by Char Cam
“Are you my mother?” Elsbeth asked, quivering in anticipation. "Are you the essence of my mother in another body?"
All eyes turned speculatively toward Ophelia. She stood and walked around to Elsbeth and took one of her hands into both of hers. “I am not your mother...but....” Ophelia found it hard to breathe. The intensity of this moment, whether role-play or not was profound. Even out of character, and trying to be objective, it was amazing to her that she really felt the grief of losing her daughter. The joy of finding her again and the sorrow of dying in the moment of success. It all felt as if it had happened. Once more, she submerged herself into Sonetshea. What response could she give this young lady except the one the emotionally charged moment demanded? “but,” she breathed unsteadily, “Alvaro has claimed you, and he is the one I seek. You are my daughter. I don’t understand how this is, but if you can accept--”
Typically, Elsbeth bounced from her seat and lunged at Sonetshea. She braced herself and was ready for the fierce enveloping hug.
“I knew it. I knew it!” Elsbeth said hoarsely.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember you, remember us,” Sonetshea whispered.
Elsbeth leaned back from the embrace. “It’s because your mind is blocked to help you survive in the other world. You’re not in your right body. We’ll find the pieces,” Elsbeth vowed fiercely, “and we’ll set things right.”
Sonetshea found she had tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them self-consciously, then turned to scowl at Cryson--as did everyone else.
That poor fellow slumped in his chair, rolled his eyes, then said defensively, “What? I didn’t say nothin.”
Sonetshea laughed. “Now, at least part of my questing is successful. I have found my daughter," Sonetshea smiled warmly at the girl who was doing a little jig beside her.
“Best. Gig. Ever!”
Sonetshea chuckled. "I now have contact with the Deathgiver whom I must aid," she nodded graciously to Alvaro, "and I also know where at least one body part is located if only I can get to it. A vault, I believe," she said looking at Elsbeth, "and the possible location of another in a crypt. I’m strangely drawn to where the various amputations are hidden. I do have one other thing vital for the resurrection...if only I could remember what it is.”
“Check your notes,” Alvaro offered helpfully.
“I am quoting from my notes,” Sonetshea laughed. “They say I can’t remember. Someone is supposed to come along and help me with that. As it is, that’s it for my tie-in quests.”
“Thank you, Sonetshea," Allon said kindly. "On that comment, I’ll turn you all lose. Have fun and I’ll see you all after check in tomorrow at nine.”
"The timing, Allon. The timing is so tight," a voice said quietly in Allon’s mind.
"I know, love. And they don’t have your precision. Just their flawed account of reality. Are you sure free will is the only course?"
"I've played it a bazillion times. It all ends in disaster without it."
"I bow to your infallible wisdom. We will all live or die together. Let it ride on chance and the integrity of one fragile essence.”
“She will not fail us. She chose her path and will follow it all its winding way. But the timing...”.
“An uncontrollable variable,” Allon agreed. “Will she choose in time.”
FIVE
“Well Ladies, are we sticking together or separating?” Liolith asked quizzically.
“’I’m all for togetherness myself, actually,” Liaylaha said, standing and stretching.
“’I’m in,” Sonetshea nodded, then glanced at Elsbeth.
“Absolutely,” Elsbeth squirmed happily. She was thrilled to be treated as an adult by these women. She found it difficult to be around most people because she felt older than her sixteen years and yet she was treated as if she were a babe. These women seemed to take it for granted she was a capable person and she reveled in that.
Elsbeth, or Patricia Morgan outside the game, had been a normal child, the apple of her parents eyes until the age of nine. She’d studied diligently, had very good grades, and was an Olympic gymnastics hopeful. Then her life literally crashed. On a dare from friends, Patricia attempted a stunt on the parallel bars without supervision. She hit the top bar at an angle that bounced her outward, away from the mats, and down on her head.
She was rushed to the hospital where the doctors, after extensive tests, pronounced her brain dead with no chance of recovery. Her hysterical parents refused to accept the prognosis and kept her on life support. Eventually, after three years, her parents were convinced to unhook her. Instead of dying, however, Patricia woke from her coma--but she was not the same daughter her parents had raised. This girl was as a little baby. She had no motor skills, couldn’t talk, and had to be cared for constantly, and had no idea these strange crying people were her parents. The Morgan’s couldn’t handle the change and had her institutionalized.
Eventually, Patricia was diagnosed with a weird type of autism. She could sit and stare at nothing for hours, perhaps days, then suddenly she’d be alert and interact with her environment at a much more advanced level than she had before the apparent catatonic episode. The doctors had never seen anything like it and there were many case studies done with her.
When she was fifteen, after a lengthy catatonic state, she had come awake and heard her parents discussing her.
“Through a miracle, we have our own baby now,” she heard her mother say. “I mean, I love Patricia, but she is adopted--”
“--illegally at that--”
“--and I just want to get on with our lives. Coming here is painful. She doesn’t know us and…maybe that’s for the best.”
“So we just keep paying the bill for this place?” her father asked, irritated.
“Move her to a cheaper facility. She won’t notice if the care isn’t as elaborate.”
Her father--no, not her father. Her adoptive father, had sighed. “I’ll look into it.”
“Good. Great. Eventually no one will remember our little secret and it’ll aaaaall be forgotten. We have Timothy now. Our perfect little son.”
Patricia had been the perfect little daughter. Had been. Now she was a dirty little secret; thrown away because she wasn’t perfect anymore. She was broken; no longer worth keeping.
Patricia had known that whatever had been wrong with her was over, done, gone. She had asked to be released from the facility; kept asking to be released. The doctors’ refusal to take her seriously had had her becoming extremely agitated with the whole staff. Her parents, notified of her seemingly improved condition, had remained silent. Uncommunicative. A lawyer came. Papers were signed. The staff had told her she had a new name and they had called her Stella and expected her to go along with their scheme.
She had become furious and rebellious. When she had realized they were considering drugging her, she had started using her brain. She still didn’t quite understand what had occurred to cause her catatonia, but she knew it had been a matter of maturity. At that time, she felt she had understood enough of the world around her to survive on her own.
She faked a catatonic state for two days. When she came ‘out’ of it, Patricia had begun planning her escape. Aiding her was a secret talent: she could manipulate electronics. She accepted it as another strange thing about her life and secretly kidded herself about having alien parents. She hacked the computers system; studied the staff schedule, the guard patrol patterns, found where the surveillance cameras operated.
Patricia had ‘behaved’ well enough that the institutional staff had let her interact with the other girls and she had slept in the girls dorm. She had even made a few friends, which surprised her--and they were her one regret about leaving.
The day had come when she was going to be transferred to another institution. She had planned her escape brilliantly, she thought. Very late one night before the transfer, when a storm had looked like it was coming, she’d set the room camera on a loop and gathered her be
d sheets in a pile with a few clothes.
"Take me with you," a lone voice begged from the dark.
"Me too," another insisted. Others echoed the same request.
"How’d you--"
"We're physically imperfect, not insane," her new friend Rhonda said patiently. "And in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been helping you. We want real lives too, but our parents are never gonna let us out of here."
Patricia sat heavily on her bed. "I don’t even know if I’m gonna get out, let alone make it with extras."
"Here’s the thing," another friend, Linda, stated matter of factly. "We don’t expect you to take us now, but we want you to come back for us."
"What? Stage a raid or something?" she’d asked in disbelief.
Several had laughed. "Yeah, that’ll work! It’s a mass prison break. Say you’ll do it, Patricia. We’ll be trapped forever. You think Ginny will ever get out of here?" Linda asked twisting her figurative arm.
"You...c-c-come...b-back!" Ginny demanded. "Have...b-brain. Want g-g-gone!"
"Ginny is smart. She figured out you were leaving," Rhonda explained quietly. "And you know why I’m here. Step daddy dearest doesn’t want me to get my inheritance and kick him out; only he isn’t quite smart enough to kill me and dump the body."
"Yeah, yeah, I know you’re all smart. All right. Done! I’ll find a safe place for all of us. Then one stormy night the powers goin’ out. That’ll be the signal so be ready to leave. ‘Kay?"
"Good!" Ginny said with satisfaction.
Rhonda and Linda had given her quick hugs and along with the others had wished her luck. Patricia had gathered her things, then walked quietly to the door. She triggered the electronic lock. When the door had snicked open, she had heard giggles, and a whispered, ‘wish I could do that‘. With a last look back at her friends who were making her bed look occupied, she had ghosted out of the room and down the silent halls. She’d slunk down the back ways, aiming for the grounds at the back of the property. She had gone to a pile of rocks dug from the new garden and picked one about the size of her fist. She’d tied a corner of one of her sheets about it, then wrapped the sheet around her waist to keep her hands free. The other sheet with her clothes and other personal stuff had been tossed over the six foot stone enclosure. She’d gone to a tree beside the sturdy shed and climbed it to get to the shed roof. She had checked for the rake she’d secreted in the gutter weeks ago and was satisfied to find it still hidden, then she’d glanced up. And there it had been; the tree branch growing over the wall of her prison. She’d taken off the sheet and grabbed the end with the rock. Swinging it over her head a couple of times, she’d let it fly toward the branch--and succeeded in making it loop over it. She’d used the rake to snag the rock end, got the rock out, threw it toward a bush, put the rake back in the gutter. Followed by the scary part. She was going to use the sheet as a rope/swing and leap/slide herself to the wall. She knew she wasn’t a strong girl. She’d tried building her muscles in the short time since she’d decided to leave on her own, but she faced the fact squarely that she’d been confined most of her life. So, taking a deep breath and wrapping the sheet ends tightly about her wrists, she took two quick steps and a literal leap of faith off the shed, swinging her body and stretching her feet toward the stone wall--and made it! Then she’d simply climbed the tree down, picked up her sheet of clothes and a pillowcase of food she’d scrounged and tossed over earlier that day--which turned out to be several pillowcases. There were more ‘bags’ of food than she had made. Her eyes had watered as she realized her friends had added to her stash. Then she’d walked off into the storm. She’d been living on the streets since.
All she had ever known were the confines of the institution. She wouldn’t have survived so well so soon if it hadn’t been for Joseph and Cindy. Joseph was the older at fourteen. Dark chocolate hair waived softly above wise eyes so dark Patricia swore sometimes she could see stars. Lightly sprinkled freckles peeked through his almond skin where a pimple or two signaled his rearing maturity. An always ready smile turned his cuteness into adorable.
Cindy was ten. Her sable hair had hints of burnished copper and she kept it out of her eyes by chopping and slicing her bangs with a knife. The rest of the straggled length she kept back by a too big barrette that was a last gift from her mother. Her gold speckled hazel eyes could look right through you and size you up as either worthless, usable, or--and Patricia felt honored to be--a friend. Cindy did not smile often, but when she did, she was just as cute as a little baby fawn peeking out from under his mommy’s belly.
Both Joseph and Cindy’s families had been homeless. They’d seen each other around as their parents shuffled from shelter to shelter and food donation stations struggling to survive. Ironically, they’d found themselves in the same foster home when Social Services had taken them from their parents 'for their own good' and placed them in foster care. They had missed their families. After talking about it for a few days, they had decided to locate their families on their own. Except they never had found them.
Joseph and Cindy had each previously befriended an old man who worked in a computer repair shop. He was next door to a restaurant that set leftovers out for the homeless. His eyes were going and he was finding it difficult to do some of the work. Joseph had made a deal with him to become his eyes for a place to sleep in the buildings’ upstairs storage room and he had also bartered for small under the table payments; they had been doing all right when they found Patricia.
Patricia was down to her last bites of food, still trying to find her way in an unfamiliar world. Cindy had looked at her, shrugged, took her by the hand, added her to their little family. Joseph had chuckled, took her other hand, and no one could separate them after that.
At night, when the shop was closed, they had started playing an online game, Azdromadarim. Between the three of them, they’d played one character all the way to level one hundred fifty and earned a golden ticket. It couldn’t have happened at a better time. The old man had decided to retire and they needed a new place fast. They’d heard the rumors that people inside the theme park could end up staying and never leave. Patricia, Elsbeth, was representing their win and investigating the possibilities.
Someone cleared their throat behind Elsbeth. She turned and saw Cryson, hat figuratively in hand, looking hopeful.
“May I escort you Ladies about the city?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Liolith sniffed dismissively.
Cryson looked crestfallen. As he turned away, inspiration struck Elsbeth. “He could be kinda useful,” she said, finger tapping her chin. “I mean, we might buy things. And Gentlemen carries things for Ladies.”
“There’s delivery service,” Liolith grumped.
Cryson’s face, flitting between hopeful, and dog beaten, was comical. The imp inside Elsbeth couldn’t let the poor sod walk off dejected. She also noticed that Sonetshea and Liaylaha were finding the ceiling or floor fascinating and their lips were pinched to whiteness.
“True, true. But for little things? And besides, he is a Deathgiver. Isn’t there a rule about Healers being accompanied by Deathgivers as guardians since, well, they can’t hurt a fly?” Elsbeth inquired innocently.
“We’re Druids. Natural fly swatters,” was the acerbic come back.
“Okaaaaay,” Elsbeth said apparently giving up. “I just thought it’d be nice for him to go along with us. He’s all alone and stuff, doesn’t have anyone to hang with.” Sonetshea, Liaylaha, and Cryson, tried hard not to look at Bliztarf and Alvaro standing some ways behind Liolith. Obligingly, the two men ducked low behind the refreshment table and under its cloth. Liolith started to turn at the rustling sound, but strange sounds came from Sonetshea. She tried making them sound like off key humming, but there never was a humming heard so hard to hear as music. Liolith scrutinized her, then rolled her eyes.
The room seemed to hold its breath. “Oh very well,” Liolith said grudgingly. “But he’d better not tell us what to d
o or the next time he gets a hangnail, I’ll pull off the skin to heal him!”
Sputtered choking and coughing grabbed the two other women. “Water, I need water,” Sonetshea gasped as she jumped from her chair to the refreshment table.
“Good idea,” coughed Liaylaha.
From the corner of her eye, Elsbeth caught a glimpse of movement by the door. Followed immediately by maniacal laughter just outside. Elsbeth suppressed a grin, realizing the other two men had immediately left. Cryson looked very happy and winked at her. She winked back and turned away.
After Liolith had determined that the two choking ladies had recovered, the quintet headed outside to begin exploring.
Elsbeth paused beside her sleeping pet and nudged it with her hands trying to wake it. "Um..." What was the command? "Stables. Return to the stables." The cat groaned with reluctance and slowly stood, stretching in leisurely fashion. Satisfied, Elsbeth joined the others who had paused just outside the Halls’ door.
“Liolith went to send a quick message to her mother,” Sonetshea advised her. Holding her Epic Card, she speculated, "If a Gold gets you anything, what does an Epic Card get you?" She almost dropped said object when an automated voice answered from it.
"An Epic Card allows its user to buy a residence, including full staff, for the entirety of the holder’s retention of the card. This may include obtainment even after quest time expiration. An Epic Card allows its user the special title of Solonar or Solonaress, since this Card is only given for a quest line that is of pandemic importance. Even the Royal Family, Healers, and Legendary/Mystic Card retainers are below the Epic Card holder in rank--with the exception of the Imperator, High King or Queen, or the Kadan or Kada of a country--due to any possible necessity needed to save the world. Access to the Imperator palace is granted and residential requirements may be obtained within. As Solonar or Solonaress, all citizens must obey the Card holder’s orders or requests. Be reminded that Healers must be obeyed above all in matters of health. Contradicting a working Healer is disallowed. As Solonar or Solonaress, responsibility for citizenry as law enforcer is required on par with the Royal Family, Healers, and Legendary/Mystic Card retainers. The rulings of the Royal Family, Healers, and Legendary/Mystic Card retainers cannot be disavowed. The Epic Card may, in some cases, be eligible for use outside game parameters. That right is also reserved for Legendary and Mystic Cards. For more information, please read the owners manual.”