A Tiny Bit Mortal

by Lindsay Bassett

“Every single idea you’ve had in the last two weeks has been extraordinary.” he said. “We’ve been hitting it hard, I know, but I’m looking at our notes for over 10 experiments and you seem to be able to predict what is going to happen without any context that I can see.”

  He looked up at me and I just held my palms out and gave him an “I have no idea” look.

  “Are you a wizard?” He asked, with a sideways smile.

  I burst into laughter. Rick began laughing with me.

  “I don’t know what to say.” I said. “We’ve had a good week, I guess.”

  We made such great progress in the passing weeks, we were called out in a huge All Staff Email for our successes. It was a nice distraction, and I was able to avoid my feelings about Peter, mostly.

  It was about five on a Friday evening when Rick let me know he was heading out for the weekend. “Have a great weekend!” I said.

  “You too, Emily.” said Rick. “Don’t stay here too late, it isn’t healthy.”

  “I won’t.” I said, lying.

  The front door clanked as it closed, followed by the clicking sounds of Rick locking it behind him. I thought it was sweet, but it’s not like anyone had ever came into the building with nefarious intentions.

  I stared at my desk for a while, swinging from side to side in my office chair. I had some notes I needed to work on, and I would take my time. My goal was to pace my work out so I could go home and straight to bed.

  Picking up my pen, I wrote softly against the paper. I was paying special attention to my handwriting lately, telling myself it needed improvement but knowing I was just wasting time. I wrote my notes at a glacial pace, for hours, until my eyes started getting tired.

  Getting up from my desk and walking to the window, I pulled on one of the slats in the blinds to look outside. It was dark. Looking up at the clock on the wall, I saw that it was half past ten.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch. I could hear a car pulling up into the lot in front of the building. Letting go of the blinds, I froze and listened. I thought maybe Rick had forgotten something and came back for it. Walking over to his desk, I looked around to see if there was something I could grab for him.

  Goosebumps erupted on my arms, and I shuddered. I felt off, something was terribly wrong. Without thinking I rushed across the room, opened up one of the big cabinet doors that held our lab coats and various equipment, crouching to fit and shutting myself inside.

  Slowing down my breathing, I heard clanking of the front door. I took in a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh of relief, feeling crazy for being in the cabinet. Only Rick had the key to the front door, and he had locked it on his way out.

  My sigh rapidly turned into fear as I felt like everything around me was saying “wrong, wrong, wrong!” I held myself absolutely still. I could hear footsteps of more than one person walking down the hall and into the lab. The footsteps stopped.

  “Her car is here, she has to be here.” said a low voice.

  “There is no one here.” said another voice. “It’s like she left recently, I can feel it.”

  Carefully, I moved my hand up to my silver locket against my chest. “I am not here, not here at all.” I said in my mind, agreeing with the man. My breathing was so shallow it was almost non-existent.

  It was absolutely silent in the room for several minutes. “You’re right.” said the low voice, suddenly. “She is not here at all. Let’s go, maybe she was in the car that left earlier."

  I heard the clanking of the front door again. They were gone, and I was absolutely terrified. I opened the door of the cabinet and looked around the room. I felt sick to my stomach and my instincts told I had to get out of there.

  I stepped lightly through the building, switching off lights. After turning on the alarm system in the building, I locked the front door behind myself.

  Standing just outside the front door in the cold, I observed my surroundings. My black Honda Civic was the only car in the lot. Cringing at the loud crunching of my steps as I walked across the parking lot gravel, I got into my car. I contorted my body to push down on the door locks of the doors to the backseats while my chest heaved and my heart raced.

  After turning the key to the ignition, I drove towards my apartment, with my heart beating in my ears like tribal drums. As I neared my apartment, the more ill I felt, with that same feeling of wrong. I had no idea where to go, but I knew I couldn’t go home.

  Driving past my apartment I turned left, passed the plaza, and drove into the park. I parked my car in the lot next to the park, wrapped my scarf around my neck and held my coat tight around me. It was frigid out, but I shivered more from the fear than anything.

  Feeling stupid for walking alone in the dark under the circumstances, I walked behind the plaza, where there were a few low key bar hopping crowds out smoking. I kept my head low and walked passed them. As I walked, I felt lost, having no idea where I was going until I crossed the street and headed toward Peter’s jewelry store. He asked me not to go there until he contacted me, but I had no where else to turn.

  The outside door was unlocked, and I went into the hall. Everything was dark, to include the jewelry store. I pushed on the door to the jewelry store, but it was clearly locked.

  It was cold in the hall, but warmer than outside. My eyes teared up as I pushed my whole body against the locked door and it wouldn’t budge. I slumped down in the doorway, defeated. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I rested my head on my knees and against the door. I shivered for a while, and fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the fear.

  “What on earth.” said a voice.

  Lifting my sleepy head from my knees I realized I was leaning against the doorway of the closed jewelry store. Looking up to see dark hair, sleek like raven’s feathers, I recognized the man from before Thanksgiving at the coffee shop.

  I looked intently, and his face came into focus. He was looking at me with green eyes, full of confusion. “How…” he said with his voice trailing off.

  “Where is Peter?” I asked.

  “Peter?” he asked. “How do you know Peter?”

  “Where is Peter?” I repeated. “Please.”

  “Peter went out of town to his Parent’s.” he said. “But how...”

  Rising to my feet I said “I need Peter. Please. They are looking for me.”

  He turned and looked down the hall and out at the street through the glass on the front door. He looked back at me. His face looked grim. “The Corrupt?” he asked.

  “I think so. Yes.” I said. “They came to my office last night. I hid. I almost went home, but I felt like they were there. I knew they were there. So I came here. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

  He stood there quiet for several minutes, without moving. I waited, patiently, but couldn’t bear it any longer.

  “Please,” I said. “I need to find Peter.”

  He looked me in the eye.

  “Emily...” he said. He looked like he was about to say something else, but couldn’t form the words with his mouth.

  I just stood there, meeting his eyes, wondering if he would ever speak. “How do you know my name?” I asked.

  “I…” he said.

  “You?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know I would ever have the opportunity to speak to you.” he said, finally. “I don’t even know what to say. I’d never even imagined…”

  “I don’t understand.” I said.

  “I don’t understand how you got in here.” he said.

  “I walked in.” I said. “Peter said he thought it was because I am more immortal than mortal.”

  He froze, his face harsh. “How much did Peter say to you?” He asked.

  I felt sick. Peter. I had thrown him under the bus, without thinking. He wasn’t supposed to speak with mortals, let alone divulge their secrets. I was tired. I was frustrated, at all of it. My eyes began to tear up. “Peter has done nothing wrong!” I said. “He is so good and is doing everything he can to do the right thing. It
’s not his fault I walked in to his life.”

  His face changed from expressionless to shocked.

  “It’s my fault.” I said. “Blame me, but Peter is blameless.” I decided the man, or whatever he was, was not going to help me. I didn’t like his tone about Peter, and I was mad at myself for getting Peter into trouble. Turning, I walked away.

  “Where are you going?” he said, firmly. “You can’t go. It’s not safe.”

  Without saying a word I continued down the hall. Pushing open the door with my shoulder, I made my way out into the chilly morning air. I thought about George, all alone in my apartment last night. He would be very mad at me.

  I heard footsteps behind me, and then at my side as I made my way up the street towards my house. “Emily.” he said. “Please.”

  I kept walking. “I don’t know who you are,” I said. “but unless you are going to help me find Peter I would prefer if you left me alone.”

  “I will call Peter as soon as we get to my house.” he said.

  Stopping, I turned to face him. “Your house?” I asked.

  “I need you to come with me, please.” he said.

  “I have no idea who you are.” I said. “And I need to feed my cat, he’s already missed two meals.”

  “I will get someone to go to your place and get your cat.” he said. “But it’s not safe for you to go there. You have to come with me. Please.”

  “I have no idea who you are.” I repeated. I didn’t feel the same initial trust with this man, like I felt with Peter. Not that he felt bad to me, it was like he was guarded, like I couldn’t tell anything about him.

  “I’m…” he said.

  Nodding my head, I waited for him to finish his sentence.

  “I’m…” He continued. “I’m your dad.”

  I was speechless. Peter had mentioned my father must be somewhere. I hadn’t even processed the idea at that point. My dad was dead. He’d always been dead.

  I thought of my mom and all the pain I’d seen her in over the years about my Dad. She’d never moved on. She couldn’t even talk about it.

  I studied him while the morning pedestrian crowd rushed by us on the sidewalk. Feeling frozen in time, I moved my eyes from his raven black hair, to his ivory pale skin, and then his eyes. Gasping, I realized the green eyes staring back at me were the same green eyes as mine.

  He gestured in the opposite direction that I had been heading and I complied by following him. We walked past the jewelry store, past the plaza, eventually winding our way through the park. Our feet made a thump, thump, thump over a wooden bridge. We crossed the street and walked up through the sycamore grove, the Japanese garden, and then up a hill to a residential area.

  We walked up the hill, and my legs ached. I was tired and hungry. The last time I had eaten was a sandwich for lunch the day before. My head felt foggy without my morning coffee.

  We approached a large, two story house with elaborate landscaping in the front yard. I could only view pieces of the house through the trees, bushes and climbing plants as I followed him up a stone pathway to the steps of the front porch. He unlocked the front door, and I followed him in.

  There was an entry way with cushioned benches, and hooks on the wall with umbrellas and coats hanging from them. Above the hooks was a large painting of a landscape scene with an oak tree. Stopping, I stared at the painting while the man that claimed to be my father removed his shoes. Turning to look at his sock feet, I then followed suit by removing my shoes and placing them under the bench next to his.

  Following him around the corner, I walked into a large kitchen, with forest green walls, white cabinets, and oak counters. There was a large kitchen island in the center with seats. He pulled a chair out for me and then walked around to the other side.

  I sat in the chair. “You said you’d call Peter.” I said.

  “You’re hungry.” he said.

  “Can you read minds?” I asked.

  He laughed. “No one can read minds, not even the immortal.” he said.

  My stomach growled and my head ached from the lack of coffee. I watched him french press and deliver me a fresh glass of coffee. It smelled glorious.

  Swigging down the coffee like a thirsty sailor, I watched while he poached eggs and buttered toast. He served me eggs and toast on a plate and sat down next to me. I had to control myself from inhaling the toast. I chewed slowly.

  “You hid?” he asked.

  After chewing my toast, I swallowed, and then took a deep breath. “I heard a car pull up and felt like something was terribly wrong.” I said. “I hid in a cabinet.”

  “Strange.” he said. “Are you sure they were The Corrupt? They should have sensed your presence. If they were in the same room as you, they should have heard you breathing.”

  “They said ‘it’s like she recently left, I can feel it.’” I said.

  “Very strange.” he said.

  He was silent for several minutes. Picking up my fork, I began working on the eggs.

  “And how did you know they were at your apartment?” He asked.

  I took a moment to think. How did I know, I wondered. I replayed the evening in my mind while I finished my eggs. He didn’t seem impatient or troubled by the minutes that passed by before I answered. I just sat there, staring out at the trees through the window above the kitchen sink.

  “I felt they were there.” I said. “The same way I felt them approach me. It was like...” Pausing again, I tried to think of how to describe the feeling. I had been feeling that same feeling a lot in those weeks that had passed, but I hadn’t articulated it yet. It was the same way the tiny microbes in my microscope were “speaking” to me.

  “It was like the air around me was speaking to me.” I said. “It said, ‘wrong, wrong, wrong,’ but without words.”

  “Ah,” he said, seriously. “Now that makes sense.”

  Freezing my fork in mid air on its way to my mouth, I laughed. If I had told anyone I knew, Rick, or my Mom, about the way things “spoke” to me, they would have been worried. The man that claimed to be my Dad thought it “made sense.”

  After my laughter, I looked over at him and he was looking at me, smiling. That was the first time I had seen him smile since I met him that morning. So he had a sense of humor after all.

  We sat in silence while I finished my breakfast and my coffee. Without asking, he poured me a second cup of coffee. For someone that couldn’t read minds, he was remarkable at predicting what I wanted.

  After he deposited the french press carafe on the counter, he stood next to the sink, turned towards the window. I saw him pull a cell phone out of his pocket, and a few seconds later place it up to his ear.

  I thought “Finally, he’s calling Peter.”

  “Thomas.” he said.

  I thought “Okay, so not Peter.” Looking into my coffee, I frowned.

  “Can you help me with something?” he said. He said nothing else and placed the phone back into his pocket.

  “You said you’d call Peter.” I said.

  “You said your cat was hungry.” he said.

  I thought about George, and how mad he probably was right then. I felt terrible, there I was eating my breakfast, and George was going hungry. “Thank you.” I said.

  Moment’s later, there was a knock at the front door. The man that claimed to be my father left the kitchen and turned towards the entry way. I heard voices, but couldn’t make out the words.

  He returned, and I looked at him with a questioning face. “That was my neighbor, Thomas.” he said. “He’s going to go get your things, and your cat.”

  After finishing my coffee he gestured towards the hall. I followed him. We entered a large living room with a high ceiling. It was full of natural light. I looked up and saw several skylights between beams of oak.

  A large, wrought iron chandelier hung from one of the beams over the center of a room. Below was a square, oriental rug, surrounded by two couches and three chairs with a large oak co
ffee table in the center.

  I looked to my right. One wall had two huge windows looking out into the trees into the front yard. The dark brown curtains were half open, half closed.

  Between the windows there was a tan wall, with a huge 18th century family portrait painting. They were all very smartly dressed, smiling, and the woman in the painting had her arm around a little boy that looked remarkably like the man that claimed to be my father.

  I looked straight across the room, and there was a large, stone fireplace. While I was gawking at the painting, he’d made his way across the room and was placing logs in the fireplace. There was a rectangular rug in front of the fireplace, with two armchairs facing each other at either end. Both had footstools in front of them.

  “Why don’t you put your feet up?” he said, facing the fireplace.

  Settling into the chair to the left I watched him work. He stepped back from the fire, without lighting it, and settled into the armchair. I looked into the dark fireplace at the logs and then noticed a tiny spark in the kindling he’d placed under the logs. It erupted into tiny flames, then up the logs until they were engulfed.

  The warmth of the fiery logs radiated onto my legs. It felt luxurious. I closed my eyes and felt sleep calling to me.

  “Peter.” he said.

  Jolting awake, my eyes opened to seeing him with the phone up to his ear. “I have Emily here.” he said.

  He paused, listening. “No time to explain, Peter.” he said. “Just get on the first flight you can find. Don’t worry about the expense, I will cover it.”

  He shifted in his chair, placing his phone back into his pocket.

  “Does he know?” I asked.

  “Know what?” He asked.

  “That you say you are my Dad.” I said.

  He shook his head. “I am Peter’s mentor. No, he doesn’t know. But there is no supposing, Emily.” he said. “I am your Dad.”

  “My Dad is dead.” I said, smoothing my skirt out over my legs.

  “I didn’t die.” he said.

  Feeling a storm of emotions erupt inside of me I said “So you abandoned us, then. I think I prefer the story where you died.”