Eyes Love & Water

by Pamela Foland

  “Remind me to thank your friend when next I see her,” The woman said with an odd grin on her face.

  Miranda tilted her head at the woman, “How did you know she was a she, and how do you know you know her?”

  “I didn't say I knew her, I just said I'd see her. It really isn't possible to know anyone. Ask yourself if you even know yourself,” The woman clucked while sucking in the soothing vapors from the tea. “Besides, there are more things in all the heavens and all the Earths than you have even begun to understand little one, and the flexibility of time is one of them.”

  Miranda shifted the tilt of her head to the other side, “So what your saying is that you admit nothing, and I know nothing.”

  “I can't really say,” The woman answered before chugging the tea in one long swallow. Then with an audibly soothed voice she continued, “What I can say is that you need to learn a few tricks before you go racing off this time. Disguise can be your best ally, aside from your powers. Telepathy can offer early warnings of attack and pursuit. Telekinesis is useful on both the gross and the delicate scales. Teleportation can do more than get you from place to place, and vague verbalizations can save all the explaining in the world”

  “And you are going to teach me?”

  “Yes, while you pay me back for the nursing I provided when you were injured.” The woman lifted her cup and gestured towards Miranda's bag.

  “I'll stay until the dark catch wind of where I am, or you get sick of me, whichever comes first.” Miranda flung her bag towards the kitchen corner of the house, and started gathering the makings of a pallet for herself.

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  Ben and Tina discussed half the possible restaurants in Sanctuary trying to decide on where to have their brunch. In the end, Ben and Tina never made it farther than the kitchenette for brunch. Ben ordered up a pile of pancakes and sausage from the processor, and Tina ordered a hot fudge sundae. They sat down in the lounge area and ate from TV trays.

  Ben took one taste of his breakfast and had to sigh. The pancakes tasted better than anything even his mother had made. “Does everything here taste this good?”

  “I guess, well everything that comes from the processors. Some of the stuff my mom cooks doesn't always come out.” Tina answered.

  “Were you born here?”

  “Yeah, my mom moved here before she met my dad. He moved here after meeting her, he hasn't left since, 'cept for the wedding. He wanted to have that in what he called a real church.”

  “You have churches here.”

  “Yeah but, he meant one on a real world under a real god-made sky rather than a ceiling with a pretty light show.”

  Ben nodded at the concept and attacked his pancakes some more. After another rich bite he realized he could use some milk. “I'm gonna grab me some milk. Need anything while I'm up?”

  “No thanks, just make sure you specify cow's milk.” Tina wiped her chocolate rimmed lips on her napkin.

  “Thanks for the tip.” Ben said as he rose.

  Tina shoveled a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth silently while Ben was occupied in the kitchen. When he returned, she hit him with a question. “So, how did you end up here?”

  “I investigated a mass murder. The other cops called it the cult case, because they thought a satanic cult was responsible. The truth was that a demon, or something closely resembling one, did it. Somehow my involvement in that investigation made me a target. There was this,” Ben exhaled sharply while he searched for a word, “unbelievable girl, Daniel called her a dark assassin. She was supposed to kill me. Instead she begged me to shoot her and I did it,” Ben paused wrangling with a blurry sort of mental itch, “or maybe she made me do it, somehow? The next thing I knew, Daniel had brought me here.”

  “So, you thought she was cute!” Tina teased childishly.

  Ben blushed, and started to cobble together a denial. Instead he went with his gut, and answered in a playful tone “Yeah, but if you keep teasing, I will show you a flushing toilet bowl, up close and personal!”

  Tina laughed and started chanting, “Two little love birds sitting' in a tree.” She aborted her chant and giggled at his face as it turned a brighter shade of beet.

  Ben wiped his face on a napkin and smiled at the thought of catching Miranda up a tree, secure in the knowledge that his thoughts were safe around Tina. “Tina, you are a pain, but I don't mind your company. Does that mean I am becoming unhinged?”

  Tina laughed even harder, “Look around,” she pointed at the sliding doors down each of the hallways, “hinges are overrated.”

  Ben laughed back, “Yeah, I've noticed this place is a little off center.”

  “Just ignore the casual implications that your ability makes you nutty Ben.” Tina took on a serious tone, “For all anybody around here has told you that humans can go nutty at sudden revelations of telepathy, it is the briaunti that have more of a tendency towards insanity at sudden mental surprises.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow, “Huh.”

  “After our metamorphosis, we encounter our ancestral memories. I don't know how they work for sure, but I do know that it can change a person. Sometimes people get lost, they can't tell their own memories from their parents or grandparents. It's a weakness they all pretend to ignore. It makes them feel better to look down on the humans as unstable and inferior,” Tina deflated even further she seemed almost on the verge of tears, “and I get classed in with them.”

  Ben took his napkin and wiped a stray bit of hot fudge from Tina's cheek. “I thought we settled that problem yesterday, and this morning. You are the personal assistant of the head of medical services now, remember? Not just a gimp to be pushed around.”

  Tina visibly cheered at his pep talk. Her intent eyes hinted at feelings just a tad more intimate than adoration. Ben caught it and felt awkward. He set to attacking his breakfast with a vengeance to avoid the issue.

  “Ben, do you like me?”

  He choked and hid a grimace behind a quickly snatched napkin. After coughing, and catching his breath, Ben realized he wouldn't be able to avoid the real question with a companionable nod. “Sure, you are about the best friend I have around here.”

  “Not, what I was asking.” Tina returned the volley.

  Ben bit his lip, he didn't want to hurt her feelings, but he honestly felt about her as he would about a kid sister, if he had one. Physically she was preadolescent, and her chronological age, twelve years younger, didn't cry out in favor of the answer she wanted either. “Tina, you are way too young for me.”

  “Not, if I ever metamorphose, then I'll look exactly your age for a while, until you get older.”

  “I'm sorry. You feel like the kid sister I never had and didn't know I wanted.” Ben flinched at having to make that admittance to her. She flinched too. “Besides, looks aside, I know you are twelve years younger than me. It feels wrong.”

  Ben tried not to notice Tina blinking back tears, “You are being honest aren't you? I mean my age is the reason right? You aren't saying that because of how I am?”

  “My feelings have absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you are telepathic. In truth, that makes you slightly more attractive and nicer to be around. I'm not sure I could handle a relationship with someone who reads minds.”

  Tina faked a smile, “I guess I can handle that then.” She scraped at the dregs of her sundae absently.

  “Could you handle another of those?”

  “Sure! I could use another hit of chocolate, but make it a small one. We need to go check in with Gene after lunch.”

  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  Miranda's hands were wrinkled and pruney she had been scrubbing dishes since she went on shift that morning. She had been lucky to get the job being an illegal alien in the cosmic sense, but she didn't feel all that lucky after six hours of soap suds. Especially when she was looking at less than the minimum wage. Frustrated she plunged the pan she was scrubbing
back into the dishwater, with a puddle forming slosh.

  The boy carrying the garbage out grunted and yowled, “ Great job, now I'll have to mop that up!”

  Miranda watched him retreat outside and used her telekinesis to put the water back into the sink. When he came back with a mop, she shrugged at the missing spill and chuckled to herself as he trudged back to put the mop away. Miranda scrubbed at the pot under the water and considered using her telekinesis on the gunk. It would require finer control than she had ever practiced using. She focused on the plane where the metal of the pan met the crusted food. She pulled against the food and watched it float to the surface of the water.

  “Yo, new girl, staring at the dishes won’t get them clean!” The restaurant manager growled at Miranda.

  “That's what you think,” Miranda mumbled and began making a show of scrubbing at the pan, while actually pulling off the dirt with her telekinesis.

  Miranda 'scrubbed' the dishes for the remaining two hours of her shift and collected her pay. Despite her first case of dishpan hands, Miranda felt the happiest she had in months. She hadn't been bothered by her pursuers in several worlds and she felt almost safe. With her small wad of cash, Miranda decided to splurge on dinner at a good restaurant.

  First Miranda needed to do something about her outfit which showed every minute of her workday. Taking cue from her earlier success she ducked into an alley and focused her mind to remove everything which wasn't of the fabric of her clothes. It took much more focus, and therefore more time, but in the end her outfit was cleaner than it had been when Ellen gave it to her.

  Miranda then looked for the nearest telephone booth. Remembering one a few blocks down, Miranda settled into a brisk trot. She swung the phone book up to look for a good restaurant. To her disappointment the restaurant section had been ripped out. It was almost enough to put her off the idea. She had money, and her clothes were clean, and she wanted to buy herself a nice dinner.

  Without a destination Miranda walked aimlessly trying to find another source of ideas. Eventually her surroundings began to tickle her brain with a sense of familiarity. Across the street was a hotel building and to her right were a set of stairs leading up to a public library. She stood there letting her eyes bounce from one side to the other. Then the answer hit her like a bullet, it looked like the place where she had met Ben.

  The thrill of success was quickly dampened by the realization of subtle differences. The hotel across the street bore the name, The Olive Leaf, and the library doors were the wrong color. Still, the resemblance was near enough to set her heart fluttering, and her eyes searching for Ben.

  Miranda shoved the idea of that possibility away. Even if she did meet up with him. It wouldn't be him. Instead it would be another un-Ben, and the last one hadn't been worth meeting. He was the one with the fence post and the missing moral fabric. She couldn't curse him too much, if he hadn't clobbered her, she would have never met Ellen, and she wouldn't have the knapsack of possessions hanging loosely over one shoulder.

  Evidently Miranda wasn't the only one interested in that knapsack, because while she contemplated it's procurement so did a purse thief on approach. He picked up speed and snapped an arm out to snatch the knapsack as he passed. There was no way for him to anticipate the strength of Miranda's idle grasp, but if there had been a way he would have chosen another target. His inertia had been calculated to tug the bag away and carry him off down the street before she knew what hit her. His calculations were wrong. After he slipped his arm through the strap his feet kept going, but his upper body was jerked to a halt.

  Miranda turned towards the tug and watched as the thief landed on his butt, dangling from the strap of her knapsack. The tableau caught the eyes of those around her, and the attention of a uniformed officer. The thief sat shaking his head trying to search for the source of his failure, while the officer made a quick approach.

  “Is there a problem here?” The officer asked. Miranda was struck speechless by his face, it was an un-Ben.

  “Yeah man, I just tried to steal her purse! And she like stopped me! She ain't normal!” The would be purse snatcher blurted.

  “I think I should inform you of your rights.” The cop told the thief, “Lady do you want to press charges?” Miranda found her voice was captured by the un-Ben's eyes. He patted her on the shoulder. “Miss.”

  Miranda shook herself and replayed his question in her mind, “Charges?”

  “Do you want me to charge him with theft?”

  “Why he didn't take anything?”

  “He was trying to steal your purse. He's a purse-thief.” un-Ben answered with his face screwed up in confusion.

  “Not a very good one, I think the shame of not being able to snatch a purse from a poor, distracted, and helpless female is more than punishment enough.”

  “Helpless! That chick has a grip to beat Superman! She's some sort of flippin' Amazon!” The purse thief howled in defense of his honor.

  “Shut, up you moron, you really aren't helping your case!” un-Ben growled at the thief. “Are you sure you don't want to press charges?” Miranda nodded.

  “I do! She dislocated my shoulder! Arrest her on assault and battery!” Un-Ben glared at the alleged purse thief until he turned to retreat.

  “Can I walk you somewhere?” un-Ben asked Miranda. She smiled at him and glanced at the retreating thief.

  “Will, you hold on to that thought just a minute.”

  Miranda sprinted to catch up with the thief. She locked her hand onto his shoulder with just enough pressure to remind him of how strong she was. He turned rapidly to face her. She saw fear, and could sense him running through all the possibilities of what she could be in his mind. She was flattered and intrigued when the thief tiptoed around the idea of her being some kind of avenging angel, and she decided playfully to reinforce it.

  “That's, close Diego, and you remember this the next time you even think of stealing from someone else. You never know who that someone might be.” His eyes turned to dinner plates and he crossed himself, and muttered. That's when Miranda saw the need in his eyes, and behind them. He was worried about feeding his kids. The emotion flattened Miranda inside, she wished she had known a father that desperate to take care of her. Without thinking, she dug her money out of her pocket and handed it to the man.

  “Gracias de Dios! You are an angel!”

  “No, but I do have my gifts. It's only thirty bucks, but it's supper. And, I know a place that is going to need a dishwasher soon. I can put in a good word for you there. If you've got a social security card, you'll get minimum. If not, that's a day’s wage,” She shrugged, “It's not as risky as what you're doing now.” Miranda grabbed a pen from her knapsack and scribbled down the name and address of the restaurant where she worked on a piece of litter.

  “Thank you, I'm really sorry about the whole purse thing.” Miranda squirmed under the force of the awkward gratitude she was receiving from the man's mind.

  “Not a problem,” She replied and then hastily made her escape when she sensed an urge to hug her forming in his mind. She ran back to un-Ben, hoping Diego wouldn't chase her back towards the law when he did decide to deliver that hug.

  “What was that about?” un-Ben asked.

  “He needed my money more than I do, he's got kids to feed,” Miranda answered, falling deeply into un-Ben's almost-Ben eyes.

  “He didn't feed you some line did he?” Un-Ben asked searching her eyes in turn for signs of gullible folly. His deep stare revealed his concern for her as a naive stranger, every bit as helpless as she had claimed.

  “No, line, I just knew he was being honest. I could tell from his eyes.”

  Un-Ben sighed an understanding sigh, Miranda read from his thoughts that he couldn't really scold for something he probably would have done. His voice didn't reflect his thoughts, it scolded, “So, how much did you give him?”

  “Not, much, just eight hours of dirty dishes worth.” Miranda answered in a defensive t
one heavily laden with sarcasm.

  “Tell me that it wasn't all of your cash!”

  “It's not a problem, I was just going to blow it all on a fancy dinner anyway. I can get by.” Miranda answered sincerely.

  Immediately un-Ben took on a protective air, “You know of course that leaves me honor bound to buy you that dinner!”

  Miranda melted into his voice. She had been waiting to hear that from Ben for so long, but as her eyes slid down to his uniform she was hammered with the knowledge that it wasn't her Ben. If she accepted his invitation, she might forget that again. A tiny inner voice squealed that it didn't matter, a Ben in the hand was better than her Ben who-knew-where. Really it wasn't as if 'her Ben' actually belonged to her anyway. After all they had only met once for a few seconds. He had probably forgotten all about her.

  “No thank you,” Miranda was confused; she was certain she had decided to accept, “I should get going. I've got to get up early tomorrow morning for work.” Her feet started moving away from un-Ben.

  “Wait, I don't even know your name!”

  She turned back to face him. “Miranda.” She shivered at the eerie replay of her near death scene.

  “You can call me Ben.”

  “I know.” She muttered, just loudly enough that he caught it.

  “How?”

  Miranda thought quickly, her searching eyes found a silver nameplate pinned to his chest above his badge. It read, “Officer Benjamin Kindel.” Relieved she pointed at it.

  “Oh, Yea,” He sighed heavily, “Are you sure you won't let me buy you dinner?”

  “One question Ben, if you never saw me again would you remember me several years from now?”

  Un-Ben blinked and jerked his head back. His eyes closed for a second's contemplation, “Absolutely, it's not often that I don't save a pretty girl's purse from a might have been purse thief.”

  Miranda squared her shoulders, “I'm sorry Ben. I really can't. Someone is expecting me.” That was that; she started walking away. She didn't say good bye, and she didn't look back because she only barely had the will to walk away.