“Show off,” I complained. “You have four wheel drive, and I’m just using two feet, so don’t press me.”
Kipp laughed as he feigned a move at a squirrel that showed us his bushy backside as he scampered up the pretty, decorative bark of a thin dogwood tree tilting with an unfortunate lean over the curb. A car was approaching, so Kipp quickly returned to my side, acting the part of the obedient canine. We didn’t need a complaint lodged. Though the summer had begun with more than enough moisture to ward off a drought, August had promised little in regards to rain; alongside the road, dirt had become caked like fine powder. Inhaling deeply, I felt the heat spread through my body as my feet thudded out a soft rhythm on the roadway. Kipp’s mind was relaxed, without the usual laser focus that characterized his state of robust energy, and his elusive thoughts drifted in and out of my mind just enough to be tantalizing without hooking me. We completed a pleasant loop and returned home, where the enticing fragrance of Creole spices met me at the front door.
With a wave at Fitzhugh, who was sitting in front of the television–a rarity for him–watching a documentary on the sinking of the Titanic, I trotted down the hallway to my room. I didn’t think my dinner guests would care for my sweat covered body. Kipp followed and lay on the bath mat. He found the need of my side of the symbiont family tree to take baths both amusing and inconvenient. He lazily licked his forepaws as I was toweling off.
“We can run faster; our senses of hearing, smell and vision are superior, and we don’t have to take baths…aren’t you jealous?” Kipp asked, tilting his large, auburn head at me. His ears rotated forward to show off his natural talents.
“Well, if I had ears as big as satellite dishes, I might hear better, too,” I laughed as I threatened to snap my wet towel at him.
A casual evening called for comfortable clothes, which meant almost threadbare blue jeans that had lost their blue color, evolving into an odd, one dimensional gray shade, and a t-shirt that was stretched out at the neck. Fitzhugh met me in the kitchen, raising an eyebrow.
“I see you have dressed for dinner,” he remarked, blinking his eyes in feigned innocence at the barb.
“What was your interest in the Titanic?” I asked, ignoring his comment. I was at the kitchen counter chopping up some boiled chicken for Kipp and Juno. As I mixed it with rice in their bowls, Juno looked up, hopefully. I winked at her. “So, Fitzhugh, did you not feed this poor girl while I was gone? I swear I see her ribs sticking out.”
“I take umbrage at that accusation,” he replied, exhaling forcefully through his mustache and beard. A second later he realized I was joking with him. Smiling, he said, “I’ll admit a Pop Tart tastes better when you fix it.” He took a seat at the dinette. “I, as did you, lived through the loss of the Titanic. Some recent dialog has reasserted itself at Technicorps about the sinking, but I’ll wait until Philo and I can meet with you.”
“A time shift?” I asked, turning to look at him.
“What is the Titanic?” Kipp asked.
Technically, Kipp was older than all of us combined. His origins in prehistoric times made for some unique experiences from his point of view. But then he sort of jumped over thousands of years when he made the time shift to contemporary times with me. As result of his rapid progression through the ages, he’d missed all the important historical markers that we older symbionts had experienced.
“The Titanic was an ocean liner,” Fitzhugh explained. “She was the most luxurious ship ever built with amenities to lure the wealthy to travel in the highest style available. She was widely touted to be unsinkable but hit an iceberg on her maiden voyage. The Titanic sank in less than three hours with an enormous loss of life.”
“I understand the horror over losing so many people,” Kipp said. “But why would that one disaster stand out among so many others?”
Fitzhugh rested his thin arms on the table top. While he’d been talking with Kipp, I prepared a pot of tea, using my battered old stoneware teapot and placed it on the table top with a mug. I’d leave the niceties of fine china to Fitzhugh. Looking at me, he smiled and nodded, oddly pleased at the informality. “Kipp, it was a product of the times. There was a surge in people acquiring wealth, and there were many super rich in the world. Societies were strongly divided by class and money, and the times were referred to as the Gilded Age. Somehow, the Titanic pulled together all the opulence as well as the hopes and aspirations of people of lesser means who were traveling to America for a chance at a better life.”
Kipp glanced at me. “Sounds interesting. I’m gonna get Peter to download some books about it on my Kindle.” Kipp had the most curious, multi-faceted mind of any symbiont I’d ever known. When he set his sights towards gaining knowledge of an event, there was no end to his pursuit of facts as well as conjecture.
The four of us felt the common stirring that signaled other symbionts were nearby. I recognized the familiar flow of thoughts of my friend, Philo, as well as the more chaotic, youthful ones of Peter and Elani. Kipp darted to the front door to act as greeter while I checked on the crockpot fare. That plus a salad and bread was all I had planned. As an extra delightful bonus, while I was jogging, Fitzhugh tried his hand at brownies; the pan was cooling on a rack on my chipped tile counter top.
Philo breezed in, his graying hair mussed as usual. Leaning down, he kissed me on top of my head with easy familiarity before joining Fitzhugh at the dinette. Philo was some two hundred years older than I and was my closest friend. We’d known one another for countless years. Fitzhugh was now included in that small covey of special symbionts, having pushed past his role as chief inquisitor and critical analyst of all I did. Peter, showing a surprising level of comfort, walked by and gave my arm a brief squeeze. I wondered if he considered bestowing a kiss upon my dark hair but thought better of it. I guess he didn’t want to be omitted from the friends of Petra club. Kipp inquired as to Elani’s needs since he’d eaten, and she assured him she was fine, except she could smell brownies.
“You know I love chocolate,” she said, looking at me, her tail wagging. Lupines didn’t share canines’ issues with chocolate.
“We will have dessert, and you can have as many as you like, sweetheart,” I replied. Reaching down, I caressed the dome of her head which, unlike Kipp’s rounded noggin, had a funny little point at the crest.
We enjoyed a leisurely meal while Philo and Fitzhugh plied us with countless questions. Kipp took the lead, since it was primarily he who had experienced the odd phenomena associated with the ghostly specters. The rest of us filled in gaps with our perceptions of the days spent in Gettysburg.
“Our main issue, Philo, aside from the fact the images were emotionally disturbing, was that we didn’t know what to do with the situations we encountered. Kipp was able to communicate with them telepathically, but then what?” I laid down my fork, my meal unfinished. “And I didn’t see the need for Kipp to continue exposing himself to such pain without an end goal that seemed to benefit our kind.” I, as always, felt intensely protective of my friend and would go down in a blaze of glory, if needed, to keep him safe. It was meant to be that way amongst bonded symbionts but was even truer between me and Kipp.
“I’m confident there is no documentation of such activities–other than the experiences of some who might be more sensitive to paranormal experiences—in our collective record,” Fitzhugh remarked, his heavy brows drawing together in a frown as he pulled from his memories. “I am glad that Kipp did attempt communication, and it adds to knowledge that we previously would not have had.” He reached forward to crumble one of the brownies he’d baked. For a first attempt, I admit he did well. They had the requisite crusty exterior and a gooey, fudgy middle…perfect.
“But, Philo, I have concerns,” Fitzhugh said. “I don’t think any of this should be shared.” At Philo’s raised eyebrows, he continued. “I fear that others would want to push the experience and try and force Kipp to replicate this again and again since it is novel, and, well, it highl
ights our collective as being unique.” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Humans are not the only species with maladaptive egos. And the most important factor is that it is emotionally difficult on Kipp. In addition, we have no idea as to the long term consequences brought on by meddling with something we don’t fully understand.”
I gazed at Fitzhugh, my eyes opened wide. He caught the expression before I ducked my head. Philo was accustomed to my taking the role as a defender of Kipp. I’d tilted at more than one windmill over the past few years when a notion tossed Kipp’s way threatened to stretch ethical boundaries. I realized, as did Fitzhugh, that he had just put Philo in a terribly compromising position. As the leader of the Twelve, Philo had a responsibility to not free wheel and make decisions on his own; he was bound to bring information to the governing body for deliberation and determination.
“Would you like another brownie?” I asked, glancing down at Elani, who wagged her tail hopefully. As I rose to get the treat for her, I looked at Peter, who had remained quiet and avoided interjecting his opinions on the matters at hand. His brown eyes, partially hidden behind the horn rimmed glasses that made him seem older, met mine.
Philo pushed back from the table and stood; he walked to the kitchen door that led out into my back yard. Shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his pants, he began to rock slightly on his heels. The sun had disappeared beneath the far horizon, and the darkened back yard seemed to stretch into oblivion. I’d opened the windows, and on the other side of the screens, we could hear crickets and cicadas as they chirped and clicked; the constant hum of nature swelled into the kitchen. The cultures and exploits of humans had changed greatly in my lifetime, but those sounds of insects and creatures milling in the darkness never did and remained timeless. A mild breeze had kicked up in anticipation of storms later that evening, and the leaves softly rustled in the black void as trees gently swayed beyond our field of vision.
“I don’t like being put in this position,” Philo finally said. “When I became leader of the Twelve, I assumed responsibility for decisions that are sometimes difficult.” He sighed deeply, his back to us. “But, I agree. Kipp would be used if the others found out about the degree of his sensitivity.” Philo turned to us. “As far as I’m concerned, Kipp’s trip was a failure, and he has no more skills than the ordinary paranormal human expert.” He smiled, but the expression didn’t make it to his eyes. “Let’s never talk about it again.”
Kipp was on his feet, his eyes meeting Philo’s. “Thank you,” he said, exhaling forcefully.
Standing, I rushed to Philo and grabbed him in as tight a hug as I could manage without breaking bones. Fitzhugh, along with Juno, nodded in tacit approval. Sometimes friends just keep secrets forever, it seems.
Chapter 6
He was tall, well built and sufficiently handsome that I was forced to swallow twice before I could speak. But I was uninterested, and that was a fact. If the truth were told, I was still in love–and deeply so–with William Harrow. And while Mark Elliott’s nose might be a little more classical in shape and form, and the sweep of his hair more dramatic–and his eyes were a remarkable shade of azure blue instead of the color of Harrow’s eyes, which matched the blue gray color of the storm-tossed Atlantic Ocean—Harrow would always be more beautiful in my biased view that was one of the lovelorn. I had many flaws, and still do, but being fickle in matters of the heart was not one of them. Once my allegiance was set, it was unshakable. That quality, in part, explained my relationship with Kipp. All things being considered, Mark Elliott seemed bright, pleasant and with a natural charisma that some humans, as well as symbionts, just possess through no fault of their own. But, as I said, I was uninterested. Suzanne and all the other females who previously had spent little time in the library, could hang out in the corner reading nooks all day long, as far as I was concerned.
I could tell that Fitzhugh was slightly amused by my polite but distant attitude towards the new addition to the library. Although I was technically a traveler, my base of operations was the library, and there I labored in between more exciting jobs appearing in irregular bursts from direction of the Twelve. Peter, who had once been Fitzhugh’s reluctant assistant, still helped out but was consumed with furthering his bond with Elani. The two of them were busy studying the history of our species as well as past trips–some of which were monumental successes, while others were catastrophic failures.
“So, Petra, how long have you worked with Fitzhugh?” Mark Elliott’s baritone voice almost purred. He walked to my desk and parked his lovely body, uninvited, in the chair nearby. I observed he was careful to pluck at the crease in his trousers to maintain its knife-like perfection. As I noticed his white teeth, I figured it was a pretty sure bet I still had some spinach lodged between mine following my lunch salad. Fitzhugh had stepped out to meet with Philo, leaving Mark and me alone. Kipp was upstairs with the young lupines; he taught English, and now he was challenged with an ethics class, too. I was privately amused at his disdain at having developed a bit of a cult following amongst the youngsters.
“A long time,” I replied curtly. Glancing over at him, I took note of his blue eyes, exemplary features and hair the color of summer wheat cut in the latest style. He obviously had used a little product to hold it in place. I tried not to frown. I was busy and had no time for idle chat.
“Well, you and Kipp have an amazing history together,” he continued, obviously not put off by my brevity. “Your journey was unprecedented.”
I looked at him again. “Yes, that’s true.” Bending my head forward, I nudged my chair closer to my desk. The manuscript was written in German idiomatic expressions specific to a certain region, and I needed to concentrate.
“Can I help?” Mark asked.
“You can quit talking and let me work,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Yes, we were both telepaths, but Mark was of the civilized variety and would not intrude in my thoughts without an invitation…and he wouldn’t be getting that. I have to give him credit for being cool and composed. My rude remark seemed to fly right over his lovely head, and he laughed in response.
“Okay,” he said, holding up his manicured hands in mock surrender. “I’m gonna fix some coffee, would you like some?”
I did but lied and said no. Please, just leave me alone, I silently pleaded. It was enough that my research work was tedious to the extreme. I had no desire for fun, verbal jousting, or playful exchanges with this new symbiont. He finally left me, and a short time later Kipp appeared, his big head resting on the corner of my desk. I couldn’t see his back end but knew his tail was wagging from the swaying of the visible parts of his body.
“Tough day?” he asked, pausing to yawn and blink his eyes. His sleep the previous night had been disturbed by dreams of the haunted places we’d visited in Gettysburg.
“Just tired of Mark Elliott being overly friendly,” I replied.
“He likes you,” Kipp said.
“Stop it, or I might get irritated at you, too.” I added a little growl in the back of my throat for extra emphasis.
As we walked home that evening, I slowed my steps, enjoying the feel of twilight with its falling temperatures and the simplicity that accompanies impending nightfall. Against the black wall of a stand of trees, the deep throated chuckling of a barred owl echoed in the darkness, the sound primitive, almost alien. A moment later the caterwauling began, as the owl sang its song to a hidden companion. In the distance, I made out a brief flash of pale wing color as the owl sought another perch. Walking slowly on the sidewalk, since I was in no hurry, we passed a hillock that stood guard over a little boggy pond, the shimmering edges of which were lost in the low light of evening; the bellow of an agitated bull frog abruptly rang out. Reaching down, I ran my hand along Kipp’s back, enjoying the feel of his thick pelt beneath my fingers. At his direction, I scratched an itchy place on his spine.
“You know, Petra, holding a lamp for Will Harrow isn’t healthy,” Kipp began, his words a surpr
ise, since I’d not been thinking about Harrow. Kipp assumed a wise tone, which seemed inappropriate for one who’d never experienced romantic love.
“You mean, holding a torch?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
“You know what I mean, so don’t be obtuse,” he replied. Tilting his head back, he gazed at a brown bat that was circling and darting in its pursuit of a fleeing insect. His ears rotated forward; he could hear the bat’s trilling series of echo locations that were inaudible to me.
“I’m not ready to give up those feelings,” I said. “It will take me a long time…I’m grieving, Kipp.”
He nudged closer, ducking his big head under my hand. To comfort me, he pushed his bushy body next to my leg, his touch a physical reminder of his permanence in my life. As we approached my house, I noted the lights were on inside which meant Fitzhugh had beat me home. Knowing my preference to walk to work, he had arranged a complicated grid of rides to get him and Juno to and fro…unless it was raining when I took my car. I dreaded the day Mark would be on the schedule, since I figured he’d want to come inside and view my private nest. He was way too busy in regards to me.
“No, Fitzhugh knows how you feel and won’t ask Mark,” Kipp replied, addressing my unspoken worries. “Although he is a very nice guy,” Kipp added unnecessarily.
The evening was uneventful; Kipp was already sleepy so we went to bed early. He curled up next to me and was breathing heavily in a rumbling lupine snore within five minutes. I picked up his Kindle and began perusing one of his downloaded books on the Titanic. Yes, I’d lived through those times, and the sinking still stood out vividly as a monumental event that lingered as an exquisitely bad memory. Such a hopeful and exciting moment in history was forever marked as a disaster affecting so many innocent people. I’d skimmed past the first few days and was about to launch into the day of the accident when Kipp’s dreams reached my thoughts. Once again, he dreamt of the ghosts and spirits that he’d recently encountered in Gettysburg. Jeremy, the demonic stick boy who lurked in the dark corners of the cellar, was prominently featured. Gently, so as not to awaken him, I entered Kipp’s thoughts and began to manipulate the dreams to have good outcomes; his breathing slowed as he relaxed next to me. The fact that Kipp’s subconscious continued to be plagued by things encountered in the spirit world provided me with even more resolve to avoid any more ghost hunting; the toll on Kipp was too great. The rest of the night passed with him in a state of happy oblivion. I, on the other hand, dreamt of Harrow and eyes that were neither blue nor gray but somewhere in between, a not too subtle reminder of the Atlantic Ocean and all its hidden dangers.
Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure Page 6