MY HEART IN STONE

PART FOUR:

Once the door to her apartment closed behind her, Rachel slid down to sit on the little square linoleum landing and lean against the wood panel, winded from the mad dash she had made from Terry’s office to her car, to Cort’s once more, the piles of clothes she threw into her car, and then the harrowing trip back into the city to return here for the last of the items she needed to take with her.  A passport that had been requisite to her employment under the RU, updated yearly, shoes, toiletries, maybe a coat…she forced herself to take deep long breaths, to slow her mind as well as her breathing.  She couldn’t think straight and the sequence of events were starting to lose their track in her mind now that all she could think about was getting to this former Soviet block country now known as the Czech Republic. 

If Sid were telling the truth, that is.  Rachel sucked a painful breath inward at the memory of Sid’s glittering turquoise eyes and smug expression as he ripped her hopes to shreds, pressing against the door as the fear burned through the rest of her body.  Some have even perished while still in the midst of Mikol's warp…and she might get there to discover he had been disposed of, utterly ruined, completely beyond her reach, no matter how soon she arrived, no matter what salve she could apply.  He’d be lost to her and she’d be left….

Why did Sid do this to her?  Why was it so hard for him to just…help?

A teardrop of sweat ran down her forehead to perch in a tickling spot on the side of her face and Rachel wiped it away while she pushed herself back to her feet.  The air-conditioner had been turned off since she would not be returning for a few days…three weeks now…and despite the fact that gigantic trees shaded her part of the complex, the air in the apartment was stuffy and sweltering. 

Terry’s getting it together, she reminded herself.  Have to be out of here soon. 

She took a few steps further into her apartment and almost fell over in startlement from the sharp rap on the door behind her.  Momentary panic stretched back in memory: it couldn’t be the landlord!  She had paid the rent well in advance.  Collecting herself as best she could, she flung the door open, asking for silent forgiveness for the poor soul would be subject to her mad dash for hope.

As luck would have it, it was her father.

Mr. Glensdale Keirs was a stocky man, round of face and apple-cheeked, with a thick shock of graying brown hair, a sturdy figure upon a once athletic frame, with plumpness due to age more than to diet, and as ordinary in appearance as a mild mannered man could be.  He had brown eyes to match his hair, now squinting with some shock at the alacrity and force with which his daughter had flung open the door.

“Rachel…” he began, a bit confused now because he had thought that he might have a few minutes to formulate some coherent sentence. 

Rachel wasn’t sure what she would have thought if she had known her father was coming, but now that he stood on the doorstep, she still didn’t think, only flung her arms around his neck.

“Daddy…oh, Dad, I’m so glad to see you!  Here, come inside….”  Almost instantly, she pulled Glen into the apartment and shut the door. 

“Rachel, honey, what the hell’s wrong?  Rachel, where’ve you been?  I’ve been trying to call you and call you…honey, I’ve been worried sick,” Glen began, forsaking any formality of re-acquaintance.  He lived several hours away, and had been stewing the whole time driving, waiting for a chance to pin down his daughter.  “You told me you’d be gone for a few days and here it is three weeks.  Even your next door neighbor was telling me they hadn’t seen you in a while…”

Rachel nodded throughout this complaint, wishing she could just cut to the chase and say she had to leave within hours, but it was true.  Their unexpected extension in Gladiator had created more chaos outside the movie than within and it was all going to catch up now.  Starting with her father.  Of all people.

“I know, Dad, I know.  It’s been horrible!  You don’t know the half of it…”

“Well, try me, angel,” Glen said firmly, planting himself in the middle of her living room.  Rachel made a quick trip to turn on the a/c and fluttered somewhat over the pillows of the couch, trying to get her father to sit, but he would have none of it. 

“You’re not gonna like hearing this,” she began, an inauspicious beginning at best.  “But my weird behavior can’t stop now.  I have five hours to get my things together and get on a plane and…”

“Whoa, whoa!  Angel, start at the beginning.”

“Dad!  I don’t have time!  Besides, how many trips have you made that lasted several weeks?”  Rachel found herself shouting.  Oh, this wasn’t going good at all.  “Dad, I’m sorry, but you have to trust me.  I know I haven’t been communicative…believe me, I didn’t intend to be gone for three weeks!  It was a total…disaster.  And I know I’ve been very erratic of late, but its for a good reason…”

“Is this to do with your job?  What are they having you do?  First you say you’re in a retrieval business, God only knows what you retrieve…you certainly won’t tell me…then you make mysterious comments about a new man in your life…where is he, hon?  You’re not in some kind of trouble because of him, are you?”

Rachel stared at her father, uncertain where to begin. 

“No, Dad!  Not in trouble…He’s in trouble!  That’s what this trip is for!  Dad, please!  I’m running out of time.  My boss, Terry, is getting me tickets and I have to be ready to go like…NOW…and…and…”  She could see none of this was impressing Glensdale Keirs.  Groaning with exasperation, she decided to give up the pretense of waiting for the right time and took her father’s hands.

“Okay.  Listen to me and listen to me good, because I have time only for one explanation, and the rest of it you’re going to either have to wait until I get back, or accept what I say as truth and go home to Stacia and be happy.  Okay?  Please?  Cause none of this is going to make sense at all until I can accomplish what I’m going off to do.”  She held her breath, more out of a desire to squelch the wail of despair over Sid’s warning than anticipation of her father’s agreement. 

If Cort is retrievable…again…

Glen nodded, his brown eyes softened somewhat by his daughter’s distress. 

“I’m listening, angel.  Just slow down.  Your father’s old.”

Rachel took a deep breath.

“I work for a company that uses technology to do…marvelous things!  It uses nanotechnology.  I know you know what that is, cause I’ve seen the science and engineering journals you read.  But this place, Dad, this place…” she trailed off momentarily, the words she wanted to say, the words she had tried so hard in the past to put together for anyone else…for Cort, even…flew from her brain.  “This company retrieves special people, pulls them out of whatever loop they are in and gives them a new chance at life.”  Did she dare let drop that Sid had his own purposes as well?  No.  She herself was desperate for that information.  “My boss…his name is Terry.  He was once one of those retrieved, and he hired me to help him do the same.  And one of those people that I retrieved, I…” another deep breath, because the drama of it felt so unreal coming from her lips, “I fell in love with.  That man is the one I’ve been hinting at, the one I wanted you to meet.  And that man was with Terry and me on yet another mission, and he was abducted.  And now…now…Terry’s trying to get me tickets so I can go get him…again…if…if…”  Damn!  It was getting harder and harder to put the situation into context.  She just wanted to go, to react, to respond.  Her hands fell away from Glen’s as she stepped back, the words failing her again.  But there were no tears this time.  No, she was all cried out…for now.  She just wanted to keep going…not think…

Glen stood stock still for several long, heart-wracking moments, absorbing Rachel’s breathless confession.  She sat down on the couch, spent for explanation, trying to think of ways to do what she needed to do and extract herself as quickly as possible without injuring her father further. 

Yet, still, that may be what she had to do…

Glen sat down next to her, took her hand.  She could see the weariness and concern rimming his eyes, and his mouth set in a familiar way of concern and paternity.

“Rachel, dear.  I knew you were doing good work.  But I know how passionate you get about things, how tunnel-visioned you can be…sometimes.  Are you sure this Terry couldn’t do the job himself, or find someone else…?”

“Terry asked me specifically, Dad.  It's important to him, too.  And Deidre.  And Bud.  And so many others where I work.  Dad, I won’t be doing this alone.  I promise.”  Oh dammit, a lie!  But I have to go…!  “You just have to know I need to leave tonight and that I will be back as soon as I am able.”

Glen put a large hand up and cupped her face, ran his thumb down the length of her slim nose, all fatherly tenderness replacing the slightly bewildered hurt and worry. 

“Can I at least crash here for tonight?  Do you need a ride to the airport?  What can I do?”

Rachel smiled at him and leaned on his shoulder. 

“Thank you, thank you.  I know it's trying.  But it will all work out and you’ll see.  If the man I’ve told you about is safe, you’ll see.”

He awoke slowly, drifting up through the layers of sleep.  As he rose, his awareness of the cactus increased.  Every tiny part of him seemed to be penetrated by its own individual spine.  He lay quietly, trying to come to some accommodation with the feeling, but found it set his teeth on edge and and the concomitant tension of it made mere thinking difficult.  He tried to force his reluctant brain into gear.  He'd been speaking with someone.  Who was it?  He remembered asking them to help him get out from under the rubble of the exploding town. Had they?

Carefully, he slid his right hand up from his side, moving its fingers over his chest.  They encountered nothing but his jacket.  All right.  Whoever it was had been true to their word, had lifted the building pieces, the bricks, off him.  But where was he...now?  Oh, God!  ELLEN!  Was he too late?  His eyes flew open.  Gasping, he saw there was not the deep blue Arizona sky above him he expected.  He was in a room.  Was it over the saloon?  Had his unknown helper carried him inside?

Then he became aware of his hand.  He was moving it and, except for the cactus spines, it didn't hurt.  He knew it had been smashed by Ratsy just the night before.  He remembered the searing pain when the gun butt had slammed down on it, remembered knowing he couldn't use it to draw his gun.  He'd have to fight Herod left-handed.  He brought his hand close to his face, turning it slowly, examining it.  It seemed quite whole.  Oh, God!  What was going on?  Where was Ellen?  Herod?  He needed to know!

Pushing with both hands on either side of himself, he managed a half-sitting position on the bed.  It was as far as he could get.  The room started going in and out of focus, a white light flashing at the edges of his vision.  He let himself lay back heavily, breathing hard, and closed his eyes.

The change in his heart-beat and respiration brought Henri on the run.  Cort lay there, feeling hands touch his neck, his face.  "You came back," he croaked, lifting his lids a crack.

"Oui, Monsieur.  I come to check your vitals."

His...vitals?  What in the heck was that?  He let it go.  Thinking was hard enough without adding new puzzlements to it.  "Thank you," he added.

"It is all right," Henri replied.  "It is why I am here."

Now he was really confused.  "Why you are...here?"

"Certainly.  I am here to make sure you are ok.  Is that not so?"

"You got it off.  I want to thank you for that, for getting me out."

Now Henri was confused.  "Off?  Out?  I do not understand, my young friend."

"The rubble.  From the explosions."  Talking...thinking...was exhausting him.  "I want...I...." 

He drifted quietly into sleep in mid-sentence.

Henri continued his examination.  About five minutes later, Mikol walked in.  "How's he

doing?"

"He was talking, Mikol.  A very good sign."

Mikol's eyebrows rose.  "What did he say?"

"He was thanking me for getting something off him.  I have no idea what he meant."

A corner of Mikol's mouth quirked slightly.  He knew.

Gerta walked slowly across the bridge over the Chlad River, pausing at the rail to watch dried leaves hurtle over the spillway.  The leaves moved serenely on the mirrored surface of the water, quietly floating, unaware of the spillway in their path until they were caught inexorably in the tug of it near its brink.  It made her think of the young man in the depths of the castle high on its sandstone ridge behind her.  He was very like one of the leaves, floating in his life with his own plans for his future, then snatched out of it all by Mikol's rushing spillway. 

She looked down as the leaves swirled under the bridge, disappearing from view.  Chlad. It meant "cold."  Like the Kamen stone, most appropriate.  One could not find...anywhere...a colder spillway to interrupt one's life than Mikol.  Sighing, she continued across the bridge.

She followed her accustomed route through the town's narrow streets, crossing the town square where she paused briefly again, looking up the length of the central column of the six-sided fountain there.  The column had been erected in 1714 in memory of the plague that devastated the town in the early 1680's.  It was called "the Plague Column."  She smiled wryly.  Always, she thought of it as a monument to Mikol.

Turning off down a particularly narrow side street, she passed the Nostalgie Antique shop then approached a pale blue double doorway.  Two stone steps led up to it as it hung there, looking absolutely dilapidated on its strap hinges, the blue so faded as to be nearly white.  The walls around it were brick, covered in ancient, peeled and cracked tan and white plaster.  There was nothing remarkable about it at all.  Just one of many such old doorways throughout the town.  Only this one had no handle, no knob, only a keyhole in the left door.  She wore the key on a long chain around her neck, tucked down inside her dress.  Pulling it out, she turned it in the lock, looking quickly over her shoulder to be sure no one was about.  Then she pushed lightly on the door and it swung inward with surprising smoothness.

Once inside, the door closed on its own behind her.  She flipped a switch, flooding the room with light.  The interior bore no resemblance, no relation whatsoever to the exterior's appearance.  Everything was sleek, modern, made of glass and chrome.  It was the nerve-center for Grovensky Construction, the hub from which the deception of its purpose radiated.  Just beyond this room lay another series of larger chambers, filled with computers, where the most trusted of Mikol's employees labored to maintain the machinations necessary for a construction company that had nothing whatsoever to do with construction.  Gerta came twice a day, every day, at 10 in the morning and 3 in the afternoon, reporting back to Mikol.

Later, on her way back to Kamen, she veered briefly onto a side path that wound its way through the forest of climax fir, Scots pine and beech.  She liked the forest.  She could breathe in the forest and a quick detour like this filled her enough to endure the return to the castle.  She could have driven the little blue Skoda between the castle and the village, but she preferred the walk.  Making her way back to the main path, she continued up the steep trail.  Kamen lay atop a ridge, back and out from the town, completely separate, surrounded on all sides by the thick forest.  Goethe himself had once described it as "a vessel on a sea of forest."  Indeed, the shape of its walls was strikingly like that of a large ship.  It was actually a very romantic-looking place and she often composed tales of adventures for it as she walked the path.  Always there were lovers in her unwritten stories.  She remembered love.

“Welcome aboard Flight 217.  This evening we will be departing…”

Almost as soon as the flight attendant’s words of greeting and safety instruction began, Rachel tuned out all noise except for the whirring whine of the engines and the voices that remained in her head of those who came with her to the airport.  In her lap sat a book she knew she’d never really focus on, headphones for her iPod, and a half eaten sandwich from one of the terminal delis. 

And a brooch.  It had been with tremendous relief that she had been able to bring it on board with her, because as soon as Deidre had put it in her hand, she felt something like a pull, a gentle tug, as if her hope had at last found a trailing beam to latch onto.  And she needed that right now as she found herself alone, on the plane, heading off into a country she had only sparse maps for which to navigate and an itinerary that seemed fraught with as many pitfalls as a conversation with Sid.

“Here,” said the auburn Southerner, pulling from her jacket pocket a fist closed around an object with shiny ends peeking out.  “You should have this to wear.  It always brought me luck when I did, and I won’t feel right sending you off not having some of it for yourself.”  She opened her palm and Rachel gasped slightly as the harsh lights of the overhead fluorescents shot through the number of crystal gems and cascaded out in a multitude of angles.  It was a brooch in the shape of a star, with large rhinestones set in silver, frosty with vintage brilliance.

Deidre’s teal colored eyes were misty as Rachel met them with a wavering smile. 

“You know I’d go with you, don’t you?”  Deidre asked, sniffing as Terry put his arm around her.  The four of them, herself, Terry, Deidre, and her father stood in the waiting area of the terminal, Deidre fighting back tears, less because of Rachel's leaving than of the recent news that her younger brother, Harkin, had been injured. Which rather worked, Terry told her, because they could fly into Germany and while Deidre stayed with Harkin, he would take the jaunt over to Hromada, where the castle Neviditelny Kamen was located, to help expedite Cort's rescue. This arrangement, once explained to Glen, seemed to satisfy, and so her father had come along for his good-byes.

Rachel nodded as she wrapped her own fingers around the brooch and then pinned it onto the lapel of her dress, hoping silently the airport didn’t make her leave it or dump it into a holder for the flight. 

“You go take care of your brother, okay?”  Rachel replied, and hugged her.  “Thank you so much!  I’ll call as soon as I get there.  Dad, you’ll be the first call I make.  Terry, you take care of her until I see you again.  She keeps you honest….”

Her father, whatever his opinion of Terry and her reasons for leaving, was calmly supportive, although Rachel suspected he would wait until he could catch Terry at a less emotional moment to really inquisition.  She had felt so forlorn leaving him there with little else to hang onto than the promise that it would all make sense, but seeing Terry and Deidre send her off with affection seemed to ameliorate some of his own worry.  No one who treated his angel with concern would let her go without backup.

Rachel closed her eyes, mentally noting to leave all that behind now; let her body succumb to the forces of gravity as the airplane pulled into the air, its body trembling slightly as if on a rough rail shooting straight into the sky. 

I’m coming, Cort, she repeated in her mind.  I’m coming, so don’t you give up, don’t you fear the night.

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