  Dextorus takes a couple drags of his favorite tobacco, studying it for a moment. He glances at Lucius, placing the cigar in the side of his mouth. He squints one eye, blowing out a rather large puff of smoke. A cloud rises above his head while Dextorus says, “I like you, Yuleshua. I know you more than you understand to know yourself. You have to know, I don’t like a lot of people, but you’re different. You’re important to me.

  You’re unlike your brothers. You’re the strongest and you bring hope to many around you. Somewhere, you’ve forgotten that. And, that concerns me.” Taking a couple puffs, he then takes the tobacco out of his mouth and looks at it, studying the tobacco like he did before. Caressing his thumb over each weave of leaves, remembering the crafty person who had fastened the cigar together for him. “I know, Lucius. I know you shield your thoughts from me. But I don’t care. I never cared about that sort of thing. I only do my job, hoping someday good will come of it.” His dark brows arch to his hairline, “Don’t forget. I trained you for over a thousand years to do the same. I have orders. I follow my orders; you should as well.”

  Dextorus never flinches. The smoke engulfs his lashes and touches his eye. A cloud beads over his skin like a backwards curtain. He blows the puff toward Lucius, “You have a mission to finish before gallivanting around to find a lost cause you know nothing about. Finish what you’ve promised. Avoid a bad ending. Because I hate bad endings.”

  “He said, I’ll find my family when I help his.” Lucius watches Dextorus turn from him and takes up a strolling pace. He calls toward Dex, “Wait. What happens with Josephine when she reads the journal? Or I complete the mission fully? What happens when she finds him? When she finds out who her father is? What are y’all gonna do with her? What are you planning on doing with me when that happens?”

  Dextorus swivels back and winks, “Then the general will call his daughter to do a mission. That’s how it works.” He grabs a trinket from around his neck and opens a portal. A doorway of a dense forest appears on the other side. A dense forest with bioluminescent mushrooms and leaves growing on tree trunks. Trees that are so tall the trunks swallow the landscape behind them. Within a twinkle of an eye, Lucius’s commanding officer disappears. The open door closes behind Dex.

  “Secrets… dadgummit. Always gotta be something.” Lucius squeezes his eyes with a partial lament, “Please, don’t take her away from me.” His strides are varied, no longer wearing the same stretched smile as he did before his patrol. The distance between him and the house shrinks with troubles bubbling over his brain. “I would do anything for her.” He pivots back, looking into the moonlit slats of her barn where his commander stood moments earlier. “Don’t take her from me. They’ve taken everything.”

  He strolls up to her back porch, about to walk through her wall and pauses. He nods silently and touches the handle. “Mr. Frugality,” he huffs, walking through the door as a normal man.

  Lucius wipes his eyes, erasing how he feels as best he can. He lowers his sleeves, now damp from recent tears. “I wanna exist,” his eyes drift toward her bedroom, “I’m gonna find a way.” His steps are burdened and hefty, as he walks the stairwell and across her loft. He cracks her door open, and there she is.

  innocent…

  peaceful…

  She’s completely unaware of the war raging around her. And time is running out. Josephine’s arm hangs, stretched toward her door, dreaming of holding him. He sits beside her, lifting her hand over his abdomen. He curls over her forearm, caressing the back of her hand and wrist. He kisses her thumb, whiffing her aroma deep through his flared nostrils. He huffs, “Where do we go from here, baby?”

  He gazes over. “I hope you don’t mind,” looking toward books. A façade of books. He gathers himself up toward the safe door. His hand sways and opens it. The combination immediately spins and unlocks the mechanism.

  Click, the safe door swings wide.

  He brushes his hands over the leather binding. Staring at the old, worn out, cream-colored pages. He takes the journal into his arms, closing the doors behind him. He sits beside her bed and glances up at her, “I promise… just a peek. I’m curious of something.” His head situates comfortably before opening the pages and inhales deeply, letting out a long exhale. “I don’t know what I’m gonna say to you tomorrow. I don’t know how to tell you… Wesley isn’t your true father.” His thumb strokes a few pages. “Don’t be mad when I tell you … when I tell you who I am,” and begins reading, “and why I
’m really here.”

  His face wrinkles, reading the intro of Wesley’s journal, “Did you know that…” immediately sinking his expression, “Nevermind.” He smiles, “Your dad really loved you. That’s all I was gonna say.” He nods, “He was a great man and he really loved you.”

  Lucius closes the journal and closes the safe door, “forgive me,” he slowly turns to face her. “I didn’t mean to pry. I only met Wesley once. He told me to pull you out of the car… just curiosity I guess.”

  An ancient language is spoken through the vestibules of an unregistered station. Samstarsey responds during his dialogue with a twenty-seven foot shadow stretching down the hall. Deep and guttural echoes plug the corridors. Nothing other than the humming of an electromagnetic engine reverberates against taciturn hallways.

  Rueshta walks gradually, listening in to the language of the Mangoram. He sees the tip of an arm with branch like fingers. Fingers that are a couple of feet long each. The Mangoram hunches in order to fit in the corridor. The edge of his horn towers high above Sam. Rueshta appears busy, buying himself more time. Acting as though he’s concentrating over a dim screen. A tablet of blueprints and designs. Rueshta keeps the screen slightly elevated with a three-dimensional weapon just below his eyes. He watches the conversation with his peripheral.

  Sam glances over, “Slave… remove yourself from this airlock. Continue your work in the lab. This isn’t your quarter.”

  Rueshta nods, “Yes, sir,” and unhurriedly disconnects his device. He takes a subtle stroll into his usual vicinity. A normal detour when not in the lab. He enters a large garden area with over thirty acres — lit up by natural sunlight. The glow of light is strong, however, delegated carefully by a protected source directly above it. A protective layer from ultraviolet radiation.

  Rueshta glances up toward the enormous atmospheric dome over the garden. There are millions of stars stretching across the corners of the dome. The sun’s rays shine yellow and orange. Solar fire licks into blackness. The space between the sun and the stars is a place he only remembers as a kid… planet Earth.