Maggie knew the intrepid trip continued. Retracing her steps back through the magnetic-like muck, she’d needed to return to The Tower. About twenty paces into her trek a moonstruck lass realized it wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot, as it was Colin’s bad boy habit to throw out the last word, always a final say so in the offing.
“I believe your shoes are in that direction, Ms. Daley! Have a safe trip!”
Her back turned to them, she raised a hand in acknowledgement, receipt of his comment, once again navigating the soft sod attempting to eat her feet. Colin half expected and definitely hoped for one extended finger on that hand directed at him. To his dismay, he was disappointed, but Ethan was not...not ever.
Waiting for his former apprentice to attain a sufficient distance so he would not be overheard, an ever vigilant, always patient Ethan reflected on Maggie’s kindness extended, and at what cost to her wallet as well as her dignity.
“It was good of her to track me down.”
“I still think we should have had her arrested.”
“Arrested? On what grounds?” Ethan took the bait.
“On these grounds, my good man.” Gripping Ethan by the shoulders, pointing him toward the field of evidence. “Her shoes! Those heels are still stuck out there somewhere! ‘Littering’! Hello?”
Ethan, rolling his eyes, broke free of the clutch. Colin stood there, hands on his hips, gazing across the open terrain as his colleague attempted to make his escape, widening his stride with each step.
Turning to see Ethan long gone, Colin had to run to catch up. A rather symbolic act played out as it had many times before in different ways, the proverbial younger sibling in hot pursuit of big brother. Rushing to his side, Colin continued unabated.
“Well, that was quite the chemistry lesson the two of you just had.” Colin added, “And quite the education for me.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
The two men returned to their walk, heading in the direction of the car park.
“We work quite well together.” Knowing where this was going, Ethan wanted to nip it in the bud before it bloomed fully on his cheeks.
“Oh! To be sure! But she could have grabbed two envelopes, mate. She knew we had left together. Guess I wasn’t on her mind.” With a fiendish grin and taunting tone, Colin had made another astute observation. “She is blossoming into quite the attractive young lady, don’t you agree, P?”
If you think of her as so blossomed then ask her out yourself.” Noticing Colin’s expression, Ethan knew he was equal to the ensuing rhetoric.
“Oh, no, I’d never do that! I like her far too much to ruin her. After all, I’d only break her heart. You know me, P.” Colin flung his arm around Ethan’s shoulders.
“Indeed, I do.”
“Why settle for merely one when there are so many young lovelies awaiting my company? Besides, I wouldn’t go down that road. I would not stand a chance. She’d never pay me any mind, anyway. She’s yours in heart, my good man. I would never presume to cross that bridge.”
“You’re quite off your bloody rocker tonight.” Ethan observed.
“Ms. Daley has been your little understudy for years yet it appears you’ve never made any moves in that direction?”
“Moves? Get a grip! She’s practically a child! She’s half my age and twice my class, at least five times yours!” Ethan sized him up with his eyes, causing Colin to have a moment of pause, scanning himself once over, but only for a moment.
“Thank you, kind sir! It’s so good of you to notice me!” Mocking Maggie, Colin should’ve expected the playful shove he received. Colin knew he’d struck a nerve, nudging him back in an almost Masonic-like ritual of acknowledging one another’s intentions and feelings.
Inwardly, Ethan’s discontent was really for himself, within himself, pertaining to his decided lack of carnal knowledge. Decades spent as a student then a master, from boyhood to manhood, he never pried his nose from those books long enough to behold all the beautiful scenery surrounding him on campus. Abundant examples of the female form on constant display, at his disposal, he’d never looked up. It just wasn’t a focal point for him.
Oh, to be sure, there’d been a few brief encounters, interludes in his past as an undergraduate. He remembered one slightly drunken girl at a frat party. Spurred on by his college brethren, her inebriation had made her the aggressor as she thrust her tongue down his throat. What he most recalled was how humiliated he was for her and how agitated he’d been with his friends. It was not funny or sexy. It was sloppy. Nasty. The smell of hard liquor on her breath and the residual taste of it on her lips repulsed him. Ethan was not enticed by her kind, not in the least.
His desires for romance always seemed fulfilled in mind and heart by those women whose lives and accomplishments were recorded in literature. Fascinated, seduced by their words and deeds in earlier times, women who had captured his imagination through their contributions to history had the most profound effect on him. He had always felt an attachment to those long gone; those who’d once made the world a far more interesting place, even though they were no longer a part of it in flesh and blood. They had remained alive in his mind, immortal, companions he would never have to part with for as long as he lived. Their former existence in time functioned as his mental aphrodisiac, a truly emotional touchstone for an otherwise introverted soul immersed in his own world. He yearned only for the same cerebral intimacy attained while spending time among them, keeping company within the pages of a book.
Looking back on it, Ethan wondered why his path had been a solitary venture, a lonely road traveled through time. The females he had been exposed to during the course of his primary education were generally over-exposed, present in the flesh, present day women too in the moment for a man desperate to find a common past. How many times had fraternity brothers ridiculed him for his social disinterest with the opposite sex? Over time, some of the same guys flunked out, due to those many distractions, no doubt. Others graduated then moved on into high salary corporate executive positions and most of them later became firmly entrenched in politics. Professor LaPierre was unique. A studious, serious sort, a fellow dedicated, devoted to the cause of pure research for the sake of advancing human knowledge, his rather high-minded predisposition had left the gentleman outstanding in the field...alone. Several others like Colin Bishop, as friend and colleague, never left the nest either. Academia provided them a sense of home, a safe haven where the heart was spared the ravages of a cruel world and a new discovery was always around the corner.
“You’ll be getting on to your flat then?” Colin asked, apparently disappointed to see their adventure come to an end.
“Yes, but I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep. This, atop all the other reports I have to do, all due by midday. I expect to be up all night.” Ethan replied.
“I could do them with my eyes closed.” Colin was a cocky sort.
“Well, that rather defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Ethan applied logic. “A bad attitude for any Scope to have, I’d say.”
Colin ignored the logic but knew he’d have to delay the pomposity for a future time. “Right then. Meet for tea?” Cajoling, he prompted Ethan to respond.
“Uh, yeah. Should be fine, right, ring me up.” Ethan was obviously distracted, lost in thought. On autopilot once he opened the envelope to begin sifting through its familiar contents, what he held in hand was not a request. Report forms were to be filed promptly, a requirement at the conclusion of every time trial, whether or not the time trial came to a conclusion. No matter how tedious it had become, Ethan could not afford to be anything less than diligent in his approach, as it might reflect poorly on him otherwise, harming his chances for submission approval. This boring routine necessary to cover all the elements of any reenactment, he began composing his answers to the standard fare questionnaire in his head.
“Don’t fall asleep before you finish!” Colin quipped. His risqué double entendre had not escaped E
than’s notice.
“Yeah, I know...you can do it in your sleep.”
As always, needing to have the last word, Colin took one more stab at Ethan’s cardio-conundrum on the stairs. “Just hoping ol’ Jackie was out of shape...and you don’t have to chase him!” Sharing yet another knowing grin between them, with a wink and a nod, they parted ways for the evening.
About thirty yards ahead was The Valley car park where a motorcar was idling, awaiting Ethan’s arrival. His chauffeur would take him to his flat just off campus. Anyone actively participating in the Flicker project was assigned a private security detail, personnel in place due primarily to the highly sensitive nature of this cutting-edge research. All communications were closely monitored, including in sedans used for transport, knowingly fitted with a recording device, occupants were scrutinized for any breach in protocol. No leaks allowed, no such thing as personal privacy, it was the price paid by those invested in their project.
“Home, Dr. LaPierre?” The driver asked his routine question, anticipating the usual response.
“Yes, then straightaway Sparks, shall we?”
“Right, sir.”
Clifton Sparks was once a professional boxer in the United Kingdom with an impressive win / loss record to his credit. Interestingly, he was also one gentle giant of a man, a soft-spoken intellectual who had used his brain as much as his brawn to get where he wanted to go in life. His athletic career came to a chosen end once he received a full scholarship to Oxford University. After graduating with honors he’d stayed on, having overheard his department head whispering about the new Flicker program, an ambitious project being developed on campus. Fascinated, he wanted in on it in any conceivable way. Since this research was still pure and in its infancy, untouched by any military influences, he had hoped to explore the possibilities of participating in its development.
There wasn’t to date any candidate proposals available for a former prizefighter with a degree in philosophy. More than willing to accept any entry-level, ancillary assignment to begin with, he did not consider it insignificant, as a subordinate role. Instead, he’d considered it his contribution to the cause. When Clifton Sparks was assigned to Dr. LaPierre as his personal security detail, it was that rare and welcome opportunity to wedge his formidable foot in the door. An imposing six-foot-four-inches tall, Sparks towered over Ethan. Hovering above him, he opened the back door on the driver’s side of the black sedan. Coincidentally, the vehicle was another Mercedes Benz, the later model of that forty-year-old version once fit for a princess. Assuming a position behind his driver, Ethan was a creature of habit. Maneuvering his not-so-slight six foot frame into the back seat, he began focusing on the pile of files a green-eyed lady had handed over to him. Forms he was all too familiar with appeared to consume his attention, though his mind was on more pressing matters.
As Sparks reassumed his position in the front seat, the car’s balance shifting in an easy heave, a heavyweight settled his hefty torso securely into place. The interior light dimmed with the closing of the door but not before Ethan glanced up to see the sheen off his driver’s closely cropped haircut. His dark black skin decorated the pudgy cheeks of his round, glistening face as Mr. Sparks appeared to glow beneath the beam of white light shed from above the dashboard. He did not really fit, space provided in the sedan inadequate to receive someone of his size. The musclebound mass of flesh in his upper arms appeared stuffed into the sleeves of his suit jacket, causing it to bulge at the seams. Ethan’s keen powers of observation, undoubtedly honed by being an experienced Scope, an inordinate awareness of his surroundings suddenly swept over him. He noticed everything, including details of an easygoing traveling companion who had patiently awaited his late arrival.
“No rest for the wicked, sir?” Sparks made his query in jest, spying the pile of papers on his passenger’s lap while readjusting the rear view mirror.
“No rest, indeed. I do take exception to the wicked reference.” Ethan peered up over his reading glasses into the gaze of smiling eyes he found in the mirror.
“Indeed, sir. Yes.” Sparks acknowledged the comment with a bashful nod in an amused tone. Though Ethan could not see his entire face, Sparks was grinning. He’d grown quite fond of his charge, a man with whom he often exchanged such quips as idle chatter, something for The Consortium to record on the drive home.
Revving the engine a bit before shifting it into gear, Sparks embarked on their journey in silence, the distance between The Valley and Ethan’s flat almost twenty minutes, less at that time of night. No traffic. The stereo system was turned on and tuned in to the BBC. The news, broadcasting as low-level noise in the background during the short transport, the newscaster spoke on an array of topics from politics and agriculture to weather and entertainment, providing the narrative for inattentive Ethan to tune out. His mind was preoccupied with a previous encounter.
“Would you like the dome light on, Doctor LaPierre?”
“Not necessary. Thank you, Sparks.” These forms were all the same after every trial. A series of multiple-choice questions followed by a section provided for any commentary or recommendations, it was all a rather mundane, repetitious exercise if a Scope was expected to review the same scenario again and again. Redundant at best, Ethan dreaded the process. As the method of submitting ideas and suggestions, the plethora of paperwork served a valid purpose, a way of exhausting any and all possibilities, positing ideas until every last angle was approached in the trials. All candidates for the Flicker program were compelled to participate in each trial, as it was presumed to assist them in reexamining their own submissions. Staff and field workers initially created the affectionate nickname for observers chosen, tagged as Scopes. It stuck, a reference made to telescopes, microscopes, those peering deeply through a lens, eyes scrutinizing every aspect of what they witnessed. Dr. Ethan J. LaPierre was one of only eight Scopes with his Flicker petition submitted, currently under review. Exhausted by the prospect of yet another all-nighter ahead of him, he closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds around him.
“The Prime Minister is scheduled to meet with dignitaries from several African nations....” The broadcaster’s voice had a regal sound about it, his education likely procured from the very same institution they were driving through at that moment. Pondering the considerable requirements of candidacy, Ethan had been relieved to learn his participation as a Scope in The Valley was actually an exercise in mental acuity, a pure reflection; opinions, nothing more. His assessment was not subject to interpretation by the Review Board, a panel of experts who’d ultimately decide to either approve or reject his submission proposal. If any of his observations proved beneficial to the program overall, all the better, but his project’s acceptance was not contingent upon said assessment. With such a comforting notion firmly supplanted in mind, a road-weary traveler opened his tired eyes and began checking off boxes beside the questions he had memorized months before.
As they passed beneath the luminous streetlamps on campus, the strobe effect danced across the paper like a copier scanning through the car windows. As Ethan glanced from the corner of his eye, barely attentive to the task at hand, from time to time, he’d see a few of the students out for the evening strolling along the campus sidewalks. Surprised by how many of them were still mulling around, it brought to light how late that hour really was for Ethan, recalling those days of his youth as a student when all-night study sessions were merely a matter of course. The Valley was northeast of Oxford University; his flat, southwest of it. Deciding to save the “comments” section of the report for his destination, if he completed it at home, at least the handwriting would be more legible.
Eyes feeling the strain, his focus blurred, Ethan inadvertently raised the same hand that held a mechanical pencil to rub his itchy eyelids, almost poking himself in the face with the implement. Never one to multitask once he had become engaged with the written word, this aging scholar suddenly recalled his schoolboy teachers, often accusing h
im of daydreaming in class. When they would call his name Ethan would fail to respond. Such concentrated effort was reflected in exemplary grades. Forgiven all transgressions in the classroom, his apparent inattention suggested he was engrossed, deeply submersed with the curriculum of those books his nose was buried in. He absorbed by osmosis the lessons being discussed. His favorite history professor once joked that the Russians could invade England right under that nose while he remained oblivious to the tanks rolling in around him. The young master LaPierre was, indeed, a creature of habits established long ago.
“Up next, the agricultural report and then local weather. You’re listening to the BBC....” Breaking into Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A Minor, Ethan paused to reflect on events of the night, laying the files and pencil aside him on the seat. It was such a luxurious piece of music. He leaned back against the head rest to take it in, closing his eyes again. A lover of classical music, the period piece allowed him to drift off. Accessing his “history” education, Ethan imagined himself going back in time to when these brilliant compositions were created. Pondering its true origin, he entertained a progressive concept of theorists (and a belief of some theologians) that composers such as Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven, Vivaldi and the like were not the true composers but were merely vessels through which angels from above were channeled to create such ethereal works, celestial gifts given to the world.
There’s that moment between wakefulness and sleep when, through no process of thought or effort, the body will flinch, jumping as if catching oneself just before taking a leap off a tall building. Ethan braced his hands on each side of his legs just to stabilize himself, thinking he might have dozed off for hours when, in fact, it was only a few minutes. Startled, his eyes opened wide to determine his reality.
In A Flicker Page 3