by Dalton S. Spence
Part III - Stranger in the Night
Why is it my life can never be simple? I only wanted to show my son the world his mother came from. To take him to her resting place, and tell him of our love. I never intended to become involved with the troubles of that world again. But when I saw the stranger lying there on Catherine's grave, how could I turn away?
Perhaps it would have been easier if I hadn't told Jacob we were going to see his mother. I had explained before that his mother was in Heaven, and that we wouldn't actually be seeing her, but I wasn't sure Jacob understood. So when he said someone was there, I thought it was his imagination, or perhaps my vague hope, communicated to him through our bond. And in that brief instant, as we cleared the trees and saw her still form lying there, my heart shouted "Could it be?" But in the next moment, I knew her to be a stranger.
I still don't understand why I brought her home. It wasn't because of her injuries. They didn't seem too severe, although with head trauma you cannot be sure. It wasn't because of her beauty. In my eyes, Catherine will always be the definition of that word, and they looked nothing alike. She had no identification, nothing to tell us who she was or who to contact. Only a small pouch of jewelery, a map of the city, and a guide book. But when I touched her, I somehow knew she was as much a stranger to this world as I am, but in a different way. So I brought her home. Father, of course, was furious...""I cannot believe you did this!" Father fumed, as he worked on the still form in front of him. "Is this the way you teach your son to keep this place SAFE?"
Vincent listened to his father's angry words, knowing that this time they could be justified. "I could not leave her there," he protested softly, "No one would have found her for hours. And when she was found, without identification or any evidence of insurance she would have ended up in a charity ward until she recovered enough to tell them who she was. And you know what those places are like."
Father nodded, remembering last year when Mouse was injured Up Top while "finding" some supplies for one of his projects. He still hadn't fully recovered from the despair and apathy of the place they found him. Even though his love of "gizmos" seemed unabated, he refused to go Above alone anymore.
In spite of his protests, Father knew that Vincent could have acted in no other way. His mind flew back to another time when his son had brought an injured woman to his care. He wondered if he had known then the effect that Catherine would have on all their lives, whether he would have moved her Above to a hospital regardless of the risks. But when he looked at his son, and his grandson, he knew he would never have done it. Even with all the upheavals and pain the subsequent events caused, the happiness and love Catherine had given his son had made it all worthwhile. Looking down at his new patient, Father wondered what effect this strangely garbed young woman before him would have on all their lives.
"Is the lady going to be alright?" asked Jacob as Vincent removed the last of his son's makeup. Although Jacob was sorry he couldn't look like Daddy all the time, at the moment he was more interested in the stranger Daddy brought home from Above. He remembered the story about how his daddy had found his mommy in the park one night, and brought her home because she had been hurt by some bad men. It would be great if this new lady could become his mommy. Then Daddy wouldn't be so lonely any more.
Vincent was about to answer his son when felt a brief touch at the edges of his mind. Thinking at first it was his son trying to get the answer though their bond, he automatically erected the shield he had been forced to develop when Jacob had been teething. About to chastise Jacob for his breech of manners, Vincent realized that the touch was not his son's, but that of the stranger. What was more, she seemed to some empathic abilities similar to his own. "With Father looking after her, she'll be just fine," Vincent answered his son, somewhat absently as the implications began to fill his mind.
Forcing his attention back to the matters at hand, he said, "In any event, you can see her in the morning if she is feeling any better. But now it's time for you to go to bed." Expecting at least a token protest, he was a little surprised to see his son obediently climb into bed without argument. Vincent decided that his son had as much excitement as he could stand for one day, so he tucked Jacob in, said his goodnights, and went to see what Father had found out about their most recent guest.
The first thing she was aware of was the pain. It reminded her of the morning after her graduation party from the Academy, when one of her "friends" tricked her into trying Romulan Ale. Who knew it was particularly potent for Betazoids.
Even through the pain, she felt the concern in the minds around her. She wondered where she was. Certainly not on the Enterprise. If she was, Beverly would have given her a shot for the pain by now. And the sounds were different, too. Instead of the hum of the engines, she heard a strange tapping sound. It was cooler than life support usually kept the ship, about 10 degrees Celsius less than normal. She wasn't afraid. Although none of the minds around her felt familiar, she sensed no hostility or malice from them, only concern and curiosity.
One mind in particular fascinated her. Underneath the gentleness and compassion she sensed from him, was a pain so vast it made her physical pain pale into insignificance. She instinctively reached out to soothe his pain, but was met by a barrier she could not penetrate. Deanna opened her eyes, and remembered.
"How are you feeling?" The words were spoken by a middle aged man, in his late fifties or early sixties. Deanna immediately recognized him as the physician/leader whose picture she had seen earlier. He was dressed in layers of sweaters and patched leather obviously designed to conserve body heat in this cool environment. She tried to sit up, but the dizziness and nausea she felt forced her to lay down again. She decided a heartfelt groan was the most eloquent answer she could give at the moment.
"I guess that answers my question. At the risk of sounding annoyingly obvious, you really shouldn't try to sit up just yet. You had a rather nasty crack on the head, and could be suffering from concussion." It seems that basic bedside manner remains unchanged down through the centuries, Deanna mused to herself as the doctor began his examination.
"How many fingers do you see?"
"Three," Deanna replied, hoping this was correct. She wasn't sure she trusted the state of 20th century medicine. Besides, although Betazoids were humanoid, they were NOT precisely human, a fact that would be detected by a detailed medical examination.
The doctor continued his questions. "What is your name?"
"Deanna Troi." Safe enough, her name wasn't too usual for Terra.
"Do you remember what happened?"
"I was in a graveyard. I was trying to find a way out, and I tripped and fell." It's better to be honest about the verifiable facts.
"What were you doing there?"
Deanna paused at this. She couldn't very well tell him that an omnipotent being had bought her from the future to settle some kind of bet. After a moments consideration, she remembered a discussion she once had with Captain Picard about 20th century fiction, and the plot devices commonly used in it. It had occurred shortly after the "Hotel Royale" incident, when Will, Data, and Worf had been trapped in an alien simulation based on a bad novel by a hack Terran author. Although it annoyed her to have to use such an overworked gimmick, she could think of no practical alternative, and it did have the advantage of being at least marginally believable.
"I don't remember," she replied, almost apologetically. "In fact, I can't remember anything before finding myself in that graveyard."
Feeling the suspicion and disbelief in her inquisitor's mind, Deanna decided to go on the offensive. Calling on all she had learned from acting in Beverly's amateur theatricals she cried, "Where am I? What is this place? This isn't a hospital. Are you a doctor? What am I doing here? Why can't I remember anything but my name? I want to go home, but I don't know where it is, or how to get there. What am I going to do?" Deanna's fake tears became real, as she finally acknowledged just how far from home she really was.
In another place, not so far away, another woman was asking similar questions. But for her, the questions were real.