9~

Marcie's sore body awoke some days later, to the scent of antiseptic in the air, the bright haze of morning, and the steady beep of machines monitoring her stirring vital signs.

A television, mounted on the wall above her, was left on, its volume low. On the air was a news report, reminiscing of the fight in the amusement park, weeks ago, interspersed with reactions and memories from local citizens, and then, from opposing, religious views of Greenman's death and his slayer, from worshippers across the American Union, and abroad.

In closing, the news anchor stated in her report, that because of Greenman's traditionalist stances on Druidry, that countered the more life-affirming, Neo-pagan views on the faith, his fall was believed to have signaled that the chances of them returning to such dangerous extremes was broken, citing that, to many, Marcie has become one of the unforeseen symbols of their argument, an unexpected champion of their beliefs.

With a sigh at her newfound, religious fame, she looked around the room, seeing eye-catching greeting cards and flowers decorating the window sill and nearby table, and enough healing stones to start a rock garden, all given from friends and well-wishing Neo-pagans from Gatorsburg, who prayed for her a speedy recovery and offered fond words to their 'honorary druidess.'

Deciding to go enjoy the cards and bouquets, later, Marcie felt curious and wanted to move out on her own. By her bed, she saw an open wheelchair.

A knock on the door stopped her from sliding out of bed to use it. "Come in," she bade.

A woman stepped inside with uncertainty and took a look at Marcie. Marcie looked at her, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Mom!"

Anne Fleach, now an adult, again, but wearing her brunette hair up in a different style, saw the shocked girl beaming in bed, and turned around to see who she was addressing. No one was behind her.

"Mom, what's wrong?" asked Marcie.

"I'm sorry," the woman said.

"What?" This didn't sound right, at all, to Marcie. "Wait! Mom, what's wrong? We ran from Dr. Quest, remember? It's all right. He's not here, any more. It's safe. Did Sundial help bring you to your right age?"

The visitor's expression changed at the mention of the think tank. "Sundial? Some people from someplace called Sundial said that they tracked my signature, or something, and told me that my daughter was in this hospital."

"Yes!"

"But, I don't have a daughter," the woman said, apologetically, shaking her head. "I'm not even married. I just came here to see what they were talking about, but I'm sorry that I disturbed you, dear."

Marcie hoped some delayed-action, druid trickery was afoot. She wished, in her bones, that this was a lie, that she was still under the effects of the anesthesia, but it was too real, as was the woman's honest-looking confusion. As impossible, as it was, this was the new truth of this world.

"You're Anne Fleach, right?" Marcie asked, slowly, already knowing the terrible, terrible answer.

"Yes."

"But, you're...you're not really...her, are you?" Marcie asked her, her heart feeling like it was dropped into a black, bottomless void, and with another honest shake of the woman's head, Marcie knew that she had joined that awful company of people whose loved ones were taken from them, even in a temporal, cold, metaphorical sense.

This was the stealthy victory of her enemy, not the pawn, Greenman, but Fear, one whose personal sting wasn't felt until the battle had long since passed, and this reality's icy blade slipped into numbing Marcie's heart.

Anne Fleach was gone, and not gone. Here, and yet not.

This woman, who only resembled Anne, wasn't the woman who tucked her daughter into bed before the divorce, or made her appreciate the world of chemistry and science, and loved her enough to draw danger away, when they met again, years later.

If Marcie mentioned any of those things to this woman, she would only be rewarded with polite confusion and hard realizations.

'She's gone! My…mother's gone! Because of you, Fear, Greenman, whoever!' she thought, bitterly, gritting her teeth and blinking back tears. 'I want you to burn in whatever hell you believe in!'

Self-conscious of the drama playing out on her face, Marcie pushed her rage back and tried to explain who she was, for the woman's benefit.

"You won't believe this, but history changed," Marcie said, already winded, emotionally. "I'm...your daughter, ma'am. At least, I was in another life."

"In another life?" the woman asked, taken aback. "Then, those strange stories were all true."

"Stories?"

"All my life," she said. "I've heard about this place. Everyone has. Crystal Cove, punished by the gods and trapped in the prison of a history that wasn't ours. I've seen all of the documentaries and crazy conspiracy theories, out there, but I can't believe that no one ever had the courage to just...come here. Maybe, I'm the first."

"Maybe," Marcie deadpanned, her head hung low.

The woman, suddenly, felt like a fool for gushing on about mysterious towns, when this girl's world, clearly, was crashing down around her. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I stated talking about that nonsense. You're hurting, and I couldn't even imagine how much. Look, since I came all this way, let's…let's talk. My name is Annie."

Marcie gave a sad glance at Annie, and saw the awkward sincerity in her eyes. She knew that it wasn't her fault, and that it would have been wrong to take it out on her, so she, reluctantly, nodded and accepted her offer.

"Okay, what do you do?" Marcie muttered.

"Well, I live not too far from here, in Gatorsburg, and I work as a forensics scientist for the police department. I know chemistry sounds boring, and it's not as glamorous as chasing down the bad guy, but I like science, and it helps me solve mysteries in my own way, you know?"

Marcie found herself smiling, and becoming engaged in the conversation. "Believe it or not, I do, and trust me; I do not think chemistry is boring. In fact, someone once told me "There's no mystery without the chemistry.""

That brought a sudden chuckle from Annie. "That's pretty good. Who said that?"

Marcie's face fell from the memory. "My mom. Look, I know things must feel a little strange to you, ma'am, and you probably just want to go back to whatever's normal, but it's pretty strange for me, too. My mother's gone, and I...don't know if I'm strong enough to move on, right now. So, I was wondering if…maybe, we could get to know each other."

Again, Annie was taken aback. She didn't know this poor girl, at all, and already, things seemed to be going too fast for the both of them.

"Are you sure?" she asked, carefully. "I don't want to, somehow, bring your hopes up with me, and you wind up getting hurt, all over again."

"I'm sure!" Marcie insisted. "I mean you like chemistry, and I'm pretty good with chemistry, and I like solving a good mystery, too! Maybe...we could start with that."

Annie gave a thoughtful sigh, and carefully considered. "Well, I don't think I could ever replace your real mother, but I wouldn't mind you being my friend, Marcie. I'd like that, very much."

Marcie looked as though she had been given a reprieve from the state, and asked, awkwardly, "Annie, I know this sounds all kinds of strange, but...could I...give you a hug?"

At first, the woman felt regret for satisfying her curiosity and coming to the hospital, fearing that her very presence was, actually, detrimental to Marcie's emotional recovery, at this point. It was clear that she was reaching out for anything she could use as an emotional life preserver.

But then, Marcie's plight so moved Annie that she put herself in the teen's shoes, and found herself confessing to herself that she would be doing the exact same thing, if someone else was there. How could she refuse her?

Annie said, with a wan, maternal smile, "Of course, you can."

She walked over to Marcie's bed, leaned over, and let the heart-broken girl squeeze all the stress, pain, tears, and loss from her, as the woman, gently, held the back of Marcie's head, and felt her hiccup and sob, quietly, against her chest.

Marcie was sitting up in bed, alone. It was a little past noon, and she was tucking into her delivered lunch, when the door knocked, once more.

With a mouthful of burger, she said, "Come in."

She brightened when her father, Winslow entered, carrying of all people, not a person, at all, but a familiar Siamese cat.

"Marcie!" her father greeted, as Mr. Schrödinger hopped from his arms, and Winslow gave her a sincere kiss on the forehead, before he pulled a nearby chair next to her bed

Marcie noticed that Winslow was looking a touch sheepish through his square glasses, as he sat down.

"I was so worried when I saw you fighting, that day, over the park. How are feeling? I...I truly missed you," he said, sounding more sorrowful than relieved.

But, due to the pained memories their reunion was dredging up, Marcie found that she couldn't hold her head up high, at the moment, either. "I missed you, too, Dad. I wish I…didn't have to run away."

Winslow's eyes flashed in her direction with conviction. "No, you did what you had to do, Marcie. I...said things to you that no father should ever say to his daughter, and I drove you out, that night. I'm really sorry."

That admission made it easier for Marcie to get things off her chest, as well, moving her to say them before another weird thing comes along and impedes it. "I should have said some things, too. I should have told you that I'm proud of you, Dad. It's not easy running the park. It only looks that way because all anybody sees is the fun. You cut corners, sometimes, because you fight for our park, everyday. I didn't see that, not until Greenman and I fought.

"And speaking of Greenman, what happened between us wasn't your fault. He told me that he poisoned you with some magic thorn, when you two first met. It brought out all of the negativity and emotional baggage that was inside of you, that's all."

Winslow stiffened. The thought that some stranger attacked him, and his family, already disquieted him, but his actions were his, regardless. "Well, even if that's true, it still doesn't make any of it right, Marcie. It doesn't matter. If I wasn't carrying all of that emotional baggage, to start with, your mother leaving, the job, Greenman pressuring me, even you wanting to live your own life, that thorn wouldn't have had anything to work with."

"Wherever your mother is, she was right to leave me," he admitted, soberly. "I could see that when even you did, and you were right to say what you said about me on that tape. I do cut too many corners, and don't think of more efficient ways of running things. I was...am a mess."

"Maybe you should just enroll yourself in one of those business seminars," Marcie suggested, lightly, not wishing to see her father beat himself up, so much.

Winslow reached over and held his daughter's hand. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed since he had done that. It was reaffirming, hopeful that this family could knit itself whole, again. "Maybe, but for the time being, could your mother and you both find it in your hearts to forgive a foolish old cheapskate, like me?"

Pulling her hand from his, Marcie leaned over and held her father, who held her back, firmly. With the loss of their Anne, and moistening eyes, she said to him, "We're all we've got, Dad. You bet."

"Er, not to interrupt, honestly, but I was wondering if there was any room for an ex-Head Director who will soon be down on his luck?" asked a voice from the floor.

Releasing Winslow, Marcie wiped her eyes, looked down and regarded the cat. "What's up, Schrödinger?"

"Well, it seems that Doctor Moon left us," he said.

"He went back to the main facility?"

"No."

"Where did he go?" she asked.

"Well...that sort of depends on what kind of person he was in life," Schrödinger answered, cryptically. Marcie deduced it, soon enough.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," she commiserated.

"Not as sorry as I am," he sniffed. "Moon was the public face of Sundial. With his passing, the others decided that they didn't want my face replacing his, so they, essentially, fired me."

"Bummer."

"At least, I had a chance to meet my successor," the cat sighed.

"Who is he?"

"The board told me that, she, believe it or not, comes from the future, and because of her future knowledge, those sneaks had put her on the payroll, as a futurist, while they secretly groomed her to replace poor old Moon," he explained. "She wasn't ready when I filled his shoes, but now, apparently, she is."

It wasn't an important question, but curiosity made Marcie ask, "What does she look like?"

Schrödinger motioned to Winslow. "Mr. Fleach, if you would?"

Her father took out a photo from one of his outer coat pockets, and handed it to Marcie.

A bubbly, young brunette with extremely large pig-tails, stood in the middle of a group photo. She wore a yellow bodysuit and matching boots over a rose unitard, surrounded by excited board members.

From where Marcie looked, some of the board members looked more excited than others, amorously so. "Obviously, they like her assets," she quipped under her breath.

"Obviously," Schrödinger jeered. "In any event, in a few weeks' time, Miss Cordelia Cakes, although I don't know why she insists on everyone calling her Cupcake, will be the newest and youngest Head Director of Sundial."

"So, what happens, now?" Marcie asked.

It was the cat's turn to look sheepish to Marcie. "Now...I'm a cat without a think tank. So, I was wondering if maybe...you might..."

"Like having a talking cat as a pet?" Marcie finished his pitch, with a scoff. "Like my life isn't weird enough."

"Now, Marcie, be fair and hear him out. From what he's told me, he's helped you, plenty," Winslow told her. "But, if you decide to keep him, he's your responsibility."

Out of all the words in their exchange that were said, one stood foremost in Schrödinger's mind. "Pet?" the cat fretted. "Hmm, that doesn't sound very equitable to me."

Marcie glanced down at him. She heard about cats being fussy to their owners, and wanted to nip that in the bud as best she could, and as soon as possible.

"You'll have food and a warm place to stay," she deadpanned.

Schrödinger considered, for a moment. It was true that he was still a house pet under Dr. Moon, when the man was alive, but his life was filled with culture, intellectual pursuits, and the high living that came with living under a Head Director.

Things would be different, simpler maybe, with this family, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If Nova could pull it off...

In the end, he pragmatically shrugged, and said, "Eh, I'm flexible."

He then hopped up onto her warm lap and purred in satisfaction, as she, lightly, scratched behind his pointed ear.

It was a few hours into the afternoon, when a knock came from the door of a recovery room in the obstetrics ward.

"Come in," a man's voice bade, and Marcie, awkwardly piloting a wheelchair, maneuvered into the room. There, she saw Cassidy Owens lying in bed, being looked after by her husband, Ricky, there on a visit.

"Marcie!" Ricky brightened, upon seeing her wheel in. "Cassidy and me wanted to thank you so much for saving us, but you still resting from your surgery. How are you feeling?"

Marcie nodded to the couple. "I'm feeling much better, Mr. Owens. I just wanted to come by to see how you and Mrs. Owens were doing. A little bird, literally, told me that you were having twins."

Chuckling, Cassidy already figured who that could be. "Oh, that parrot! He just can't wait until the kids call him "Uncle Pericles." The little angels arrived about a week ago. Even though your father and we had to get looked at for smoke inhalation, the babies came through, just fine."

"I'm glad," said Marcie. The thought of motherhood seemed to fascinate her, and so, she asked, "Did you name them, yet?"

"We did," Ricky nodded. "The boy's named Joseph."

"And the girl's name is Hanna," Cassidy added. "Hanna Marcia Owens."

It took a second for Marcie's brain to process that newly introduced piece of information. When she understood what the girl was named, and why, decorum forced her to cover her mouth, to vainly hide her emotions.

Their gratitude for the rescue, alone, while not important, but would have been enough for her, but the lasting glory of a new life bearing her name, was overwhelming. She was glad that she was already seated.

"You...You named her after...me? I-I don't know what to say! Thank you!" she gasped. "Thank you so much!"

Ricky shook his head, as he sat by his wife's side. "No, Marcie. Thank you. If you hadn't saved our family from that dingbat, then Hanna would never grow up knowing why she was given your name."

"What you did for us, for this family, we could never repay, because you helped us hold on to something that we could never replace," Cassidy said. "Thank you, Marcie. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you, and bless you."

Not used to any of this, Marcie felt the weight of their honest deference upon her shoulders and, especially, her heart. It radiated and warmed her in the cool air of the hospital, like sunshine. After all the chaos and confusion she and her friends had to endure, this was a reward worthy of all of it.

Ricky and Cassidy Owens were the wealthiest pillars of the community this town ever opened to, a celebrated couple on the cutting-edge of technological advancement and big business. But here, they weren't titans of industry; they were simply a grateful family, who felt blessed to know that this awkwardly grinning teenager was in their lives.