A Desperate Cure

A returning reader REVIEWS:

MOONSTAR

Oh wow, that's definitely a great improvement! A whole bunch of stuff that I didn't really quite get the first time, or had to re-read...now makes sense. This version flows more with less words and more information (that might not quite make sense...but that's the basic idea I think...^^;). For example, some things that I didn't know before, but appreciate knowing now:

Delia didn't actually leave Harold that night. (When you first sent it to me...I thought they spent 15 days and never saw each other again. This way seems a bit more understandable...^^;).

She adopted more than one kid. I thought before that she only adopted Martin...but now you show she adopted quite a few...is Martin one of those you mentioned? Or does she get him later? Or did you change that part of the story? (New info brings new questions...xD ^^)

And finally at least a bit more about what happened to Harold. Last time I didn't even know he disappeared...I thought she just left him...but know I know that he died in the fire...(or mysteriously 'never came back'...either way...no one asks many questions right? *grin* xD ^^;).

Anyway, so yeah. Lot's of improvement...tell the people to review! Review, gosh darnit! xP ^_^;

-Moonstar

well i’m certainly glad i could clear some things up for you, moonstar. thanks for coming back. (not that i thought for one minute that you wouldn’t.) ladies and gentlereaders, meet my intrepid beta-tester and big little brother, moonstar. now go read his stuff. he rocks. yeah, i know, shameless plug… but i’m just so very appreciative right now…

i’m really glad that you found it an improvement. i did work hard on slashing down some of the long detailed sections… glad you found it an easier read. thanks again!

>>>>>

III.

‘3:30 in the morning,’ Alina whined in her thoughts. But the worry that someone she cared about might be in danger or need overrode her irritation. She answered the caller directly, her voice clear though her eyes were still bleary. “Yes?”

“This is Dr. Caldwell’s service. You are required immediately. I am to inform you that a car will be at your residence within the hour. Please be prepared for several days in uncertain circumstances. Dr. Caldwell asks me to inform you that no one is dead, but that the situation is urgent, and that she regrets that your training is necessary, but as it is…” The monotone voice nattered on for another thirty seconds or so, but Alina’s attention was no longer on the poor soul stuck reading Dr. Caldwell’s note into the phone at a quarter to four in the morning. She was mentally preparing a list of everything she would need. Dr. Caldwell was excellent at what she did, but she had never gotten over the motherly tendency to repeat and worry and explain even nothing in great detail.

“I got it. Is there anything truly important between that and the end of the note?”

The bored voice gratefully stopped, and the sound of papers being shuffled filtered through the speaker of the phone. “No, ma’am, it goes on like that for several more sentences. One thing, though: ‘You should bring your laptop.’ It specifically says that.”

“Thank you very much. “

“Good night, ma’am. Please state for the record that the message has been received?”

“Message received, Alina Trudeau...” She looked up at the clock, much more alert now. “…Oh-three forty-two:”

“Thank you ma’am.”

“Good night.” Alina placed the phone back on the charger, burrowed deeper into the covers for just a moment, collecting her thoughts. She should have known she wouldn’t get a good night’s rest. Even had there not been this interruption, she never slept well the night before she went on duty. Sighing, she flipped back the covers for the second time that night, and slipped the mauve chemise over her head. She knelt by the side of the bed, tugging a navy duffel bag out from under the bed. Not like it was anything new; the calls had started coming at ungodly hours just as soon as she had been certified. She had wanted to do something with her life that mattered, and here she was. There was no telling when she’d be needed, and her indentured servitude to the government was worth every life she’d helped to save. That said, it was work, and work had a tendency to suck the life out of you through your pores.

She plopped the sack on top of the bed, pulling its zippers open and shoving the mouth wide. Padding naked to the far wall, she flung her closet door wide open. She pulled a plastic storage box off a low shelf, flipped up the lid, and yanked three uniform shirts free, shaking them out and checking them for loose threads or stains. Tossing them over her shoulder, she grabbed the shoebox that held her sneakers and dug spare underwear, socks, and a couple of tank tops out of their respective drawers.

The bedroom’s bare floors were dominated by the large scrollwork bed, though the general impression of grandeur was more a product of negative space. Carefully chosen area rugs left great expanses of wooden floor. The room retained a warm grey air even in total dark, the white sheers filtering moonlight to flicker through dust motes two feet off the floor. Alina took a deep breath, then dumped her clothes into the sack with a sigh. So much for beauty sleep.

She went to the bathroom, turned on the water in the shower, and stepped in, letting the warm water sluice over her body in a comforting rain. Realizing this might be as clean as she could anticipate being in the next four days, she washed her hair and shaved. She was out of the shower in six minutes.

She bent to the bottom shelf of the bathroom cabinet, removing a small plastic basket of travel-size toiletries, and dumped them into a plastic bag, zipping it shut and aiming it in the general direction of the duffel bag, hoping it would land on the bed. She surprised herself; the bag landed on the flap of the duffel. Maybe she’d even be able to hit the basketball court with Max when she got back. Smiling, she crossed the room, leaving a trail of puddles on the floor in her wake. The cold air in the room raised gooseflesh on her still-wet skin and made her dripping hair lie cold against her back. With a shiver, she moved to the wall to turn on the light, squinting against the offensive brightness.

A frayed cuff on a pair of the requisite uniform pants gave her pause and she debated leaving them behind, but decided no one but her would notice it anyway. No one, but Martin. She pulled out a second pair to pack, selected a lacy bra and micro fiber undershorts, adding tall socks and her uniform belt to the growing stack in her arms. She grabbed her boots in the other hand and walked back to the bed, dropping the boots at the foot of the bed, and curling up wet on top of the quilt. She looked over at the clock. 4: 02. She was losing time.

She quickly slapped moisturizer on her damp skin, foregoing her usual ritual in favor of efficiency. She slid the cream-colored shorts up her legs, thankful for their boyish cut, but felt a pang of regret at the bra. Changing in front of the boys later was sure to bring comments, but she would be glad for the quick drying time of the lace when morning came and she wasn’t pulling on cold, wet undergarments. She flipped her hair forward over the edge of the bed, reached blindly for the comb, and heard the metallic clink against the old coffee mug as she clenched her muscles to keep from falling off the bed. She combed some of the moisture out of her hair, ignoring the water dripping into the carpet, then flipped her head back up, letting her damp hair fan out over her back to dry. She patted the water out of the comb against the soft cotton blanket and tucked it into the side of the duffel. Rolling to the other side, she landed on her feet in front of the desk. She unplugged phone, laptop, scanner, and external hardware, collecting up the chargers and rolling the cords. The accessories went into the bag, followed by the laptop in its protective sleeve. She pulled her shoulder holster out of her desk drawer along with fresh clips, and retrieved several fresh battery packs for her taser.

She pulled on pants and socks quickly, stubbed her toe on the wrought-iron bedframe. She plopped down on the floor, reached for her boots, and had one foot half-way down the leather shaft when she felt the cold, wet spot seeping through her pants. She bit the expletive off in her mouth, shifting sideways off of the carpet. She made a mental note to comb her wet hair in the bathroom, simultaneously laughing at herself. She’d do it off the side of the bed next time, too. She always did.

Alina clomped down the hallway in black boots, uniform pants, and grey lace bra, her pale skin taking on a bluish tint as she passed her roommate’s doorway, illuminated by the glow of his screen. She peeked in, her hair slipping over her shoulder in damp strings. He lay sprawled across his bed, his mahogany skin reflecting the monitor’s light in odd patterns across his back and legs. She went to him, the sound of her boots’ tread muffled against the plush pile of his carpet. She tugged the corner of the blanket from beneath him, pulled it up and over him, slid a pillow under his head. She crossed to the media center, deactivated the screen, and slipped back out of the room.

The clock on the microven was steadily glowing 4:14, and Alina wrenched the refrigerator door open, yanking out a six-pack of energy drinks and a bar of cheese. She hit the pantry for a couple of Ziploc bags and a ream of crackers, and jogged back to the bedroom. She dumped that load into the duffel bag, ran back to the closet for a sleeveless tank top, tugged it over her head, and grabbed a uniform shirt. She wrenched her arms into the sleeves of the shirt as she moved to the desk, clipped her phone and scanner to her belt. She slid another fresh battery pack into the cargo pocket of her pants along with a clip for the gun, and buttoned the shirt, not bothering to tuck it into her pants. Suddenly remembering her toothbrush, she ran back to the bathroom, and then wrenched a uniform jacket from the closet. The jacket took up all the remaining room in the duffel, and she squeezed it closed. She tugged the security strap around the duffel, keeping it safe from the occasional rebel zipper, and grabbed a pen, a ponytail holder, and her dog tags off the bedside table. She took the duffel in hand and tugged the dog tags over her head as she jogged down the stairs. At the bottom, she laid the duffel next to the front door, and toggled the voice lock. First, she left a message for her roommate. “Max, I’m working for Caldwell. You know the deal, could be tomorrow, could be next week. Make sure you call your sister, her birthday is Wednesday. I bought you a present for her; it’s under your bed. Yes, I wrapped it. And there’s a fresh bag of Cheet-O’s in the pantry, just don’t eat ‘em all in one night this time, ok? Love you, hon. “

She pressed the button again. “Exit, Alina Trudeau. Reentry time unknown.” The next time the front door closed, it would open only to the correct sequence in her live voice, with the sole exception of Max’s wanderings, which were few and far between. The government spared no expense when it had to hide slush fund money in a time of global crisis. She took a long warm coat off the hook by the door, and the shelf above yielded a pocketknife and gloves, which found their way into her coat pockets. She shoved her keycard into a slot in her boot. A week-long case of laryngitis acquired on a rainy day last May had convinced her that technology was fallible. She never wanted to get locked out of her own home by her own recorded voice again. She was just reconsidering the excessive warmth of her coat when the alert beeped on her phone. She pressed her palm to the doorplate and the magnetic bolt lifted; the door itself was steel, paneled in wood to discourage neighborly curiosity. It swung on noiseless hinges, and she closed it behind herself equally noiselessly, waiting for the heavy thunk of the bolt falling into place again. She jogged down the short front stair, duffel in hand, and sat unceremoniously on the third step to wait.

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Martin extended one long leg in the comfort of the backseat of the government-issue SUV, cradling his second tea of the day. He flicked his ankle, flipping the errant cuff of his elegant charcoal wool trouser. A muffled whine sounded behind his right ear, and he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with his proximity to such a wild animal, no matter how many times Alina assured him that the wolf was gentle. Not for the first time this morning, he wondered why Alina couldn’t have been collected first. Let her sit in a confined space with the beast if she thought it was so tame!

As the truck turned the corner onto Kingston Street, Martin felt a funny little leap in his chest. He didn’t question it any longer, just accepted that he loved her. His eyes began to sparkle, imagining her reaction. She was always so sweet in the morning. A passing visual of Alina and the wolf barking simultaneously and merging into one body made him smirk, and he pulled a tall Styrofoam cup from a waxed paper bag on the floor and fitted it into the cup holder on her side of the divider between their seats.

The truck pulled up smoothly in front of Alina’s front door, the anonymous tinted windows making the bulky machine seem to drive itself. Alina looked rangy and comfortable, as usual. Martin shook his head as she pulled her ungainly limbs under her and hefted the duffel. It was twice the size of his, and he smiled at her inane feminine need to bring absolutely everything with her everywhere. The backdoor lock of the truck clicked loudly behind him, and the wolf growled low in his chest. Martin shuddered involuntarily, felt the heat of dog-breath on the back of his neck, and turned half-way round in his seat, his eyes expectant and smiling. He waited for the back door to open, and seeing one end of the duffel bag aimed toward the open space, he gave a hearty, :”Good morning, sunshine!” In answer, Alina slammed the door shut.

(A/N: next update scheduled for monday 16jan2006)