The Waif's Tale

by C. L. Stegall

  "Myself? I thought we were talking about knowing someone else."

  "You cannot know another until you know yourself. Not with any depth. And that, my dear friend, only comes with time."

  "You're a smart man, Garrett. How'd that happen?"

  He snorted. "I have no idea." We both laughed and then finished our meal.

  CHAPTER 50

  1942, The Citadel, Age 66

  I took a step back and tried to shake some sense back into my aching head. I saw Asaro's attack barely in time to avoid another swift blow to the face. I already knew my nose was broken, the front of my gi and one sleeve were streaked with dark bloodstains. Dropping to the floor, I swept out with my left foot, knowing full well that Asaro would easily avoid it. In the same instance, I struck out with my left hand and connected with the inside of his knee.

  "Nicely played," he said, backing off and rubbing the spot where my knuckles had dug in. He gave me but a second before he came at me full on, once again.

  Our sparring continued for nearly ten more minutes before we each called it quits. He sat me down, knelt in front of me on his knees and, with one smooth adjustment, snapped my nose back to a straightened form. Tears flowed from my eyes for a moment.

  "Damn it! That hurt."

  "Did it hurt as much when I fixed it as when I broke it?" He sat back on his haunches and smiled. That damned smile of his. It just oozed confidence and insight. He knew my answer before I spoke.

  "Both were equally undesirable."

  "Indeed."

  I moved my legs and crossed them beneath me, performing some breathing exercises. In less than two minutes I was good as new. Although, I knew I would be sore tomorrow.

  "I'm always amazed at how well you took to the breathing techniques," he said, looking me in the eye. "Even Elijah had a difficult time with them at first."

  "Elijah. He is a bit of a bitter pill, isn't he?" I laughed.

  Asaro opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and began again. "I'd like to say he grows on you."

  " but, you can't," I replied, knowingly. He grinned and nodded once. "What about Garrett?" I asked. "I don't think I've seen him use any of the techniques and we've sparred quite a bit over the years."

  "Garrett. Well, let's just say, he has other means by which to rejuvenate himself." Asaro's words were a tease, to which I asked the begged question.

  "Whatever do you mean, sensei?"

  Asaro shook his head in response. "If he ever gets around to it, I'll let him explain that."

  "Hmm. Fair enough, I suppose." I began to stand and Asaro followed suit. We bowed to one another and I stepped in, giving him a brief hug. The surprise was evident in his wide eyes. "Oh, hush," I said, turning to leave. "You know you deserved that."

  My world had been relatively quiet for many years as I went about my business within the Guard, continued my lessons with the magistrate and built my reputation within the Valensi. Garrett and I hung out when we could but most of my time was spent in the Abode or out on assignment for the magistrate.

  It was the lesson time with the magistrate that was the most exciting—and painful—part of my life. I grew my abilities in slow leaps. It wasn't until the early nineteen forties, just before World War Two ended, that I made my biggest breakthrough.

  "Not bad," the magistrate said. "I think you are on the right track. Let's try once again, full on this time. Are you ready?"

  We had been at it all morning and what I was ready for was a nap. I prepared myself for his mental attack and nodded once. I'd barely stopped moving my head when the pressure built within my mind. He was trying to get in. He'd suggested that I focus my concentration on building an imaginary wall around myself and incorporate the breathing techniques that I'd learned from Asaro. I had been able to do that very thing with my emotions. Now, if I could just do the same with my mind. I had been putting his advice to good use, yet, I could never maintain the sanctity of my mind for more than two minutes.

  Now, as the attack began, I relaxed and brought up my wall. I breathed easily, timing my breaths with every foot of mental wall that I added. I'd built it up so high that I could not see over it when the bricks imploded and I was thrown to my knees in pain.

  "I feel we've reached the end of this session," the magistrate stated. I put up my hand up halting him from helping me stand.

  I gathered myself, taking deep breaths against the thudding pain in my head. There had to be a way around this. I felt as if I was doing something wrong. The imaginary wall always fell, no matter how thick or high I built it in my mind. If only...

  "Once more," I whispered.

  "Paris, are you certain? If we try and fail again too soon, there could be damage done. I do not want that."

  "I'm good, sir. Let's go. One more time."

  "As you wish."

  His words faded just as the pressure built once more. I shifted my perspective on what the wall should be. The wall began to grow faster than it had before and I smiled at my own progress, letting the wall grow over me, switching the mental image to one of titanium, all shiny and defiant. I pictured it growing into a dome, a fortress of sorts, over and around me. As the construction of the dome completed, the metal merged to a tiny black spot that quickly dissipated to nothing. I was safe, I knew.

  "Something has changed," The magistrate said. I could feel that he was still trying to get into my head.

  "I changed the wall."

  "How so?" There was an uncertain tone in his voice and it brought my attention to his eyes. I noticed something there I had never before seen and I wasn't quite certain what it might be.

  "I made it metal. Titanium, to be exact."

  "The metal that Dutchman was working with?" he asked. It seemed I'd caught him somewhat off-guard. To be honest, I had thought that impossible. The man was always one step ahead of me.

  "Yes. They are working with it for a myriad of uses these days. Especially the Russians." I made it a habit of reading the trades and science papers. I just loved all of the gadgetry that was coming into play of late.

  "Interesting. Try this," he said and there came a slight knock on the wall. Still, I had such confidence in the structural integrity of what I'd built that I simply ignored it.

  "I think I'm good," I replied.

  "My God. You've done it. And, so easily." He appeared shocked.

  "Easily? Sir, we've been at this for ages, it seems."

  We both sat, he in his chair and I on the sofa. We sat in silence as I could see he was thinking at a furious pace.

  "This is a good thing, right, sir? I've accomplished what we set out to do?" I watched him as his eyes narrowed and finally his face brightened and he smiled.

  "Yes, Paris. You've succeeded. What I have failed to inform you is that you've succeeded in blocking your mind from me faster than anyone else I have ever trained."

  "Really?" I experienced a sense of pride at learning this. "How much faster?"

  "Only one other person has come close and it took them over one hundred years to reach this point."

  CHAPTER 51

  1942, The Citadel, Age 66

  Y ou seem rather chipper today, Pare. Are you okay?" I was in such a good mood that I even ignored Garrett's horrible pet name for me.

  "Let's just say that I like where I am right now. Things are looking up."

  We were walking down one of the long corridors toward my quarters. He had just come from a workout with Asaro. As we arrived at my door, I asked if he'd like to come in and relax for a while. I knew he was just in from assignment but was unaware of his schedule. He acquiesced and I offered him vodka, since it was all I kept in my quarters. He waved it off, perusing my bookshelves.

  I needed more space. My books had now overflowed the shelves and were stacked in two corners and by my reading chair, as well. I watched him retrieve a collection of poems by William Allingham.

  "My favorite is A Dream," I said, as I sat on the bed. He took the reading chair and thumbed through the book u
ntil he found the one I had mentioned. He finished and looked up at me with something like a forlorn expression.

  "You really like that one?" he said, closing the book.

  "Yes. It makes me think of my mother. She deserved better than what she got. More time. Better time."

  Even after all of these decades being at the Citadel and spending time with Garrett, I had never shared the story of how I came to be here in the first place. For whatever reason, I shared that with him now.

  "I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that," he said, after hearing my tale. "Did you..." he hesitated and then, "Did you ever look in on your father? After?"

  I knew what he was asking and I cannot say that the thought had not crossed my mind. I shook my head.

  "I'm sure he got what was coming to him. That whole Karma thing, you know?"

  "Karma? Right." He was being so patient with me. He never pried. I appreciated his discretion.

  "I've learned to be more observant over the years, my friend. Sometimes the best action is no action at all. People tend to make the beds in which they are forced to lie."

  "As I've said before, Paris," he said with a low voice, as if treading lightly on uncertain ground, "People can change."

  "We see people of every stripe every day, Garrett. I've seen people who are so glaringly translucent in their thoughts and opinions as to be quite hilarious. Yet, I have also seen people who portray themselves quite successfully as one thing, while on the inside they are something else entirely. It is sometimes difficult to get a bead on folks.

  "You hear a multitude of rumors about someone. You develop your own opinions of others. but, rumors and opinions are worthless in determining a person's true nature. One's true nature can only ever be determined and defined by one's own actions."

  "The old adage that actions speak louder than words." He nodded, more to himself than to me.

  "Exactly. You, for instance, have been around a lot longer than I. Can you deny that this is the ultimate truth in understanding people as a whole?" I watched him as he silently ran through his own memories, finally shrugging.

  "I cannot. Yet, I beg to know your point."

  "The point is simple, my friend. It is acceptable to forgive most any lie, as long as one's actions speak true. However, once your true nature is revealed, as bespoke by those same actions, your fate is set." I toasted him though he had no glass, slugging back my tumbler of vodka.

  CHAPTER 52

  PRESENT

  I departed the hotel in Daytona around nine o'clock, the memory of Sortie's dramatic change of heart still weighing on my mind. I made it past Savannah and across the South Carolina line just after eleven. I was starving, so I pulled into a roadside truck stop off Interstate 95 outside of Hardeeville.

  I shimmied up to the bar that served as a food counter in this place and ordered my meal. My thoughts were tumbling and bouncing like a pinball against the bumpers and kickers of my brain. My time with Sortie still did not make any sense to me. I had expected him to see something as he closed in on death but I didn't think I had pushed him that far. It was almost as if he had summoned it upon himself. That made even less sense. The whole thing was giving me a headache.

  I had been sitting at the food counter for about twenty minutes, polishing off a double burger and onion rings, when I sensed his longing eyes upon me. I ignored it at first. Then, the feeling began to seep into my bones, a sense of violence and dark intent. I ordered a piece of pie and then made my way to the restroom, pinpointing the observer as I moved.

  He was a monster, in more ways than ten. His size was considerable, pushing three hundred pounds. Most of it, though, was sturdy. Not all blubber. I returned to my seat, catching his eye for only a moment. It was enough. I locked in. Turning my back to him in the restaurant, I explored a bit, sneaking into his mind. It was all I could do to keep my calm.

  This monster was big, bad and dangerous. A salesman by trade—one of the few that traveled as much by car as by plane—his preferred entertainment was young girls. My appearance seemed to fall within his guidelines of acceptable prey. Douglas Edmunds was a serial killer. If he had his way, I would be his next victim.

  As I nibbled at the apple pie, I began to determine my next steps. Perhaps I was about to get a second chance at my research, after all. It would be a dangerous game but I needed to know if I was going crazy or not. This would be an opportunity to take my time. That is, if the monster played his game as I suspected he would.

  "You know where I can get a ride around here?" I asked the waitress, lifting my voice enough to reach the monster's table.

  "I'm sure any of these drivers would give you a ride, little lady," the waitress said. Her smile spoke volumes to the type of girls who had asked the question before me. I played it down, averting my eyes.

  "No, ma'am," I said. "Seriously. Just a lift to the next town or so." My affectations worked on her because her tone shifted and concern crept into her voice.

  "You be careful out there. Don't be taking no rides from anyone you don't know. If you can wait a couple of hours, I can take you as far as Coosawhatchie."

  "That's okay," I said, handing her the money for the meal. "I'll make do. Thanks, though."

  I slipped out the door, keeping tabs on the monster. I ignored the car I'd arrived in, stolen as it was. I would return later tonight, after all was said and done.

  I began walking up the road. I made it onto the highway, ambling along the shoulder, biding my time. He was coming. I knew it.

  A few minutes later a dark blue Lincoln pulled to the shoulder ahead of me, waiting. I walked up to the passenger side and the electric window hummed down to reveal the monster in the driver's seat.

  "You need a lift, young lady? You know you shouldn't be out here on the road this late at night."

  "I just need to get a few miles on up toward St. George. I'm meeting my aunt there, tomorrow." I played the innocent as well as I could. It had been so long, I was almost positive I wasn't pulling it off. Until he replied.

  "Where on earth are your parents?" The mimicked sincerity and concern in his voice made me want to puke. "Couldn't they have taken you to meet your aunt?"

  "They," I began, hesitated and then continued, "They died. I'm going to stay with my aunt for a while. She lives in Columbia."

  "Well, I'm headed that way. Name's Doug. If you want the lift. Up to you." He waited. I could sense his iron-willed control over his own emotions. He glanced in the rearview mirror and then up ahead. He was growing impatient but handling it well. This one might be a handful.

  "If you don't mind," I said finally. "I really do appreciate it." The lock on the door popped up from a flip of the switch on his side. I climbed in, closing the door and we pulled away.

  "Hope you don't mind my asking," he said. “But, how'd you lose your parents?"

  "Car accident. Month ago."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Really am." He kept glancing in the mirrors. "So, your aunt's taking you in, then? That's mighty kind of her."

  "It is. I haven't seen her in a while. I hope she recognizes me." I was laying it on thick. I wanted to make certain he took the bait. I shouldn't have worried, though. It was in his nature. It's a damned difficult thing to fight against one's own nature.

  "I'm sure everything will turn out just fine." He had both hands on the wheel and, even though I saw it coming, the sheer force of the blow took me by surprise. His ham-sized fist swung out in an arc, right into my nose. Something crunched and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 53

  1954, The Citadel, Age 77

  B y the mid-fifties, I'd traveled all over most of Europe and even into Russia once or twice. The one place I had never been was the United States. I really wanted to see New York and Las Vegas. Still, I had never had a reason to go. On certain days, when I was feeling adventurous, I would promise myself I would take a vacation and see the States. Then, I would come to my senses and relegate it to the back of my mind with the other indulgen
t adventures about which I dreamed. Reality would set in and I would make my way to the office, as usual.

  I was feeling rather perky as I entered the Abode, then I noticed there was a lot of chatter going on at the bar.

  "Something of import, I take it?" I said, as I pulled up a stool. Cairo was behind the bar experimenting with alcoholic concoctions, as usual. He gave me a congenial smile and poured me a double shot of Stoli.

  "The Madge has a squeeze," Cairo said, sliding the glass of vodka to me.

  "Cairo!" Dawn erupted. "Show some fucking respect!"

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I did miss something, didn't I?"

  "It seems the word is out that the magistrate has been seeing Cassandra Dreys. Socially, I mean." Dusk stated the facts in his usual droll manner.

  I thought about how I should respond. I had spent an inordinate amount of time with the magistrate over the past few decades but this was a first. It came as a bit of a shock but I couldn't fault the man for having needs. I'd fallen under that train before, myself.

  "Good for them," I said, downing my drink and sliding the glass back toward Cairo for a refill. "I thought he seemed a bit, oh, I don't know, peppier of late. Cassandra Dreys. Isn't that the lady who works in the finance department?"

  Like any city, the Citadel, underground though it was, still ran on the same underlying principles as any other city in the world. We had departments of people that covered various arenas of civil and governmental responsibilities. We had finance, treasury, facilities, electrical and water. Everyone had a job in the Citadel. As it had developed and grown over time, the jobs became more advanced as did the culture and state of technology. We were nothing if not early adopters.