Magic Children

Chapter 22 Ural Mountains, Russia - Angel

I don't speak Russian. In retrospect it would have been decent to ask F&F to tell me some general phrases. But we didn't do that. I was impatient and just warped my merry way into the Russian base.

And in the end knowing Russian didn't matter, because blood curdling screams are universal.

I walk down the scorched hallways, slowly, ensuring all are dead. Flames still smolder on my skin as I stalk through, setting fire afresh to any who survived the initial razing. The floor and walls are still hot, honestly a welcome change from the world outside.

Once I'm satisfied that none lived, I navigate the maze of scorched out rooms, searching for a decent change of clothes. Don't these people wear anything but uniforms?

Eventually I find a nice black sweater, pants that fit me, and decent shoes. They are actually close enough to my size not to matter with the thick socks. I then take a relaxing shower, and shave, something I sorely needed. I slick my hair back with cream and use some oil on my face. Much more alive. I don't think I've shaved or showered without an audience since I was four. It's remarkably calming. I ought to have removed the remains of the last occupant of the room, because I step in the blackened flesh three or four times before I get shoes on.

The entire place now stinks of rotting flesh. I set corpses a fire again, hoping to get rid of it, while I go to the kitchens. I want my first real meal to be decent food. According to a television program I saw, Russians eat caviar and that sounded very fancy to me when I was fifteen.

I find a big, industrial kitchen. The refrigerator door is melted shut and while I realize that's my fault it still annoys me. I wrench it open. Nothing identifiable as what I think caviar is (rich person jam?) although I do find bread, cheese, and soup. Not exactly gourmet, but better than what my British friends were offering me.

I warm myself up some soup and sit down to eat that and relax a bit. There's a radio which I flick on and tune to an appropriate station. That is, one in English. It takes a moment of scanning but I do pick up a channel, however faint. Alaska? Of course Russia is rather close isn't it? That's part of the US, if I could warp there, then just board a plane back to---Colorado I suppose? I have no idea if Aurora is still there, but it's a start.

Isn't it? It's not as though she'll be in Lyons which I'm pretty sure doesn't exist anymore. What do I search? Housing records?

Then there's the nightmare. Not nightmare. Vision. It haunts me daily. That I find her. That I find a house. And I see her there with a child, and a man. A new man who holds her in his arms every night. And I watch through the window and she's laughing and playing with her child and having a good life. And she doesn't want to see me.

But I push that aside. While she may have moved on, it's been nearly fifteen years, yes she may very well be married now, it's only fair to go and see her. Say goodbye properly. I'll knock on the door. I'll tell her I don't expect anything. I just wanted to say goodbye properly and thank her for the nights we had and tell her how I've missed seeing her and having her as my only friend and family. She was my family when I had no other and the memory of her love is all that I have had to remind me the world is not truly bad. So with her blessing I want to keep that memory and at least know that she's happy in her life. And then I will be gone again.

It's not what I want. I want her to run into my arms and I want to kiss her and carry her away with me like we're sixteen and it's just started to rain and we're running for the shelter of the rocks by that clear clear river.

But I'm well aware that won't be. She might not even recognize me. I have to be ready for that. But it was a beautiful four years. We owe ourselves and one another at least the chance to talk. I do want to know she's well. And I want her to know I didn't actually leave her intentionally.