Based on the fringe episode "august" season 2, episode 8. One may wish to watch the episode again if one has forgotten the plot.
In my version, august still kidnaps Christine in order to save her from the doomed airplane flight. the assassin Donald long does find them at the motel, but august is able to neutralize him, and he plans an escape with Christine, to outrun the assassin or his colleagues in an effort to protect her. He plans to discover the reason he sees she has a future during the time on the run, the reason he knew her to be important. this is an alternate ending to the original episode.
Chapter 3:
opportunity: christine felt a gentle nudge and then another. "it is time to wake," august announced, already dressed, possessions packed and set by the door. "we need to leave in an hour to take advantage of our opportunity," he said with a slightly mysterious tone. He had brewed the coffee, bought fresh donuts, her favorite, honey dipped chocolate, all while she slept. He loaded the car while she dressed and ate. She wondered about the opportunity as they drove to some new destination on this New Year's day. They did not speak of the previous night or the prior 'incident' as she called it in her mind.
Key west florida: "it is our opportunity. we are here to observe the record cold temperatures here in key west florida," august stated seeming proud. Christine felt a bit under whelmed by this opportunity. "it is historical cold-I wanted us to watch the reactions of the residents," he said. Christine's mood had improved when she saw the florida state line-thrilled when he said a beach trip in key west. it still felt warmer here than from where they had just driven. And they were at the beach-she thrilled to the thought of walking along the wave lines, collecting sea shells, soaking in the sunshine. In the city of key west, They rode the trolley, ate a famous restaurant for lunch. They strolled through the town, to see the six toed cats. They drove to smather's beach. He scribbled in his notebook as they sat upon a bench watching the people pass. christine thought, "he's probably calculating the depth of the ocean, the currents, the height of the waves. I wish he could just look at it the way I do, appreciate it for just the beauty, the feelings the ocean evokes. Perhaps he is?" she said, "let's walk the beach, please?" she pleaded. "yes," he answered, liked seeing her bright smile. She removed her shoes and socks, rolled up her pant legs. "come on, take off your shoes and socks, let your little piggys feel the sand and ocean!" she enthused, "my little piggys?" he asked puzzled. "that's an expression for toes-toes equal piggys," she explained. "why?" he asked. "my guess is that some forefather thought the fleshy-colored pigs resembled his plump toes. Are you familiar with the nursery rhyme 'this little piggy went to the market?'" she asked. "no," august answered. "well, take off you socks and shoes, and sit here on the bench, and I'll demonstrate it," she said in a playful tone. "he looks kinda skeptical," she thought as he removed his socks and shoes. She crouched in front of him, took his foot in her hand, "you have nice feet, especially your little piggys," she said. She thought, "Why did i say that aloud?" "okay, here it goes. this little piggy went to the market,"she recited, tickling his toe, then the next and the next as she recited the rhyme. She felt tiny flinches in his feet as she tickled his toes, and then heard his short chuckle, with a smile, then a laugh, a huge smile! "and this little piggy went wee, wee, wee, all the way home!" she tickled up his leg, his breath caught, and he laughed again. "do it again!" he said. he felt a rush, of happiness, an emotion. he actually laughed like one of her kind, he determined. She laughed, gave him a big smile. "you laughed, wonderful!" she exclaimed. Their discussions of emotions and the exercises to develop his senses were paying off. his technology implant tingled, not painful, just tingling. "come on, let's go feel the sand and waves," she said. She rolled up his pant legs. "while you're at it, take off your jacket," she said as she rolled up her shirt sleeves, untucked her shirt, wishing she had a bathing suit despite the record cold temperatures. He stuffed his socks into the loafers, carried them with the fingers of one hand, held his briefcase in the other. She thought that they would look out of place, him in a business suit, on the beach, her suit jacket slung across her shoulder, purse across the other. But no one paid them any attention to her relief. She described how she saw the ocean, its waves, the feel of the sand, the color of the sky-he listened. She told him about previous beach trips. "let's sit here," he suggested. "I need to observe the shops behind us. go play in the sand and waves as the others do. I will guard your jacket and purse," he said. she felt delighted with the unexpected freedom, gave him a smile and ran down to the wet sand. "she looks. . . Happy, beautiful," he thought, watching her splash the water, laughing as a low wave splashed her trousers. She scooped seashells. She finally called to him, "come help me build a sandcastle?" "is that the activity those people are doing?" he said as he pointed down the beach. "yes, it's fun, come with me," she beckoned. he walked to her, sat in the wet sand as she did. He would have done anything she asked in those moments, he realized. she noticed the twinkle in his eyes. They scooped and patted, molded the sand, into a magnificent sculpture of a castle, it felt so good to her to be sculpting again, she missed it, would have been working on a sculpture in Italy. She brought herself back to the moment, no point in thinking about that. They created a moat, adorned the sand castle with seashells. She finally deemed it "perfect, complete." they stood and admired it. She thought he looked as proud as she felt. "it is time to leave," he said to her disappointment. She began to dust the sand from her clothes. He opened his briefcase and brought out the magic green cleaning cloth. "here this will do the job better than your hands," he stated. She took the cloth and began to wipe, as the sand fell away-"am I getting it all?" she asked as she twisted to try to look at her backside. "no," he responded. "will you help, please?" she didn't notice his hesitation, his slight intake of breath, just felt the lightest touches, almost caresses, and it caused her to tingle. "you are sand-free," he announced quietly." your turn," she said, almost seductively. She thought,"oh god, did I just say that in that tone?" she observed his perfectly muscular buttocks, round, high, tight. . . Again she thought" oh, god, what if he's reading my mind?" as she hurriedly finished wiping him. "you're clean," she announced. He turned and looked at her, she swore she could see a mischievous expression on his face.
The real opportunity: 45 hours later, across the country, they arrived in Los Angeles. "We need to hurry," august announced once they had settled into the hotel room. "where are we going?" christine asked, wondering the reason for the urgency. "to your opportunity!" he enthused mysteriously. "I thought the record cold Florida temperatures was the opportunity. "yes, it was an opportunity for me, but not the one I wanted to give you." he explained as they walked in the dusk to a grand building." where are we?" she whispered when they'd been seated. "we are at a restaurant and nightclub called 'Boulevard b'" he ordered an expensive bottle of wine. As They studied the menu, he said, "order what you like. The cost is not important tonight." the waiter seemed a little surprised when he ordered their spiciest peppers. August and christine chatted, drank the wine, enjoyed the meal. she ate dessert. He took a bite of her dessert and said, "you are right, the peppers dull the flavor." he pushed away his plate of peppers. "would you like to go to the ballroom?" he asked "yes, that'd be nice," she answered hearing the music. As they were seated at a little table near the dance floor, she wondered if he were counting the beat of the music, hoping he would feel the music the way she felt it, pounding in her soul. suddenly, the opening chords of her favorite dance song played 'dancing queen' by ABBA. "oh, that's my favorite dance song, always gets me in the dancing mood!" she exclaimed. "go dance," he said as he flashed her a smile. she wondered if he had this song planned, but how did he know her favorite dance song? Had she told him? He left it a mystery that he had observed her in the past at several night clubs, always requesting this song be played. She danced and danced. Finally she ran back to the table to place her jacket over the chair. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt. "bye!" she laughed as she danced back to the floor. Then, she saw a familiar face-"no, it can't be him-max from the television show 'dancing with the stars'. it can't be him, it is him! It's him!" she thought. he danced alone, then a female joined him. they danced several songs. Everyone, including herself had cleared the dance floor, enjoying their performance. This must be "her opportunity!" august had spoken of, the opportunity to watch him dance in person. She turned to look at august, and mouthed, "thank you." she felt a tap on her shoulder and a familiar male voice ask, "excuse me miss, would you care to dance?" she turned to face max, and he took her hand to lead her to the dance floor. "I, I, don't know how to ballroom dance," she stammered. "I am a good teacher, follow my lead," he said. he guided her through the dance move-repeating the sequence for several stanzas till she had it right. "now, we add a new step," he said. again they repeated it. That song ended, and he continued to dance with her, then through another song. "you look beautiful to all, especially to your boyfriend," max said as he twirled her about. "you're a natural. You should take lessons-I'll give them to you," he said. the song ended, "I must leave the dance floor now. Thank you for the dances," he said as he lead her back to august. The crowd applauded. She felt elated. August leaned over and whispered in her ear, "did you enjoy your opportunity?"
Nightmares: Another town, up the California coast, hotel, to motel. The days passed. As usual the room had two beds. He always took the bed near the door. A thunderstorm raged one night. she awoke from a nightmare. "are you alright?" he asked. She breathed hard and said, "no, I'm not. I had a nightmare about the collective we-the assassin, your colleagues chasing me. I'm so scared." she flung back the covers and took the two steps to his bed, announced, "slide over, I'm getting under the covers." he slid over atop the covers. she pulled back the covers and snuggled in close to him. He could feel her tremble, breath rapid. Then, she relaxed, took slow, deep breaths now. "I'm less scared, But what if the nightmare returns?" she asked. "perhaps we should watch television?" he asked. She nodded. He clicked the remote and turned the channel until he found a program with cute puppies and kittens at play. They watched another , and he noticed her eyelids close, body relaxing, breathing slowly. He turned off the television and kept guard over her. He did not want her to know that he had felt a passing danger when she had awoken from the nightmare. ****
"august, august? Wake up. . .!" christine called to him, shaking him. he opened his eyes, seeing daylight around the edges of the curtains. "was I asleep?" august asked. "yes, and seated upright." "this is uncharacteristic of me to sleep, but I can protect you," he stated to reassure her. He wondered the reason for this increased to sleep. He asked, "could it be related to my growing emotional and sensory awareness?" Christine said, "likely."****
a week later, another motel, in another state, another vehicle, christine experienced another nightmare. This time she screamed, actually screamed aloud. Just like before, she scooted under the covers of august's bed as he sat upright atop the covers. Christine snuggled in, "why are we doing this? Why me? Why is this happening? Why am I unique, important?" she asked. "I will protect you. Keep you safe," august said to reassure her, over and over till she stopped trembling. "okay, I am calm now," she said. "close your eyes," august suggested. she did, and he began to speak in that unusual language from that crazy, tipsy Halloween night. She said to him in a sleepy voice, "so I didn't imagine your language." she listened to his voice and drifted back to a peaceful sleep.
Continued feeling of danger: he left one morning for his observations, saying she needed to wait indoors. While he was away, she sketched a scene from their beach outing in an effort to soothe herself. It helped for a while. But the darkness and unease persisted and weighed upon her. As long as he kept her moving from place to place, she knew the collective we, the assassins were searching for her. She felt relieved when august returned, but it was short lived relief-he announced, "we need to leave now." they gathered everything in short order, as they never completely unpacked. He led her to a different vehicle into which he had already transferred their usual supplies. She felt scared, wondered whether the nightmares would return, knew she felt safer at night near august. They drove for a day and a half before he finally stopped at a hotel in a quiet small town. While they ate dinner, she announced, "I'm sleeping in your bed tonight." later they played card games, they read books, and finally, she felt tired. "I have felt so worried, especially since we left in a rush. But I am feeling better now. Actually tired," she said, noticed that he scooted over atop the covers in the bed, to the far right side, pulled back the covers. Without a word, She got up and crossed over to his bed. She did indeed feel safe and warm as she snuggled under the covers. From that night forward, she realized that she would sleep in his bed.
Sleep: he found himself needing sleep, too. Before the tingling and pain in his implanted technology, he only needed short periods of rest. But now, now, he needed longer sleep cycles. And with the recent changes in their sleeping arrangement, he found that the sleep cycle had grown longer. This disturbed him as he wanted to guard and protect her at night while she slept. Yet, that primitive side of himself, that emerging side of feeling, his awakening senses, enjoyed the sleep, enjoyed her laying next to him. "you feel asleep again," she told him one morning, when she awakened to his sleeping form. he had fallen to his side. "you know, if you are sleeping, you'd be more comfortable laying down, under the covers, without wearing a suit," Christine suggested. "do you dream?" she asked. "there have been occasions in which images crossed my mind," he said. "we were at the park, feeling the ducks and pigeons, they morphed into roller skates and trains, your hair blowing in the breeze when we were at the beach. . . Then you turned into a mermaid. The other images are fuzzy. Would that constitute dreaming?" he asked. "yes, I think it does," she answered happily. ****
a few nights later, she noticed him undress, hang his suit jacket, trousers, shirt onto the hangers in the closet. He wore just his undershirt and boxers. He wordlessly walked to bed nearest the door, on the far right side, pulled back the covers and got underneath them. "I considered your suggestion and deemed it logical. It feels comfortable as you said it should.. . .how does it feel to you?" he asked as she lay beside him. She thought, "wonderful, comfortable", but chose to keep that to herself. she was not surprised though when they spoke the next word together, "safe." ***
he chose a room with just one bed for their next destination. august did not exactly understand the feeling behind this choice, this decision on his part. Just knew he needed to get one bed. To his relief, he supposed it was relief, she did not question his room choice with this one bed arrangement, his logical decision, in stride. christine simply asked," which side of the bed do you want?" he sat on the one nearest the door.
Mornings: it happened one morning-he awakened to find it. He had an erection. He was sure this was his emotional development. He felt gleeful, triumphant. august shook her awake. "what, what is it, do we have to leave now?" she asked sleepily, opening her eyes, and then noticed his goofy smile. "no, look-,"he said as he pulled back the covers and looked down. She followed his gaze "ooohhhhh, ooooohhh!" she exclaimed, looking away, and yet having to glance back, looking away again. Before she could say anything further, he asked in a gush, " what do I do with it?" she had gotten out of the bed, averting her eyes. "I dunno, explore it, I suppose," she stated more calmly than she knew possible, she quickly added. "I can, will, go into the other room." she thanked god he had chosen a suite with a small living room. He said, "I do not fully understand this response-just understand the clinical logical aspect of it. Yes, some exploration would be helpful as I think it is connected to some emotion, my senses, a response to feelings." it all seemed so logical to her. "this has only recently happened on one occasion," he said. "somehow connected to you" they said at the same time. Christine thought of the prior incidents, the ones that they had not discussed.****
She attempted to occupy herself with anything and everything so that she would not think about what it was that august was doing in the next room. "do not think about sex, do not think about it, do not think about his body, do not think about him," she willed herself. later when she walked over to bathroom, she realized that in her haste to leave the bedroom, she had forgotten to close the door-she peaked into the room, and noticed that he lay atop the covers, hands roaming over his body, a blissful expression on his face. He opened his eyes at that exact moment to her somewhat embarrassment. She could not avert her gaze fast enough, as she felt a wave of pleasure wash over herself. A sudden quick smile formed on his lips, and she shut the door. Again, she attempted to occupy her mind, reading, eating breakfast. "wow, he's being thorough with his exploration," she mused as the morning passed. Occasionally sheheard a soft moan. She settled herself on the couch again to watch television. That's when it hit her, images entered her mind, his she realized, sensations coursed through her body. she throbbed, breathing hard, clenching her fists, overwhelmed by some need, a deep desire, a need to release, and she heard him moan and scream out her name, "Christine!" as she screamed out in pleasure his name, "august!".***
finally her thoughts, jumbled as they were, returned to some semblance of normalcy, and she regained her composure. She felt compelled to check on him, propelled by some primal instinct. He opened his eyes when she opened the door, she walked towards the bed, to lay beside him with one arm across his chest, noticing that he was flushed pink, glistening with perspiration. they lay in that position for an hour, wordless, none necessary, just sharing the aftermath of the shared experience, another bonding experience. Finally, she spoke, "are you hungry? You have not eaten all day." he answered, "yes, peppers and chocolate ice cream."`
Camping: "the weather is getting better across the country, warming, we could go camping, real actual camping with the luxuries of camping-as opposed to sleeping in the car. What do you think?" christine asked him. "camping, I am familiar with the recreational activity, have observed your kind camping. I would like to participate in the activity," august answered. "great! I am so tired of hotels and motels. Campgrounds are cheaper, too. "what do we need to camp? Do we have the supplies?" he asked. "no, we need several items-can we go to a sporting goods shop in the next big town? We can get what we need there," she suggested. they sat at the little table in their room, and she made a list in her notebook. "popup tent, sleeping bags, lighters, back pack, cooler, some rugged wear like hiking boots. . ., " she wrote, "we really don't need much." "rugged wear? Hiking boots?" he asked. "yes, we can't go camping in our suits…we'd be too obvious, too conspicuous," she answered, "heck, you may even like civilian clothing! And some campgrounds have water, bathrooms available. We've criss crossed the country-I'd like to see some of it's beauty. I don't think a sketch book of motel and hotel rooms would make for an interesting art book." "a book?" august asked. "yes, I could become a well-known artist," she stated with a smile. "you cannot be well known," he reminded her. She frowned. "fine, then just an artist for my captive audience of one-you!" she said. "are you holding me captive?" he asked. "we're holding each other captive under the circumstances" she said rather sad tone. "but I am important, my sketches could be the key?" she asked. "your sketches are important, but I do not think it's the kind of important the others need," he stated, patting her hand, "you are unique, the others will see it." they sat for a few minutes thinking about what made her so unique. Finally she said in a happier tone, "hey, you're the resident travel guide. Where shall we go first?"***
****he was 'fascinated', as Christine defined the emotion, with the zippers of the pair of outdoor rugged wear pants, ones that transformed from long pants to shorts via the zipper method. August enthused, "I could even wear one pant leg long and the other pant leg short!" Christine quickly said "no, no, you won't do that." he then asked "what about the shirt? Can I wear one shirt sleeve long and one short?" "no, no you may not," she retorted, wondering if he were joking. He looked disappointed. However, she could not give in again; she had already let him buy the ducky inner tube float that was meant for children. ***
He had never seen himself in anything other than his suit, 'borrowed' gym clothes. He looked at himself in the mirror of the changing room of the outdoor store-he was transformed, the adjective that came to mind. He studied himself in the mirror from all angles, liking the boots despite his preference to the wingtips; they seemed just as comfortable. he liked the way he looked in the casual wear, as Christine called it. His fedora replaced by a straw hat. He tried the various zippered and buttoned compartments and pockets. All clever storage devices. He emerged from the dressing room smiling, as Christine noted dressed in her new shorts and short sleeved shirt. they had dumped their winter clothes for these new outfits, excepting their suits, vital still, according to august, and he had acquired another garment bag just for them.***
He chose a beautiful campground in the north carolina mountains-one with a bathroom and water spigot, lake side, many trails to explore, waterfalls to find.
***"yes, I have read the instructions for the tent, " he stated. It had been over an hour since they had arrived at the campground. He said to her, "you may read them." he handed her the instructions. "perhaps I overlooked a step?" he asked as he looked towards the heap of canvas that should have been a tent. "EGO," Christine said as she took the instruction manual from him and said, "let's start again."****
When he emerged from the tent, Christine noticed the bemused look on august's face, happy, yet careful and alert-the one she had often seen with the time shared, as he developed his senses, emotions. "what do you think?" he asked. "I think you look as though you want to go camping!" she said. He seemed pleased. "Look! My pencil can go into this pocket as he gestured to a pocket on his shirt. Then he said, " my notebook can fit here." he gestured to his pants. she studied him with his 'new civilian clothes' noticed his weapon on his belt holster, in plain view. She asked," where does your gun go now?" she knew he had previously kept it concealed beneath his suit jacket on his belt holster. "same place?" he asked. She had no idea how his gun worked, excepting to what he had previously referred to as neutralized. It looked similar to a gun of her kind, " it may draw unwanted attention," she stated. "I had not thought about it-should I wear it concealed? Would I blend in better with others?" he asked. "I don't think the rest of the world is ready for your technology or advancements with firearms. I think you should conceal it, somehow, leave your shirt untucked," she suggested. He untucked his shirt. ***
"Christine?" he asked tentatively. 'yes, august?" she asked. " I think I am scared. Logic dictates that one should hold one's breath, and plunge under the molecules of h2o, that drowning will not occur if one continues to hold one's breath, that, with movement of the arms and legs, I can propel myself forwards under the water. Logic, reason, laws of physics, human anatomy, known rules pervade. yet I hesitate to put my head under the water." august admitted to Christine. He had a firm grasp of the children's ducky embossed inner tube float, the one that Christine felt embarrassed by. He could not bring himself to stick his head under the water, despite the considerable amount of reassurance and patience Christine showed himself, with the hand holding, feet touching the bottom of the lake. "scared" was the word to describe it, he rationalized. The lake water temperature felt nice, pleasant ;the small waves lapped at precisely the predicable intervals after another person splashed; His feet touched the bottom of the lake; children and adults laughed and smiled and plunged under the water, into the crystal clear molecules below his eyesight. All seemed happy to frolic in the cool water. Christine finally asked the question, "do you trust me?" of all questions to be asked. August realized that he did indeed trust her. He answered "yes". she said confidently "then remember you are genetically modified for swimming, with your super human strength and endurance." she said. August said "yes!" again and with that realized he did indeed trust her. "then hold your breath and dunk under" Christine commanded, "remember you can catch bullets!" she exclaimed. "you are muscular, built to swim." she enthused. He trusted her, heard her logic. It convinced him to do it. He pushed away from her hands and the inner tube with the duckys, held his breath and plunged underneath the water. He found that he could indeed hold his breath, counted each second, and just when Christine had become worried he was drowning, he emerged; he had held his breath for two minutes and he could have held it longer. He had felt the need to get her smile because he had conquered his fear.***'
His days of walking miles a day, and the time at the gyms paid off in context of swimming. His athletic build ,pre-programmed as it were, did require maintenance. He discovered that he could swim across the lake, its entire length with no problem. While swimming he reminiscence about the various baptisms he had witnessed: people reborn; born again; transformed; made pure; clean slate; cathartic; metamorphis. The many reasons for the ritual of dunking below the surface of water. He did indeed seem new, reenergized; knew there was no one like himself. He though he may have begun to understand the reason for the water ritual-its rhythm, one arm, the other arm, one foot, the other foot. Purge the old air in exhale, don't let in more air, don't allow water to invade or pervade, keep out the water! Emerge above the water to inhale clean, new air, purify. Keep the old air out, the new air in, balance. Stay afloat, live, not drown; merging systems, acute, with the newly awakened self. Christine: another reason to breath, another reason to plunge.
***she felt as if she were in summer camp with her best friends: laying awake with august, chattering on till all hours of the night, almost forgetting the danger she was in. Those summer camps when her adopted mother would send her away, her mother's best friend who sent her away. That slightly abandoned feeling creeping in as she spoke to august; then she submerged herself in "normal" feelings and enjoy herself, laugh, giggle with him, and with august, she could forget that she was the kid whose parents had died. At camp, all the girls were abandoned by their parents or caretakers, and all the girls were united against them, the adults. Now she was with august, united against those who wanted her dead. He was her buddy, confidence, the one to tell how it felt to be away from home for and she missed her home in boston for the safety and normalcy. But yet the here and now was exciting and new, new best friend. She and august actually giggled together one night, at a campground to the point where they could not stop until another camper said, "shut up!". they did, but had to stifle further laughter. Christine had indeed found a friend in august. She could share the tragedy of her childhood crush, the girlfriend who turned her back on her for a good reason, the class she nearly failed, the friends she had dismissed, how she succumbed to her studies, wanting to be alone, too scared to be close to anyone, arms length, yet hiding in plain sight, her whole self, on guard, vulnerable, lessons learned as a child after her parents died. She did not completely see her brave self, the one august saw. The self he wanted to nurture and encourage, to purify in the lake as he swam, to heal them as he swam; reconcile the old self with their emerging new selves. He could overcome and transform; therefore she could, too. Just as he could zip and unzip the pieces of his outer self, they could with their inner selves. Separate, whole, friendship. The thing he had not had in his life of near solitude. Living alone, among her kind, observing, not participating. This with Christine different from anything he had previously experienced, different from that with this colleagues. She had told him about her summer camp and though he had not experienced that type of relationship with his kind, he wondered aloud with her about the possibilites: would he and May have giggled about a crush? Would he and January have fought? Would he and October have written letters to each other over the years? Would he, February, and June have gone out of the cabin late at night to the edge of the woods to tell ghost stories? Christine wondered how much of herself would have been better had it been ruled by logic instead of emotions. deal with it and move on. The moon rises and sets at a fairly unpredictable schedule, nothing like the well timed and anticipated sunrises and sunsets. The moon, with all it's variables and impacts the earth, it's inhabitants. The moon, underrated, moonrise and moonset, affecting the tides each day, vital life source, unappreciated by so many, excepting she and august. August said, "so many people gaze at the sun, but it is the moon, with all its phases that I seem to identify with." Christine said, "I agree. Me, too."
Exploring the senses: smell "let's work on your sense of smell-slow your mind's quick assessment that bypasses your center of emotions and feeling," christine suggested as they sat at the picnic table, ready to eat sandwiches. "I am your student," august said. "okay, close your eyes and sniff each item I hold up to your nose. Decide based on smell which deli meat to eat, " she said held up the turkey, then the ham-"okay which one was the turkey?" she asked. he thought for a second, then said, "the first one. My stomach seems to want the ham, though, with that spicy mustard, please." "remember when you thought the lasagna tasted sad? And thought that you felt horrible when you smiled at the taste of chocolate pie?" she asked. "the scent of garbage does not thrill me, the fragrance of your hair shampoo-that coconut scent reminds me of when I saw you at the beach. . .I could smell it more than the salt of the ocean. Coconut is joyful, me in a state of wonderment. I've learned so much," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his technology implant tingled.
Entanglement: the first week of camping they sleep side by side in their respective sleeping bags. But she began to feel a need to be closer to him-to lay with him without the barrier of the sleeping bags. She noticed that they spent less time in front of the campfire in the evening talking there, and more time inside the tent talking, laying close together, sometimes just whispering long into the evening, she hoped they did not disturb the other campers. But the sleeping bags were different from the bed they had been sharing. In the bed, shehad been able to "accidentally" throw her arm across his chest, her leg over his, her head on his chest. So comfortable, so warm. She missed the excuses to touch him, to feel that bare skin of his arms and legs. And she realized she felt a bit chilled-despite her cozy sleeping bag. "am I really cold, or in need of an excuse to get nearer to him?" she wondered. "I'm cold feeling-,"she began in a timid voice, unsure how he would respond, if he would respond in the way she wanted-an invitation to join him in his sleeping bag. He cleared his throat, "you. . You can join me in my sleeping bag." to her delight, he seemed just as desperate for the closer contact as she is when she bundled into his sleeping bag. Close, snuggled in the sleeping bag, hands finding the other's hand, palm on palm, fingers entangling, legs entangled, arms entangled. She felt warmer.
Let freedom ring: the 4th of July holiday, another campground at a lake. "freedom, my limited freedom," Christine remarked. She was having a bad day, feeling sad. "this is difficult for me. Please understand. Can I take a walk by myself? Go by myself to the laundry facility to wash our clothes. I need some space. I need a taste of freedom. Is it safe for me today?" she asked. "let me assess the level of danger. I'll be back soon," he said. soon enough, he returned. "it is safe. Go ahead with your plan. I will be extra vigilant."***
she took their laundry to the facility. She observed her surroundings, having adapted to the habit of vigilance. It felt like freedom, Freedom to be alone, even if temporarily even if in a laundry facility. Although she enjoyed August's company, time to herself was needed. She stuffed the dirty clothes into the washing machine. She again thought of her crazy predicament. "how, when will this end?" she mulled. "how am I important? Because I am a living, breathing person. That should suffice. I need to get my mind back to happy thoughts, like the story I am writing. I need to think about that instead of depressing things. And there will be fireworks tonight at the 4th of July celebration," she rationalized. On her thoughts spun as she waited for the laundry, focusing her mind on the plot of her story. Another camper appeared in the laundry room. And Christine found herself feeling the need to withdraw from her company instead of engaging her in conversation. "habit," she thought as she folded the clean clothes, placing another load in the washing machine. "There is no danger with this fellow camper," she realized. "hello," christine timidly addressed the lady. "hi, how you doing?" the lady asked. "enjoying your stay?" the lady asked. Christine did not know how to react-"do I engage her, have a conversation or do I avoid a conversation?" she thought. aloud she answered. "I am doing well. How about yourself?" and she found herself enjoying a conversation with a stranger for the first time in a long time. They talked about the weather. They talked about the recent local news events. They talked about their camping experience. They talked about the people they were with. "he's very unique," Christine heard herself say of august. "we are having fun together. His perspective on the experience keeps me very intrigued," she said. Christine took her time folding the clothes, enjoying the conversation. Finally, she finished her task and told the lady,"goodbye! Have a great day!" christine approached the tent. But august was not there.
Tears: christine saw him sitting on the shoreline of the lake -"you are special, you are important," he said suddenly when she sat by his side. He continued to speak," I see you have a future. You crossed my mind. . .I could not allow you to die. . .your present life is not an error. . .I did not make a mistake." his voice broke. "I should never have tied you to that chair, gagged you. I feel guilt, ashamed, remorse. I am so sorry," he said with remorse. She turned and stopped, looked at him, saw his chest heaving, tears begin to fall, a soft sigh, a cry. She took him into her arms and held him as he cried-"I've never cried before," he continued to sob, occasionally speaking disjointed phrases in English and some in his language. " three, I have killed three, to keep you safe. . .how long before they see? Do you still trust me?" he pleaded. "yes, yes, I trust you," she caressed his teary checks, rubbed the back of his head, the back of his neck. She held him for many minutes. Finally his cries subsided." thank you," he whispered. "you're welcome," she whispered, "I wish you hadn't tied me either. I already felt scared, and that made it worse, understatement. I know now that you just used logic to dictate your actions. At the time, I did sense my endangerment came from someone, something other than you. Your eyes spoke volumes."
To be continued in chapter 4.