On The Surface Tension Page 21
“You are wondering whether Ron will haunt you. I suppose it is a possibility. He hasn’t appeared to you yet, I presume?”
“No.”
“I doubt he will. We Trident types have reason to be here, to come back. Him not so much. You see, once the ball is done, or the video game played, this whole lifetime is like a DVR movie that goes back on the shelf. Later you can play it back, and even re-insert yourself and rewrite the ending. But for what purpose? You and Ron, and everyone else you have ever met, are beyond time and together at this very moment in the real world. You might every now and then dust off the video and re-watch it, but why not just do another movie, another game? Or live there for a while instead?”
Tracey thought about this for a while, sipping her coffee. “So what’s next?”
“What’s next with what?”
“You know, with the Trident thing. What’s the next mission?”
“You want another mission? Wasn’t going back in time to Bodie without a rift generator merely by the power of your dreaming, recovering a contraband inter-dimensional artifact, and returning it to Hell enough for a while?
“Well when you put it that way it sounds….”
“Sounds what?”
“Sounds like a big deal, but it wasn’t.”
Maurice raised his eyebrows for a moment. “For now, you go back to work at the Aquarium and stand by. There may be no other missions for a while, now that the war is over and things have quieted down. But you never know.”
“Ok. Sounds a bit boring, is all.”
“Whatever happened to just living your life, taking out the trash, and all that?”
“You’re right, of course. Just seems a bit different under the circumstances.”
“Well you never know what will show up at your door.”
The doorbell rang. Tracey shook her head at Maurice, who shrugged.
It was Jeremy, still on leave for the funeral, and Chris. They hugged.
“Hi, Ma. They asked us to drop by with some of the leftover food from the funeral. How are you holding up?” asked Jeremy.
“I’m good. Just what I need, a pile of fried chicken. Come in and join Maurice and I for some coffee.”
“Hi, Maurice,” said Chris. “I still feel like I know you from somewhere. Were you ever on the UW campus? Student or professor or something? Or are you from around here at least, and do we shop at the same grocery store or something?”
Mauriced laughed. “No, nothing like that. We might have met in Otherwhen, but who knows.”
“He’s just an old friend of Ron’s,” Tracey explained. “Any number of them might be dropping by while they’re in town.”
The doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it,” said Chris.
Moments later she returned with a rotund bald Hawaiian man.
“Why if it isn’t Mr. Morrow, as I live and breathe!” said Maurice.
Tracey snorted her coffee, stifling a laugh because Maurice was neither living nor breathing.
“Good afternoon Tracey,” Morrow said, shaking off his raincoat.
“I’ll make some tea,” Tracey offered.
“No need, coffee is fine,” said Morrow.
“How do you know each other?” asked Jeremy.
“Mr. Morrow was my…music teacher,” Tracey answered.
“Music? Ma, I didn’t know you…played the cello?” said Chris, strangely transitioning from not knowing her mother played the instrument to remembering an entire history of her playing one.
“Of course she did—does,” said Jeremy, with an odd glance at his sister.
Morrow beamed with pride at his student’s feat of instantly acquiring a skill and retroactively changing an entire set of life histories through the power of dreaming.
“Maybe things won’t be as quiet as I thought,” she thought. She looked around the table at the sometimes disembodied ghost and the former giant scorpion sitting with her children sipping coffee and realized that this was true.
“So I have an ulterior motive in stopping by, beyond checking on you. I—we—need your help,” said Morrow with a piercing glance over the rim of his mug.
“Oh? What can I do for you?”
Morrow regarded Jeremy and Chris and chose his words carefully. “There are a number of recently—liberated—populations of people who suddenly had their charismatic leader vanish. Their situation is unknown, they are likely rudderless and possibly volatile. It might be a good idea for you to take Smithson and go on some visits to render aid.”
“Some kind of cult? Sounds dangerous, Ma,” said Jeremy. “I could go with you if it isn’t too long or too far. I still have a few days of leave. Where are they Mr. Morrow? Are we talking Puyallup or Portland?”
“The range is a bit longer than that I’m afraid,” said Morrow with a flash of a smile. “But fear not, Mr. Smithson is a professional bodyguard and your mother is quite resourceful and capable herself.”
“I would be happy to, Mr. Morrow.”
“Well there you go,” said Maurice. “Life was in no danger of being a boring Story after all.”