Discovering Normal

by Cynthia Henry

  She’d cautiously made it back into the first corridor where the passage was located. It was so easy to be overwhelmed--to wish that she wasn’t the only one with the hope of saving him. It wouldn’t do an ounce of good. This was reality and all she could do was deal.

  Beth reached out and nudged the grate. Thankfully it gave a bit of a creak and then swung. She set to work removing the wrap that kept her free of the dust, dirt and grease in the tunnel. As she’d done before, she left the cloth in a heap inside of the grate, just in case she’d need it once more.

  She hopped down and landed softly, taking an assessment of the room with one swoop. It looked clear and undisturbed. By the light in the window it was nearing mid-morning and though no one was sure of the Flora-Sky’s exact routine, she’d been advised that most likely an herbal tea would arrive at just about this time.

  Damn.

  Beth hurried to the cabinet and rummaged for the one tiny bundle of extra ammunition that the female officer had managed to slip into her wrap and did her best to slide it back to the spot beneath the flowing skirt that she’d removed it from. The bulge that it formed wasn’t ideal and would make shimmying back through the vent more difficult, but she didn’t dare attempt to find Chris without it.

  She tied a tiny knot and looped it, then tugged her wrap back into place. Though she desperately wanted to fly from here and get to work finding her husband, her options were few until someone came back in, noted her presence and then left again, leaving her free for another few hours.

  She scurried to the bed and laid in an angelic pose--palms together, resting beneath her face--and waited.

  Her mind whirled, calculated, prayed. “Deej,” she whispered once, but got no response. Finally, what had to be a half hour later, the door clicked and opened. Beth lay still for a moment, just assessing.

  Dara-Dawn placed a tray on an oak table across the room. Her head was lowered and she didn’t move with the same spirit that Beth had witnessed the day before. The ding of cutlery sounded as the girl worked quickly, as though she was anxious to beat a hasty retreat before being spotted.

  Beth considered for a brief moment. Dara-Dawn, or Joanna King, might just prove to be the answer she needed. She gave a faux stretch and sat up. “Oh, good day.” She tried her damnedest to sound empty-headed and faithful.

  “Good day.” The girl didn’t turn, but kept her back to Beth and her hands busy.

  “You bring forth my tea?”

  “And a currant scone. The Most Masterful’s favorite.”

  Beth stood up, but Dara-Dawn scooted toward the door. “I trust the treat will be to your liking.”

  “I’m certain it will.”

  Dara-Dawn still hadn’t faced Beth as she slid the tray beneath her arm and fumbled with the cumbersome door.

  “Dara-Dawn.”

  She paused, but didn’t turn.

  “’Tis a generous portion of scone. Shall you join me?”

  She shook her head and wriggled the lock.

  Prickly instinct popped up inside. The girl couldn’t wait to get out of here and there had to be a reason why. Beth moved toward her and gently took her arm. Dara-Dawn snatched it away, but Beth was persistent and took it again, this time turning her. Beth sucked in her breath, but did her best to remain composed. A huge purple bruise outlined her scared eyes. “Oh my, Dara-Dawn, have you an accident?”

  Her eyes slit and though Beth was sure there was anger there, more than that she detected fear. “I shall not speak of it to you.” She turned back and fumbled, but then surprisingly paused to catch a choked tear.

  Maybe, just maybe, this would work.

  “Dara-Dawn, sit with me for a few moments. You shant wish to venture out into the Flora-Sky with tears or with an injury that shall undoubtedly be questioned.”

  Dara-Dawn faced her, straightening her shoulders, jutting her chin, thrusting her belly that Beth knew from experience was just about ready to burst. “I serve The Most Masterful of the new realm, Flora-Sky. I speak only to him. I serve only him.”

  It was a risk that could cost her, but Beth backed up, walked to the scone and broke the awkward triangle into two near equal wedges. Without a word she lifted one piece in offering.

  The girl scarcely moved and Beth’s heart pounded as she waited for the verdict. Dara-Dawn could concede and join her or she could bolt with equal probability. “Please sit with me, Dara-Dawn. Despite what we’ve both been told, there is no harm in finding a friend.”

  “I shall never be your friend. Our devotion to the same man prevents that.”

  “Perhaps, but it would hurt us none to try.”

  One of the most elementary facts to be learned by any agent was the establishment of trust. Beth lifted the scone and took a whiff. “It smells decadent. Do you have a hand in the preparation?”

  “I am the receptacle for The Most Masterful.”

  But that wasn’t what she’d asked. “Is there a cook here? A member of the beloved Flora-Sky with the ability to concoct such fare?”

  Beth took a tiny nibble that she didn’t want and hoped it wouldn’t hurl back out in the form of vomit. “Delicious. Please, partake in the enjoyment.”

  The girl inched ever so slightly from the door.

  Beth smiled and extended the piece she hadn’t touched. She wanted this speedy and swift. She wanted to set to work finding her husband. For a fleeting instant she thought of the microphone. George and Deej had no idea that she’d returned to her room and was now busy making pals with the delusional Joanna King. She prayed they wouldn’t attempt to make contact, but she could do little more than that. Her rustiness was showing. Why hadn’t she thought to try and reach them one final time before Dara-Dawn had entered?

  But the girl seemed to be softening and Beth couldn’t risk throwing that away when so much was at stake. “Sit, you must be weary.” Beth pulled out a chair and the girl took a tiny step forward.

  It would be so easy to establish a relationship by telling her that she remembered what it felt like to be heavy and tired, but Dara-Dawn couldn’t know that Beth remembered anything at all. “Your state appears to be uncomfortable.”

  Still cautious, Dara-Dawn inched further into the room. She reached for the scone Beth held and then took a ravenous bite. Beth raised a brow, but didn’t say anything as the girl devoured the remaining piece of the wedge whole. She slid into the chair and Beth could’ve bet her last dollar that the girl sighed.

  Beth handed over her own portion.

  “I cannot,” Dara-Dawn said, shaking her head.

  “But you can. I’m truly not in need of the nourishment, though the bit I tasted was most enjoyable.”

  “The Most Masterful would be displeased.”

  Okay. Maybe they were on to something. Beth slid into the opposite chair and folded her hands over the tabletop. “I revere The Most Masterful as you do, Dara-Dawn, but I question the validity of withholding sustenance from a soon-to-be mother.

  The girl shot Beth an unmistakable look. “’Tis not for you to question the great one.”

  Beth leaned forward and tried her damnedest to penetrate through. She glanced into the girl’s hollow eyes and thought of the photos she’d been shown of a young and healthy Joanna King, dressed in English riding gear and smiling into the camera as she sat perched on the back of a handsome stallion. Beth fought a chill. She’d been this same hollow soul once; truly believing and not just pretending. Maybe she wasn’t smart enough or trained enough to break through the layers of indoctrination, but perhaps she could rekindle some common sense. “And I don’t question him, Dara-Dawn.”

  The girl looked down.

  Beth reached out and covered her hand. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

  Dara-Dawn swiped her eye and shrugged.

  “So long ago that you don’t remember?”

  She shrugged again. “I missed my morning meal. I’ve angered the great one.”

  “How so?”

  She looked up then
and a faint glimmer of lucidity shown. “I questioned him as you do.”

  Beth leaned forward, paused for a beat and then covered the girl’s hand with her own. “And it isn’t wise to question him, is it, Joanna?”

  Her eyes narrowed and she shook, pulling her hand quickly away. She scooted up, but Beth had the advantage of an unencumbered form and hopped up as well. “Joanna, I know who you are and I’m here to help you.”

  “I know of no such person!” She scurried to the door, fumbled, but proved unsuccessful in her haste. She resorted to banging the panel with her hand instead and Beth knew she was close to being screwed.

  She wedged herself between the girl’s flailing palm and the thickness of the panel. “Listen to me. You’re Joanna King and you’re from Southern California. You fell in love with Bryan Holden at college and believed what he told you so you followed him, leaving everything in your other life behind.”

  Joanna opened her mouth to scream Beth was sure, but she slapped her palm over her lips. “But, Joanna, what he told you isn’t true. This Shangri-La that he’s lured you to isn’t real. It’s just this old fortress in a foreign land and people are going to be hurt. It’s already started.”

  The girl’s eyes widened above Beth’s palm. “If you reach inside you’ll know that

  I’m telling you the truth. I’m an agent with the United States Government and I’m going to take you home.”

  Tears trickled from the girl’s eyes as she squirmed, but Beth held her firm. “My husband is somewhere in this fortress, Joanna and I need your help in finding him. Then this can be over.”

  Beth took Joanna’s palm and ran it down her own torso to the bulge of the tiny gun. “This is a weapon. It’s truly my hope that I won’t find the need to use it--I’m sure The Most Masterful has been very informative about what a weapon can do. I mean you absolutely no harm, but I do need your help. I’m going to uncover your mouth now and I want you to answer a few questions for me, but if you scream or cry out, I’ll have to cover it again and we both know how very uncomfortable this is.”

  Slowly, Beth slid her palm away. The girl hissed and Beth slapped her hand over her mouth once again. “That wasn’t nice, Joanna.” Beth hoisted the girl and managed to back her to the chair she’d been seated in. “I guess we need to talk more first.”

  She squatted in front of Joanna’s swollen frame. “Bryan Holden is a psychopath. He spotted you and wanted you and whether you realize it or not, you had absolutely no control over it. It’s not your fault that you fell in love with him. He’s handsome and charming and very intelligent. He studied the most effective techniques to ensure that people like you would surrender. You’re not the only one he’s tricked this way, Joanna. But your family is waiting for you back in San Diego. They really want you to come home. And though they don’t know about your baby, they’ll welcome him or her too. They’ll just be so glad to have you back.”

  Joanna attempted a yell, but Beth was stronger. “Please listen to me, Joanna. My husband is here and I think you know where. Help me find him and then we can help you. Please.” Beth had to try again; try and see if by some miraculous chance, she’d made a difference, though it was probably too early in the game to have established any trust. Cautiously she raised her palm.

  “I serve The Most Masterful!” Joanna hissed, though in a softer voice than she’d attempted earlier.

  Beth slapped her palm back down. “I was you once. I was taken and convinced that I was Farley-Fauna because Bryan’s father thought it would be interesting to turn a United State Agent against the government and force her to submit. It’s a long journey back to reality, Joanna, but it can be done. There are people who can help you. I want to help you. Please let me.”

  The girl squirmed and Beth felt genuinely bad. She lifted her palm just slightly and Joanna took the opportunity. “You only desire assistance in finding Manish-Mannen, though we are well aware that you intended to leave him behind--even in your other life.”

  And she was right of course. Beth tried to think, her mind whirling. She grasped at anything she could pull. “You have a sister named Melanie. She must miss you so much. And you have a horse; he’s a champion I understand. You named him Bit ‘O Honey. Try and remember, Joanna.”

  Beth lost her grip as the girl gave a mighty thrust and scurried to the door. Luck wasn’t with Beth this time. She spun, but bumped against the chair that had been pulled out. By the time she recovered, Joanna King was gone.

  ***

  The Most Masterful waved his finger to the beat like a simulated conductor.

  Lovely.

  Puccini was grand.

  The Three Tenors superb and all could be right with the peaceful world of Flora-Sky had Farley-Fauna, or Beth Stoddard, or whoever the hell she was, not chosen to betray him.

  The Most Masterful stretched on the brocade chaise and pondered. It would be best to confront her, but would that not only lead to denial? Could there be just the slightest of chances that only her feelings for the lesser had changed? Perhaps living the life of Beth Stoddard, simple housewife and mother, had brought forth a slight variance in her preferences and her opinion of Antony could be included in that. Perhaps she really was the long-awaited Farley-Fauna the Divine after all.

  He sat abruptly when he heard wailing and clamoring in the hall. The door to his sanctuary was heavy and he avoided manually opening it if at all possible, waiting instead for Omish-Ogden or one of the other followers with little brain but mighty bulk to do his bidding. But this caterwauling sounded far too immediate. The Most Masterful tugged and pulled, only to see Dara-Dawn near hysterical in the corridor.

  And we couldn’t have that.

  “What happens here?”

  Omish-Ogden held her firmly in his meaty grip and shook her frame as a child

  would a rag doll. “She is not sensible, Your Greatness,” Omish-Ogden muttered.

  “Release her to me, but wait diligently,” The Most Masterful muttered, annoyed already that the nuisance of a girl was disturbing him once again. He snatched Dara-Dawn’s trembling arm and tugged her into his inner sanctum. Had he been wrong in choosing her to be the first of many? Her blonde fairness had appealed to him when he’d spotted her roaming her college campus with a stack of books and a smile. It hadn’t been difficult to convince her that she was chosen; nor had it been difficult to persuade her to join him in his bed once she’d been convinced. But each time she disrupted his thoughts, his plans, his life, he questioned his choice--though one as great as he should never doubt decisions that’d undoubtedly been steered by The Master.

  He flung the girl to the chaise and waited for her heavy breathing to quiet. “What is it, Dara-Dawn? I do not take kindly to yet another disturbance from thee.”

  She braced her now heavy frame with her palms against the chaise as she panted. “It is Farley-Fauna.”

  He uncrossed his arms and perked his ears. “What of Farley-Fauna?”

  Dara-Dawn’s chest heaved. “I believe she’s misled you, Your Excellency.”

  An eyebrow lifted. “In what way?”

  Dara-Dawn lifted her face, the purple bruise screamed. A flash of pride filled him. He’d marked her as his own, as inconsequential as she was. Still she adored him. “I spoke with her whence I brought her scone. She believes me to be one of humbleness, not greatness. She believes me to be one of them. She fancies herself an Agent of Evil and wants assistance in finding The One.”

  Damn.

  “You’ve gathered this how?”

  She pushed up to more of a sitting position and longingly eyed a goblet filled with cider near the chaise. He didn’t offer it and she turned back to face him. “She told me, Your Excellency. She told me a foolish and contrived tale of my beginning. She told me that I hail from the land of sun and showmanship. She even claimed my name to be Joanna, not Dara-Dawn the Chosen.”

  Fury bubbled in his gut, though he detested it.

  How dare she!

  He moved to a wa
rdrobe and lunged for a slick and small weapon from deep within. He tucked it in the fold of his robe and all but forgot that Dara-Dawn was still present. He moved to the door and caught sight of her then, greedily sipping his cider when he hadn’t invited her to. He lunged, wrenched the goblet from her hands and studied her, startled and panting.

  “You offend me, Dara-Dawn.” She cowered before he struck out with the wrath he intended for Farley-Fauna, but displayed on this weakling instead. She clutched her face and whimpered and he struck her yet again with the mighty force of his ringed knuckles.

  “Ah!” she cried and fell back against the chaise, sounding defeated and scared and small.

  He pulled her up--the weight of her an effort--and tugged her to the door, opening it slightly and pushing her into Omish-Ogden’s waiting arms. “Lock her away. She displeases me.”

  And then The Most Masterful scurried down the hallway.

  Chapter 22

  Beth wriggled the lock like the damsel in a monster movie. Of course, the damn thing wouldn’t budge. Her only choice was the grate and tunnel she’d used before. She scurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and placing an old chair she’d dragged with her under the crystal knob just to buy her an extra second.

  She hoisted up, far more proficient this time, and felt for the weapon before she rolled herself into the waiting wrap once again. “Deej,” she breathed as she made her way down the dank opening. “It’s me. Can you hear me?” A crackle, but no affirmation.

  She knew there was a chance that they’d been discovered and by revealing her plans, she’d be putting information right smack into the twisted enemies’ hands.

  “Deej. George,” she whispered, but only received static as an answer. The tunnel combined with the tight fitting wrap probably made the reception difficult under the best of circumstances. She shimmied and prayed and reached the netting at the opposite end far quicker than she had the last time. She peered over, saw nothing and leapt, not even bothering to pull the wrap from her body. She landed and turned to all sides.