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.
*****
Chapter Eleven
"You want to talk about it?" Weiss was sprawled on the couch with his feet up and watched me pace back and forth.
"Nothing to talk about."
"Could have fooled me," he said through a mouthful of popcorn. "You know, if you keep this up, you're going to wear a hole in the carpet."
I threw him a sour look, which prompted another comment. "You know, all this angst is really bad for your health."
"Now you sound like my mother."
"Say, how is Marie doing?" Weiss could be annoying sometimes.
"You're changing the subject." I stopped mid-stream to catch my breath and flopped into the chair across from him.
"I didn't know there was a subject since you won't discuss it with me." Weiss sat up and did some daredevil stunts with his yo-yo and watched my face closely.
"I told you, there's nothing wrong." I was always a terrible liar.
Weiss snorted. "Is that why you downed four glasses of wine and ignored us at dinner? Or was that just for show? Because quite frankly…."
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
"You were pretty rude to your aunt. I mean, even I saw it as a problem. Why do you think I hit on that college girl?" Weiss stated.
"Because you're a horny bastard with no life?" Snarky, aren't I?
"Besides that," he waved off his loser status like it was no big deal. "You and Trish needed to talk, so I gave you some space."
"Space," I fumed. "Is that what you call it? Because at the exact moment she might have told me something….."
Weiss interrupted, "Things seemed to be pretty tense, so I thought I'd play referee."
"I asked her about the hockey player," I blurted, finally getting it out in the open.
"And?" Weiss burped without excusing himself and leaned his elbows on his knees.
"She got all teary-eyed and wouldn't answer."
"So what if you have some relative who looks like you? What's the big deal?" Eric really didn't get it, but then, he didn't know me all that well. Yeah, he was my best buddy and we went to games and out for pizza and beer, but our intimacy didn't often extend beyond that. I knew the story of his life but he only knew the first chapter of mine.
I was about to start resuming my pacing when he stopped me with his arm and pushed me back in my seat. "It's a big deal! I mean, it may involve m-my…." The words hovered on my lips as I forced it out with every last bit of will I possessed. "I might be adopted."
Eric's eyes widened as I let my little bomb settle into his mind. "So tell me about it." I could see the sincerity and concern shining from his eyes and knew he really wanted to know, that he was really worried that I was losing it over this Rambaldi business. But more than that, there was this other baggage that was majorly weighing me down. I was off my game, and Weiss knew I had to pull it together for Sydney's sake.
"There's all these coincidences, you know? Like the green eyes….."
"Didn't your father have green eyes?" Weiss loved to pore over family pictures and was heavily into genealogy.
"Not like mine. And then there's this gift…..the way I get feelings about things…."
"Do you really get feelings, or is that Trish's wishful thinking?" Weiss mused.
"Maybe it's both. I don't know, but there have been times when I've felt drawn to things for no reason."
"Is that it? Because that's not much to go on." He was right, but I was barely getting started.
I took a deep breath and let it all out in a rapid flow. "There's the mannerisms and the art and well, there's that guy in the picture."
"Art?" Weiss never missed a trick.
"Well, yeah, we both paint. And I guess….I mean, I know I'm really good at it," I admitted shyly.
"That's cool, but you know, it proves nothing."
"How so?" I felt my fear evaporate when it was clear that my art was no big deal to Weiss.
"You could have inherited all that stuff from Marie."
"I suppose, but how do you explain the guy in the picture?"
"I can't. But I think you're making too much of this. For all you know, this guy's some long lost relative that fell out of favor with the family. Trust me, it happens all the time."
"I wish I could believe that."
"What, you don't like my theory? OK, here's another one. Maybe Marie had a fling with this guy and tried to cover it up." Weiss was really pushing his luck.
"Are you kidding? My mother would never do that." My mother still wore white gloves when she went out and never left the house without a hat. Emily Post could learn from my mother.
"Maybe not. So what about Trish?"
I had skated around her name, hoping it wouldn't come to this, but what other conclusion could I make? With a sigh, I said, "When I was small, the other kids used to tease me. They said I was adopted, because I looked nothing like my parents."
"Kids say stupid things."
"But they were right. I would look in the mirror and wonder what was wrong with me, and then I wondered why I was left-handed when both of them were right-handed and why I was good at sports and music and art and neither of them had any talent in those areas."
"Look, man, I know this is eating at you, but you gotta be realistic. I look and act just like my Uncle Ben. Genes can skip generations…."
"She's my mother." The more I thought about it, the more I knew I was right. It all fit. The way she had left home at fifteen, not because of a divorce, but because she had disgraced herself. The things she had said about giving up her dreams. The way my family acted whenever her name was mentioned or she made a rare appearance at one of our family gatherings. The way she had avoided me all these years, or was it the other way around?
"So what are you going to do about it?" Weiss asked quietly
"I don't know." And that was the last thing I said before heading off to bed.
*******
My dreams are like something out of a Clive Cussler novel. It always starts with me on some dangerous mission, bare-chested and sweaty, fighting off the evil bad dudes with my bare hands. Wining and dining my way through Europe with a beautiful woman on my arm. The difference is, that woman is always Sydney instead of some faceless bimbo and I always rescue her in the end instead of her saving my sorry ass. No one knows about my collection of Cussler novels or the way I imprint myself on his Dirk Pitt character, and if I have my way, no one ever will. Weiss would laugh me out of the office and Sydney would string me up.
Unfortunately, sleep and swashbuckling dreams evaded me for hours. I tried everything: counting sheep, watching late night TV, and reading passages from the Gideon bible. Desperation drove me to the Ambien bottle in my luggage which was reserved for just such occasions. After one of those babies, I am usually out cold like a corpse in a coffin. No dreams. No pain. Nothing. This time was different. While Weiss raised the rafters with his happy snores, I tossed and turned, growing increasingly desperate as the night wore on.
I didn't realize I had nodded off until I awoke in a cold panic, shaking and shuddering from the nightmare that was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Most dreams have shadowy figures or unknown people and involve classic anxiety patterns where you search for something you never find or you go around in circles. Sometimes the object of your fantasies appears to be someone else and just when you think you have it figured out, a scene changes. But this nightmare was more like one of those vivid dreams where you swear you did something and when you wake up, reality seems surreal.
This dream bloomed on the sidewalk outside FBI headquarters. It was one of those impossibly perfect spring days where the light was soft and velvety and the breeze carried scents of all that was good about the world. Trish and Weiss flanked me and we watched Sydney walk toward a van, freed from her shackles and released from custody. As she got in, Trish turned to me with a warm smile, her eyes dancing along with the red light that hopped across her forehead before centering itself, lethal in the way that concentrated light burns ants to a crisp. Sudden knowledge flooded me, but I was too late. A perfectly formed circle blossomed above the bridge of her nose and she fell heavily to the ground, her cheap glass beads scattering in every direction. Eric whirled around and turned white, crying out and running to her side while I stood there in shock, unable to fathom that my aunt was dead from a sniper's rifle. I looked up and saw the van pull away with Sydney's face and hands pressed to the back window, unable to help the woman who had saved her life. Someone gripped my arm and nearly sent me into orbit, and when I turned to face them, I saw Weiss's concerned face looming over me, his dark eyes puffy with sleep.
"What? What is it? What happened?" I cried, disoriented and nearly out of my mind with terror.
"Take it easy, Michael. It's just a dream." He sat down in the chair near my bed and gave me time to compose myself.
I took some deep breaths and scrubbed my fingers through my hair. "How much noise did I make?" I asked.
Weiss smiled tiredly. "Enough to wake the dead."
His eerie choice of words brought my head up sharply. "That's not funny!"
He flinched at my harsh tone and held up his hands in surrender. "What's got you so bent?"
I rubbed my eyes and let the dream's script roll before my eyes. "All of us were there at the FBI building. You, me, and Trish. We watched Sydney come out and then…..then I turned to my aunt and they shot….they killed her."
"Who shot her?" Eric was getting spooked by my behavior.
"I don't know….a sniper or something." That red dot mocked me and it seemed to burn itself into my retinas.
"Look, I know how some dreams are, but…."
God bless him for trying to help me through this. "This was real, Eric. It wasn't like any dream I've ever had. If I had to use one word to describe it, I'd call it a vision….maybe of the future."
"Sure it isn't the power of suggestion? She says you have a gift, and bam, all of a sudden you're seeing the future?"
"I know how it sounds." It sounded crazy, but I was perfectly sane. If it had happened a few days ago, I would have chalked it up to all that good wine I had imbibed last night.
"Even if what you saw was possible, why would anyone want to hurt Trish?" Eric asked.
"Depending on what we find out tomorrow, there could be any number of people who want to silence her."
"So we'll make sure that doesn't happen." Weiss's eyes were resolute and I knew he'd stand behind me.
"You think we can count on Jack Bristow to back us up?" The man was an enigma, but I think we could trust him.
"Yeah. He's solid."
I checked the time and groaned. "We better run if we want to make the meeting on time." This meeting was the final summation of Sydney's testimony and a decision would be made on her fate. As I claimed the first shower and let the hot water pour over me, the rage I had suppressed for so long started boiling over, and by the time we made it to the car, I was ready to rip someone a new asshole. We arrived at my aunt's house, silent and ready to rock and roll.
******
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
*****
Chapter Eleven
"You want to talk about it?" Weiss was sprawled on the couch with his feet up and watched me pace back and forth.
"Nothing to talk about."
"Could have fooled me," he said through a mouthful of popcorn. "You know, if you keep this up, you're going to wear a hole in the carpet."
I threw him a sour look, which prompted another comment. "You know, all this angst is really bad for your health."
"Now you sound like my mother."
"Say, how is Marie doing?" Weiss could be annoying sometimes.
"You're changing the subject." I stopped mid-stream to catch my breath and flopped into the chair across from him.
"I didn't know there was a subject since you won't discuss it with me." Weiss sat up and did some daredevil stunts with his yo-yo and watched my face closely.
"I told you, there's nothing wrong." I was always a terrible liar.
Weiss snorted. "Is that why you downed four glasses of wine and ignored us at dinner? Or was that just for show? Because quite frankly…."
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
"You were pretty rude to your aunt. I mean, even I saw it as a problem. Why do you think I hit on that college girl?" Weiss stated.
"Because you're a horny bastard with no life?" Snarky, aren't I?
"Besides that," he waved off his loser status like it was no big deal. "You and Trish needed to talk, so I gave you some space."
"Space," I fumed. "Is that what you call it? Because at the exact moment she might have told me something….."
Weiss interrupted, "Things seemed to be pretty tense, so I thought I'd play referee."
"I asked her about the hockey player," I blurted, finally getting it out in the open.
"And?" Weiss burped without excusing himself and leaned his elbows on his knees.
"She got all teary-eyed and wouldn't answer."
"So what if you have some relative who looks like you? What's the big deal?" Eric really didn't get it, but then, he didn't know me all that well. Yeah, he was my best buddy and we went to games and out for pizza and beer, but our intimacy didn't often extend beyond that. I knew the story of his life but he only knew the first chapter of mine.
I was about to start resuming my pacing when he stopped me with his arm and pushed me back in my seat. "It's a big deal! I mean, it may involve m-my…." The words hovered on my lips as I forced it out with every last bit of will I possessed. "I might be adopted."
Eric's eyes widened as I let my little bomb settle into his mind. "So tell me about it." I could see the sincerity and concern shining from his eyes and knew he really wanted to know, that he was really worried that I was losing it over this Rambaldi business. But more than that, there was this other baggage that was majorly weighing me down. I was off my game, and Weiss knew I had to pull it together for Sydney's sake.
"There's all these coincidences, you know? Like the green eyes….."
"Didn't your father have green eyes?" Weiss loved to pore over family pictures and was heavily into genealogy.
"Not like mine. And then there's this gift…..the way I get feelings about things…."
"Do you really get feelings, or is that Trish's wishful thinking?" Weiss mused.
"Maybe it's both. I don't know, but there have been times when I've felt drawn to things for no reason."
"Is that it? Because that's not much to go on." He was right, but I was barely getting started.
I took a deep breath and let it all out in a rapid flow. "There's the mannerisms and the art and well, there's that guy in the picture."
"Art?" Weiss never missed a trick.
"Well, yeah, we both paint. And I guess….I mean, I know I'm really good at it," I admitted shyly.
"That's cool, but you know, it proves nothing."
"How so?" I felt my fear evaporate when it was clear that my art was no big deal to Weiss.
"You could have inherited all that stuff from Marie."
"I suppose, but how do you explain the guy in the picture?"
"I can't. But I think you're making too much of this. For all you know, this guy's some long lost relative that fell out of favor with the family. Trust me, it happens all the time."
"I wish I could believe that."
"What, you don't like my theory? OK, here's another one. Maybe Marie had a fling with this guy and tried to cover it up." Weiss was really pushing his luck.
"Are you kidding? My mother would never do that." My mother still wore white gloves when she went out and never left the house without a hat. Emily Post could learn from my mother.
"Maybe not. So what about Trish?"
I had skated around her name, hoping it wouldn't come to this, but what other conclusion could I make? With a sigh, I said, "When I was small, the other kids used to tease me. They said I was adopted, because I looked nothing like my parents."
"Kids say stupid things."
"But they were right. I would look in the mirror and wonder what was wrong with me, and then I wondered why I was left-handed when both of them were right-handed and why I was good at sports and music and art and neither of them had any talent in those areas."
"Look, man, I know this is eating at you, but you gotta be realistic. I look and act just like my Uncle Ben. Genes can skip generations…."
"She's my mother." The more I thought about it, the more I knew I was right. It all fit. The way she had left home at fifteen, not because of a divorce, but because she had disgraced herself. The things she had said about giving up her dreams. The way my family acted whenever her name was mentioned or she made a rare appearance at one of our family gatherings. The way she had avoided me all these years, or was it the other way around?
"So what are you going to do about it?" Weiss asked quietly
"I don't know." And that was the last thing I said before heading off to bed.
*******
My dreams are like something out of a Clive Cussler novel. It always starts with me on some dangerous mission, bare-chested and sweaty, fighting off the evil bad dudes with my bare hands. Wining and dining my way through Europe with a beautiful woman on my arm. The difference is, that woman is always Sydney instead of some faceless bimbo and I always rescue her in the end instead of her saving my sorry ass. No one knows about my collection of Cussler novels or the way I imprint myself on his Dirk Pitt character, and if I have my way, no one ever will. Weiss would laugh me out of the office and Sydney would string me up.
Unfortunately, sleep and swashbuckling dreams evaded me for hours. I tried everything: counting sheep, watching late night TV, and reading passages from the Gideon bible. Desperation drove me to the Ambien bottle in my luggage which was reserved for just such occasions. After one of those babies, I am usually out cold like a corpse in a coffin. No dreams. No pain. Nothing. This time was different. While Weiss raised the rafters with his happy snores, I tossed and turned, growing increasingly desperate as the night wore on.
I didn't realize I had nodded off until I awoke in a cold panic, shaking and shuddering from the nightmare that was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Most dreams have shadowy figures or unknown people and involve classic anxiety patterns where you search for something you never find or you go around in circles. Sometimes the object of your fantasies appears to be someone else and just when you think you have it figured out, a scene changes. But this nightmare was more like one of those vivid dreams where you swear you did something and when you wake up, reality seems surreal.
This dream bloomed on the sidewalk outside FBI headquarters. It was one of those impossibly perfect spring days where the light was soft and velvety and the breeze carried scents of all that was good about the world. Trish and Weiss flanked me and we watched Sydney walk toward a van, freed from her shackles and released from custody. As she got in, Trish turned to me with a warm smile, her eyes dancing along with the red light that hopped across her forehead before centering itself, lethal in the way that concentrated light burns ants to a crisp. Sudden knowledge flooded me, but I was too late. A perfectly formed circle blossomed above the bridge of her nose and she fell heavily to the ground, her cheap glass beads scattering in every direction. Eric whirled around and turned white, crying out and running to her side while I stood there in shock, unable to fathom that my aunt was dead from a sniper's rifle. I looked up and saw the van pull away with Sydney's face and hands pressed to the back window, unable to help the woman who had saved her life. Someone gripped my arm and nearly sent me into orbit, and when I turned to face them, I saw Weiss's concerned face looming over me, his dark eyes puffy with sleep.
"What? What is it? What happened?" I cried, disoriented and nearly out of my mind with terror.
"Take it easy, Michael. It's just a dream." He sat down in the chair near my bed and gave me time to compose myself.
I took some deep breaths and scrubbed my fingers through my hair. "How much noise did I make?" I asked.
Weiss smiled tiredly. "Enough to wake the dead."
His eerie choice of words brought my head up sharply. "That's not funny!"
He flinched at my harsh tone and held up his hands in surrender. "What's got you so bent?"
I rubbed my eyes and let the dream's script roll before my eyes. "All of us were there at the FBI building. You, me, and Trish. We watched Sydney come out and then…..then I turned to my aunt and they shot….they killed her."
"Who shot her?" Eric was getting spooked by my behavior.
"I don't know….a sniper or something." That red dot mocked me and it seemed to burn itself into my retinas.
"Look, I know how some dreams are, but…."
God bless him for trying to help me through this. "This was real, Eric. It wasn't like any dream I've ever had. If I had to use one word to describe it, I'd call it a vision….maybe of the future."
"Sure it isn't the power of suggestion? She says you have a gift, and bam, all of a sudden you're seeing the future?"
"I know how it sounds." It sounded crazy, but I was perfectly sane. If it had happened a few days ago, I would have chalked it up to all that good wine I had imbibed last night.
"Even if what you saw was possible, why would anyone want to hurt Trish?" Eric asked.
"Depending on what we find out tomorrow, there could be any number of people who want to silence her."
"So we'll make sure that doesn't happen." Weiss's eyes were resolute and I knew he'd stand behind me.
"You think we can count on Jack Bristow to back us up?" The man was an enigma, but I think we could trust him.
"Yeah. He's solid."
I checked the time and groaned. "We better run if we want to make the meeting on time." This meeting was the final summation of Sydney's testimony and a decision would be made on her fate. As I claimed the first shower and let the hot water pour over me, the rage I had suppressed for so long started boiling over, and by the time we made it to the car, I was ready to rip someone a new asshole. We arrived at my aunt's house, silent and ready to rock and roll.
******