01: Sweet Tan, Straight Black and a Cap

I: Supportive Friends

Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.

Rainbow Rowell

01: Sweet Tan, Straight Black and a Cap

If the date is a complete disaster, I’ll text you.
I’ll say ‘Blue Squirrel, this is Hot Fox.
Mission to be aborted with extreme prejudice.’
Then you call me and you tell me that there is a
terrible emergency that requires my expert warlock assistance.

Cassandra Clare

Wiping the raindrops dotting his brow to clear his vision, Dan surveyed the quiet restaurant, his hair still damp from the mild drizzle outside. Despite the questionable nature of this encounter, showing up disheveled and dripping wet sans coat or umbrella wasn’t a suitable first impression, whatever the situation.

The design was pleasant enough, with a deep wood and brass ensemble ensconced in rich fern greenery; he felt comfortable, though more concerned with his ex-girlfriend’s motives in suggesting it. Her ‘No, absolutely not’ response stood in sharp contrast to her implied message.

Like most, their breakup was painful, though Chrissie proposing this date seemed the perfect final kiss off, leaving little doubt they were through. Still, he was intrigued by her descriptions of his intended date. As described, she was beautiful, with long, sun-kissed brunette waves cascading around her face, clear eyes peeking out at him as her lips turned up in an inviting smile over his prospects. But this was merely a peace offering: a token of forgiveness denoting Chrissie’s desire to move on to a more productive relationship without him.

So, what’s the worst that could happen? He’d waste an hour at a decent restaurant and dip his toe into the ever-flowing dating tides once more. He didn’t assume he’d be swept away in a sweeping torrential passion, but that was hardly the point. Even if he came up dry, it was a promising move. Right? After all, this was a clean slate. She didn’t know anything about him—at least according to Chrissie—and it was time he became less judgmental and solitary, giving the world another chance, in spite of the last couple years.

Taking a deep breath and straightening his jacket, Dan entered. Sorento’s was an upscale Italian destination known for their casual dining in a secluded, romantic atmosphere. Reviewing the lay of the establishment, his first time there, he turned left, avoiding the maître ‘d and headed for the bar. After grabbing an unused napkin to blot his face, he looked around, searching for someone in a red dress with a bold silver necklace, and spotted her. It’s hard to miss an ensemble that...

Suddenly he found himself in a strange apartment, looking at the girl he’d just laid eyes on. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, what happened at the dining room, where he was or even what day it was. He couldn’t recall a thing, but it was clearly a different day, the morning sky outside bright and with nary a cloud to mar the view. The apartment was tastefully decorated, everything neat and tidy, the decor modern and finely crafted. And sitting before him was Leslie Forte, his date. Only, she sat in the lap of another man, younger and more rugged than him, wearing nothing but purple panties—their matching top laying at her feet—while he wore blue and white silk boxers.

Dan glanced around, trying to get his bearings, but the couple was too involved to even notice his presence. There was a lavender scent in the air, diffused essential oils rather than a cheap plug-in deodorizer. The smell of egg and cheese omelets and fresh bagels wafted through the chill conditioned air, and the sunlight streamed through the window, overlooking a park by the river.

“Oh, Taylor,” Leslie cooed to her lover, who nibbled her playfully pouting lower lip. Approaching slowly, he noted she was playing with his hair with one hand, her other explored his exposed chest.

“So, how’d your playdate go?” he teased.

“As I said, I only did it to get Chrissie—his ex—to finally shut up about him. I figure some casual flirting to boost his ego for a decent lunch was a fair trade, but the guy was incredibly tedious! She complains he’s too needy, but he barely said a thing, not revealing anything about himself. I get being mysterious, but he acted like it was an interrogation! Getting him to respond was like pulling teeth! Honestly, what’s he so terrified of divulging? I might be interested in uncovering something more, but only if there’s some clue of what’s buried beneath the surface. In his case, there doesn’t appear to be anything worth digging for!”

Dan circled them, taking in the kitchenette behind them, the two bedrooms down the hall and the living room just off the dining room where they sat. Still, neither paid him the slightest attention.

“He sounds like a bore.”

“Hardly. Apparently, he’s had quite a challenging time, but rather than discuss it, he ducked every question, deflecting my inquiries. Trust me, I wasn’t asking ‘cause I enjoy digging into painful memories, but he wasn’t the least keen on conversing! But I can honestly say I did my best. Hopefully it’ll be enough, and she’ll quit harping about him.”

“Uh, can’t either of you see me?” Dan waved his hand, trying to get them to acknowledge him, but not only didn’t they respond, his words were subvocal, inaudible to the loving couple and only reverberating within his skull. Curious, he raised his hand. It seemed real enough, but when he reached out to touch a nearby chair, it passed through it.

“That seems like a lot of work for a simple favor.”

“I know, but she’s been bitching about the loser for weeks. Luckily this will get her to lay off. That alone is worth the aggravation. Besides, I love Sorento’s. It’s hard to be cross with anyone when eating their linguine!”

“Well, as long as nothing happened between you.”

“Don’t worry, nothing will,” she whispered, kissing him. “The only one I see is you, sweetheart. This guy is of no interest to anybody. He’s beyond boring!”

And then, Dan was back in Sorento’s, and the girl he now knew was Leslie turned, grinning broadly and waving to get his attention. He waved back and headed towards her.

‘Well, that was weird,’ he thought. ‘It certainly seemed real, but apparently I was spacing out’. Despite how detailed everything seemed, the scents of lavender and bagel and eggs are gone. Nothing remained but Sorento’s delicious fresh-baked bread aroma. He didn’t know why he’d zoned out like that, but he’d grab a drink before embarrassing himself.

“Leslie?”

“Dan? It’s so great to meet you.”

He was astounded. Though Chrissie had shown him a wallet-sized photo of her, she looked exactly as she did in his vision. The detail and accuracy of his temporary delusion was remarkable. He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a while before our reservation.”

“Yeah, they told me.” She waved for the bartender, indicating the stool beside her. “We can talk until then.” He approached and Dan requested his usual Whiskey neat, while she had a house Cabernet.

“So, Chrissie said a lot about you. She says you’ve gone through a rough period recently. Care to lighten your load by relating a little?”

“Yeah, she didn’t handle it very well,” he related, not focusing on their relationship. “Basically, they sedated me for a routine procedure and my heart stopped. I was out for several minutes and experienced a near-death experience. Afterwards, I drifted a bit, disappearing on long solitary walks, trying to figure things out rather than discussing it with her.”

“Any reason you didn’t?” she pressed.

He shrugged, noncommittally. “It’s difficult discussing something you don’t understand. Besides, she was having enough troubles, she didn’t need more things to scare her. Some secrets are best kept to oneself.”

“She said you had visions?”

“No, though I had what they refer to as psychic episodes. It was a little ... spooky, but since I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, it’s not like I could explain anything. It unnerved me, but she resented my attempting to shelter her from it. I didn’t think it would benefit either of us, giving her even more to worry about.”

“That’s interesting. Can you describe one to me?”

‘Sure, but before I do, can you tell me something?” She eagerly nodded.

“How would you define the wallpaper in your apartment, the one in your living room? Is it white with pink stripes?”

She sat back, her eyes widening as she regarded him warily. “They’re actually a light purple, redder than blue, which produces a deeper, calming ambiance.”

“And your dining room table is a streaked gray-and-white marble? It looks like it weighs a lot. It must’ve been difficult getting it into the room.”

She stared at him for several long moments. “Have you been stalking me? Did you enter my apartment, or peer into my room with binoculars at night?”

“No, but you can understand why I worried Chrissie so much. After more revelations like that—only much more personal—she decided she couldn’t cope with it anymore.”

“She never said you saw anything, just that you ... knew things about her past.”

“Yeah, they’d change over time, but were unyielding. As I said, it’s difficult describing them without creeping people out.”

“So, you saw all this ... in a dream?”

“Not quite, but I saw a few other things. I remember a purple camisole set in particular.”

She pushed away, staring at him. “This is getting entirely too personal!”

“Yeah, I agree.” He stood, scanning for the bartender, who was serving another customer. “Tell Chrissie we just didn’t click and Taylor he has nothing to worry about. There’s no chance anything will ever happen between us.” Dan pulled his wallet out of his pocket and tossed a couple twenties on the table. “This should cover the drinks, but I’m no longer interested in eating, as I feel another long walk approaching.”

She was still sputtering as he walked out, not glancing back. He’d seen the look too frequently to forget—even observing it in his dreams. He never dreamt of other people’s lives, recalling the expressions of those he’d terrified, honestly answering their questions. It was a familiar refrain, and one he had no interest of repeating.

He stopped by the maître ‘d and canceled their reservation, handing him a tip and headed out. Nearing the entrance, he waited for others to enter, but as he stepped through the door into the open air, he found himself among a smoke-filled disaster. The building before him was heavily damaged, and the one he’d exited was demolished. The acidic, choking haze filtered out the sun, though didn’t disguise the mangled bodies; as men, women and children lay moaning; trying to stanch their wounds or locate their loved ones.

It was clear the explosion had just occurred, as aside from multiple blaring car alarms, there were no rescue vehicles or evidence of an organized response. He ran to a family, where a man sprawled over his young child—no older than four or five—cradling his wife, covered in blood. Reaching out to roll him over and check his injuries, it was obvious the father was deceased and the blood on his wife his. Unlike his previous vision, this one was all too real, too ... visceral, as bits of seared flesh stuck to his hands as he rolled him aside, revealing the screaming youngster sheltered by his dead body.

“It’s alright,” he lied, kneeling beside her, checking for harm before turning to her mother, but neither seemed to hear him. She crawled forward, ignoring her agonized pains and drew her child towards her. But the small girl’s cries were unyielding, the endured horror unforgettable, whatever the cause. He removed his jacket, wrapping it over the gaping, bloody hole in her side, as he cast about for anything to bind her wound. Then he was back, standing outside the still pristine building as people hurried past.

Shaken, he blended in with the other busy pedestrians, hoping to get away from the stares which followed him everywhere. It was difficult adjusting to something that kept changing. His apparitions were never the same. They were usually similar, but the message and people were different, though these visions and astral visits were a new, unexpected twist.

As he contemplated what he’d witnessed, his cell phone rang. Not stopping to check who it was, he answered it without thinking. “Hello?”

“What the hell, Dan?” Chrissie demanded. “You can’t just enjoy spending time with a beautiful woman for a few minutes? You have to wreck the entire thing, describing things you have no right knowing?”

“You should have known what was likely to happen, but in my defense, her live-in lover didn’t seem especially pleased by the encounter.”

“And who told you that? Your deceased mother, or maybe her great-great grandpappy?”

“No, the voices appear to have stopped—at least for now—though I doubt the reprieve will last. And they were always from those I had a close personal relationship with, not complete strangers.”

“Oh, so as long as your delusions follow the rules it makes them logical and rational? How can anyone help you when you refuse to accept your problems? Why don’t you see a psychiatrist and get to the bottom of this nonsense? You can’t just allow it to continue untreated! You need to resume your life. The way it is now, you’ll never be able to work again, as you continually chase away anyone who cares!”

“Leslie only did this to shut you up,” he informed her. “She was dutifully making the motions and repeating the correct phrases, but wasn’t interested in either me or my life. Just ask Taylor!”

“Oh, was he there at your table, or were you imagining him like everything else you hear from on high?”

“You’ve got to admit, their information is spot-on, whatever they reveal. You don’t have to appreciate it, but you can’t pretend the details aren’t true.”

“You know you need help, Dan. You can’t go on living like this. If things don’t change, you’ll end up swallowing a gun or walking in front of a speeding truck.”

“I turned my pistol in for just that reason,” he assured her, to little avail. “And my deceased relatives will surely step in before I do anything overly drastic.”

“I can’t take anymore,” Chrissie stated, the passion drained from her tone. “You’re on your own. While I still care for you, it’s too much. If you don’t care enough to save your own life, why should we? Kindly lose my number, as I’m deleting yours.”

The next day, he was back in the same vicinity. He typically walked so extensively, the shops and residents along the avenues he trod considered him a regular. Heading for a nearby coffee shop, it happened again. He was abruptly somewhere else—staring up at a helicopter descending to a dusty field, not far from the surrounding bullet-riddled homes.

Glancing around, he noted a Middle Eastern dry, desert environment and an attractive woman behind the windshield—visible through her U.S. Army flight helmet—staring down as the dust stirred by the updraft obscured everything else.

And then he was back, noticing a teenager in a baggy t-shirt on a skateboard barreling towards him. Leaping aside, he stumbled into two women exiting the shop, their scalding hot coffee splashing over his back.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, stepping past and turning to face them. One was the same helicopter pilot he’d just witnessed during a battlefield rescue mission, though older now. “I’m sorry.” He pulled his shirt from his pants, shaking it to drain and cool the liquid not yet drenching his undershirt. “I never saw the guy until he nearly ran me over.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” the other woman said, “we were the ones who dumped hot coffee over you.”

Dan glanced around, still trying to air out his shirt. “Well, the kid’s gone and so are your drinks. Let me replace those while I recover before heading home.”

The two women looked at one another, regarding each other as much as him. “Well, we hardly got a chance to taste ours, so ... why not.”

“I’m game,” the other offered, as they headed inside. Once indoors, the taller one turned to him.

“Time to disrobe,” she grinned.

“Pardon me?” he chuckled uneasily.

“If you wear that, the coffee stain will set. We’ll give it a quick cold-water rinse in the washroom sink.”

“That seems fine but let me order first so I’ll have something to occupy me while I’m out here shivering in the air conditioning.”

“That sounds reasonable, and we’ll be back before you can catch pneumonia,” she promised.

“What should I request?” he inquired.

“A straight black for me,” the pilot requested.

“And a light tan for me,” said the other. “That’s—”

“Half and half with a teaspoon of sugar,” he replied. “I’ll order both and then you can strip me while they’re fixing them.”

The women tittered at the stares the comment generated among the other patrons.

“What will we do with the t-shirt, though?” the first woman said, considering the Hispanic woman nearly Dan’s age.

“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of undershirts. If it stains, I’ll have another polishing rag.” He paused. “So, I’m Dan Engals, who might you two beauties be?”

“I’m Alison Ford,” the helicopter pilot answered. She was a light-skinned black, whose skin glistened and reflecting subtle tones as the light reflected off it. She wore a tight short afro, black jeans, a white top and a colorful silk scarf featuring comic images of a variety of African women’s faces.

“I sense you’re the flighty one.”

“Excuse me,” the other woman said, raising her voice, but Alison waved her hand, grinning. “Seems you have me pegged. I’m a MEDEVAC pilot, working out of the North Street hospital a couple miles down.”

“Retired military, I assume?”

“Very good. I was in the Army, evacuating wounded to Bagram airbase in Afghanistan for airlift to the Landstuhl military facility in Germany.”

“Commendable, I’m impressed.” Dan turned to the slightly older woman. “And you?”

“I’m Laura Wells, though my resume is by no means as distinguished as Alison’s. I’m a waitress at one of the nicer restaurants in town, La Tribune.” She was a little heavier Hispanic with long, curling black hair and brown eyes, dressed in a long orange summer dress which partially covered an owl and rose tattoo on her right arm.

Their skin tones were nearly identical, though Laura’s didn’t have the same glistening sheen, though it was probably due to their skin-care regimes. Instead, her’s had an even hue. It also seemed Alison worked outdoors more frequently and was obviously well conditioned. However, Laura had fuller lips and a bigger backside, contrary to the typical stereotypes.

“I’ve heard of it, and it’s supposedly difficult getting reservations. I’ve been wanting to go for some time. It’s by the old Times Publishing building, isn’t it?”

“Well, if either of you is interested, I know someone who can get you a reservation if you’re nice to them. And yes, it is, which is handy because I live fairly close and walk to work.” A momentary glance revealed neither woman wore a wedding ring, although Laura’s ring finger bore the pale skin of the recently divorced.

“I’m interested in how your husband allowed such a stunning creature as you go.” He paused. “Leon, wasn’t it?”

Alison giggled as Laura considered him. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Yes, he was my husband. Do you know him?”

Dan shrugged. “No, a little birdie mentioned it while tweeting the other morning. You know what those bluebirds are like, always gossiping about everyone in the neighborhood.”

He advanced to the front of the line and ordered their drinks. “A tall, sweet tan, a straight tall black and a plain cap. Oh, and could you hold it until the girls return, otherwise they’ll be cold.”

“Yeah,” the barista said, nodding agreeably, “I can do that, depending on how busy it gets, of course.” Once Dan paid for the beverages and left a generous tip, they stepped aside to wait.

“Seems you’re a regular,” Laura observed.

“I need an occasional shot of caffeine to keep me going, I’m sometimes a tad tedious when tired.”

“Okay, handsome, strip down and show us some skin.”

“Only ‘cause you ask so nicely,” he said, grinning. Once he did, they took his shirt and headed for the restroom. Selecting a table, he settled in, awaiting their return.

Lauren went straight for the sink when they entered, while Alison held back, checking whether anyone was in the stalls.

“A bit cautious? Have trouble with someone before?”

“No, but I’ve been in difficult situations before and know how to evaluate the room, but mostly, I wanted to ensure we’re free to talk.”

“Great, I’m eager to say something. He seems like a weird one. He’s nervous, constantly watching you one second and then staring at nothing the next.”

“Trust me, you’re safe. As I said, I’ve learned to quickly assess people. We’ll need to handle him gingerly. Did you notice his eyes? He’s got the classic thousand-yard stare, as if seeing something somewhere else. It indicates he’s been through something life altering, which changed him completely.

“Those people are not only more contemplative than most and tend to keep to themselves, preferring their solitude and ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. But he also shows symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, so he’ll likely become defensive. He’s got bags under his eyes, demonstrating he doesn’t sleep well, and he was studying us the whole time we spoke, gauging how we’d respond. If we said the wrong thing, or simply stiffened, he’d probably disappear in a heartbeat.”