iCarly: iMeet the Relatives, Chapter 5: Dreams, Part 1
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I don't own iCarly. I wish I did. Uh, the show, not the girl.
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Chapter 5: Dreams, Part 1
Loves to Cook led the tribe down into the valley, using the back ways that were more difficult to see from a distance. Of course, there was always the chance that one of the hairless ones might be out this way hunting or simply out enjoying the outdoors. She could easily imagine that. She had a private fantasy about someday meeting one of the hairless ones and talking to it, finding out more about them. But the elders of her tribe had told her that the hairless ones could not talk, at least, not the speech of the Mountain people, so that was unlikely.
For about the hundredth time, she wondered what the wrongness could have been, that had so scared the elders. She herself hadn't seen, or sensed it, but just seeing how disturbed the elders were, had been enough to shake her to the core. If it had that effect on people who were far more courageous than she was, she didn't want to see it.
But just what was it, anyway?
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The basement: "Through here, Mr. Angel." The rat, Stuffins, guided them both through a small doorway that was fastened with a padlock. Grif spoke a word, and the lock simply sprang open.
"Wow," said Carly. "You could make a fortune as a locksmith."
He stopped and thought. "You know, that's not a bad cover profession for me."
Stuffins led them into a small, cramped, and very dirty enclosure. The cold from outside was biting, but Carly was grateful for it. It seemed to keep some of the smell down. The place didn't exactly stink, but in summer it would probably be gruesome.
"Here," Stuffins said, gesturing with his snout at a figure lying on some old clothes.
The cat was very old, and one eye was swollen shut. Carly winced when she saw its scars. It was breathing intermittently, and Grif went over and knelt by it. It tried to raise its head, but failed, and lay back down, gasping with the effort.
"We found him outside, and brought him in," said Stuffins.
"I told them not to, but pups never listen." This from Mooger.
"Can you do anything, Mr. Angel?" Stuffins said, worriedly.
"Hm," said Grif. "This cat's primary problem is he's old. There's not much I can do about that. I can't grant immortality, or turn back the clock, at least, not like that. But maybe…" He stood up suddenly. Carly looked up at him, from where she'd crouched down beside the old kitty. "I'll be right back." With little more than a flash, he disappeared. In another flash, he was back. "This might help, somewhat." He held up a small silvery-looking flat metal box, twisting off the cover with a flourish. "This can heal almost any injury or disease. I've never tried it on anything like this, but I see no reason why it shouldn't work." He spread the balm over the old cat's body, rubbing it into the fur. Stuffins watched from the side, as did a small contingent of the rats there in the complex, watching from the shadows.
The assembled crowd watched, expectantly. Carly realized she was holding her breath. She glanced over at the rat called Stuffins and saw honest worry on his bewhiskered face. A rat concerned about a cat?
The old cat's breathing became easier, and he raised his head. "Better. Thank you." Carly wasn't surprised that she could understand him, too. But once she got used to the sheer strangeness of it all, she found it to be awesome! Hey, she could understand it when animals talked! How cool was that?
"Mooger, don't you recognize this cat?" Stuffins had come over and placed a paw on the cat's leg.
"Not…no, wait a minute. Is this Songer? I thought his people moved a year ago."
"They did," replied Songer. "But…I was left behind. Perhaps," there crept a note of hope into the old cat's voice, "Perhaps it was an accident. Perhaps they looked for me. I…don't know."
"Songer? You've been out there, in the streets, ever since?"
"Yes. I…" The old cat made a gesture with his head, indicating his scars, "Evidently, I lived a somewhat sheltered life….before. It…has not been easy."
"Well, hold still," said Grif. "Let me get some of this over your eye." He applied the balm to the cat's nearly-swollen shut eye. Carly could see the healing process begin, the inflammation reducing, the scarring clearing up as the wounds, both new and old, were healed.
"Well, alright," said Mooger to Stuffins. "I suppose I can see why you brought him in. He was always at least decent to us." To the human and the angel: "Songer was one that never hunted us. We…got along."
"But now what, Mr. Angel?" Stuffins asked anxiously. "Can Songer stay here? He, he really needs a place to go."
"Stuffins," said Songer, "I appreciate your concern, but you must remember, I am old. No matter what the angel has done, sooner or later, I will die. It's the way of all things."
"But you don't have to die now! And, and you don't have to die out there in the cold! Does he, Mr. Angel?"
Carly knew Grif's answer even before he said it. He wouldn't be the angel she loved if he'd said anything different. "Of course he can stay. I'll just add some cat food to my grocery list." He turned to Songer. "You're welcome to stay with me, Songer."
"Thank you, angel. It…it feels good to have a home, again."
Carly's smile widened into a full-facial grin. This whole "talking to animals thing" was downright awesome!
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"Ah, I don't think I should go…" But Carly didn't sound convinced, even to herself.
"Oh, come on, Carls. It's only overnight." Sam smirked. "You'll be back in Griffin's arms day after tomorrow." Carly flushed.
"It's not that, well, not totally…" How could she explain to her best friend that her angel boyfriend was getting ready for his first, and hopefully not his last, foray into the frightening concept they called "the Darkness"? Sam didn't even believe he was an angel; she sure wouldn't believe that. And although Carly knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to help if anything went wrong, she still felt as though she should be here. What if something happened to him, and she was a hundred miles away?
"It's not like we get the chance to visit Socko's uncle every day. And you know he lives in that condo…pretty upscale, I hear. Even got a Jacuzzi, hot tub, entire spa. Wouldn't you love to just settle in to one of those, an' just let all the tension fade away?" Sam was being her most persuasive. Carly saw through some of it: Even as she and Griffin had grown closer together, Sam had been feeling a little left out. So she was proposing an "old gang" weekend for the group. Just like old times.
In the back of her mind, Carly wondered, from that perspective, precisely where her relationship with Griffin was going. Were they thinking in terms of life-long commitments (read: marriage)? And just what was a lifelong commitment for an angel, anyway? Grif had implied that he might not be immortal any longer…but that didn't mean he only had a normal human lifespan to live. He could very easily live for….a very long time, indeed. "Well, okay. I guess it is just one weekend. Grif can get along without me for that long, I'm sure." And besides, he's an angel. He can be with me in an instant, no matter how far away I am.
"That's the spirit! And you'll see. We're gonna have one damn fine weekend!"
Carly jumped just a little. Almost like being pricked with a pin, she didn't really notice it.
But Sam did, and her eyes narrowed as she watched her best friend flip through the TV channels.
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"…telling you, there is no other explanation!" Dr. Phillips was practically shouting. His colleague and friend, Dr. George Weston, was trying to calm him down.
"Okay, okay. Let's not go ballistic on ourselves here. Okay. Your hypothesis," he emphasized the word, "your hypothesis is that something happened to this thing, this timer, to stop time…for it. Am I right so far?"
Phillips shook his head tiredly. He was getting tired of trying to explain this to his friend. If even his colleague, who knew as much about the case as he did, still wasn't convinced,, what chance did he have of getting the message across to the hardnoses, the upper brass? Yeah, give 'em something they could sink their teeth into, some rational explanation.
What if there wasn't one? "You don't understand. I'm not just saying, 'something happened to it. I'm saying, someone happened to it."
"Right. Who?"
"That's what I can't figure. But, look, George…these terrorists plant this bomb, okay? Intentions obvious. It's planted in a public place, again for pretty much self-explanatory reasons. And it doesn't go off. It doesn't go off for a reason we can't fathom. Don't you see that just couldn't be coincidence?"
"You're saying someone—some person, some human—came along and stopped it."
"Person? Yes. Human? Don't make me laugh. Humans just don't have this…this….ability, technology, whatever you wanna call it. But yeah, some person."
"Like who? E.T., maybe?"
Phillips leaned back in his chair. "What if I said yes? Would you say I was ready for the nuthatch?"
Weston sighed. "No, Carl. I don't think you're crazy. But you have been obsessing over this timer thing ever since it came to our attention. Maybe…maybe you should take some time off from it. It might help you…."
"You're still thinking the old way, George. You're thinking it's gotta be something, either something man-made, or just an accident. Well, how would an accident explain this?" He held up a sheaf of reports, all on the apparent indestructability of the little timer. "There isn't any. None. And nobody on Earth has the 'man-made' skills to basically stop time. Or do you know of something I don't?"
"So you are saying E. T."
"I'm saying….let's request those security videos of that area, right before the bomb was reported. See who was nearby. Who…or what."
To be continued…
