IN THE TIME OF FOG

PART FOUR:

That one flash of what lay inside him grabbed her imagination

and as soon as she could, she went to her easel and tried to capture

it on paper. She took the basic features of his face that she had

come to know, but attempted to add the eyes she'd seen. The

flash had lasted a mere second or two, come and gone before
she could catch a breath. But it was a snatch of a personality

like none she'd ever seen before. This man was no mere foot

soldier suffering from shell shock.

She didn't look at the man across the room as she worked on

his eyes. For that she had to look into her own memory. That

inward-turning deadness had been replaced by eyes that bore

a remarkable resemblance to an eagle's. That was it. They had

made her think of a male eagle, soaring on a thermal over the mountains, free, intelligent, in command of his world. They

were eyes aware of not less than everything, eyes that instantly

sized it all up, assigned it to its proper places, told others what

to do about it. They were experienced eyes, eyes that knew about
things, eyes that might have seen too much. There was so much

in them that it was hard for her to remember all of it. She stopped, looking now at him as he sat stroking Marcus. How could so much
be so deeply tucked away? And...why?

She was used to drawing eyes. It was what she did for a living and

she was good at it. But she'd never tried to draw eyes that held as

much as his did. "Damn!" she whispered under her breath. "Who

ARE you?" 

She guessed his age at around 35.  Not that old to have so much in

one's eyes. Having seen that, though, seen who he truly was, made

the misty blankness now  harder to bear.   Something really
monumental must have happened to him to make a man with the strength she'd seen turn into himself like that.

Watching him with the dog, she thought long and hard about it.

It was like he'd turned some 'off' switch in himself so that he

didn't have to...think. "How long ago? How long ago did you do

that?" she asked softly, not intending it for his ears. Not that he

would have heard her anyway. It was Marcus who was the focus

of all the attention he could muster. Hmmmm? What if...?

She walked to the door, standing with her hand on the knob.

"Marcus!" she called firmly.

His head came up. "Come, boy!"

He hesitated, his head turning from the man to her, back again.

But a life of answering her call won out and he hopped off the

bed and walked to her, stopping by her legs and turning to
look back at the man.

"Good boy," she praised, patting his neck. "Stay!"

She waited, both of them watching the man on the bed, whose

eyes had followed Marcus across the room. He seemed confused,

as though he didn't understand why the dog had moved away,

why it wasn't coming back to him. His hand made a little,

feeble gesture, then fell into his lap. He stared at the dog and

a moment later lifted his hand again, holding it out toward

the dog.

Marcus made a little whining sound. "Steady, boy," she said.

"This is for his own good." She could feel Marcus' whole body trembling as he pressed against her legs.

He moved his fingers in a mute gesture that said clearly he wanted

the dog. "You want him," she said under her breath, "you come

and get him."

She opened the door, stepping out onto the porch with Marcus,

but still in full view of the day bed. His eyes widened. "Good,"

she smiled. "You got your lids up."   She took another step

backwards, Marcus with her. His lips parted and she heard him

inhale sharply. "Worried, are you? I'd be worried, too." She shut

the door part-way, blocking most of his view of Marcus.

Marcus whined again, looking up at her. "Ok, ok, I get it! So it's

like taking candy from a baby. You both will thank me for it later.

I hope," she added.

He began to slide his legs toward the edge of the bed, moving as

though he hadn't used his muscles in a while. It took him some

time, but finally he pushed with his hands and rose to a standing position. She felt bad about being so far from him when he was obviously very weak. "Baby steps," she breathed. "Just little

baby steps. You can do it!"

Taking five steps, he stopped, held his hand toward the door,

then took another three steps before he began to totter. He

clutched for her easel, which toppled to one side, him falling

with it in a huge clatter of pencils, charcoal, erasers, and

various other art supplies, ending in a heap on the floor.

Both she and Marcus dashed toward him. He lay on his back,

part of the easel across his hips, and Marcus stepped right up

on his chest, licking his chin. "My," she said, staring down at

him. "That went well."

He was blinking as Marcus' ministrations moved steadily further

up his face. "Stop!" he said. "I am all right."

She squatted beside him, her head cocked attentively. "Did you just...speak?"

He blinked some more, trying to focus on her. "Where...where

am I?"

"Good God!" she laughed. "Do you know how disappointed

Agatha would be to hear such a prosaic line in this plot?"

"Pl...plot?" he repeated.

"You are being slobbered on by my dog as you lie prone on my

floor with my art supplies inside my house which looks like a

rosebud despite not being shaped at all like a sled."  Why she

said all that, she did not know. She just said it.

He looked at her like she was a newly-landed alien speaking

fluent Martian.

"No," she smiled, "I am not from outer space."

He closed his eyes, pushing the dog's mouth away from his nose,

and panted for breath. She shook her head. Sometimes her quirky humor popped out at the most inopportune times. "I'm sorry,"

she said softly, lightly touching his cheek. "Are you hurt?"

"Can't...breathe," he gasped, and she turned her attention to the

120 pounds standing on his chest.

"Off, Marcus," she ordered. He moaned with relief and rolled

onto his side.

"Did you hit your head?"

He nodded, cupping a palm over the left side of his head, squeezing

his eyes tightly shut. She licked her lips. Had hitting his head been enough to knock sense back into him? "That was too easy, Agatha,"

she murmured. She'd have thrown him on the floor hours ago had

she known that was all it would take. Or perhaps it wasn't the

impact at all...maybe it was the threat of removing Marcus that

had done it? "Well, I guess we'll never know," she sighed.

"Know what?" he asked, squinting up at her.

"The answer."

"There...there was a question?"

"Yep," she said. "Sure was. But I've got another one now. Think

you can get up?"

He rubbed a hand roughly across his face and sat up. "Ohhhhh,"

he moaned, wobbling as the room spun."

"Dizzy, huh? Well, just sit there a sec and I'll go get you a bag of

frozen peas."

He looked at her very strangely. "Fr...frozen...peas?"

"Yeah, for an ice pack. I don't have a regular ice pack but frozen

peas work just as well anyway."

Marcus came up and was seriously licking his right ear. He moaned

and lay flat again. Marcus stepped back onto his chest. "Marcus!"

she said loudly. "You get OFF him! Don't worry. I'll be right back

with your peas."

Marcus got off and lay close beside him, returning to ear-licking

duty.   He closed his eyes.   Where WAS he?  All of this was

entirely unreal.  It had to be a dream...a nightmare.  The last

thing he remembered clearly. What was it? He recalled throwing

up after he ate the mango. There was no single cut-off point in

his memory. It just all rather gradually faded into nothingness.

His conversations with Sid flooded back, slamming into him like

a tidal wave, and when she came back with the bag of peas, he

had his hand over his eyes.

"Head hurt pretty bad, eh?" She said, squatting and putting the

bag against the left side of his head.

He moved his hand. "What year is this?" The island was gone.

He had no idea where, or when, he might be.

"What...year?" She made a slight face. "You ARE just chock full

of over-done questions. A fan of paperbacks, are you?"

"What year?" he almost growled. The woman spoke in riddles.

Smacking her lips loudly, dramatically, she said, "Last I checked

it was 2007."

He moaned, looking strickenly about the room. "Oh, gods...the

palace."

She followed his glance with her own. "I'd hardly call it that. It's

not bad, at least I like it, but it's certainly no palace."

"Sid?" His voice wavered a bit.

"Nope, Caroline. And who might you be?"

He didn't answer, just blew out a long breath. Sid had sent him

into 2007 again. He tried to remember the lights, tried to remember

if Sid had come into the cave, but everything was a blur. He did

recall asking Sid to send him off the island. Perhaps all this was

nothing more than that Sid had done so. Now he and Brianna

had the island to themselves. But...where... had Sid sent him?

Gingerly, he sat up. "What is this place?"

"My home," she replied. "This room is my art studio."

He felt utterly confused and rubbed his face hard. Dropping his

hand again, it encountered the dog. He looked at it. "You were...

with me," he whispered, not understanding. "He is...he is your
dog?"

"My dog," she affirmed. "Marcus."

At the sound of his name, Marcus thumped his tail loudly on the hardwood floor, opening his mouth in a wide, doggy grin. Maximus

just stared at him, thoughts and emotions all jostling together.

"Marcus." He said the name and then began to laugh.

"By all the gods...MARCUS!"

Marcus got to his feet, leaning over Maximus, drops of drool

falling onto his face. Maximus, emotions releasing in him, just

laughed harder, grabbed Marcus around his neck and rolled
slightly. Marcus let out a series of sharp, happy barks, his hind

feet skittering through the art supplies.

Caroline watched silently. "Agatha," she said, "somehow this

has turned from a mystery novel into a comic book."  Then she

smiled, something in herself that had been packed in cotton for

years loving the sight of the man and the dog and her grin

widened even as tears stung in her eyes.

ON TO PART 5

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