Forgotten_Futures
Well-Known Member
Ex-Cess -
by Forgotten_Futures
by Forgotten_Futures
[Author's notes: Started working on this back in the middle of 2010, based entirely on a dream I had - which makes it on the fairly-fantastical side - which I have no idea what was the source material for. Its goal morphed several times and I have no interest in going back through to unify it, but none of the plot segues break the thing and so it shall stand as it is. The title is my usual word-play, and refers to the original direction the story was to take (and still mostly does, though the exact path changed). The POV is first person limited omniscience - Michael is "I", but the reader is still aware of Rachel's behaviors -and her thoughts - which Michael is not, where it benefits the story. The character of Michael is basically me, though less inherently paranoid. Rachel is an amalgamation of people I know and knew, and, to an extent, me.
I kind of thought I'd posted this already; I'm a little surprised that I didn't. It's 39 pages Size 12 Arial. I guess... enjoy?
Oh, yes, there's a few lines of profanity near the end. Sorry?]
“I'm very glad to have this opportunity. I assure you I will make the best of it, try to breathe some life back into this community.” I extended my hand and the businesswoman standing a foot or so away took it, giving a surprisingly firm shake.
“And I'm glad to have someone occupying the space again - though I'd be remiss if I didn't point out all the others who have tried and failed.” The woman in question just happened to be landlord of the moderately large building I'd just wrapped up plans to rent. It was time for a new venture, and this time around my choice was to open a retail store in a less-fortunate area not far from where I lived.
I took a moment to appraise the woman once more; medium height, fair skin, blond. Smart-but-inexpensive suit. She possessed the air of someone who visited the gym regularly, but was not altogether fit and trim. Her manner was pleasant, charming, but not what I looked for in a woman. She appeared to sense this, and kept conversation strictly business.
“I'll have crews in here tomorrow, if that's okay?”
“Just as long as I see the rental fee in my bank account within seven days. Normally I wouldn't give that long, but your reputation gives reason to trust you further.”
We began to walk towards the doors at the corner of the building. “I thank you for the compliment. Believe me when I say, you will not regret this decision.”
We exited in tandem, taking turns holding open the twin entryway doors for each other, and split off to our cars. Despite my wealth, I drove an economy-class sports coupe; the landlord's car was clearly worth more, and stood out in the relatively run-down neighborhood. I unlocked the door, sat down, and started the car before I noticed her.
Stretched out on the back seat, bundled up in blankets to ward off the day's cold, I wouldn't have noticed her if I hadn't been looking. She was entirely unassuming in appearance - peaceful, despite looking very dirty and malnourished. It took me a moment to realize she was asleep, and probably wasn't aware of my presence.
My first thought was as to how she'd gotten there. The car looked fairly low-class on the outside and inside, but the electronics were quite sophisticated. The fob hanging off the key-ring contained a passive RFID chip. If the car had last been unlocked without the fob and the fob left an approximately 2-meter radius around the car's outer edge, all the doors locked. The system also had code-locks as a backup, in case the fob's battery died, or for some reason an authorized user needed to get in without the fob on their person.
Too, they should not have been able to be picked. While one could access the car proper from the trunk, the rear hatch behaved like a third door, and did not even possess an external lock. There was no conceivable way she could have gotten inside.
While I was pondering her existence in the back seat of my vehicle, the landlord pulled her car out of the lot and drove off. I should leave, too. But that would be kidnapping, wouldn't it? No one would believe a derelict had fallen asleep in my car. I could hardly believe it myself. Cautiously, as though afraid she were actually a bomb that would blow up at the slightest provocation, I reached out and touched her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open almost immediately. My guess was that she'd trained herself to ignore the noise of the 'burbs, but react instantly to human contact. Instantly she shied back from my touch, her eyes wide with fear and worry. She had miscalculated, falling asleep in the back of a car where both the doors were up front; she was cornered, at my mercy, and quite possibly doomed. Yet she did not scream, did not panic. It seemed she was waiting for me to make my move.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to let you know, I'm leaving now. You're welcome to stay put if you'd like, but if you'd rather stay here you'll need to get out.” I kept my tone on the kind side of neutral. I had no reason to harm her, and hoped she felt the same way. I was as aware of my predicament as she was - if harm was her goal, I would not likely make it out of the car before she did as she intended.
She swallowed once, looked about as though expecting a trap, then her lips parted. Her voice was dry, scratchy - she was probably thirsty, and not in the best health. “You... don't mind?”
“Well, asking first would have been nice, but I'm hardly going to turn away someone who needs help, even if it's just shelter from a particularly cold Spring day.” I paused for a moment, putting my thoughts in order. “Are you aware who I am?”
She shook her head; I sensed no deception. “Doesn't really matter, I suppose. Anyway,” I turned back around to face forwards, “you're welcome to come to my place and stay the night if you want. Otherwise, there's the door. I'm not stopping you.”
“...Do you mind if I sleep for the ride?”
“Not at all. I'll try not to make any hard stops.” Grinning as I said this, I pulled out of the lot and started off to my house.
I say 'house' somewhat loosely. It's on the scale of a very small mansion, and a very custom build. Built into a mound of rock, it has only one floor visible from the front or sides, which gives it the appearance of a simple one-story home atop a hill. The driveway is carved between two steep slopes, preventing view of the back yard from the road. A 2-car garage and workshop area open onto an expanse of blacktop at the end of the driveway, while a large, partly greenhouse'd garden extends back from the blacktop square. A gentle, paved slope works its way up from the blacktop, along the side of the house, up to where the above-ground bit can be accessed through the front door. A third story is sandwiched between the two. Scads of outdoor LED lighting is both obvious and cleverly concealed. All the windows are polycarbonate, and the siding is anodized aluminum.
Pulling up to the back of the house, I shut off the car and turned to my unplanned passenger. “We're here.”
Edging up into a seated position, she looked at the 3-story rear wall of my home, the third floor mostly obscured by a large deck supported on columns.
“Well, come on, no sense staying out here.” I suited action to words by sliding the driver's seat forwards, permitting her room to exit.
Looking somewhat intimidated, she crawled out from the back and out the driver's side door after me, pulling her blanket with her. I got my first relatively good look at her now.
She was a mess, and I finally realized the smell that had been in the air was also coming from her. Her hair was clumped and greasy, such that I couldn't be sure of the color. Her skin was dirty, she was emaciated, and appeared pale for someone who probably spent more time outside than most in the civilized world. Her facial expression was drawn out, weak, vulnerable, but her eyes were hard and fierce.
It also became obvious that she had, indeed, been stretched out on the seat. She was short, definitely below five feet tall, but not disproportioned or anything. She looked kind of like a taller-than-average halfling. Compared to my towering 6' 4” frame, she must have felt tiny. She didn't seem to have any extra nervousness about it, however.
“Let's get you inside and cleaned up. I doubt I have anything in your size, but I can at least get your clothes washed while you shower. We'll get you something to eat and then settled for the night if you'd like.”
She regarded me calmly, surprisingly okay with the situation, despite how blatantly odd it was. I wondered if she even cared enough that I might have nefarious purposes in mind, that rape would be worth a shower and a good meal, and death might be preferable to all three. “Why are you doing this?”
“I'm not really sure, to be honest. I just... feel like doing things, sometimes.”
She tilted her head, much like a puppy dog, then shrugged. “If you say so.”
I wondered, for a moment, if something was up, but dismissed it. “Come on, this way.” Unlocking the door, I led her in from the ground floor. She followed me up a flight of stairs, where I led her into a room off the hallway. “This' the bathroom. Toss your stuff out in the hall and I'll pick it up in a few minutes. Soap and shampoo are readily available in the cabinets around the edge of the room. I've got a good selection, just use what you prefer most.” I turned to leave and had almost made it out when something soft whacked me in the back of the head. It took me a second to realize the implications, which was almost too long to prevent me from turning around.
“You're curious. Most people would probably have raped me by now, or at least groped me. But you're concerned for my modesty.” She chuckled, softly, “Don't worry about the clothes. I don't mind going naked for a bit... if you don't mind me doing so.”
I resisted the urge to turn around and look. “What purpose would it serve to have not taken advantage of you so far, just to turn around and see you nude now?”
“Does it really matter? I don't care. You're already being nicer to me than anyone's been in years. I can't really repay you any other way.”
I felt my face heat. “How dare you suggest I-” my protest cut off as I realized what she'd just done. Having goaded me into turning around by playing my own interests against me, I was now looking upon her naked form. She simply stood there; no sexy pose, no flirtatious expression, nothing more than a young woman, in my bathroom, mere feet away, and who just happened to be wearing nothing at all. I sighed. “Promise you'll keep the neutral aura?”
“You've got it, sir.” She grinned, turned, and stepped into the shower.
Her nonchalance finally getting to me, I had to admit, she had a nice figure. Granted, she was skinny to the point of having zero sex appeal, but I could see she had wide hips, and looked to possess a form I'd find most alluring with some meat on it. Scooping up her stuff as rivulets of hot water began rinsing off the grime, I about-faced and strode out of the bathroom. Refusing to simply let her walk about nude without any other choice, I headed for the laundry room.
It was about an hour later, as we sat down to dinner, that I found myself eating my thoughts. Eschewing the clean (but still bedraggled) clothing, I found my guest, whose name I still had not asked, seated opposite me nude as a jay bird. I'd made pasta, which she opted to complement with butter and fresh Parmesan, where I had ground beef in well-flavored tomato sauce.
Her attitude surprised me. And, far from being unnerved, I was actually comfortable. Perhaps it was the latent trust, reinforced by the fact she felt safe enough to be naked in front of me. Perhaps it was simply that she looked so defenseless, but lacked that fragile innocence that is at once intriguing and disturbing. Or maybe it was that spark I'd first felt, when I saw her in the back of my car, that told me she was something more.
She finished her small bowl of pasta and leaned back in the dining chair. “Full?”
“Understatement. Been a while since I've eaten food this good.”
“It's nothing special, you don't have to-”
“No, really. I don't blame you for not knowing. You've got this nice house and everything, I can't expect you to know what being homeless is like. It's been a while since I've had anything you could call 'food', rather than mere sustenance.”
I let that one digest, then radically changed the subject. “You've got a pretty good vocabulary, you know, considering..”
She nodded, deferring the point. “I know. Thank you for not putting surprise in your tone; I was well educated, I just... fell on hard times. And slipped through the cracks of my family's hands. Assuming they even know who I am, anymore...”
“I.. I'm sorry. But that's actually a good point. Who are you?”
“Rachel Winsmeyer. Rach for 'short'.” She chuckled at her own self-targeting joke. “And you would be?”
“Michael Irlken. Mike, for, 'short'.” I threw in air quotes to emphasize the joke.
“Hey, what makes you think you can make jokes at the expense of my height?”
“You just did.”
She shrugged, “touchè.”
There was silence for a moment as I struggled to find something else to say. “Uhh, so, is there anything else you'd like?”
“If you mean food, then the list is too long to name, but realistically I can't eat any more right now.”
“Anything else? It's a little early for sleeping.”
“Show me your garden?”
“You'll have to put your clothes on.”
She looked at the clothes, draped over the back of a chair. “...never mind then.”
“What exactly is your revulsion to clothing? Or is it just that clothing?”
“Just those. They feel wrong in here, in this... splendor. I mean, look at them. They're rags, they look like crap, don't feel much better. I'd rather be naked than wear those in here.”
“So... you'd wear other clothes in here... if they were nice and new?”
“I ...wait. You've been kind enough already, I really couldn't ask-”
“You didn't, I did. Would you?”
She looked at the floor between her knees, as though in shame, but she answered honestly. “If you must. I can't stop you.”
Suddenly aware I may have crossed a line, I started to stand up, in order to walk around to her. “My generosity is... revolting to you, isn't it?”
Her eyes teared up, her shoulders began shaking with sobs. “It hurts to admit... that I need it. I don't like charity. I want to - to work for it myself. To deserve it.”
I reached her chair, reached up to brush her cheek, “but you do deserve-”
“Don't touch me!” She screamed, pushing my arms away and backpedaling, falling out of the chair but continuing to move away until her back was against the wall. “I don't deserve anything! I'm crap, you hear me, worthless low-life crap!” She glared through a sudden wall of tears, daring me to contradict her. Every fiber of my being wanted to hold her, to comfort her even if it meant being torn to ribbons in the process. But I held back. How does one comfort someone who claims to hate it?
Pulling open a door to reveal a set of stairs leading to the top floor, I cocked my head, nodding their direction. “Well, get your filthy butt upstairs and into bed then. Or is a bed too good for crap like you?”
Her voice was ice. “Yes, sir.” But she complied, pulling herself up from the floor and marching up the stairs. She'd won, or so she thought. So what if I was being nice? She was still worthless, this didn't change it any. Even I thought she was filth under everything else.
I got the sense she was trying to protect herself from my kind intentions; appreciating it, but refusing to admit it... almost as if doing so would make it go away that much sooner.
I spent a few minutes putting the remains of dinner away. Rachel's bowl was nearly spotless, the only evidence it had held anything a thin film of butter lining the inside. I noticed my own bowl, bits and pieces still lingering, and felt guilty enough to finish them off. I was tempted to stick the dishes in the dishwasher, but in a moment of humility I washed them by hand. There was maybe an hour of light left in the evening, and I needed to check my garden, preferably without having to run the brighter outdoor lights too long.
The garden took care of itself, for the most part. I'd seen to that myself, jury rigging systems together and in some cases creating new objects in order to achieve the ends I wanted. It was a mostly natural system, with the more pest and disease susceptible plants inside climate-controlled greenhouses which shielded them from pest bugs, while a small fleet of natural pest predators kept a constant patrol for anything that managed to get in on the few instances unfiltered air was allowed to enter the controlled environments. The whole garden complex, such as it were, was possibly worth more than the house itself in terms of material.
Thus, my tasks were mostly pruning and harvesting, and right now strawberries were the crop to pick. I wondered if Rachel would like some fresh strawberries at breakfast, as I picked a few big, succulent fruits off the squat, winter-loving plants. I worked for the next hour, the heat sensors, aware of my presence due the large signature, turning the lights on and slowly up, as the optical sensors atop the greenhouse I was in at the moment registered the sunlight waning. Several times throughout the work session I felt like I was being watched, but never saw anything as I glanced back towards the house.
I collected and put away my tools and headed back to the house, a muted glow in the air all around, pressure sensors lighting the actual path before me. I took a quick shower and headed up to the top floor. Checking on Rachel in the guest room, I was comforted to see her head above the covers, hair still a bit of a mess but looking better than when she'd first arrived. Closing the door softly, I headed to my own bedroom, stripped, and crawled into bed.
