A Flash Before the Eyes

by cliosmuse

Chapter 4

And so she did tell him, as Leoben held her (not gently but as if to restrain her, to protect her from her own mind). And as she spoke – talked and talked, it kept coming out – she surprised herself. (Though she did not surprise him.) They were things she didn't know, shouldn't know. And yet she said them.

I don't remember the crash. But I remember waking up. I woke up in the cockpit, and it was dark. Not space-dark, not vacuum-dark. It was dark in a way that you know it will get light again. And that made me feel relief.

And what I noticed most was the emptiness. Not around me – there were trees, I could hear traffic, I could see glimmers of light in the distance – but here. [She pointed.] In my mind. It was like I didn't know where I was, or what I was, or why I was. [He nodded as if this made all the sense in the world.] And I saw so cold, and scared.

I was hurt. My head throbbed. The controls seemed confusing, like I'd never seen them before. I finally got the screen up and pulled myself out of the bird and dropped down, but I'd jammed my knee again and that hurt like a mother-frakker. [He cringed at the crude turn of phrase.]

And so I walked away, and all I knew was that there was someplace I needed to be. Something I needed to do. So I limped away from the bird – got about a mile away, over the highway. Good thing it was dark; no one saw me leaving the Viper. Her wing was off, and her screen was cracked, and even though I didn't really remember her, it hurt to see her that way. (Gods know how I survived that crash. I still don't.)

Across the highway, there was this – this all-night store. I walked in, and the couple of kids who were there buying stogies and ambrosia just stared, stared. [A pause.]

I went to the counter, and there was this little old man behind it. I kept thinking that he reminded me of someone, but I couldn't figure it out. I think maybe it was President Adar. [She snorted a laugh.] That dirty old bastard. And he kept staring, and looking away, and staring again. Like he had something to be suspicious of. Like I was going to rob him. And then he said something. A question, I think. I couldn't understand. I told him that – that I couldn't understand. And then he said, kind of sneered, "You come into my shop and you can't even speak American?" And that, somehow – somehow I got that. And when I asked him how to get to the nearest city he rolled his eyes at me but somehow – he – somehow he understood that. I can't explain it. It doesn't make sense.

So I waited at the on-ramp where he told me the trucks sometimes stopped, and a little before dawn I got a ride. This guy knew how to leer – looked like he was about to try to cop a feel, but I gave him a glimpse of my gun and there weren't any more problems. [His arms tightened around her instinctively. Not that he was so very different, really. He knew about wanting her. But he liked to think his wanting was more spiritual.] In my mind was an address, I don't know how I knew. But I told him, and he told me he could get me close.

As we drove into the city it seemed so different to what I knew – except that I didn't know what I knew, does that make sense? It was just different. Older. Dirtier.

[He nodded, as he'd been doing each time she craned her neck back to him for affirmation. His gaze never wavered from her profile. Her gaze rarely wavered from her clasped hands, except when she asked him questions like this one.]

But the sky was turning from pink to blue, and the clouds were white, and I felt absolute joy at that, joy like I never feel, haven't felt since…. [A protracted pause.] Well, I don't know.

He dropped me off as close as his route took him to the address I needed. Told me I'd find a map in the subterranean transport, which I did. And by nine in the morning I was there. Shivering – still so cold, it was the time of year they called Fall. And it was a church, which I didn't mind (thanked the gods for, really). Because I wanted to pray.

And pray Kara did, for hours. Many did, here, on Friday morning after Mass. But when Ana, making her way to the confessional, saw the woman kneeled before the altar (as so many did), her first instinct was to turn around and run. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the eerie feeling, like déjà vu. It was nonsense; she'd never seen the woman before, and though her combat-like attire was odd (though not the boots; so many wore them these days), she didn't seem a threat.

And so Ana locked herself into the confessional and prepared to hear the sins of her people. Hoped the woman would not come to her and cursed herself for that, a sin against God.

The door of the other side of the confessional opened. Someone sat down, sighed heavily. Leaned a forehead against the barrier.

Her nerves were on fire. She was more frightened than she'd felt since her country had fallen (it hadn't been so long; this war felt older than it was). "Do you have something you'd like to confess?"

At first, nothing. Then: "I think I have too much to confess. But that's not why I'm here."

Fear, again. Anastasia pushed it down. "Then why have you come?"

"I was told to come see you, Anastasia."

Her heart raced. "I doubt that's possible. I've only been here a short while. Until last month, I was in a church in South Africa. And then, when –" She choked. "Then I came here."

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. I was told to come see you."

Her anxiety was, if anything, heightened. She reached her hands toward the grate, looped her fingers into the gaps and clutched tightly. Her voice was high. "Told by whom?"

"I don't know. I can't explain it. I just knew."

Ana swallowed, hard. Leaned back, calming herself. "Then perhaps you were told by God, my child. He wants you to confess your sins."

She laughed harshly. "I don't think that you believe that." A beat. "Where should I start?" Another. And then, in a rush: "I know something I shouldn't. And I think I have a duty to act. But I'm afraid. I don't want the role I think I've been assigned."

Relieved, Ana sank into the familiar rhythm of confession. "Fear is not a sin. Though failing to act when it is necessary because of fear might be. Sometimes it takes great strength to embrace our calling."

Faintly, she could see the silhouette through the grate cock its head. "And sometimes we're afraid because we're right to be. Because we're wrong."

Silence. She didn't know how to respond. Yes, she'd probably been wrong about a great many things in her life. But there was no way, absolutely no way, that this strange woman in her army fatigues could know that, could know anything about her.

And then, as if reading her mind: "I know something about you, Anastasia Dualla. I know something about you. You, Ana. You are the Fifth. And you're going to betray me."

And without another word, before Dualla could regain her composure, the woman was gone.

Kara let out a shuddering breath. "I don't understand. I don't understand what I am. If I were a Cylon – at least it would be something. Something I could hold on to. As it is, I'm – what? A devil? A ghost? A lie?" She let out a loud, hiccuping half-sob, a painful sound, and shook her head. "Can we go now? I don't want to be here. I don't want to think about this any more. I just can't. It's too much for me."

Suddenly he knew – without her saying, he just knew – how the story ended. How they could have found her body in the Viper even though she said she abandoned it. Why what she'd seen in the plane had sent her reeling. Why it made her remember. The pieces in the middle could wait for another time, but the end he knew, because he knew her.

After it was all over – after the end of the world – she made her way back to her downed craft. It would have taken time. The distance wasn't too far, probably, but the tunnel she'd have had to walk through would have been dark and hard to navigate, littered with bodies and cars.

The entire park would have been cordoned off around the Viper. Not surprising that the people of Earth would be confused, frightened by it. Amazing, really, that she herself had been unnoticed to begin with. (Or perhaps not so amazing, he thought. Destiny was a funny thing.)

He imagined her walking around it. Stroking it from nose to tail. In his mind, she cried tears no one would ever see. And then she hoisted herself up onto the wing, lowered herself into the cockpit. Gave one last look around the devastated landscape (and, a few miles in the distance, the City). Pulled out her gun. Put it into her mouth. And saying a prayer to her gods, her trickster gods, she pulled the trigger.

She didn't have to tell him. All this has happened before, and all will happen again.