Three Bricks Shy-Alias, PG-13 (A touch of the occult and some humor)
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions
Vaughn visits his crazy aunt Trish.
*****
Chapter Eight
"Tell me about the man in the picture." A double-edged statement if ever one existed, but one that cut straight to the heart of the matter. The hockey player and the Porsche guy were important to us both. She looked between me and the fireplace and seemed to come to some decision.
"Come and sit." Trish folded herself elegantly into a wingback chair and hugged her knees to her chest. As I waited expectantly, I noticed a thin circlet of gold on her left ring finger and felt a cold shudder work its way up my spine. "Robert Charles. Have you heard the name?"
Who hasn't heard of perhaps the most famous chef in America? Co-founder of the Institut Gastronomique and executive producer of his own cooking show, he was the Michael Jordan of the culinary world. "Yes."
"Robert and I became very close when he came to this country. He owns the Porsche and he….was my husband," Trish explained, her voice quavering as she tried to hold it together.
The past tense wasn't lost on me, but I don't remember hearing anything about him dying. And what was this about marriage? Far as I know, nobody in the family knew about this. "What happened?"
"I had this recurring dream and it always came out the same way. Robert was driving his car, very fast and very tight around the turns. He never listens…..and he would not heed my warning. Every day I would tell him to get rid of the car, that it was bad luck, and he would laugh it off," Trish recounted, her eyes misty with emotion.
"He didn't believe in your powers, did he?" Nothing strange about that. It had taken years before she made a believer out of me.
She shook her head. "Do you remember that terrible ice storm that hit the mid-Atlantic states in January?"
"Vaguely." I didn't make a habit of watching the Weather Channel.
"The dream came again that night, but this time it was more clear. I was in the road, waving my arms and telling him to stop. He drove around me and his car slid on the ice and went over the embankment. When I awoke from that dream, the phone was ringing and the police were on the other end."
"I'm so sorry," I said, knowing that words were inadequate but wanting to offer some small measure of comfort. When I placed my hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off and got to her feet, pacing like a caged lioness in much the same way I paced when I was agitated.
"You know, Michel, I could have stopped him. I could have…..taken his keys or….sabotaged his car. But no, I let him go, knowing what would happen…." Her voice was wracked with the same sort of guilt that plagued me about Sydney, so I understood where she was coming from.
"It's not your fault. How can you possibly blame yourself for this? We all have free will and there's no way you could have stopped him," I offered gently.
"I tell myself that every day, but then, I had the Sight." That capital S was so vivid that it burned in the air between us. "The Sight is a blessing at times, but it is also a curse, and the bearer has the responsibility to turn events if they can. God knows I tried, but I could not stop this from happening!"
"You did what you could." What more could I say to comfort her?
She jammed her hands in her pockets and turned back to me. "When they released the car to me, they said I should total it, that it was beyond repair. But I could not do that to him…that car was an extension of his soul. So I had it restored, and I have it washed and waxed each week. The car is….."
"Like a shrine?" I guessed.
"Like that," she agreed. "So after that night, I decided that I would ignore my talent and let it go to seed."
Her reasons for turning me down were fully justified and I knew I had no right to ask this favor of her. The devil in me challenged the angel on my shoulder and dared me to act on my instincts. Do the right and honorable thing or give in to my feelings? Damnit, I could not let this opportunity go, no matter the cost. "And did that happen?"
Trish knew what I was asking. She ducked her head, but not before I caught the quick flash of anger in her eyes. "It did not," she replied wearily. With a sigh, she added, "Tell me how I can help you."
The words came out of me in a flood, bottled up for days by anxiety and the kind of angst that was part and parcel of my job as Sydney's handler. When I got to the part about the DSR, Trish's eyes darkened and her fingers clenched into tight balls of barely repressed rage. "Carson Evans is part of this? I should have known."
"You know Dr. Evans?" I asked incredulously as Weiss made his way back into the room and leaned against the edge of the counter.
"I would not give her the courtesy of using that title," Trish spat, her eyes shooting out emerald sparks as she lit up a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. "Do you know how the good doctor got where she is? By harvesting innocents and selling their services to the highest bidder."
"How do you know her?" I wasn't entirely surprised that they had crossed paths, because after all, they were in the same line of work.
"Because I was one of her test subjects!" Trish countered acidly.
Weiss looked at me hopefully and I had to agree that things were looking up. My aunt was royally pissed and it shouldn't be difficult to convince her to help us. Still, that other part of me warred with my conscience, telling me that it was wrong to use her like this. "So there's no love lost…."
"Not at all," Trish stated, dragging hard on her cigarette and grinding it out in a fit of temper. When her fingers brushed against mine accidentally, she froze for a second and grabbed my hand with both of hers. I felt an inrush of warmth as she concentrated and a moment later, she released my hand and said, "You should have told me about this girl and saved us a lot of time."
"But I did tell you…." I started.
Trish cut me off with a downward chop of her hand. "Your true feelings were not taken into consideration. I will do everything I can to help you both. But first, there is something you must do for me."
Weiss was uncharacteristically silent, but he chose this moment to re-enter the conversation. "We'll do anything you want. Just name it."
I had a really bad feeling about this. Trish merely smiled like some private joke was replaying in her head and said, "Follow me."
*******
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions
Vaughn visits his crazy aunt Trish.
*****
Chapter Eight
"Tell me about the man in the picture." A double-edged statement if ever one existed, but one that cut straight to the heart of the matter. The hockey player and the Porsche guy were important to us both. She looked between me and the fireplace and seemed to come to some decision.
"Come and sit." Trish folded herself elegantly into a wingback chair and hugged her knees to her chest. As I waited expectantly, I noticed a thin circlet of gold on her left ring finger and felt a cold shudder work its way up my spine. "Robert Charles. Have you heard the name?"
Who hasn't heard of perhaps the most famous chef in America? Co-founder of the Institut Gastronomique and executive producer of his own cooking show, he was the Michael Jordan of the culinary world. "Yes."
"Robert and I became very close when he came to this country. He owns the Porsche and he….was my husband," Trish explained, her voice quavering as she tried to hold it together.
The past tense wasn't lost on me, but I don't remember hearing anything about him dying. And what was this about marriage? Far as I know, nobody in the family knew about this. "What happened?"
"I had this recurring dream and it always came out the same way. Robert was driving his car, very fast and very tight around the turns. He never listens…..and he would not heed my warning. Every day I would tell him to get rid of the car, that it was bad luck, and he would laugh it off," Trish recounted, her eyes misty with emotion.
"He didn't believe in your powers, did he?" Nothing strange about that. It had taken years before she made a believer out of me.
She shook her head. "Do you remember that terrible ice storm that hit the mid-Atlantic states in January?"
"Vaguely." I didn't make a habit of watching the Weather Channel.
"The dream came again that night, but this time it was more clear. I was in the road, waving my arms and telling him to stop. He drove around me and his car slid on the ice and went over the embankment. When I awoke from that dream, the phone was ringing and the police were on the other end."
"I'm so sorry," I said, knowing that words were inadequate but wanting to offer some small measure of comfort. When I placed my hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off and got to her feet, pacing like a caged lioness in much the same way I paced when I was agitated.
"You know, Michel, I could have stopped him. I could have…..taken his keys or….sabotaged his car. But no, I let him go, knowing what would happen…." Her voice was wracked with the same sort of guilt that plagued me about Sydney, so I understood where she was coming from.
"It's not your fault. How can you possibly blame yourself for this? We all have free will and there's no way you could have stopped him," I offered gently.
"I tell myself that every day, but then, I had the Sight." That capital S was so vivid that it burned in the air between us. "The Sight is a blessing at times, but it is also a curse, and the bearer has the responsibility to turn events if they can. God knows I tried, but I could not stop this from happening!"
"You did what you could." What more could I say to comfort her?
She jammed her hands in her pockets and turned back to me. "When they released the car to me, they said I should total it, that it was beyond repair. But I could not do that to him…that car was an extension of his soul. So I had it restored, and I have it washed and waxed each week. The car is….."
"Like a shrine?" I guessed.
"Like that," she agreed. "So after that night, I decided that I would ignore my talent and let it go to seed."
Her reasons for turning me down were fully justified and I knew I had no right to ask this favor of her. The devil in me challenged the angel on my shoulder and dared me to act on my instincts. Do the right and honorable thing or give in to my feelings? Damnit, I could not let this opportunity go, no matter the cost. "And did that happen?"
Trish knew what I was asking. She ducked her head, but not before I caught the quick flash of anger in her eyes. "It did not," she replied wearily. With a sigh, she added, "Tell me how I can help you."
The words came out of me in a flood, bottled up for days by anxiety and the kind of angst that was part and parcel of my job as Sydney's handler. When I got to the part about the DSR, Trish's eyes darkened and her fingers clenched into tight balls of barely repressed rage. "Carson Evans is part of this? I should have known."
"You know Dr. Evans?" I asked incredulously as Weiss made his way back into the room and leaned against the edge of the counter.
"I would not give her the courtesy of using that title," Trish spat, her eyes shooting out emerald sparks as she lit up a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. "Do you know how the good doctor got where she is? By harvesting innocents and selling their services to the highest bidder."
"How do you know her?" I wasn't entirely surprised that they had crossed paths, because after all, they were in the same line of work.
"Because I was one of her test subjects!" Trish countered acidly.
Weiss looked at me hopefully and I had to agree that things were looking up. My aunt was royally pissed and it shouldn't be difficult to convince her to help us. Still, that other part of me warred with my conscience, telling me that it was wrong to use her like this. "So there's no love lost…."
"Not at all," Trish stated, dragging hard on her cigarette and grinding it out in a fit of temper. When her fingers brushed against mine accidentally, she froze for a second and grabbed my hand with both of hers. I felt an inrush of warmth as she concentrated and a moment later, she released my hand and said, "You should have told me about this girl and saved us a lot of time."
"But I did tell you…." I started.
Trish cut me off with a downward chop of her hand. "Your true feelings were not taken into consideration. I will do everything I can to help you both. But first, there is something you must do for me."
Weiss was uncharacteristically silent, but he chose this moment to re-enter the conversation. "We'll do anything you want. Just name it."
I had a really bad feeling about this. Trish merely smiled like some private joke was replaying in her head and said, "Follow me."
*******