Part Two: Wherein the Universe Refuses to Bend to Sigourney's Will
The sun was only just starting to edge towards the horizon as Sigourney locked up the shop for the day. The air had cooled somewhat and a breeze tugged playfully at the tree branches overhead. She noted, as made her way towards the park, that the early evening sky was perfectly clear. There wouldn't be an encore performance of last night's storm. As she passed through the park entrance she thought about her odd encounter that morning. Locke. Sigourney couldn't shake how strange it was that he wouldn't come into the shop a second time. Surely he had initially come in with the hope of purchasing a book. Or at the very least to browse the shelves. Why else would someone go into a bookshop? What troubled her more was the fact that she had been so certain that she had locked the door behind her when she first arrived. She retraced her steps in her mind for the hundredth time.
"Perhaps I'm finally losing it." She mumbled to herself.
A magpie in a nearby tree cackled at her.
She stopped walking and raised an eyebrow at it, "Laugh if you like. But I think forces stranger than you or I understand are at work here. I know I locked that door."
Sigourney had always believed that the world was far more complicated than anyone really understood. Who was to say magic didn't exist? She had seen enough strange things in her time to doubt that anyone could say for certain that it didn't. If Superheros were battling it out with killer robots in real life instead of in comic books then surely a door unlocking itself wasn't all that strange.
She started walking again. The magpie flitted to the next tree, keeping pace with her as she moved down the gravel path. Sigourney frowned a little, stopping again. The bird tilted its head at her as though it were wondering why she had stopped. Sigourney knew that they were rather clever birds, known to sometimes play with humans. Her mind spun, trying to somehow string together the shop door, Locke, and now a bird that seemed to be following her. It had been a very strange day and she was ready to go home.
Sigourney hurried through the rest of the park, keenly aware of the magpie still following her, but decidedly ignoring it. The bird stayed with her until she reached the front door of the house. It sat in a tree across the street, watching her as she collected her mail. Then it flew off as soon as she was inside. Fiske meowed loudly at her from his customary spot on the first step of the staircase. Sigourney reached down to scratch at his ears quickly before hurrying up to her apartment.
The next morning, on her way to work, Sigourney willed her life to go back to its regular old boring self. She breathed deep the scent of autumn and told herself that the events of the previous day were one time deals. The locks in the shop would work. Strange and handsome men would ignore her as they always had. Birds in the park would not follow her home. She would tend the shop, continue shelving the new books, and be ordinary Sigourney once again.
The universe seemed to be complying to her will rather well until about an hour before closing when the shelf holding up a collection of encyclopedias snapped clean in two. It sent its passengers thundering to the floor in a disastrous heep, the resounding bang of which scared the absolute daylights out of everyone in the shop. When the mess had been cleaned up and the handful of customers reassured that everyone was alright, Sigourney and Lavender looked over the damage. Most of the bookcases in the shop had been 'rescued' by Sigourney from back alley garbage piles and thrift stores. Those were fine for the harmless paperbacks that hardly put a strain on them but, evidently, something sturdier would be needed for the more robust volumes. There would be no way around it. The newly broken shelf was unsalvageable.
"You know," Lavender tapped the end of her pencil against her bottom lip as she studied the shop's financial books, "there's enough in the supply fund that you could buy a real, proper, bookshelf. Like, a new one.
"Are you sure?" Sigourney asked, turning from where she was watering the plants in the front window.
Lavender raised an eyebrow, "I'm never wrong about math."
This was something Sigourney knew to be true. Lavender was brilliant when it came to sums. She would do her advanced mathematics homework while minding the counter and complain that it was too easy. Sigourney, who didn't have a mathematical bone in her body, welcomed Lavender's insight and support with open arms. It was a blessing to have someone around who not only understood complicated numbers, but who could also explain them in a way she could understand.
Lavender smiled, dimples forming in her round cheeks. She was wearing periwinkle blue overalls, a striped shirt and floral sneakers today. The blue complimented her dark complexion beautifully. Her hair was all but shaved in the back and sides, leaving a mass of black curls on the top of her head. She twisted a strand of it around her fingers, her warm brown eyes intent as they studied the papers before her.
"Okay, I double checked and we definitely have enough for a new bookshelf." Lavender said, "Remember that big sale last month? We made more than enough to cover the cost."
Sigourney opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the sound of the bell over the door jingaling, happily announcing the arrival of a customer. It was Locke. He was dressed exactly as he had been the day before, which added to the strangeness of his return. He smiled. Sigourney smiled back despite the growing feeling that she had not, in fact, willed the universe back into mundane order as she had hoped.
"Hi again." She said, glancing over his shoulder to look at Lavender.
She was beaming, pointing to him and mouthing, 'Is that him? Is that the weird tea guy?'
"Hello." He replied, "I hope I'm not intruding this time."
"No, not at all." Sigourney replied.
Impatience got the better of Lavender, who leaned as far as she could over the counter, and said, "Hi! You must be Locke. Sigourney was just telling me all about you."
Locke turned and half bowed to her, "Is that so? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."
"Lavender." She introduced herself.
"A pleasure." He straightened, noticing the bits of broken shelf leaning up against the closest bookcase and the stacks of encyclopedias, "What's happened here?"
"We were just discussing that very thing." Lavender smiled.
Sigourney flashed her a look of gentle warning, "The shelf gave out about ten minutes ago, actually. Luckily we're closed tomorrow so, if I can find a way down to Ikea, I'll pick up a new one."
"She doesn't drive." Lavender explained helpfully.
Locke turned back to look at Sigourney, "Could I be of some assistance? I am in possession of a vehicle. I could easily act as your transport."
In a whirlwind that couldn't be stopped, Lavender and Locke commenced to make plans for the next day. There was no stopping them. By the end of it, it was decided that Sigourney would be picked up from the cafe at ten o'clock the next morning, be driven to Ikea by Locke, accompanied by him while there and then driven back to the shop, new bookcase in tow, so as to drop it off. Sigourney watched the two of them as though they were an impending storm. She leaned against counter and contemplated whether or not she should intervene.
It was curious, but Sigourney noticed that Locke didn't really address any of his answers or questions to Lavender. All his remarks seemed to be aimed at Sigourney. She wasn't sure if she would have noticed had she not been watching the two of them carefully. There was nothing rude or deliberately cruel in how he interacted with Lavender, just a sense of desired distance. Perhaps he was shy? It was a solid five minutes before he slowly began to engage with Lavender, looking at her when she spoke and replying to her questions directly. And that was when the conversation really took off. The two seemed perfectly happy to plan out the next twenty four hours of Sigourney's life for her. In the end she couldn't see the harm in simply letting them.
Locke ended up keeping them company right until closing. He continued to gradually warm towards Lavender, joking with her and asking her questions about herself. As Sigourney watched him laughing and smiling his entrance into the shop only yesterday played like a loop in her mind. That look of joy mixed with relief in his eyes when he saw her. As though he knew her. And the expression of utter dejection that flashed across his features... it was enough to break anyone's heart. She didn't understand it. He had avoided giving her an answer when she asked him about it at the cafe. Yet here he was, offering up rides and being perfectly friendly. The part that really confused her was the fact that it didn't feel wrong. There were no warning bells or sirens going off in her head, telling her to keep her guard up. In fact, the voice inside her was saying something very different.
"He likes you, you know." Lavender said in her matter-of-fact tone as she and Sigourney walked down the street together.
They had closed up the shop for the night and parted ways with Locke.
"How can you tell?" Sigourney asked, "You only just met him. I only just met him."
Lavender shrugged, "I just can. I think it's something to do with being seventeen. You're just in-tune with those sort of signals because your body's going haywire. It's the way he looks at you."
"How does he look at me?" Sigourney hugged herself a little against the wind.
Lavender thought for a moment, "The same way Alice looks at me."
Sigourney smiled, "That serious, huh?"
"Yeah." She smiled back, cheeks dimpeling, "Besides, he's cute for a boy. And he seems like he's reasonably normal. I think you should at least try to get to know him a little. But text me a couple times during your Ikea date tomorrow so I know he hasn't kidnapped you or something, okay?"
"Okay, deal." Sigourney agreed, then said, "But it's not a date."
"Sure." Lavender scoffed, "Whatever you say."
They parted at the corner, Lavender turning down towards her mother's restaurant and Sigourney continuing on to walk around the park. The univese couldn't be weird if she avoided the places it had been weird in. When she got home Fiske greeted her on the stairs, but did not see fit to join her for dinner. So she ate her bowl of butter chicken and rice alone with her thoughts. No matter how hard Sigourney tried she couldn't keep Locke from drifting into her thoughts. Later, Sigourney lied awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, as she analysed all of her interactions with him.
"I'm being ridiculous." She told herself, "Just go to sleep."
Sigourney rolled over and shut her eyes tight, shoving the whirling thoughts from her mind. When she did finally fall asleep she dreamed she was being lead down a long, golden, corridor at a brisk pace. With her were two people in elaborate armour. One held her tightly by her upper arm, marching her quickly past huge pillars. The other walked in front of them. The ample emerald-green skirts of her gown flowed around her legs as she struggled to keep pace with the guards. Sigourney wanted to ask where they were going, but she couldn't make her voice work.
The sound of marching footfalls filled the hall slowly. Some kind of procession was coming towards them. She craned her neck to see around the leading guard only to have the grip on her arm tighten. It hardly mattered, though. She could see the procession clearly now. It consisted of six people, armoured in the same fashion as her guards, all surrounding a single man bound in chains. He walked with his head bent and his arms in shackles before him. It was Locke. Sigourney stopped walking.
Suddenly the dream changed. She and Locke now stood alone in the pillared corridor. He looked as he had in the shop. Tall, handsome, and dressed in the fine black suit. He stepped towards her with something like fear in his eyes.
"I will find you." He told her, his smooth voice on the cusp of becoming panicked, "I promise. I will find you."
He gently gripped her shoulders as he spoke. His eyes were brimmed with tears. The dream changed again and she was alone in a magnificent garden. Sigourney whirled around, skirts twirling about with the motion, trying to understand where she was. The sharp cackle of a magpie caught her attention. It sat perched on the low branch of a tree, tilting its head as it stared back at her. It's eyes were green. Then, suddenly, she was in the gilded chamber. The old man stood above her, his voice filling the domed space like thunder. He smashed his golden scepter against the golden dais on which he stood. Then, the swirling vortex of colour opened up in the chamber wall and Sigourney was plunged into it.
She woke with a start. Relief at being in her own bed filled her at once. For a few long moments the dream hung around her like fog. Then, slowly, Sigourney settled into the waking world.
"It was only the dream again." She told herself, clutching her forehead and closing her eyes, "It was just that stupid dream. You're fine."
Sigourney shoved herself up and glanced at the digital clock. 9:43am. She was going to be late. She quickly pulled on her clothes, settling for jeans and a black tee-shirt because they were sitting on the top of her laundry basket. As she was in the bathroom, frantically brushing her teeth, there was the sound of something pawing at her window. Sigourney groaned and rinsed her mouth.
"I don't have time today Fiske!" She called, "Go try Ms Greenwell, upstairs."
The thumping, skidding, sound against her window came again. Clearly she would have to shoo him away by hand. Sigourney sighed as she crossed to the window, stopping for a moment to set her bedding to rights as she passed. When she reached the fire escape she drew back the curtains and nearly had a heart-attack. It wasn't Fiske.
Locke was sprawled out on the metal fire escape, leaning against her window, looking as though something had chewed him up and spit him back out. He banged against glass gently with the heel of his hand, looking up at her. His face was bloody and his hair was unkempt. In fact, he was rather disheveled all over. His smart black suit had been replaced by a rumpled green tee-shirt and close-fitting black jeans. He was barefoot, too, which particularly stood out to Sigourney as being strange.
Sigourney sunk to her knees, leveling herself with him, the window between them, "Wh-what...?"
"Sorry to bother you." He groaned, voice muffled through the glass, "May I come in?"
He asked it as though he were there to borrow a cup of sugar. Curse her soft heart. Sigourney fumbled with the lock for a moment before opening the window wide enough for him to crawl through. He scooted into the apartment, one arm clutching his side.
"How do you know where I live?!" Sigourney raked a hand through her hair, utterly bewildered, "And why did you climb up the fire escape?! How did you climb up the fire escape?!"
"Does any of that really matter?" Locke asked, wincing as he struggled to get to his feet.
"Yes! It really, really, does matter!" She told him, supporting him under his arm as she guided him into her bedroom, and said half to herself, "This is either very romantic or very disturbing."
"Romantic." He groaned as he eased himself onto the edge of her bed.
She ignored him and hurried to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit. When she came back he was leaning forward, a grimace on his face, still clutching his side. She knelt down in front of him and opened the kit, sifting through its contents as quickly as she could for everything she would need. He watched her in mild fascination.
"What happened to you?" Sigourney asked.
"I ran into some friends." He explained.
"Your friends did this?!" She nearly dropped the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
"Yeah." His voice came out in a tight strain as he moved back to lean against the wall, legs so long they still hung over the edge of the bed, "They don't like me."
"Why didn't you go to a hospital?" She demanded, scooping up the first aid kit and moving to sit beside him.
"And miss our date?" He closed his eyes, grimacing, tone mildly scadelized through the pain, "Never."
"It's not a-" She cut herself off and sighed, still trying to find something to clean away the blood and far too distracted to argue, "Nevermind. Hold on, I need a cloth or something."
Sigourney darted back into the bathroom. She riffled through her tiny linen cupboard until she found a clean dishcloth, then she ran it under cold water and rang it out in the sink until it was damp. The realization of what was happening hit her while she was doing it. She gripped the sides of the sink, forcing herself to breathe.
"It'll be okay." She told herself, looking at her face in the mirror, "This is fine. This is totally normal."
Her blue-eyed and very freckled reflection did not look convinced. She grabbed the scrunchy sitting on the counter and tied back her hair into a messy ponytail. Then she grabbed the dishcloth and went back into her bedroom.
"I think it looks worse than it is." Locke told her, eyes still closed.
She eased herself onto the bed beside him, "Well, it looks pretty bad. This might sting."
Locke winced slightly against the sudden cold of the cloth, but didn't pull away. Most of the blood seemed to have come from his nose and bottom lip, though there was a rather nasty scrape above his left brow too. It merged with the purple bruise that engulfed his eye. The blood came away easily, staining the cloth scarlet. Sigourney focused on her hands as they worked. She tried very hard not to notice the way Locke was staring at her, his green eyes fixed on her face. It was too quiet.
"Tell me what happened." She forced the words to come out as evenly as possible.
"I already did." His voice was soft, gentle, "I ran into some friends."
"You're always getting into trouble. People who beat you within an inch of your life are not your friends." She countered.
He smiled, then winced, "No, I suppose they aren't, are they? You're very wise."
"And you are very foolish coming here instead of going to a hospital. I should take you to the emergency room." She scolded him, cleaning his cheek.
"Oh, please don't." He pleaded gently, "I've had worse."
Sigourney tucked her fingers under his chin to turn his face slightly. His skin was ice cold. She jerked her hand away with surprise and Locke stared down at her. She didn't understand the expression on his face. It was as though he were waiting for her to say something he already knew.
"You're very cold." She told him.
"Yes." He shifted slightly against the wall again, "I know. Don't worry about it."
"You could be bleeding on the inside, Locke." She said, panic beginning to climb up into her chest from the center of her stomach, "I should call an ambulance."
She moved to grab her phone from the bedside table, but was stopped by Locke's long fingers closing around her wrist. His grip was gentle and freezing. Sigourney met his weary, very serious gaze with concern.
"It's fine." He told her, "I promise you. Please, just continue."
For reasons she couldn't explain, she believed him. Sigourney settled beside him again and tucked her fingers back under his chin. She tilted his head slightly to get a better angle on the blood still coating the far side of his mouth. When that was clean she moved onto his neck, raising his chin so she could see better. He held very still while she worked and the two fell into heavy silence again. When his face was clean she returned to the bathroom to rinse and rewet the cloth. Then she cleaned the blood from his arms. They were mostly just bruised, through there were a few scrapes. His knuckles were grazed badly and slightly swollen. At least he'd fought back, then. When all the blood had been cleaned from Locke's skin, Sigourney soaked a cotton pad in hydrogen peroxide.
"I'm afraid this is going to sting." She told him, moving closer.
When the pad was lightly touched to the scrape above his brow, Locke jerked away and swore sharply, "What is that!?"
"Disinfectant to clean your cuts." She explained, "I know it hurts. Sorry. It's all I have."
He sighed and repositioned himself against the wall, "I hate this planet."
"What?" She couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Nothing." He shook his head slightly, a faint smile on his lips.
He looked as though he hadn't slept in days. It was a very different image than the charming and well groomed man who had walked into Sigourney's bookshop only just the other day. He was paler, if that was even possible, and in addition to the massive bruise there were purple smudges under his eyes. His face looked thinner too, gaunt even. As Sigourney gently applied the hydrogen peroxide to Locke's face, making his lips quirk with each touch of the cotton pad, she couldn't help but notice the scar across the bridge of his nose. Apparently having his face smashed in was something that happened semi-regularly. It was a wonder he was still so handsome. Sigourney finished disinfecting his cuts and did her best to patch them up. Locke watched her, eyes never once leaving her face, as she wrapped his grazed and swollen hand in a bandage.
"I didn't think political science students were the sort to land themselves in fist fights all the time." Sigourney told him.
He chuckled, then winced again, still holding onto his side, "You'd be surprised."
"Who are you? Really." She asked, not looking up from his hand.
She could all but feel his eyes on her when she asked it. And she was convinced that whoever the man laying across her bed was, he was not a political science student. Or if he was, there was more to him than the precious little he had told her.
"This isn't one of our games." She went on, "So be serious, alright? Do you know me? I asked you before, at the cafe, and you changed the subject. But I know you must."
"What makes you say that?" He leaned forward, his breath catching ever so slightly with the motion.
"The way you looked at me when we first met." Sigourney refused to meet his eye, instead watching her own fingers wrap the banage around his hand, "You know where I live. And you came here instead of doing something practical like getting real help. I only just met you the other day and yet you seem intent on spending every moment of available time in my company. You know things about me. And I feel..."
"Feel what?" He stilled her hands by covering them with his own, his touch cool against her skin.
Sigourney finally looked up, "Confused."
His eyes searched her face for a long time. He was trying to decide whether or not he should tell her what he knew. She could see it. Sigourney wished he would just get it over with and explain everything. The fact that his face was mere centimeters from her's was incredibly distracting for reasons she didn't want to think about.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" He asked, dodging the question yet again.
Sigourney would have scoffed right in his face if his tone hadn't been so completely and entirely serious, so she said, "I don't know."
"Yes, you do." He raised his eyebrows a little, "It's a simple yes or no answer."
"Do you?" She studied his face for something, anything, that said he was joking.
"Yes." His tone was so matter-of-fact it nearly hurt.
"And now you're going to tell me that this, what's happening here with you and me, is love at first sight. You wandered into my shop, saw me and your heart was plucked from your chest, right?" It was hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
"Why not?" He asked, tilting his head to one side slightly.
"Because my life isn't a book written for teenage girls," Sigourney told him plainly, "as enchanting and lovely as those stories are. This sort of thing doesn't happen. Not to me."
"It is happening." He replied, still serious to the point of being funny, "It's happening right here in front of you."
"And this sudden and undying love is what lead you to my house and gave you the strength to climb up my fire escape despite the fact that, I'm pretty sure, you have at least one broken rib?" She asked, trying to make it sound as ridiculous as it was.
"In a manner of speaking." He replied.
"Don't lie to me." She moved to pull away, loosing her patience.
His grip on her hands tightened ever so slightly, stopping her completely, "I'm not. I couldn't even if I wanted to."
"Is Locke your real name?" Sigourney demanded.
"No." He told her.
"Then what is?" She furrowed her brow, not sure if she should be angry or scared or both.
"It's Loki." He said, his eyes never once leaving her's, "Loki of Jotunheim and Asgard."