CHAPTER 7

xxXxx

"If you fell down yesterday, stand up today."

xxXxx

Helena

As if no time has passed (and technically, for me it has not), I next appear in Mrs Frederic's office where the woman in question asks about my knowledge on a particular artefact. She asks without preamble, and does not acknowledge the recent mission. I suppose it may not be that recent, of course… Time, my friend and foe, is as elusive as ever. And Mrs Frederic is no help, frozen in time as she appears.

Myka apparently has the idea that I once worked on a similar case as the one they are now facing, and consequently, I am to assist.

Lovely.

Yes it is lovely, wonderfully so, but in the same wistful way as watching blushing autumn leaves descend. This strange half-me will be with them, with her, again. Fate is both kind and cruel, and hope is as always kept too close to my heart.

Mrs Frederic summarises the few leads they have so far, and I think I can help. I want to help because Myka thinks I can. In this regard I am far more predictable than I would like to think.

xxXxx

It is harder than I had anticipated. When I am activated again, they are all there; Myka swirling around on the spot, looking surprised at my sudden appearance, Claudia, who seems happy to see me, while Pete is not. He is very protective of Myka, that has always been obvious, but there is something else now, something different. He has a hint of darkness about him, as if something has left a mark. Myka leaving, perhaps? Or a lover…Kelly? I have no idea what happened to her. I am glad she did not manage to kill Pete, though. Well, strictly speaking, I am glad I did not manage to kill Pete. He has his moments.

Anyhow, it would not surprise me if the change in him can be traced back to me. Most bad things can. Before this moment I have only thought briefly about how my actions affected the other agents of the Warehouse. My other…friends. I did not care. But to be suddenly confronted with it hurts, for them as well as me, and I know before I try that my attempt at being civil will not bear any fruit. So I quickly slip back behind the mask of arrogance and sarcasm, my only defence.

Asking how Artie's shoulder is.

(I should have sounded like I care. I did. I do.)

Showing annoyance when Pete talks as if I am not there.

(Do I have the right to be annoyed?)

I tell the story about my previous encounter with the artefact, and to my surprise I get lost in the past as I speak, smiling at some of the lighter memories of friends and family. Charles and I had our differences and I resent most of what he stood for, but I still miss him with fondness.

While I speak, Myka positions herself as a figurative shield between Pete and me.

(I try not to care.)

They are going to take me with them on the mission to Ohio.

(I try not to feel excited.)

xxXxx

She holds the orb when I am next aware and of course it makes me smile. She smiles back, consuming my heart all over again. Clearly, I have turned into a sentimental romantic. And this time my smile holds no secret intent.

"This is where the man and the cow disappeared in 1962" she says, gesticulating towards the old barn close by. Let's see if we can find any suspiciously old-fashioned rocket parts, shall we?

I look at her with amusement and for a brief moment feel like the old me as I retort playfully, "for you to covet?"

She gives me an incredulous look while clearly struggling not to smile and says lightly, "There you are. I thought you had gone all soft on me."

I respond with raised eyebrows, because that is what I do and some things never change. Her comment makes me thoughtful, though, because it confirms the change in me that I have yet to fully accept.

We examine the site, which is a rather gloomy place. Weeds and other wild vegetation surround the barn, and a rusty car is parked in front of it like a testament of past glory. The pale grey sky adds to the mood by providing a light but insistent snowfall.

I try to be useful without taking up too much space. I am not an agent. But this humble attitude is difficult to maintain in the face of Pete's palpable dislike. His sarcasm rivals mine (though it lacks all kinds of subtlety, mind you), and I find it hard to breathe as he sheds light on my guilt, again and again. Finally he lashes out, shouting that whenever I show up, people die. I try to argue with him even though I know his anger is not only about people dying, because his accusations feel terribly unfair. I am no angel but I have never killed someone without good reason. In this moment I conveniently forget that I irrationally tried to destroy the world because it destroyed me.

xxXxx

Further argument is cut off, as I no longer am, or rather, I am suddenly somewhere else, again. I am annoyed and tired of this fleeting existence, and more than ready to let everyone know my thoughts on the matter. But I quickly understand that this is not a time for pointless arguments.

We are in another place now – inside a building – and in front of us a middle-aged man monitors large computer screens. He appears to have constructed a force field of some kind, effectively hindering Myka and Pete from reaching him. So this is the villain – the son of the man that was killed by the horn in the 1960s. It is clear that his acts do not spring from evil but from despair. The man wants revenge on the 'aliens' that 'abducted' his father, and I recognise the desperation and pain in his eyes as he points a gun at me with shaking hands. I feel no fear, and doubt I would have even if my mind were kept in a body of flesh and blood. He is afraid, confused, hurt, and angry, but even though a succinct explanation for the realisation eludes me, I know that he will not kill anyone.

As it is, there are no aliens around but myself, and in holographic form I do nicely. I am an alien in this time and if I had managed to retrieve the horn instead of shooting it into space all those years ago, a boy would not have lost his father because of it.

Myka defends me, again. "Wait, she didn't kill your father!"

But Pete corrects her, as a Warehouse agent with a plan or the protective friend with a grudge, I am not sure. "No. She did."

Either way, he is telling the truth. "Myka, Pete's right. His father's death is my fault."

I proceed to talk the pained man down with complete honesty, for I am responsible.

"We've all lost loved ones unfairly. I lost someone I loved too. For me it was my daughter. I was so angry. In such pain. I almost hurt a great many people. I didn't care... Just like you. But it won't make you feel any better. And it doesn't bring our loved ones back."

He sobs out the question, "Why did you send it? Why did he have to die?"

The question of life and death is one that can never be answered, and one that will never stop haunting me. Why did Christina have to die? His battle is mine, and I caused it. It is a dreadfully beautiful irony to help heal a child I have hurt.

After the crisis is averted, I reach out without thinking to comfort him with a simple touch to the cheek. When it hits me that I cannot – when I stop myself just before my real hand would have touched his skin – I suddenly have no doubt that Mrs Frederic somehow knew the therapeutic value of this encounter before sending me into it.

xxXxx

"I hope, or I could not live."

xxXxx

We are walking slowly towards the section where Joshua's Trumpet shall be stored. Myka carries the box with the trumpet under one arm and the black orb in the other hand. She has delayed my departure by taking me with her on this, the final part of any mission, but soon I shall be gone again.

No.

It is only Myka and I, making our way through the Warehouse like we used to. Doing inventory or shelving the artefact from our latest case. Being late for dinner because we got lost in each other between the Farnsworth and Christmas Aisles, which is exactly where we happen to be right now.

"Do you remember…?" Myka trails off because she knows that I know what she is referring to. I glance at her and my eyes would sparkle if they were really there. A smile plays around her lips while she looks at me.

I find that pretending comes easily. Perhaps too easily. But if there is one feeling in this existence that I can allow myself to give in to, should it not be love? In this tiny fragment of time Myka appears carefree and upon seeing that, I shed everything else. Our world is a different reality for these few minutes and I bask in it, almost tasting the sweetness of a thousand kisses and promises whispered across velvety skin.

In this moment, I am free.

xxXxx

"Thank you, Helena."

"For what?"

"For sharing your story with Daniel. I know it will never be easy."

Reality has returned. But I find I do not mind. Myka keeps walking, as if she does not expect and answer. But I know that she knows there will be one, eventually.

I have many answers.

(He deserved so much more than that/ I hurt him like those men who murdered Christina hurt me/ I cannot tell you how much I love you for loving me when I do not deserve it)

But somehow they all get mixed up in what I actually say, "I can never…I had too help. I killed his father. It was not my intention, but I could have prevented it and I failed. And all those people were in danger because of me. You were in danger because of me."

She smiles and raises her eyebrows at me at the same time, an expression so much like my Myka that my imaginary heart, which appears to be back, flutters delightfully. "I'm always in danger", she says lightly.

Smile fading, she continues, "It was an accident. I blame myself for many things too, you know that. But it doesn't change the fact that they happened. Like you said to Daniel, hurting other people won't bring back the ones we've lost. Blaming ourselves won't bring them back either. Nothing will. That's the terrible truth we have to live with."

I look at her until my sadness is joined by a faint smile, because even though we both know she is right, neither of us will stop blaming ourselves any time soon.

"But I couldn't. I turned to the artefacts…" I do not realise I mumbled this loud enough for Myka to hear until she responds.

"Yes. You turned to this endless wonder…and the despair that came with it."

I am not sure if she means the downsides to the artefacts, my failure in finding a way to bring Christina back, or our shared pain of being separated. But it does not really matter. The three are closely connected. And I have a feeling she refers to all the despair that is and has been a grave reminder of the delicate balance between right and wrong. A balance that is more easily tipped than I ever imagined, but where the scales themselves are also more diffuse than my younger self would ever have deemed possible or accepted.

We have reached the designated shelf, and as Myka prepares the space I stand as close to her as I can without disturbing (which is rather stupid because I am not really there). I am desperate for our conversation to continue, to talk about something, anything, to pretend a little while longer.

"You should feel quite proud right now." I hear myself say.

"Why is that?"

"Three teams of agents over more than a century dedicated themselves to this case. But you and Pete were the ones who succeeded."

"With your help."

I smile softly, almost blushing. I am back to being vulnerable, without a mask to hide my thoughts. I shed it so easily when I am with her. And I could not change that even if I wanted to.

Suddenly I need her reassurance more than anything. Even though I know it is selfish, the question that is not really a question slips past my lips.

"We did make a good team, didn't we?"

She meets my eyes and says, "We did. And then you…" She trails off as if there is no point in defining my throwing that away. We both know the events all too intimately. She goes on, "I just wish you would have realised that sooner."

"So do I."

Oh, how I do.

She looks sad and strong at the same time, as if she has accepted the sadness. I think she believes that I am being honest. I try to communicate through our locked gaze that I will never stop being sorry. But all too soon I hear steps behind me, and Myka and I share one last searching look before Pete arrives and offers a reluctant compliment on my help with the case.

It warms my mind, not least because it pleases Myka.

Then she picks up the orb. I am thankful that she is the one to send me back into it again. Seeing her hands cradle the object, I imagine the feeling of her hands on my body – how they warmed my skin and imprinted themselves onto my senses.

I breathe in deeply while clutching the locket. I have stopped being surprised at the frustrating ingenuity of the orb. There is nothing but Myka in front of me; I tune out the Warehouse, Pete, and the world I never should have known. As Myka tells me goodbye, there is a moment where I believe in fate, angels, soul mates and ever-afters. A moment where I see those things slip away in the form of a woman who has touched my soul, and is my glorious, destined downfall.

I cannot say goodbye. Her goodbye sounds too final and we have said it too many times for me to accept it as such. I feel like a fool facing death thinking he will live, and yet I simply look at her, longing for another time, as she twists the black halves and sends me back into oblivion.