CHAPTER NINE: FULL CIRCLE

The little girl stepped closer to Mirage. The young child seemed fascinated by the tall stranger who had appeared in her garden. Mirage was not as pleasantly surprised to meet someone as the girl appeared to be though: Mirage's face was livid. She took a step back as she could not believe that she had stumbled upon one of the very few people she had dreaded meeting upon embarking on her mission. She said nothing.

The young girl tilted her head sideways as she studied Mirage's face. She took a long strand of her hair and held it up, not saying a word. She smiled at Mirage.

"We could play together if you want," she said in a calm voice. Mirage was shocked to hear herself speak. It felt awkward and strange, like someone listening for the first time to their recorded voice, and surprised at how different they sounded from what they had been accustomed to. "But we have to make sure we don't disturb my mommy," she added. "She's over there, she's resting. She's very tired."

The little girl whispered. "You see, she's very sick." She turned her head to the garden. "Don't tell... Mommy doesn't know that I know."

Mirage felt her knees weaken as she heard that. For a moment, the situation felt too much for Mirage to bear. She was preparing herself to walk away in the opposite direction that the young girl had pointed to, but she hesitated and she did not. Mirage could not help herself. Ignoring the risks, she took a step forward, stared at the young girl for a moment and walked towards the side of the house.

The other part of the garden had a small stone patio surrounded by flowerbeds. It had in its centre a wrought iron table with three chairs. Someone sat there, sipping a cup of tea, looking absentmindedly at the surrounding nature. The woman sitting at the table had long and beautiful white hair that today, had been tied in a ponytail. She sat quietly, absorbed in her thoughts. Mirage, standing near the edge of the house, observed her from the distance, unable to approach her.

Sensing a presence, Mirage's mother turned her head towards the stranger who had walked in her garden. Mirage stood expressionless as her mother's eyes set upon hers. Mirage controlled her emotions well, but inside, she trembled. She was stunned by how much she could see herself in her mother's face: The same almond shaped eyes and aquiline nose. The same sensual mouth and natural grace. They stared at each other now.

Mirage's mother gently put her tea cup on the table. She got up slowly, her body trembling slightly as she looked weak. She studied Mirage, her eyes squinting slightly.

"Can I help you?" she said, in a quiet, calm voice.

Mirage could not speak for a second. She then finally found the courage to do so. "I'm very sorry to be intruding on your privacy, but... my…" She hesitated. "My husband and I had a mechanical breakdown down the road. It would be most kind of you if you could let me use your phone to call for a tow truck."

"Of course, please." Mirage's mother said. "There is a phone on the first floor… It's down the hall, through that door." She gracefully lifted her hand to show Mirage the way.

"Thank you," Mirage said. But she still could not move, as she could not help staring at her mother. It seemed Mirage could feel the condition her mother was in. Mirage ached: It was as if she could see through the paleness of her mother's complexion the disease and the ravages it had done to her. The cancer had spread irreversibly by this time, Mirage knew that. And she bitterly remembered that as a child, she had not yet acquired healing powers strong enough to save her. Mirage had tried and failed countless times to heal her, never to give up, only to do so on the day of her mother's death.

But now, Mirage was not a child anymore. She had become an adult, and her powers had grown... Time, normally cruel and unyielding to anyone or anything, had given her a magnanimous, unexpected reprieve.

Mirage slowly walked towards her mother.

"Would you… Care for a cup of tea?" her mother asked her, hesitantly. "I can sense that would like to sit down." She smiled. "I don't know why," she added, "but I get the impression we might know each other."

Mirage felt her heart sink as she had the obligation to lie. "No," she said, barely able to contain her grief. "No. I don't think we've ever met before." She looked at the table again. "But, yes, a cup of tea would be nice." And Mirage Moresso sat down to chat with her mother, for the first time in many years.

Mirage had achieved the impossible: She had returned home.

Jack had been waiting near the wall in the back of the forest for quite a while now. He had become tense as time went by, wondering if Mirage had run into trouble, perhaps being in need of his assistance. He could not wait anymore. He trotted off in the direction he had seen Mirage heading to.

Mirage sat comfortably on the wrought iron chair, sipping her cup of tea. She did not dare tell her mother that as a child, she had found the garden chairs to be quite hard to sit on. It did not matter to her now. These small details of her childhood were now eclipsed by the very strange reality that now surrounded her:

She and her mother chatted of the weather, of travels, of house things and other small nothings. When Mirage looked into her mother's eyes, it felt to Mirage as if her mother could have known, through some mysterious Super power perhaps, that she was having a conversation with her grown up daughter.

When Jack had arrived in the garden, he was stunned to see Mirage sitting with someone who, although being older than Mirage, looked almost exactly like her. Jack immediately knew Mirage had been testing the limits of the laws of time travel, where too much interference with elements from the past could create an unimaginable catastrophe. He stared at both women. Mirage gave him a glance, her worried eyes lingering on his.

He suddenly realized what Mirage was about to do. It was too dangerous. He had to step in.

"There you are," Jack said, feigning surprise. "I've been looking all over for you." Both women smiled when he walked over.

"I'm so sorry," Mirage said, "I had left my husband at the gate to wait." Jack looked at Mirage sideways for a moment and played along. Jack did not speak French, but he had instinctively understood what she meant. "Oh, I forgot to introduce myself," she added. "My name is Chloe."

"I'm delighted to meet you, Chloe and Jack," Mirage's mother said, changing to perfect English as she had heard Jack. "I am Juliana Moresso. And here," she said, presenting the young child that had joined them, "is my daughter, Mirage." Jack gave a quick glance at Mirage. They were dangerously close in creating a space time continuum disruption. He sat down besides them.

"Did you phone the garage, my dear?" Jack asked Mirage, as casually as he could.

"No, I haven't yet," she answered.

Jack had been eager to cut the conversation short. "Oh, good," he said. "Someone drove by and offered to stop at the village garage and tell them we needed some assistance. We should go back to the car, they'll be here shortly." Jack got up and smiled at Mirage's mother. "Madam Moresso," he said, "thank you very much for your hospitality. But we cannot stay any longer, we have to drive on."

He had noticed Mirage's reluctance to get up. She had gently placed her right hand on the edge of the table, not far from her mother's wrist. She knew she only had to reach out, extend her fingers and touch her for a second. There would be no other opportunity.

Jack saw Mirage move her hand forward. Quickly, but gently, he put his hand on hers, stopping her gesture. He looked her in the eyes and smiled faintly. "Yes dear, I believe it's time to get going."

Jack's gaze lingered into Mirage's eyes for another moment. He stared deep into them. He squeezed her hand and in a barely perceptible manner, he shook his head once.

Mirage understood. She lowered her eyes for a brief moment, smiled faintly, sighed and got up. Mirage's mother stood up also, quietly studying the couple before her. For a fleeting uncertain moment once more, Mirage felt sure that her mother had discovered who she was.

Jack and Mirage had walked out of the front gate now. Mirage had waved goodbye. She lingered for a moment on the outside of the gates, looking at her mother until she had walked back to the house. Mirage desperately wanted to freeze the instant when her mother disappeared from her view, as she hoped it would somehow ease the pain, but she could not.

Mirage walked slowly, almost dragging herself, her eyes focused on the stone wall of the property. Jack walked alone, a few metres ahead. Mirage suddenly heard a small voice calling her.

The young Mirage had run after them. She had stopped to stand in the middle of the road. Upon seeing her, Mirage turned back, and walked towards her. She kneeled in front of the young girl. They stared at each other for a second.

The little girl leaned towards Mirage's ear and whispered to her. "I know who you are," she said. "It's okay," she added, "I won't tell…

Mirage was stunned by that comment. In disbelief, she blinked. And when she opened her eyes, the little girl had disappeared.

Jack had walked back to Mirage. He took her in his arms to hug her. "I'm sorry," he said, as Mirage now sobbed in his arms. "I'm sorry, Mirage..." He shook his head. "There are too many things we still can't do: We can never bring back the dead." He looked at her. "We can never really go back home." He took her by the hand. "We have to move on now."

They had walked back towards the field, back to the time sphere. They did not say much, apart from Mirage mentioning she had found nothing and that the mission had been a failure.

And they were off again, the sphere hurtling through space and time, to return to an uncertain future.

The sphere reappeared in the middle of a sand covered clearing, amongst the familiar field of debris of the abandoned oil refinery the world's remaining Supers called home. The desert air was cold, as night had now fallen. No one came to greet them.

Jack and Mirage immediately knew something had gone wrong while they had set upon their journey: The compound's grounds were now riddled with craters that had been made by powerful explosions. They were recent, as some of them were still smouldering.

The city had been attacked.

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT CHAPTER: THE DRUMS OF WAR