THE PHOENIX AND THE FORM: Chapter Six
As Blue walked through the door of her villa, the atmosphere shifted. The compass needle, which had been silently floating in the air, seemed to sense her presence. It zipped through the room with renewed vigor, its whistle rising in pitch to a joyous crescendo. It flew in circles around her, almost as if it were greeting a long-lost friend.
Blue beamed at the display, her eyes
softening as she said, “It’s great to see you again too, old friend.”
Victor, still seated and stunned, watched
the scene unfold. “Old friend? You can communicate with it?” he asked, his
voice tinged with frustration and bewilderment.
Blue nodded, her expression serious. “Yes…
Victor—this… is the High Lord Keeper’s compass needle.”
“The High Lord Keeper?” Victor echoed;
confusion evident in his tone. “And who is that, if I might ask Ms. Blue?”
“To be honest… I don’t really understand it
fully either,” Blue admitted, her eyes meeting his.
Victor’s frustration bubbled to the surface.
He abruptly stood up. “And you didn’t think to tell me about this earlier? You
didn’t think this was worth mentioning?”
Blue exhaled, a mix of weariness and
understanding in her gaze. “And… would you have believed me, Victor? Would you
have even comprehended it? You’re a scientist. This is the only way I could
have given you enough proof of the things I’ve been claiming. And here it
is—the proof that everything I’ve been saying is true. The evidence you’ve been
asking for from the start. This is what the Phoenix can do for you; for us.”
The compass needle, now calm, hovered above
them, its presence a silent testament to the extraordinary reality Victor was
struggling to grasp.
He stared at the compass needle, his mind
racing to make sense of everything. He looked at Blue, frustration still
flickering in his eyes. “So, you’ve been hiding this from me all along? The
High Lord Keeper and his…?”
Blue nodded, her expression serious but
calm. “Yes, but you know the truth now.”
Victor shook his head slowly, his
frustration shifting, replaced by a deep uncertainty. He took a deep breath,
trying to steady himself. “I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to
think.”
Blue took a step closer, her eyes softening
as she looked at Victor. “I understand it’s a lot to take in. But you needed to
see it for yourself. Now you know the truth, and we can move forward together.
Trust me, Victor.”
Victor felt a tumultuous mix of emotions
swirling within him. The rational part of his mind struggled to reconcile the
extraordinary events unfolding before him, with the scientific principles he
had always relied on.
His thoughts raced as he tried to process
Blue’s words and the implications of the compass needle. The trust she was
asking for, felt like a bridge he wasn’t sure he could cross yet. He felt a
strange combination of relief, confusion, and a lingering trace of disbelief.
Yet his frustration, now mingled with a hesitant curiosity, still held a faint
glimmer of possibility.
He flinched. His body seizing up as he
slumped back into the chair, clutching at his right hip. Blue’s brow furrowed,
unsure of what was happening. He began to writhe and grunt in pain. She rushed
over to him, “What’s wrong!?” she screamed; concern etched on her face.
Victor let out a deep guttural grunt as he
pursed his lips and made a fist.
“Victor, talk to me.” She demanded.
“Old… injury… from… the accident!” He
grunted.
“The car crash?!” she asked. He nodded his
head solemnly.
Victor sat up straighter on the couch, and began
taking in, slow deep breaths, grunting with each exhale.
“Yes. Just… breathe.” Blue said as she
calmed down. Victor had broken into a sweat. He eyed Blue, who was kneeling
beside the couch, hands akimbo, watching him closely. He blushed a little.
She noticed and said, “I’ll get you a glass
of water.” Victor nodded curtly.
She stood up and made her way to the kitchen.
Victor heard the drawer pull open, the clinking of glass, then the sound of
rushing water, before she returned, glass in hand. She sat beside him and
placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him the glass.
Victor sat up, taking the water and tipping
the glass to his lips. Blue rubbed his back gently.
“I’m fine,” Victor said. She withdrew her
hand and scooched on the couch a little.
“You sure.” She asked.
“Yeah,” Victor exhaled.
“You don’t need ice or something?” she
asked.
“No, I’m fine. It happens from time to
time,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “but it passes,” he added with
finality.
Blue let out a deep sigh, and they sat
there in silence, Victor sipping his water before she finally intoned, “Anyway!
That was close.”
Victor looked at her quizzically. “Back at
the castle.” She clarified.
“Oh… yeah,” Victor rejoined, sighing deeply
and leaning back on the couch, still not fully processing everything that had
happened. Blue looked at him. “I’ll go change, and then I’ll make us some
dinner,” she said. She stood up and headed toward the stairs.
The villa’s subtle lighting casting gentle
shadows, highlighting her form as she moved out of view. Her bare feet made
soft sounds against the polished marble floors as she crossed the open space. Victor
heard her ascend the stairs, then a distant creak and click as the door to her
room opened and closed.
Finally, he heard her emerge and descend
the stairs. He sat up and swiveled his neck to see her descending; she was
dressed in gray sweatpants and a deep blue sweatshirt. Upon reaching the
kitchen, she tied her hair back into a loose ponytail and rolled up her
sleeves, revealing her defined powerful arms.
She turned to face him. “You sure you’re
okay?” she asked, a look of worry flashing across her face. Victor nodded
silently.
She gave him a slight smile. “You eat mac
and cheese right?” she asked rhetorically, turning back to the kitchen, her
voice carrying a casual familiarity.
Blue stood in her sleek, modern kitchen,
the soft glow of pendant lights casting a warm ambiance around her. She opened
the fridge and started pulling out ingredients as she prepared to cook. A block
of aged cheddar cheese, a carton of fresh milk, and a block of butter.
Victor watched her as she started prepping
for the dish, her hands working with a practiced ease. She filled a pot with
water, setting it on the stove and turning the burner to medium-high. As she
waited for the water to boil, she reached into the pantry for a box of elbow
macaroni. Once the water reached a rolling boil, she poured in the pasta, the
familiar clink against the sides of the container echoing in the kitchen as she
stirred it with a wooden spoon. Steam rose in wisps, carrying with it the
comforting scent of cooking noodles. The compass needle hovered over her as she
worked, as if fascinated by the cooking macaroni. The simple, homey act of
cooking, grounding the surreal atmosphere; a touch of normalcy in an otherwise
extraordinary day.
As the pasta cooked, she grated the cheddar
cheese into a bowl, the rich aroma mingling with the air. She set a saucepan
over medium heat and added a knob of butter. As the butter melted, she whisked
in a couple of tablespoons of flour, creating a smooth paste. The mixture
bubbled gently for a minute, cooking out the raw flour flavor.
Blue slowly poured in the milk, whisking
constantly to avoid lumps. She watched intently as the mixture thickened,
transforming from a thin liquid to a smooth, velvety sauce. Gradually, she
added the grated cheddar cheese, a handful at a time, incorporating it fully
before adding more. The rich, melty cheese swirled into the sauce, blanketing
it in a golden hue. A hint of nutmeg and a pinch of salt completed the symphony
of flavors.
She drained the cooked pasta and returned
it to the pot, pouring in the creamy cheese sauce she had prepared, mixing it
gently until every noodle was coated in velvety goodness.
Plating the mac and cheese with a flourish,
Blue garnished it with a sprinkle of freshly ground black pepper and a few
chopped chives from a small pot on the windowsill.
With dinner ready, Blue called out to
Victor, her voice carrying a warmth that matched the meal she had prepared. “Dinner
is served! Come and eat.” She said, setting the plates on the kitchen island,
where the soft glow of the pendant lights, danced across the glistening
macaroni noodles.
Blue and Victor sat next to each other on
the kitchen island. The mac and cheese, creamy and comforting, steaming
invitingly on their plates.
Blue, her hair still tied back and her sleeves
rolled up, took the first bite, savoring the familiar flavors with a contented
sigh. Victor picked up his fork—hesitating, before tasting the dish. The cheesy
aroma wafted around him, comforting, yet bizarre, amidst the extraordinary
circumstances. He glanced at Blue, engrossed in her plate, finding solace in
the normalcy of their shared meal.
Meanwhile, the compass needle hovered
quietly above them. It floated in gentle rotations, its needle pointing
steadfastly upwards.
As Blue and Victor ate, they sat in silence
and quiet reflection. Blue occasionally glanced at the compass needle with a
fond smile, as if sharing an unspoken understanding with the ancient artifact.
The night wore on, enveloping them in a
sense of quiet companionship. The compass needle continued its gentle dance
above, a silent observer in the unfolding story.
Seeing Victor’s state, Blue said gently, “You
should get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.” Victor gave her a curt nod
as she got up and moved to the sink. She washed her dish, the running water
echoing softly in the kitchen.
When she was done, she racked her dish and,
turning to him, whispered, “Goodnight Victor.” He nodded gently at her,
offering a weak smile. She turned and left, heading towards the staircase.
With one hand on the balustrade, she turned,
“Hey Victor!” His head swiveled, turning to face her. “Thanks. For everything.
You were amazing tonight.” Victor nodded once more.
She hesitated for a moment, a look in her
eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. Her eyes darted to the compass needle,
still hovering over the kitchen island, before meeting his again. His brow
furrowed slightly at her; he shifted his gaze to the compass needle before
returning to face Blue, who averted her gaze, then met his eyes again.
“Goodnight,” she breathed.
Ascending the staircase, her footsteps
echoed faintly on the varnished wood, a gentle rhythm against the stillness of
the night. Victor watched her disappear up the stairs, then got up and moved to
the sink. He washed his dish in silence, the warm water soothing his nerves.
After drying it, he placed it carefully on the rack and followed Blue’s lead,
heading to his quarters. In his room, Victor settled into bed, his mind slowly
unwinding from the day’s revelations.
The lights gradually dimmed throughout the
villa, casting a tranquil ambiance over the sleeping estate until full darkness.
The compass needle continued its silent flight, moving to float gently beneath
the chandelier, rotating slightly, its point aiming steadfastly upward. Night
settled in peacefully, wrapping both Victor and Blue in a cocoon of quiet solitude,
promising solace and renewal until the new day dawned.
The Blue Sprite descended gracefully
through the clear African skies, its wings catching the last rays of the afternoon
sun. Inside the cockpit, Blue’s hands guided the Piper M700 toward Nairobi’s
busy airstrip. Nairobi city sprawled below, marking the end of their journey.
Victor, seated beside her, gazed out the
window in quiet contemplation. His thoughts raced back over the events of the
past weeks. The mysteries unraveled, and the truths discovered. The hum of the
engines and the gentle turbulence as they descended reminded him he was finally
home.
She touched down on the runway. The landing
was smooth, a testament to Blue’s skill as a pilot. The plane taxied to a stop,
and the engines powered down with a soft rumble. Blue and Victor exchanged a
glance, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had taken together.
“Welcome back to Nairobi,” she said, her
voice tinged with relief and a hint of exhaustion. She unbuckled her seatbelt
and turned to Victor with a reassuring smile. “We made it.”
Victor nodded, gratitude and weariness
mingling in his expression. They disembarked and took their bags out of the
cargo hold, making their way to customs.
Victor stood outside Wilson Airport,
adjusting his backpack nervously under the bustling Nairobi sky. Beside him,
Blue checked her phone one last time before slipping it into her purse.
A black Uber sedan pulled up beside the
curb. Victor opened the door, gesturing for Blue to enter first. She slid into
the backseat, her eyes scanning the Nairobi streetscape. Victor followed suit,
settling in beside her, his thoughts a whirlwind of the journey they had just
been through.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a warm
smile, greeted them. “Hello, good afternoon?”
“Good afternoon,” Victor responded, “Parklands.”
The driver acknowledged and pulled into the
lane. They drove on, navigating through the city’s traffic. Leaving behind the
city’s bustling heart, the landscape began to shift gradually. Tall buildings
gave way to lush greenery and quieter streets. Blue gazed out the window,
noticing the change in scenery as the urban sprawl faded into a serene suburban
setting.
Victor leaned back, feeling a sense of
relief wash over him. “It’s good to be back home,” he murmured, more to himself
than to Blue.
She nodded, understanding the sentiment. “You
did amazing out there,” Blue reassured him, her voice soft with admiration. “I’m
glad we’re heading home now.”
The Uber turned onto a tree-lined avenue,
where quaint houses and gardens dotted the neighborhood. Victor pointed out
landmarks along the way, helping the driver get a better sense of direction.
They arrived at Victor’s bungalow—the
modest yet cozy home with a small garden and a veranda. The Uber came to a
stop, and Blue stepped out first, taking in the strange surroundings with a
smile.
They grabbed their bags. “Haya asante.”
Victor said. The driver gave him a curt nod as he pulled away.
“Welcome home,” she said, turning to Victor
as he joined her on the path to the front door.
Blue followed Victor into his house,
stepping carefully over the threshold as she took in the surrounding disarray.
The bills and letters scattered on the floor caught her eye first, and she
tactfully stepped around them, making a mental note to help organize them
later.
“Victor,” she began, her voice soft but
concerned, “it looks like you’ve been quite busy.” She glanced around, noting
the cobwebs and the layer of dust that seemed to have settled over everything.
Victor sighed, a mixture of embarrassment
and resignation flickering across his face. “Yeah, it’s been a bit chaotic
lately,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t had much time
to keep things in order.”
Blue nodded sympathetically. “No worries.
We can take care of this together.” She moved further into the living room,
trying to find a clear spot amidst the scattered papers and books.
“It’s not usually like this,” Victor said
apologetically.
“I understand,” Blue reassured him with a
warm smile.
Blue stood in the center of Victor’s
cluttered living room, her eyes sweeping over the disarray with a mixture of
curiosity and restraint. Uncertain of where to place her bag, she held onto it,
her posture slightly awkward in the space that seemed frozen in time.
Victor, equally unsure, hovered near the
doorway, catching her glance.
“So? Can I… see it?” She eventually asked,
her voice breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.
A hint of relief flickered across Victor’s
face as he nodded. “Yes, of course,” he murmured, stepping aside to usher her
towards the back room. He gestured for her to follow, his path a winding course
through the labyrinth of scattered papers.
The back room, once the guest bedroom, now
held the faint, metallic tang of oil. Victor flicked on the lights, pausing at
the threshold, the weight of his creation pressing down on him like a physical
burden.
“Is that her?” Blue whispered, her voice
barely audible. Victor met her gaze for a fleeting moment before silently
guiding her to the center of the room.
There, on the bed, it lay. A shroud—shimmering
faintly under the subdued workshop lights veiled it. Victor reached out, his
hand trembling slightly as he pulled the shroud back to reveal the face.
Synthetic skin, eerily lifelike, bore the
unmistakable features of Sophie. The eyes, a rich dark brown, seemed to stare
sightlessly back.
Blue approached cautiously, her breath
catching at the sight of the lifelike creation. “It’s… incredible,” she
whispered, her voice filled with awe as she examined the meticulous
craftsmanship.
Victor stood beside her; his gaze fixed on
the form. “It’s the last connection I have to her,” he said quietly, his voice
tinged with a mix of pride and sorrow.
He watched as Blue studied the robot; her
expression, thoughtful. “The detail, the precision… it’s remarkable Victor,”
she murmured, her eyes lingering on the face.
“Thank you,” he replied, a flicker of
gratitude warming his eyes
Blue reached for the necklace nestled
against her neck, the faint outline of a compass needle visible beneath her
shirt. She pulled up the compass needle and, with a practiced motion, she
unclasped the chain; the chain disappearing into the needle as it began to
float, hovering effortlessly above her palm. Victor watched, as enthralled by
the disappearance of the chain, as he had been when it had appeared, earlier
that day.
It seemed to notice the form and approached
with what seemed to the Dr. as a sense of reverence. Its movement took on an
almost sentient grace drifting closer, a purposeful gentleness guiding its
approach, as if responding to an invisible call.
A heavy silence settled upon the room,
broken only by the ragged breaths escaping their lips. The sight of the
animated compass needle filled Victor with a kaleidoscope of emotions; wonder,
battling with a tremor of trepidation.
Blue’s eyes reflected the fascination and
respect she held for Victor’s creation. “It’s drawn to her,” she whispered, the
sound barely a ripple in the hushed workshop.
They stood side-by-side, their breath
mingling in the cool air. The levitating compass needle, hovering reverently
over the form’s face.
The silence stretched, eventually pulling
Victor’s gaze toward his equipment. He began to pull back the sheets, folding
them neatly and placing them aside. Each sheet he peeled back revealed his
machines and tools that had seen countless hours of meticulous work.
The sleek form of the 3D printer emerged
first, its surface catching the workshop lights like a polished mirror. Beside
it, the VMC milling machine, its metallic body gleaming in the afternoon sun,
filtering through the windows. One by one, he uncovered the Wire EDM machine
and ultimately, his trusted computer.
With the equipment exposed, Victor paused,
his fingers trailing along the cool, polished surfaces. A sense of release
seemed to permeate the workshop, as if the room itself exhaled in relief,
finally free from its shroud.
Finally, he crossed over to the safe and dialed
in the code. It swung open, and he took out the wand. He turned, expecting to
find Ms. Blue still beside him, but she was gone.
His gaze returned to the form, the
levitating needle hovering serenely above it. A faint smile tugged at the
corner of his lips as he observed their silent interaction.
He
placed the wand back on the stand on his workbench and ventured into the rest
of the house. The fading daylight painted the neglected
state of his home in an even starker contrast. Cobwebs, intricate tapestries of
neglect, draped from the corners, catching the last rays of sunlight like
morbid chandeliers. Dust motes, long undisturbed, pirouetted in the air as
Victor disturbed the once-familiar space with his hesitant steps.
But to his surprise, the sink, usually
overflowing with forgotten dishes, gleamed, its contents washed and neatly
stacked. Blue emerged from the back door, a hint of an earthy fragrance
clinging to her. A small, enigmatic smile played on her lips.
“Where were you?” Victor asked curiously as
he took in her earthy scent.
“Oh—just throwing out the garbage,” Blue
replied, her voice soft yet carrying a hint of satisfaction.
A silent pact of restoration formed as they
launched themselves into re-establishing order. Victor wielded the vacuum
cleaner like a knight with his lance. Blue, a whirlwind of focused energy,
swooped over surfaces, her touch leaving a trail of gleaming countertops and
polished shelves; their movements synchronized in a silent dance of renewal.
What remained of the day stretched before
them, the sun slowly tracing its descent across the dusty windows; the day
surrendering to the twilight, as they worked. With each vanquished cobweb and
each grime-caked corner liberated, a wave of satisfaction washed over them—a
sense of renewal blooming in the air, mirroring the one blossoming within them.
Exhausted yet fulfilled, they finally slumped down on the couch in unison, deep
breaths escaping their lips in synchronized sighs. They looked at each other,
faces smudged with dust and sweat, and then laughter erupted in a joyous peal.
Their gaze lingered on one another, relief
and accomplishment mingled in their eyes. Victor’s voice, almost a whisper,
broke the silence. “Thank you.” He said, his words heavy with the weight of the
gratitude resonating deep within him.
Blue met his gaze with a simple nod of
acknowledgment, yet within that nod flickered a deeper understanding, her eyes
sparkling with empathy. A hint of a smile played on her lips, a deeper glint of
something unspoken that left Victor’s heart skipping a beat.
He averted his gaze, eyes drifting across the
expanse of the room.
“The house hasn’t been this clean since…” His
voice trailed off, a tremor catching in his breath. Blue sat up and leaned in.
He noticed and finished, “…since Miranda.”
A thick silence settled. Finally Blue
asked, “How did she die?”
Victor swallowed hard. “Brain tumor,” he
rasped, the word raw and painful. Blue’s face softened. She offered a solemn
nod, a flicker of empathy crossing her features.
“Thirty-five,” Victor continued, “I… still
haven’t wrapped my head around it.” He looked up, his eyes welling with tears,
and he sniffed. Before he could retreat further, a warm hand settled on his
elbow. Blue leaned in; her gaze filled with quiet understanding.
He let out a shaky breath, his voice thick
with emotion. “Thank you.” He murmured, the words barely audible.
Blue’s grip tightened ever so slightly, her
eyes holding his gaze. Time stretched, measured only by the quiet rise and fall
of their breaths. Finally, Victor stirred. “We should, uh… we should probably
get some rest,” he suggested, his voice hoarse.
Blue nodded slowly, a small, genuine smile
gracing her lips.
Victor led Blue up the creaking wooden
stairs, the soft groan of each step echoing in the dusty silence. The air hung
heavy, thick with the scent of aged paper and forgotten things. Reaching the
landing, Victor paused before a door on the right. His hand hovered over the
worn brass knob; a tremor, subtle yet undeniable, ran through his fingers.
He pushed the door open—it swung, slowly
revealing a room frozen in time. The faint scent of old flowers and untouched
linen greeted them, mingling with the scent of old books and the unmistakable
smell, of stale air. Blue stepped in beside Victor, her eyes scanning the room
with a gentle reverence.
The room was a testament to Sophie’s life,
filled with the echoes of joyful laughter and hopeful dreams. Shelves were lined
with stuffed animals and books. Framed family photos filled the space - Sophie
with Miranda, with Victor, and all of them together as a family.
Her own photos and those she shared with
her friends were stuck on the wall alongside the posters of her favorite bands
adorning the walls, now slightly yellowed with age. A small desk stood against
one wall, cluttered with notebooks, pencils, and half-finished sketches. The
bed, with its neatly made floral comforter, seemed to be waiting for its
occupant to return.
Victor broke the silence, his voice hushed
and strained. “I left it just the way it was when the… uh… Accident… happened.”
The silence settled back down, heavier this time.
“That’s why its… uh… ”
Blue turned to him; her eyes filled with
empathy. She reached out and gently squeezed his hand. “I understand,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to explain anything.”
Blue set her bag down on the edge of the
bed and began to tidy up, her movements deliberate and respectful. She reached
into her bag and pulled out a small towel. She started with the dust-covered
shelves, gently wiping away the layers of neglect that had settled over the
years.
Victor, picking up the hint, moved to help
her. He reached for a dusty stuffed animal, but Blue stopped him, placing a
firm yet gentle hand on his arm.
“Victor, you should get some rest,” she
said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“But I—” he started to protest, looking
around at the room that held so many memories.
Blue shook her head, cutting him off with a
soft, but insistent voice. “No, Victor. I’m okay, I’ll handle this.”
Victor hesitated, looking at her with a mix
of gratitude and exhaustion. He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he conceded. “But let me
help a little first.”
Blue gave him a small smile. “There’s
something else you need to do first,” she said, her eyes twinkling with a hint
of mischief. “You need a shower. Trust me, you’ll feel much better afterward.”
Victor managed a tired chuckle. “That bad,
huh?”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “It’s
not, that bad, but you definitely need it.”
He nodded, accepting her advice. “Okay,
okay! I’ll take a shower. But if you need anything, just call.”
Blue’s smile widened. “I will. Now go, I’ve
got this.”
Victor left the room, feeling a strange mix
of relief and trepidation. He headed to the bathroom, the sound of running
water soon filling the quiet house. Blue watched him go, then turned back to
the task at hand.
As the minutes passed, she moved
methodically through the room, her hands hovering over Sophie’s belongings
before settling gently. The college brochures on the desk; a well-loved yet
worn teddy bear. Each dust cloth swipe was deliberate, each misplaced photo was
straightened. The room began to breathe again.
As the night wore on, Victor lay in bed,
unable to find solace in sleep. The events of the past days swirled in his
mind, refusing to let him rest. With a resigned sigh, he threw off the covers
and pulled on a T-shirt. Quietly, so as not to disturb Blue, he slipped out of
the room and made his way downstairs to the back room.
The door to the back room creaked softly as
he opened it. He flicked on the light scones on the wall, lighting the room
with a soft glow. As he stepped inside, his gaze immediately fell upon the
compass needle, still hovering over the form of the humanoid robot. Its
presence had shifted from that of a curious admirer to a vigilant guardian,
almost protective in its stance.
Victor paused in the doorway, the sight of
the compass needle facing him sending a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he
stood frozen, staring at the floating needle. The needle, as if acknowledging
his presence, seemed to shift slightly. Gathering his resolve, Victor closed
the door behind him and crossed the room to his workbench.
He settled into the chair, the familiar
creak of the seat providing a strange comfort. Swiveling to face the form, he
crossed his arms and let his gaze linger on the creation before him. The room
was silent except for the soft resonance of the compass needle, which hovered
protectively above the form, the light from the sconces casting a gentle glow
over its features.
Victor’s thoughts drifted back to the
countless hours he had spent crafting the form, pouring his heart and soul into
every detail. Each servo, each sensor, each part had been a labor of love. The
lifelike skin, the meticulously recreated features—it was as if she was almost
there, just out of reach.
His eyes, heavy with a mixture of
exhaustion and sorrow, traced the contours of the form’s face. The synthetic
eyes, dark and unblinking, stared back at him, holding a depth that was both
haunting and comforting. He let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of his
emotions settle heavily on his shoulders. He sat in silence, lost in thought,
as his eyes glazed over.
“Rise and shine early bird!” he called out
as Sophie stumbled into the kitchen; her hair tousled from sleep.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she said,
attempting to justify herself.
“Right, call me alarm clock from now on,”
Victor remarked.
“Morning alarm clock!” she replied, rubbing
her eyes and yawning. “Hmm! What smells so good?”
Victor burst out laughing, the dad joke
hitting him right in the gut. “That was so bad—so bad!” He said, shaking his
head as he flipped a pancake expertly onto a plate. Sophie smiled gleefully to
herself.
“Sit down and eat,” he ordered, placing the
plate in front of Sophie on the kitchen island.
“Okay, okay!” she said, plopping into a
chair and immediately reaching for the honey.
Victor leaned against the counter, watching
her with a mischievous glint in his eye, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “So,
the university is hosting an award ceremony for me today. You wanna call in
sick at school and hang out with a bunch of snobby intellectuals all day?!”
“Hmm, let me think about it…no,” she quipped.
“Oh c’mon, a chance to hang out with your
old man, and a day away from—what did you call it… Kamiti Girls’ Prison?!”
“No.”
“Oh c’mon, I’m coming for your graduation
this year, aren’t I?” Victor pressed.
“Really?!” Sophie asked, eyebrows raised.
“That’s right, it’s only fair!”
Sophie shook her head, her eyes twinkling
with amusement. “You know, a wise man once told me, it’s wrong to lie;
especially to the principal of the high school!”
“Hmm,” Victor said, nodding sagely. “I hear
you. But have you considered this: you won’t be lying. I will!”
At that, Sophie feigned shock, her hand
flying to her mouth in exaggerated disbelief. “Yeah!? Yeah!? Rules for thee not
for me huh?!” she said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, a smile
spreading across her face.
Victor chuckled maniacally and picked up
the phone, dialing the number for the school’s principal’s office. After a few
rings, the phone was answered, “Good morning,” he said in his most
professor-like tone. “I’m calling about Sophie. She’s come down with something—I’m
afraid—it’s rather serious, so she won’t make it in for classes today.”
He paused, listening to the secretary’s
response, then nodded. “Great! She’ll be better in no time and I’ll have her
right on your doorstep as soon as possible.” With that, he set the phone down
and turned to Sophie, who was blushing, barely managing to contain her
laughter. She burst out laughing. “Oh, my goodness! You were so a rebel when
you were a kid!” She declared.
“I always stuck to the straight and narrow
Sophie!” She mimicked, imitating her father.
He stretched out his fist at her and they
fist-bumped. A conspiratorial bond shared in a moment of playful rebellion.
As the memory faded, Victor found himself
back in the present, seated in his armchair. His face—etched with a haunted
look. The weight of the past pressed heavily on him, intertwining with the
grief that never fully dissipated. He stared at the form on the bed, feeling
the chasm between memory and reality widen with each passing second.
Blue piloted the Blue Sprite with practiced
precision. The date was February 29, 2044, and the sun-bathed Wilson Airport in
Nairobi Kenya with its golden rays. The departure time was set for 10:00 AM
local time, and the weather was perfect, with clear skies and a gentle
tailwind. Blue double-checked the Terminal Aerodrome Forecast (TAF) to ensure
no unexpected changes would disrupt their journey.
Their destination was Saudi Arabia. The
flight path would take them over the Red Sea, skillfully avoiding the
restricted airspace near Yemen. The Blue Sprite was well-prepared for the trip,
carrying 80 gallons of aviation fuel—more than enough for the journey ahead.
Seated in the cabin was Khalid Al-Mansoori.
His eyes were a window to a soul burdened with sorrow, mingled with a fierce
determination. In the cargo hold, a polished mahogany casket lay secured. And
it bore the nameplate: “Layla Al-Mansoori”.
As Blue navigated the pre-flight checks,
she glanced back at Khalid. He held a photograph close to his heart, a personal
memento that spoke volumes of his loss. The flight’s manifest included all
necessary documentation for transporting human remains, and Khalid carried a
letter from the Saudi embassy, granting permission for Layla’s last journey
home.
The engine roared to life, and the Blue
Sprite began its taxi down the runway. Blue’s hands were steady on the
controls, her mind focused on the task at hand. The aircraft lifted off,
climbing ever higher, the landscape of Kenya shrinking below them. Blue’s gaze
flicked to the fuel gauge, confirming they were well within their limits. The
journey ahead was long, but the skies were friendly, offering a smooth passage.
Hours passed in a silent vigil. Khalid’s
eyes never left the photograph, his thoughts a thousand miles away. Blue
maintained her course, the Red Sea glimmering beneath them, as they continued
toward their destination.
The man stood tall, a dark silhouette
against the panoramic cityscape sprawling behind towering glass panes, cradling
a wolf-headed cane; an ouroboros ring resting on his index finger. A man
dressed in his utility uniform approached the 6’5’ figure in the dark suit,
cautiously.
“Sir,” the man began respectfully. “We have
them.” His voice was steady, matching the composed demeanor he maintained under
the boss’ intense gaze.
The man reached out his hand and the
henchman approached further. “Today at 10:00 AM local time, the Blue Sprite
departed for Riyadh Saudi Arabia,” the henchman continued, handing over a
discreetly printed document. “According to the flight logs, the passenger is a
Saudi-Arabian national named Khalid Al-Mansoori, and aboard the aircraft is a
mahogany casket marked ‘Layla Al-Mansoori’.”
The henchman awaited his employer’s
reaction as his eyes scanned the document. He nodded once. “Good. Keep
monitoring their progress,” he instructed, his tone brooking no room for error.
His voice cut through the room. “Prepare for departure. We move in one hour.”
The henchman nodded sharply, knowing the
implications of the order. “Understood, sir,” he replied, swiftly turning to
relay the command to the waiting operatives.
With the directive given, the atmosphere
shifted. The henchmen moved with purpose; their preparations accelerating. The
6’5’ figure stood silent; his gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the window. “Hmm!
What’s in the casket?” he wondered out loud.