(Disclaimer: So far, I own pretty much everything in this, but if you see a Matrix character, or someone from Apoc's Story, it's not mine. Jesse is, though.)
Jesse's Story
St. Petersburg, Russia, Present date.
"Jesse! Jesse, are you paying any attention to what I'm saying?!"
Jesse Rheinhertz jumped a good six inches, half spun to face the speaker, and yelped. After blushing to the roots of her red-blonde hair, she sighed. She was always doing stupid, nervous things like that, much to her mother's consternation. Someone tittered behind her, and she heard several people not even bothering to keep their voices down. No one ever did.
"Oh, my, GOD! She is, like, such a freak!"
"Can't she ever even attempt to act normal?"
"Jesse! What did I just say? Tell the class." That was Ms. Smith, the history teacher, the one in charge of this traveling nightmare.
So, she wanted to play this puerile teacher's game. Without taking her eyes off the weird men she had been watching, Jesse repeated word for word what Ms. Smith had just said, including her mild Texan accent. "Now, class... Jesse! Now, class, this is a very important part of ... History! That we are enjoying now. I'm sure we should all thank Mr., er, our guide. Yes."
"Well! I see that you were listening, Jesse, but I have had more than enough of your disrespectful attitude! You are confined to the hotel for the rest of today, while the rest of us explore this, this, magnificent, city." She drew out the word magnificent until it sounded as if it would break in the chilly air.
But there it was. Us. That wonderful state of being that Jesse was sure she could never attain. But as to being confined to the hotel room, Jesse couldn't have cared less. She hadn't wanted to come on this trip anyway. Not that it was any different than school, but at least there she had her own room. Here, the other girls from Crystal Woods Irish Boarding Academy were all around her, always. She could just hear her parents preparing to banish her to Siberia (well, Russia, but she thought it would sound more romantic that way. If she had had anyone to tell). First her nervous, excitable father:
"N-now, dear... We worry that you... don't spend enough time with your... peers. So, we thought you might enjoy this trip... Hmmm?" His motto, she had always thought, was "Can't we all just get along? Or if we don't, can't we at least pretend?" She hated that about him, his constant fakeness. She had thought, when she was little, that if he ever dropped his veil of fantasy his whole body might disintegrate, leaving only a musty pile of dust. Or a dusty pile of must she thought, amused by her little rhyme. Musty pile of dust, dusty pile of must. She shook herself. She was getting stupid. She bent her thoughts back. Banishing. Right.
Her mother was again different, but no realer or happier. Her distortion of reality, however, was based on needing to be part of the "in" group. Having inherited a huge estate, money and possessions, she was able to fill this need every minute, without having to be distracted by such trivial things as work. Her comment on the trip: "No, no no! No ifs, ands or but from you, young lady! You're going on this trip, whether you want to or not. But of course you do! It's a great opportunity for you to spend time with all your friends, and I've always wanted to see St. Petersburg. You can tell us everything! And take lots of pictures of you and your friends, and buy all the latest Russian fashions!" Jesse wouldn't have minded her mother's craziness quite so much if she hadn't also insisted on dragging Jesse into it, pretending that she ha friends.
So, one way or another, here she was. Stuck in Russia. For a whole month. As she walked back to the hotel, alone, she decided to do a little exploring of her own. She would follow the weird men she had been watching. There were two of them, and they wore suits covered by long, expensive coats. They also had reflective glasses, and when they exposed their profiles she could see their eyes flicking nervously. Well, she thought, 'maybe this trip will be interesting after all...'
After pursuing them for a while, it became evident that they, too, were following someone, and that they were concentrating so hard on their target that they hadn't even noticed the thin, red-haired eighteen-year-old following them. She trailed them all the way to an old, dingy apartment building. She almost lost them as she waited under the stairs, but followed the sounds of their voices. They were speaking loudly, in Russian, with no attempt to keep their voices down. What were they saying? Her Russian wasn't very good, she could only make out a few words. Something about "Late...cash...boss".
It made no sense to her, and she had just turned to go when she heard another, quieter voice. It sounded as if it was pleading, and it was a man. He sounded terrified. She had hardly had time to register this, when... A gun shot shattered the moment into a million pieces. She tried to suppress her scream, but she still gasped. She ran, and sobbed, and ran, all the way back to the hotel. The men made no attempt to follow her, they were so shocked at seeing her. But they got a good look at her uniform, and her hair...
Jesse, bolting past the startled doorman, raced up to the room, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed. It was four hours later that the rest of her class arrived, and she woke up to see Ms. Smith standing over her. A few of the others wore looks of genuine concern for her desperate, disheveled appearance, but far more looked smug, as though this was only something they had been expecting... And, she thought dully, they probably had.
"Oh, Jesse," simpered Ms. Smith. Of course she would, each of these girls were worth their weight in gold, never mind her job. "You must have caught something out there! Vashti, why don't you go run down to the lobby to see what they have for the flu. Natasha, you go run Jesse a bath, and Veronica, you go find her some clean clothes..." If she hadn't been so upset, Jesse would have laughed at how frantic Ms. Smith sounded. Vashti immediately took off. She wasn't so bad, Jesse suspected that she might actually talk to her if the other girls didn't stop her. After a calculated pause, Natasha and Veronica chorused "Yes, Ms. Smith!" and ambled off. They were the ringleaders of the anti-Jesse campaign.
The next morning, after a horrible night of remembering what she had seen and listening to the others whisper about her, she boarded her parent's private jet for home. She didn't tell them what had occurred, and their puzzled Doctor was forced to conclude that her shock symptoms were from her phantom disease.
Jesse's Story
St. Petersburg, Russia, Present date.
"Jesse! Jesse, are you paying any attention to what I'm saying?!"
Jesse Rheinhertz jumped a good six inches, half spun to face the speaker, and yelped. After blushing to the roots of her red-blonde hair, she sighed. She was always doing stupid, nervous things like that, much to her mother's consternation. Someone tittered behind her, and she heard several people not even bothering to keep their voices down. No one ever did.
"Oh, my, GOD! She is, like, such a freak!"
"Can't she ever even attempt to act normal?"
"Jesse! What did I just say? Tell the class." That was Ms. Smith, the history teacher, the one in charge of this traveling nightmare.
So, she wanted to play this puerile teacher's game. Without taking her eyes off the weird men she had been watching, Jesse repeated word for word what Ms. Smith had just said, including her mild Texan accent. "Now, class... Jesse! Now, class, this is a very important part of ... History! That we are enjoying now. I'm sure we should all thank Mr., er, our guide. Yes."
"Well! I see that you were listening, Jesse, but I have had more than enough of your disrespectful attitude! You are confined to the hotel for the rest of today, while the rest of us explore this, this, magnificent, city." She drew out the word magnificent until it sounded as if it would break in the chilly air.
But there it was. Us. That wonderful state of being that Jesse was sure she could never attain. But as to being confined to the hotel room, Jesse couldn't have cared less. She hadn't wanted to come on this trip anyway. Not that it was any different than school, but at least there she had her own room. Here, the other girls from Crystal Woods Irish Boarding Academy were all around her, always. She could just hear her parents preparing to banish her to Siberia (well, Russia, but she thought it would sound more romantic that way. If she had had anyone to tell). First her nervous, excitable father:
"N-now, dear... We worry that you... don't spend enough time with your... peers. So, we thought you might enjoy this trip... Hmmm?" His motto, she had always thought, was "Can't we all just get along? Or if we don't, can't we at least pretend?" She hated that about him, his constant fakeness. She had thought, when she was little, that if he ever dropped his veil of fantasy his whole body might disintegrate, leaving only a musty pile of dust. Or a dusty pile of must she thought, amused by her little rhyme. Musty pile of dust, dusty pile of must. She shook herself. She was getting stupid. She bent her thoughts back. Banishing. Right.
Her mother was again different, but no realer or happier. Her distortion of reality, however, was based on needing to be part of the "in" group. Having inherited a huge estate, money and possessions, she was able to fill this need every minute, without having to be distracted by such trivial things as work. Her comment on the trip: "No, no no! No ifs, ands or but from you, young lady! You're going on this trip, whether you want to or not. But of course you do! It's a great opportunity for you to spend time with all your friends, and I've always wanted to see St. Petersburg. You can tell us everything! And take lots of pictures of you and your friends, and buy all the latest Russian fashions!" Jesse wouldn't have minded her mother's craziness quite so much if she hadn't also insisted on dragging Jesse into it, pretending that she ha friends.
So, one way or another, here she was. Stuck in Russia. For a whole month. As she walked back to the hotel, alone, she decided to do a little exploring of her own. She would follow the weird men she had been watching. There were two of them, and they wore suits covered by long, expensive coats. They also had reflective glasses, and when they exposed their profiles she could see their eyes flicking nervously. Well, she thought, 'maybe this trip will be interesting after all...'
After pursuing them for a while, it became evident that they, too, were following someone, and that they were concentrating so hard on their target that they hadn't even noticed the thin, red-haired eighteen-year-old following them. She trailed them all the way to an old, dingy apartment building. She almost lost them as she waited under the stairs, but followed the sounds of their voices. They were speaking loudly, in Russian, with no attempt to keep their voices down. What were they saying? Her Russian wasn't very good, she could only make out a few words. Something about "Late...cash...boss".
It made no sense to her, and she had just turned to go when she heard another, quieter voice. It sounded as if it was pleading, and it was a man. He sounded terrified. She had hardly had time to register this, when... A gun shot shattered the moment into a million pieces. She tried to suppress her scream, but she still gasped. She ran, and sobbed, and ran, all the way back to the hotel. The men made no attempt to follow her, they were so shocked at seeing her. But they got a good look at her uniform, and her hair...
Jesse, bolting past the startled doorman, raced up to the room, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed. It was four hours later that the rest of her class arrived, and she woke up to see Ms. Smith standing over her. A few of the others wore looks of genuine concern for her desperate, disheveled appearance, but far more looked smug, as though this was only something they had been expecting... And, she thought dully, they probably had.
"Oh, Jesse," simpered Ms. Smith. Of course she would, each of these girls were worth their weight in gold, never mind her job. "You must have caught something out there! Vashti, why don't you go run down to the lobby to see what they have for the flu. Natasha, you go run Jesse a bath, and Veronica, you go find her some clean clothes..." If she hadn't been so upset, Jesse would have laughed at how frantic Ms. Smith sounded. Vashti immediately took off. She wasn't so bad, Jesse suspected that she might actually talk to her if the other girls didn't stop her. After a calculated pause, Natasha and Veronica chorused "Yes, Ms. Smith!" and ambled off. They were the ringleaders of the anti-Jesse campaign.
The next morning, after a horrible night of remembering what she had seen and listening to the others whisper about her, she boarded her parent's private jet for home. She didn't tell them what had occurred, and their puzzled Doctor was forced to conclude that her shock symptoms were from her phantom disease.