Alone in the Darkness
Chapter Two
A Haven?
"My name's Walter, Walter Nelson."
"Are you from around here?" asked Shego.
"Well, my mother's side of the family is named Keller. They moved to Montana from Switzerland. My mom married a Nelson and they moved to Middleton where I was born. When I finished middle school we moved to Go City. I lost my parents during the alien attack, so I moved to the old homestead in Montana to stay with my grandparents."
Walter continued, "I'd just graduated highschool and looking forward to attending Middleton Institute of Science and Technology in the fall. Of course, the alien attack and the ensuing 'Big Reality Check' put a hold on that idea so I volunteered to be a paramedic to help with all the sick people during the ensuing 'Starvathon' those first couple of years. When things settled down somewhat I became a sort of roving doctor, moving around on horseback the past five or six years to help folk in the Montana back country. All in all I'm what's left alive in my whole family. Anyway, I ran into this rancher who's the uncle of a girl I used to know and he told me that the Middleton Space Centre is ready to launch rockets again and they're looking for anybody with the qualifications or at least the aptitude to build payloads. So I put my name in and I moved into my older brother Ricky's house here in Lowerton for the time being. If I'm accepted they'll move me into a place in Middleton close to the Centre."
With a heavy sigh he looks at his guest, "I guess it goes without saying you don't remember your family or your home."
Shego merely cast her eyes down and nodded mutely.
"Hey, don't get too down about it. I think I know some people who might be able to find out for you one way or another; I'd be glad to help out any way I can." Walter said with encouragement.
"You would?"
"Of course, how could I refuse to help such a charming woman?"
Reaching across the kitchen table she places her hand atop his, "You're…you're the nicest man I've ever met."
Walter smiles and shrugs casually, "Aww, it's no big, but thanks."
Contemplating for a moment she continues, averting her eyes in embarrassment, "Actually, you're the only nice person I remember ever running into at all lately."
"Heh, way to validate the compliment," he responds with a wry smirk.
Suddenly realizing she may have insulted her benefactor, Shego attempts to apologize however a very unsubtle yawn suddenly interrupts; embarrassed she clamps her hands over her mouth, "Wow, I guess it's time to hit the sack, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." Escorting his guest to the stairs he adds, "Second door on the left. Good night Katie, I'll see you in the morning."
Clutching her old clothes in one hand and the hockey jersey to her chest Shego walks up a few steps then turning around gazes with sleepy eyes at her host, noting the unassuming young man giving her a small smile of encouragement accented by friendly, blue eyes and the hands waving to shoo her up the stairs to bed, "He's so beautiful." Stifling a small yawn she resumes her trip to bed.
Upon entering the room a sleepy Shego instinctively examines the room's security; a behaviour which to her seems prudent on an inexplicably persistent, compelling and inherently physical level. The incessant state of hyper-alertness, so far a constant feature of her existence, felt familiar; since it felt familiar it must be something she had done before…a lot…and in a way it was a memory of sorts and that comforted her.
Noting the door had no lock she spies and collects a plastic comb that she jams between the top of the door and the doorframe upon which she balances a small bowl with some coins; opening the door would now make noise. Shego drags a large heavy rucksack from the end of the bed to lie in front of the door to slow its opening; Shego now had a little extra reaction time if someone tried to enter through the door. The window could be secured; however, before drawing the curtains closed she gazes briefly out to a dark and apparently quiet backyard, noting points of concealment and escape routes. Glancing around to what she could see of the neighbourhood she is awestruck; whereas the street at the front, despite the multitude of boarded up houses and overgrown yards, seemed relatively normal, the rear was the opposite. Even in the darkness, all she could see for several square blocks was a veritable scrap yard of disabled alien battlewalkers…"what did they call themselves"…collapsed on the ground, each thoroughly wrapped in a tangle of Drakkenweed. Over to her far right she could just make out a crane and some trucks huddled around one of the alien machines.
Quickly scanning the bedroom she takes in the double bed with a cosy-looking quilt on it, a night table, and a highboy dresser with some sundry items. However, what captured her attention for several minutes was a dog-eared five by seven photo of a pretty twelve or thirteen year old girl with red hair and big green eyes atop the dresser. For several minutes Shego felt drawn to it and had a difficult time tearing herself away from it. A full length mirror standing next to the dresser, an acoustic guitar beside it and an open closet completed her inventory of the bedroom.
Investigating the closet the curious guest discovers that although all the clothing appears to be male, most of them had been pushed to one side with only a few items hanging by themselves in the middle of the closet. Of great interest was a blue jumpsuit with several pockets on it; although sturdy looking it had obviously seen some serious use, there being several repairs evident. On the shoulders were insignia patches reading 'Big Sky Search and Rescue - Emergency Medical Technician' under each was a small banner reading 'Volunteer' and the breast of the outfit sporting a black nametag with Nelson stitched in faded gold. Beside that was an equipment harness. On the floor of the closet was a sturdy pair of hiking boots that had seen hard use. Beside the boots was a sleeping bag, pup tent, climbing gear and rope, with the rucksack out by the door obviously part of the set.
Yawning again Shego moves to drop herself on the bed then stops. She thinks about how she had had to sleep in her form fitting outfit since she had nothing else to wear; it certainly had not been designed to keep her warm. Now she stopped and stared at the bed which promised comfort she could not recall experiencing in her short memory. Remembering the jersey in her hands she brings it up to her face and inhales deeply, absent-mindedly tossing the still damp green and black outfit into a corner; the jersey had Walter's scent to it which she found comforting. After staring at the door for several minutes she decides to succumb to temptation and trust. Hurriedly stripping her self naked to don the jersey as a nightshirt Shego dives into the inviting bed, falling asleep barely moments after drawing the quilt to her chin.
After making sure Katie made it up the stairs safely and deciding the dishes could wait till the morning Walter secures the house. Upon hearing the late evening warning siren in the distance he turns off the main breaker on the electrical panel; a few minutes later a second sounding presaged the powering down of Lowerton's electricity grid, plunging the town in darkness except for the streetlights. One by one he could make out the deep rumble of the locomotives in the marshalling yard on the other side of town cease as the engines were shut down from generating electricity for Lowerton to receive their nightly maintenance. Proceeding to the front hall closet he retrieves an old army Garand sniper rifle with its original scope and a .45 calibre semi-automatic pistol from its holster hanging from the cross bar.
He remembered a few winters before, while on his way to a small trading post, stumbling across the frozen body of a trapper who had apparently fallen down a steep gulch. It appeared the man had attached a note to his parka …
…~"I Jeremiah Johnson, being of sound mind and two broken legs do bequeath to whomever finds my dead body, my Garand sniper rifle, it's real good for hunting with, and a .45 pistol, along with all the ammo and whatever supplies are intact. If you can bury me it would be appreciated but not necessary since I'll probably be eaten by then."~….
Next to the holster hung a rescue dog's harness. He had had a female Golden Lab from the time she was a pup. Kimmie was her name, his four-legged sidekick for four years; he sadly remembered her death by a rock avalanche in the back country two years before. Loading both weapons and engaging their safeties he places them on the floor beside the couch. Making up the couch for sleeping Walter kicks off his boots as he makes himself comfortable for the night holding the pistol in his hand under the coverlet. As he relaxed Walter ruminated on the evening's events….
"She seems to be suffering from amnesia probably from whatever caused that nasty scar to her scalp…anterograde symptoms very evident during supper which tends to validate the apparent retrograde amnesia…transient global amnesia not likely anymore but gotta watch for it…oh man, and then there's the mood swings to expect …still, she seems accustomed to pain…even tired she moves with graceful strength and…wow… those intensely green eyes seem to have some exotic look to them…maybe a little Asian influence…perhaps Latina…obviously older than me but not much more than early thirties…but there's something about who she is, something important that rings a bell…damn, damn, damn, I wish I could remember what that was...it's like it's just on the edge of my mind…" Walter pinched the bridge of his nose, "…and I bet I'll feel like a moron when I figure it out."
As he slowly drifts off to sleep, a final thought crosses his mind, "Haven't had anyone for near on seven years…gets lonely at times…hell, who am I kidding, it gets lonely a lot…never could find a girl who matched Kim…this woman's so beautiful…wonder what she's like outside the amnesia…would I like her…would she like me…heh, wouldn't it be something if I end up falling for an older woman…or did I already?"
The pre-dawn light showing through the curtains woke Shego up; as was her custom she lay still with her eyes closed, feigning sleep as her other senses took stock of her surroundings. Satisfied there was no immediate threat she appraised her physical condition, or counting bones as she liked to put it. Despite a solid and peaceful sleep her body still aches from a pernicious fatigue that plagues her constantly; it would take a little while before she could move without too much pain. Her headache was mild this morning, her hands did not pulse in agony as they were wont to do all too frequently and her skin did not feel as if it were on fire. The stitched up gash to her side throbbed only slightly and most encouraging of all was that she remembered the entire previous day's events, especially the actions of a very kind young man, "Wow, that makes eight days straight…I think…."
Allowing herself to relax, Shego revels in the pleasant feeling of lying under a warm, thick, quilt. After all she went through the night before it was nice to wake up in a soft bed within a quiet room instead of outside somewhere in the wild or in a drafty abandoned building. Still she knew she would have to leave all of this soon, that it was her first and last night in this house, ever.
Even as every square inch of her body aches, she slowly gets up, hissing in pain and annoyance; doffing her night shirt Shego stretches naked in the middle of the room, being mindful of the fresh stitches in her side. Discovering the bedroom light would not work she decides to open the window curtains, still too sleepy to worry about peeping toms and, after all, the sun was not even quite up yet. Grabbing a hairbrush from the top of the dresser she is again drawn to the photo of the young girl. Curious, Shego turns the photo around to find a note written there,
...~"Summer 2001. To the best boyfriend in the world. Best of luck in Go City. I'll never forget you. Live well. Maybe we'll meet again someday and carry out our promise to each other. All my love. Kimmie."~...
It is several minutes before Shego manages to pull herself away from staring at the photo and walks to the full-length mirror, examining her self as she begins brushing out her long tresses. Besides the few scratches and the gash to her side from the night before, "He did a good job stitching, I might not get a scar out of that one," there was the collection of scars from obvious knife and bullet wounds. All of them save last night's injury and one other, she could not remember how they had been inflicted and, to her dismay, even her face sported a small assortment of very faint scars.
Examining her self closely in the full length mirror for the first time since she could remember Shego disparaged at her appearance, "I've got such a wide ass and my thighs are so fat…and my boobs hang down like big dead water balloons…and my eyebrows look like big fuzzy caterpillars…my skin goes from pasty white in the light to glowing green in the dark…my hair is green, my lips and nipples are green, my privates are green and a teenage girl probably has more pubic hair than I do…I am a fucking mutant!"
Shego then remembers something from after supper, something pleasant that sends warm, fuzzy feelings through her insides. Looking at herself coyly in the mirror she wraps her arms around herself, pushing her breasts together, enhancing their cleavage, "Walter thinks I'm pretty…and he's so the total macho hotness and a complete sweetie…does he think I'm girlfriend material?" she smiled brightly at the thought, "…that would be so perfect…" then just as quickly her mood sobered, "…but I don't deserve him."
Moving to her clothing Shego first picks up the green pouch she had been wearing on her ankle; she was not sure of its significance, however she felt keeping it to be very important. Opening it she examines the contents: some were recognizable; black lip stain and nail polish; three extraordinarily stout nail files; a handful of condoms and some money. The curious items were two key rings each with a strange assortment of small, well-worn tools obviously meant for some form of delicate and precise work. There was a small collection of plastic and metal cards each sporting curious patterns of embossing and punch-holes. Lastly was a small blood-encrusted survival knife, and to her consternation, a few pieces of beef jerky, "Those weren't there yesterday morning!"
Shego remembered, with a shudder, her oldest memory to date; she had awakened one morning in pain from that knife sticking in her right side just under the ribs. Glancing down she could still see the now fading scar, "Why am I not surprised this has healed so quick?" The weapon had still been in the grip of the dead man lying in front of her, his throat ripped out, realizing a few moments later the missing portion of his throat firmly grasped in her blood-covered left hand. Then she pondered the dried meat, "I don't remember when I got this…oh god, did I actually steal from that butcher shop…was that man justified in chasing me…I don't even remember being in there, I only remember being chased." In her mind, Shego grimly concluded, "I am a worthless, thieving migrant."
Then suddenly, she starts thinking about her benefactor and his proposition. He was a genuinely nice guy. When one is as beautiful as Shego is, genuine kindness is rare since most of the time a guy just wants to get between her legs. And he saved her life, "No. I just can't take him up on his offer to stay...he's such a great guy…I mean, what if I get my memory back and it turns out that deep down I'm some cranky smart-mouth, prone to excessive violence…I'd be betraying his kindness and that wouldn't be fair to him…I'll just head back out on the street like I said I would…anyway, I'm not worthy of being loved…not by him." Slowly Shego turns away from the mirror and sits on the bed, despair building as tears stream down her pallid face. She did not want it to happen, "Oh please, don't let him start crushing on me!"
"Yes; he fed me, he dressed me, he let me take a bath and even spend the night in his own house…he saved my life…he didn't ask for money or any other settlement...he's not creepy…I feel safe around him." Shego's eyes wander to the closet to rest upon the medic's uniform hanging there and a realization hit her, "You fucking drama queen, of course he'd help you, it's his job…you're no one special, you're just another patient to him!"
Shego lay back down on the bed, covering her naked body with the quilt. Depression overwhelming her she begins sobbing uncontrollably, shivering both because of her sadness and the early morning chill in the house. A little over an hour later the distraught woman's sobs begin to subside; drawing the back of her hand across her nose she is shocked to see it covered in blood, "Oh my god, a nosebleed! I've got another headache coming. If I don't get outta here he'll insist on my staying to care for me. I need to hurry!"
She dresses quickly in the new clothes that Walter had given her. Her old ones were so ragged that they could barely be called threads anymore and the strange green and black pattern was too distinctive in any case, although the boots were still serviceable. Shego is pleased to see the ankle pouch fit neatly under her pant leg. Checking to see if the hallway was empty and deeming it safe, she carefully pads down the stairs, clenching her jaw at every step. She was getting worried, shooting pains were affecting the flexibility in her joints and the headache was becoming distracting. Upon entering the living room, it seemed as though a haze was dropping over her vision as the headache worsened. Barely able to see Shego was incredulous to discover Walter had slept on the couch, "He even gave me his own bedroom…he let me sleep in a warm bed while he slept on the couch, with only a coverlet…he trusted me not to rob, or even murder him."
Shego had barely made it to the door when her body felt as if it had been skewered by a lightning bolt of pain, eliciting a short, piercing shriek that startled Walter rudely awake in time to see his guest collapse unconscious to the floor.
"Katie!" Dashing to her side Walter is aghast to see the serious nosebleed, however he is relieved to see her panting, indicating she was breathing freely on her own.
With barely a thought and pretty well working on instinct, he presses three fingers against a carotid artery to gauge her pulse. A moment later he yelps, withdrawing his now painful fingers. Upon examination he is amazed to see first degree burns on his fingertips; carefully passing his other hand over Shego's body he is astonished to discover her skin to be as hot as an iron.
Wearing surgical scrubs with the facemask hanging down around her neck, the tall, slim woman enters a private hospital room at the start of her rounds. Although technically a neurosurgeon much of her service over the past seven years had focused more on general practice including the treatment of malnutrition, disease control and more recently and disturbingly, radiation sickness from fallout; in any case however her expertise in treating head trauma was exercised often enough. Dr. Anne Possible was now in charge of Middleton Medical Centre; however, the scarcity of trained medical personnel meant she spent more time on the floor than the office.
Anne had always had a slim figure; however the privations over the past few years had made their mark. Although still only in her early fifties, her figure was not so much willowy any more as gaunt, her cheeks a little sunken and although the blue eyes still held a bit of a twinkle the bags under her eyes and the pronounced crows-feet around them were testimony to the horrors they had witnessed. The trademark red hair was being replaced by dull, brown tresses with the odd white strand beginning to make their appearance.
She had barely picked up the patient's chart when she heard Tara's chipper voice down the hall, "Morning daddy Possible, any word from Kim and Ron?"
"Good morning my dear. Kimberly just called a little while ago; she and Ron are fine and send their love," Anne subsequently heard heard her husband say, then smiled at him as he walked into the room,
"Hello dear, how are things today?"
James' physical appearance mirrored that of his wife's except his hair was a solid mass of grey and sported a trim grey beard. With a bit of a lopsided smile he responds, "Hi hun. Oh, pretty good. So how's Drew?"
Anne answered with a note of optimism, "Well, remember how we couldn't get an x-ray to give us an image of his head injury; we still don't know why since it works on other patients; and decided to just fix him up old school? Well, once he was stable his vines started growing and wrapped themselves around him. It was Tara," Anne smiled broadly, "she's my new head nurse by the way,…"
"…Good for her…" James responded cheerfully.
"…who suggested recently moving Drew closer to the window to give his flowers more daylight along with a trice daily sponge bath. Well that did the trick and he's progressed better in the last week than I could ever have expected considering his injuries and how much radiation he took which, by the way, we have no idea how he survived that. Anyway look here around his neck, he's growing yellow petals; they're small but I'm taking that as a good thing."
"Outstanding! Oh, and Kimmie-cub just called about an hour ago from Denver. She says her and Ronald will be there a few more days guarding the Pan-Dimensional Vortex Inducer while the scientists are setting it up to kick-start the new cold fusion reactor. Anyway she asked about Drew and if there was any word of Shego."
At that point the conversation was interrupted by Sheriff Hobble's rather inelegant entrance to the room, his feet tripping him into the door as his attention seemed drawn down the hall, "Top of the morning to ya Anne, James," the large law enforcement officer greeted somewhat distractedly in his trademark Irish brogue.
"Good morning Sean," Anne giggled, "You're not ogling my new head nurse now; are you?"
"I assure you ma'am that I don't ogle on duty. However, that is not to say I can't notice how one of your nurses seems to deport herself in the most angelic demeanour imaginable and, in any case, I'm sure any inappropriate behaviour on my part would result in Kimberly inflicting twenty kinds of hurt just on one hand alone."
The sheriff continued on with more focus, "I brought ya some news I figured you'd be interested in. First off, a ranger patrol reports the fallout zone from that nuke that took out Lipsky's lair has shifted and caught a number of homesteaders off guard. I expect there'll be a bunch of people with radiation sickness showin' up on your doorstep within a few days. The other one'll probably interest you more since ya been worryin' about her; there was a positive sighting of Shego in Lowerton last night."
AN: Anterograde amnesia: Short term memory loss. Information does not get passed on to the long term memory. Events of any duration can be completely forgotten almost immediately after they occur. The same question can be asked repeatedly because the question and subsequent answer had already been forgotten. Or, extended periods of time can be forgotten resulting in confusion when a 'couple of hours' appear to have been 'lost'.
Retrograde amnesia: Long term memory loss often stemming from a traumatic head injury. Often starting from just before the injury occurred, it can extend the entire lifetime of the victim. Events learned through physical repetition: walking, running, swimming, dialling a phone, riding a bike, and driving a car are remembered. Abstract knowledge is suppressed: names, faces, dates and events. For example, the sensation of walking through the surf at a beach would be remembered however the memory of any particular visit to any beach would not. Speech and language skills can be affected but will improve with use. Recovery usually begins with the oldest memories first and proceeding to the more recent ones. Kim's memory recall in "Clean Slate" appears to follow this pattern.
Transient global amnesia: A combination of the two symptoms above however for only a temporary period.
The Kim Possible characters in this story were created by Bob Schooley and Mark McCorkle; ©Disney. OC's belong to me or Storm Schutze.
~~I don't write for adoration; care I not for remuneration…I just write for inspiration.~~