Trepidation was the opening topic of the night debate. Despite best attempts, slow and stilted replies were nigh constant. An air of tenacious animosity hung about Robert. The admittance of jealousy did him no help. He waited through the preliminaries of their conversation, the how do you do, the expressions of their respective afternoons to which he replied a lie, a halfhearted nothing quite interesting, and the continuation of their extrapolation of their histories. Keen as Robert tried to seem, Rosalind knew the better.
"Why so terse tonight?" the result of an objective observation comparing the times of response from the night before, not that the observation was fully conscious with a watch in hand but the ominous feeling of general anxiety. Robert wrung his wrists, thinking of a passible reply. The urgings of an unwell mind continually pushed him to unease despite his rationalizations. It hindered, it gnawed, it ravaged the pits of his countenance; there it lied seething beneath the surface. An unruly problem and in spite of his solution, it refused to be solved.
"That is hardly a good question. Morse code does not quite encourage the length and ardor of conversation." Another unduly length of time, Rosalind noted. A small snarl, the rubbing of his nose with the side of his thumb, the aching of a bruised rib, the uncomfortable shiftings of an conflicted body, both ready to depart in a fury of displeasure but never fully desiring to leave the one person that offered him a seldom felt comfort. A pause in the mind struck from thin air. From when did he ever accept his other in such a way? Had I really thought a distant voice of another plane could render me not alone, he questioned. Especially a voice he had found so reviled over the passing of mere hours. The reply served to exasperate the strains.
"It may not, but that failed to discourage you last night. What is there to discourage you now?" Rosalind commented, now beginning to hypothesize upon the events on the other side. Robert struggled with formulating a civil reply. A strange curiosity broke the surface of malignance yet contained none the innocence usual in association. Another voice of cacophony echoed within the echelons of his thoughts. Another wave of agitation laid anchor upon the dredges. Another problem to be solved that Robert could not stand as he turned his head away in exasperation, facing the open arch, an encroaching darkness passing through the borders.
Rosalind meditated patiently by the particle whose light barely differed from the overhead lamps. The laboratory flushed with brightness, leaving shadows slight and hidden away. Her laboratory defied the changing outsides where a sun beckoned to his begotten, leading rays to abandon the world and where the darkness nipped at their heels and invaded their stead. A fountain pen lay stranded in the sea of white, a blank page left wanting of interaction.
Her hands were still from deciphering, from commanding words across time and space. Indeed, an upsurge of the same wanting transfixed itself inside Rosalind. During the afternoon foray in scientific thought, she had begun to consider the other Lutece an integral associate in her research only to have now, a stubborn man once again in the way of her progress. A loathing zeal grew ever larger as the seconds ticked away.
In his silence, he watched the orange haze of the afternoon roll across the floor, over the cabinets and the instruments, and out the windows. Partial darkness reigned behind the pale light on the particle. Robert's gaze then trailed to the desk. Only the typewriter was illuminated, the light playing off the brass detailing. A paper still captured in the carriage revealed his work in progress which reminded him of the magnitude of the occurrence before him.
Despite the hindering, gnawing, and ravaging, Robert forced settling to a lull less riled and vexed, coming to awareness that he kept Rosalind waiting.
"I suppose this is when we finally solve our particle?" Yet Rosalind was none convinced, the previous wanting had shifted to a new directive. An agitation worked its way, borrowing deep into Robert's stilted answers. Suddenly in the span of a single question, Rosalind suspected a lie, the same unfathomable intuition that reared its head last evening. Rosalind drawing from stubbornness denied his notion, replicating the lapses of tact that burdened Robert.
"How was your afternoon?" Robert frowned at the continuing provocation, wishing for the other to focus upon the main problem at hand. He crossed his arms, a fist hidden in the crook. "The main problem right now is you," Rosalind railed on, showing the remarkable ability to coincide with the insinuations of his mind. Robert kicked the floor.
"Enough of the-" The message was denied as Rosalind forced her way through.
"Because it annoys you, I know that, Robert." He clenched his fist at the interruption.
"Why do you insist upon knowing?" he demanded.
"Research," Rosalind decreed. She wanted data, any result that would aid her. Whether or not he would end up cooperating, she decided not to care. "I not do understand the predicaments that are placed upon you, but know this Robert that notable differences should be noted. The particle is not the only thing of interest."
"Irrelevant. I am not your experiment."
"Is relevant, especially if we are one and the same." It was very true and very fascinating. It was true that Rosalind could never correctly guess the events of another universe yet fascinating how her other lived in such a different life. She had assumed a minor conflict, a petty quarrel, or something rather insignificant to push Robert to such hostility and as she expected yet nonetheless still surprised, she was wrong.
"Oh, how my life is a pale shadow to yours?" The message was only half deciphered. She understood this heated assertion. Coming true was a trifling thought that dared to cry out during a moment of pause in her musical soliloquy. In the midst of a bowl of peaches rereading the conversions of night before, she read the tale of a missing preacher and a struggling young scientist. In her distance from him, she thought nothing of it, found it amusing for such a massive difference to occur in their timelines. She had a passing thought of the consequences that she now comprehended were very real for Robert.
The pen dropped without a sound and stayed undisturbed. It had felt like the universe had repeated the anger, the impatience, the mockery. Her hands dropped to her lap, one over the other. She watched a wild particle express resentment, disappointment, and jealousy.
Consequences ordinarily never mattered, not to her yet now the universe sought to deny such sheltered idea. The sheer knowledge, she conceded, of a better life beyond a wall was a painful Tantalus. To gaze through a keyhole of a door that never be opened had consequences that were not solely political or social but a sickness that could never die. Knowledge may have been progress but it was by no means solace.
Morse code or not, Robert allowed every word of poison, every instance of boiling anger to flow across time, his particle a vessel of hate with no understanding of cease fire.
And the fire burned itself to death. Smoldering ashes of a once blazing jealousy chocked his breath and seized his lungs. The exhaustion was as if he had shouted his voice dry yet all the evidence he had of his temper was the cold sweat and a tired body, his arms dropped listlessly to his sides. Anger had ebbed away and flowed in was the tide of self-loathing. He had made a grave mistake. Punished was his jealousy. His indulgence led to nothing. Gone was his opportunity, destroyed were his chances, and did they smite him. He was a victim not of his other but of circumstance, an objective drawing of events where he was not as lucky as he wanted and could do none to influence the outcomes. This he despised.
The dead particle offered no more resistance to the darkness that consumed with ravenous hunger what had been kept from it. Still he sat for minutes more, his head dropped and gaze downcast. Hands clasped together rubbing raw his knuckles. There he waited with bated breath for reply, any reply even if it was the scathing antagonism or the nigh impossible semblance of comfort. He beat the odds in a much different way. Fluttered to life, the particle shocked Robert as it dared to intrude upon his melancholy. The pattern was slow, repeating as if to invite him in once again. In reluctance, he translated.
"As you can see Robert, keeping someone waiting is a quite ungentlemanly act." Robert gaped at the particle. It chided, somehow still in good humor to fondly exacerbate, "Our meetings must stop starting like this. Once is enough, there is always an innate distrust of strangers particularly ones that tell you they are you. Yet any more than that is just annoying. Stop it." Robert sighed, running a hand through his hair. Her words however reproaching shaped a feeble smile, wholesomely glad yet provoking a wounded pride.
"The universe begs to differ. This seems to be quite constant," he answered attempting to reciprocate the wit. Finally satisfied with a prompt reply, she indulged Robert's line of thought.
"So it seems. What also seems to be constant is how I attract all sorts of overly dramatic people. I am not affected of idiotic tantrums Robert. Do not make such examples of me. I expect a refined gentleman." The words came with rapid succession as if to inspire ironic laughter. Halfway through the ever lengthening tirade of reputation and status, Robert finally grew wise to the satire and gave up decoding entirely. Even if the conversation was not entirely derailed by the prevalence of his jealousy, the tirade had none of the smatterings of comfort.
He stood up and stretched, ever watchful of a speeding particle. He shook his head and went to operate the lights of his laboratory. He flicked the switch and to life his home breathed as light bathed the great expanse from corner to corner, driving away the evening. By the time he had settled himself back beside the machine, the particle stood silent and waiting.
"I hate you." Rosalind decoded. She rolled her eyes.
"So do I and do believe such reactions are quite natural due who we are if I am to reflect the thoughts of others. Yet I have to work with you nonetheless. You require so much responsibility." Robert sat incredulous at the latter statement. "Anyways, I have come with a proposition. Most likely you have come to the same conclusions as me to which I trust you to know."
He was dumbfounded. Rosalind was becoming increasingly vague yet Robert pondered on her implications. Once again, he was drawn to the unfinished paper at his typewriter. Of course Morse code would be nowhere near satisfactory for either one of us, he thought. Of the various new ways of communication, eventually he focused on a completely hypothetical matter, a tear in time and space. To her, it was expected; to him, it was still new territory. He had managed some scant times to observe the phenomena, yet never was he able to replicate it with the control he preferred. It came to the point where his funding could not cover the always occurring damages these tears wrecked upon his equipment, the machine decommissioned years ago.
"Tears as source of visible communication?"
"Indeed, but not just communication. Crossing." Thunderstruck could hardly begin to express the alarm he felt. Was it possible? To exist where already do exist. In this he found a paradox, but this is what she proposed. He deciphered on, reading her explanations, her theories, her thoughts of consequences and to him, they were perfectly acceptable, sound. From this he traced every step of thought Rosalind and knew where reality deviated from expectation.
"This is where you are wrong," he began. Rosalind was pensive, oddly anxious for Robert's explanation. There was no jealousy, merely a grim acceptance of his fate. "I assume you have the ability to do what you want if you are to imply that tears are the new way of communication. But yet as you know, I have none of those luxuries. I do not have the same equipment as you do nor the funding. The method you propose will only be one sided."
Rosalind furled her brow at the particle. Despite her wants of a successful experiment, impasses still arose. It slipped her mind in her excitement of potential progress, while they were one and the same, their settings differed greatly and she could not aid. She clenched her teeth.
"I refuse to know you only as a name in Morse code." Robert laughed, assuming a more comfortable position.
"I almost believed that was sentimentality."
"Perhaps I wish it was. Always in romantic novels does everything fit so effortlessly." The Luteces sighed. Rosalind continued, "Is there any possibility for this experiment?"
Robert rubbed the back of his neck and remembered the stolen cash. He quickly ran to the desk and checked the amount. It was probable as he counted but his worry only expanded as he finished. For one time, he had enough to recommission his device, fix it to full operation, and open a single tear. If it failed for any reason, he would have to go begging to the vulture, an action he despised for that meant letting it know about the research he had spent months behind its back. To be at the whim of money, he repeated in despondency as he replaced the sum. He returned with a counter offer.
"I have left some funds but unfortunately, only once." Confused, Rosalind asked for clarification.
"Do you have a funder? It is really that small of a limit for you?" An urge to lie was soundly defeated by the knowledge that apparently Rosalind could tell, a concept that disturbed him highly yet bestowed upon him a thought if the disdain could be reciprocated.
"I do have a funder yet none so generous as your Comstock."
"I see." Rosalind wrung her wrists. So her Robert had only one chance. Realistically, he must have had more but Rosalind assumed it would be years to get another chance. Due to this she mused Robert had little data on the conducting tears, more so specifically aimed tears and even with the latter she still had trouble. It was planned to the letter, the slow incremental climb to crossing universes, yet now, the plan changed. He could not afford the methodical implementation. He had to brute force the desired result which Rosalind had little faith in.
Upon the aluminum desk, Robert now had the red folder. Splayed in front of him were scarce notes on tears and as he read through, he realized even if he did have the funding, he would not know where to start.
"Rosalind, what do expect as a successful result?" an idle question.
"To see each other?"
"Is that what you really want?"
"Of course, it is a perfectly acceptable outcome of our first experiment. If I have to spend a few more years of painstaking Morse code to see you again or to see you at all, then I will. What do you expect then Robert?" Rosalind tapped her paper with the pen, anxious for the reply.
"I want more." He found himself adamant beyond reason, an automatic response he found himself entirely devoted. Rosalind was speechless, a hand raised to her mouth. "I want to cross."
Rosalind refused to believe Robert to be so careless. "To cross without any previous experience is just inviting tragedy."
"I want to try," Robert pushed on while Rosalind tried dissuasion.
"I have never set up a tear that I could direct. You have not at all. Nevertheless, you want this work first time and straight to cross?"
"I do." Robert straightened in his chair, leaning ever forward.
"You are insane."
"Will you help me?" No would have been her answer, she would have thought, had that been the condition, yet Rosalind crumbled in the face of her own desires that Robert had finally worded. She was placed in a very uncomfortable position. Withdrawing slightly from the particle, she shook her head. There was nothing more she wanted than to see come to fruition this particular experiment but to disregard such danger was stupidity and a Lutece does not embark on stupidity. So for what reason did Robert Lutece dared venture out?
"Of course, I would help you, but I want one thing in return, explain to me what happened during your afternoon?"
"Irrelevant."
"Not good enough for your indulgence." Rebuttal ready at the tip of the fingers, Robert hesitated. As much as the good conversation did, the guilt of jealousy still weighed heavily. He had to make repayment. The weight in his throat returned but he complied to a voice he had barely known for an entire day. Again just as the night before, he relaxed into the storytelling that Rosalind so desired.
x-x
Gerald had finished his rounds about the home later than intended due to the evening not caring to wait for him as he exited the carriage, fresh from the woodworker's, finished with settling the issue of the doors. With a tip of the hat and a turn of a copper, he waved the driver off as the horses clattered down the cobbled ground. The soft yellow lamplight of the streets led the way up the few stairs, drifted in like stray dogs as the door opened only to disappear with the clatter of a lock and from there the offering of a good cup of tea to offset the indignation of two doors. A disconsolate young man he did not dare disturb further.
Yet some hours later wondering if it was still a good time to start a light dinner for Master Lutece, Gerald from the parlor, freshly cleared, headed to the laboratory. If Master Lutece even cared for nourishment to-night, Gerald mused remembering the past evening. Seldom did he ever intrude upon his master's work, but always was there curiosity.
The hallway was a den of darkness in the night, the black held at bay at the boundaries of the missing doors. Brightness served as the barriers as they stood fast as the laboratory sentinels. Gerald knocked on the door pane. Robert made a slight motion of his hand, signaling his acknowledgement but presented no invitation inside. He watched his master write in his notes, the occasional glance to his machine, a frown then a short laugh. Gerald waited patiently as he should, but peered in over to the office desk. The tea was more or less in the same position, untouched, yet the receipt was gone. A sudden raucous laughter jerked Gerald to attention. Robert held a hand over his mouth, failing to hide his ecstatic grin. On the cusp of some great discovery, Gerald supposed.
Another knock of the frame caused Robert to sigh and toy with his particle and finally, Robert turned from his work. He motioned Gerald nearer to which the butler obeyed. Robert, from his coat pocket, produced the receipt and died did the mirth and glared did reproach. Gerald nodded; the elderly gentleman with a white gloved hand confiscated the offending article.
"Yes, Master Lutece, I did pay for them."
"Why?" It was not an inquiry. It was a demand.
"Doors are a trivial matter. They were not of any importance."
"Which is exactly the point," interrupted Robert. "Why are you so keen on attending to this trifle?" The butler brushed a greying beard with a slow, lumbering thoughtfulness aged only through experience. At last, the hand pulled away.
"I seek no repayment, Master Lutece, I am simply caring for your compound." Gerald swept off the challenging glare with nary an ounce of effort. Robert raised an eyebrow to which Gerald ignored.
"Do you expect me to believe that is proper justification?" Robert sniped. Gerald had been his butler for years yet time did not beget fellowship. Instead, a tenuous relationship formed beside the subtle aggravations inside Robert directed towards the butler's presence. It was a constant reminder of debt. No funds of his were put away that could afford the help, Gerald was not his. He was Gerald's obligation and every time he was reminded of that, it irked him to no end. The provider of his living allowance provided him this man and upon most occasions there was no problem other than an abrupt salutation and shallow commentary.
"It is simple compassion." Gerald stated back. Robert scoffed. Gerald confronted his master, a voice often weak and cowardly drew from reserves deep but seldom forgotten. A cadence that forced Robert, that forced any in attending to listen. The fact that Gerald was not Robert's and therefore the sense of subservience never truly existed allowed for the occasional clash of very independent ideals. "I do not understand your abhorrence of good will just you cannot understand my choice of obligation. All of I ask of you Robert is just accept my offer."
"Obligation," Robert hissed under his breath. "Every time you bring up your damned obligation."
"There is no need for you mull on. It is not your business. Obligation is as important as you make of it. Nothing in life comes with intrinsic worth, not your wealth, nor your family or friends, not your knowledge or power. You place worth in life. You place as much as you think is needed. You choose what becomes important, Master Lutece," Gerald intoned, his hands in motion, palms up uplifting his words. A passion ruled his eyes, from where Robert was never able to find out. "And I have made my decisions." A pause, a rubbing of the back of his neck.
"Am I important to you?" was the singular response. Gerald stood fast against the inquiry, preferring honesty to lie.
"Was once." The words only fed the fire but Robert bit his tongue. He watched the passion fade from Gerald as he settled back down. "I would not advise you to place so much fixation upon wealth. There are worst things in life to be indebted to." Gerald's voice dropped as well as his gaze. A hush fell over their argument. Robert in effort to seem occupied dusted off his sleeves.
"You were a promise, Robert." Robert turned his attention a fraction.
"I am not anyone's pet." Gerald nodded to affirm.
"I am sorry that you think that way."
"Do not patronize me Gerald." Robert muttered, pacing in front the desk. "I am sick of your so called noble talk. How much are you being paid to care?"
"Enough to live decently," Gerald dictated, "yet if I was paid but naught a cent, I would still be here."
"A lie." Gerald was downcast.
"Yes, it is always quite tempting to turn promises into lies but that does not necessitate they always do." Gerald had the finality. Robert was on the edge of impatience and faced away, dismayed at the stagnant conversation. Gerald as stately as he had started did not bow but gave a curt good night.
"What did you mean by 'was once'?" Gerald heard behind his back. Facing the arch of darkness, Gerald intoned.
"I represent what you detest. You represent my failures."
x-x
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