Twisted Time

2 - Ric

A strange place, 23:21

Dan lifts her right hand to protect her eyes from the blinding whiteness. With her left, she pats the hard surface she lies on. This is definitely not the driver's seat of her car. It is not a pavement either. No, the flat stuff is beyond doubt an uncomfortable, cold, synthetic floor.

She sits up, still covering her eyes, and tries to stabilise herself against a piece of furniture. Even small movements send burning flashes of pain through her muscles, and she feels like in the morning after an overdue, guilt-driven visit to the gym. A groan escapes her throat.

"Finally. I thought you wouldn't plop through this time." The voice of the stranger is dark and soft.

Dan turns in his direction and blinks to adjust to the brightness. Somehow, she ended in a well-lit room—one she can't remember seeing before. The basic furnishing reminds her of her own lab. Some of the sleek electronic equipment might better fit a control centre or server room, though. A dark-clad, dark-skinned man stands at a console, his back towards her.

Beneath his elbow, she catches a glimpse of blinking LEDs and a glowing screen. He must be the speaker: except for him, the room is empty. Dan's muddled brain decides that therefore, his last words were addressed at her. So must be his next ones, although he neither turns nor glances in her direction. "What kept you? Does the blasted TA play up again?"

Not understanding a word, Dan bites back an answer. Instead, she tries to stand up, accompanied by another suppressed groan. The stranger looks around, a mocking smirk plastered on his handsome face. It fades into an expression of utter mistrust, lips pressed tight and the brows over the soft brown eyes knitted in a frown.

"Wait, who are you? Where's Sandrine? I thought they called her in for tonight's special shift?" A few long strides bring him in front of Dan, and he grabs her upper arm.  "What's up at the office?"

The rough treatment hurts, but dizziness surges through her body in waves, and instinct drives her to hold onto the stranger's shoulder. The unexpected gesture seems to calm his anger somewhat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to shout." The new softness in his voice suggests genuine concern. "Have we met? I'm Ric, by the way."

"Hi. I'm pretty sure we haven't..." Dan still struggles for balance. "Sorry, I'm about to puke."

Ric steps back and holds her at arm's length, raised brows twitching. Dan tries to scratch her wits together, painfully aware her words weren't the best introduction. Still, she doesn't feel up to trying advanced diplomacy. "Ugh. My name is Dan. Where the bloody effing hell are we?"

She wonders if her uncoordinated babbling conveys any sense. Ric checks her out from head to toe, without giving away his thoughts. After a few moments of scrutinising agony, he shrugs.

"Honestly, I think we met before, but I can't remember where. Blame the triple-cursed lateral shift-effect. The disorientation spoils the whole experience." He leads her to a counter to lean against but keeps his hand on her elbow. "You'll feel better soon. I wish the labbies would invest some of their precious time to find a cure for this nerve-wracking symptoms." He pauses and steps back, his hand still hovering near her arm to catch her should she fall. A smile tugs at his lips. "And while they're at something useful, they might reconsider this awful retro-look costumes. I'm sure the guys get high on the opportunity to dress up a hot chick as a Mary Sue in a trashy twentieth-century movie."

Dan checks her outfit, baffled. She deliberately chose a conservative two-piece in an unobtrusive dove grey. Her blouse is light blue, the stockings and her neat flats are meant to complete the picture of a competent, no-nonsense businesswoman. Somewhat higher heels would have been fashionable. But last year, flat was the smart style to go. She intended to leave the impression of a solid, down-to-earth researcher. Can't do that with heels, right?

Dan prides herself of not relying on her female assets to catch the interest of marketing directors and potential investors. Still, while she loves old movies, she never followed the trend of dressing in outdated sixties or eighties chic. How dares this caveman make fun of my professional outfit?

Ric seems to perceive her growing anger. "Just forget it, girl, I was fooling around. Better move, we want to finish this job before breakfast." He turns back to his console, leaving Dan to fend for her equilibrium on her own. At least her raising temper caused her nausea to subside.

Over Ric's shoulder, Dan observes his agile fingers flit over a high-tech touchscreen. Always curious, she searches for an explanation where she is and why she woke in this fancy lab of all places. She doesn't understand what her new acquaintance is up to, but he seems to know what he's doing. Suddenly, he lifts his head to give her a snake stare.

"Hey, you can't be as inexperienced as this. Check for notes or other records, anything conspicuous. At this point in the stream, people still noted important stuff on paper or used printers to make hard copies. Over there, search the cabinets and drawers."

Put in front of the decision to comply or raise his suspicion, Dan decides to play it safe and sifts through the contents of a desk drawer. Without registering what her fingers do, her brain works overtime. Where is she? Who is this Ric and, more important, who does he believe her to be? And what in the mighty universe are they searching for?

A tiny electronic beep interrupts the string of useless questions and circling thoughts tumbling through her head. Ric glances up while he hits some keys. The screen in front of him fades to black. He wrestles a small grey box out of his dark jeans' back pocket.

"Crap, someone is coming. Quick, in here!" His hand closes in an iron grip around Dan's arm to pull her into a small cold-storage in the corner of the lab. After closing the door behind them, he shuts the bolt from the inside.

Dan stares at the bolt, not sure why it disturbs her. Only after a few moments of sifting through memories, she is convinced she never saw a bolt in a cold-storage before. Who would want to enclose themselves in such a place? She already shivers in the dry cold, glad Ric lays a strong arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. Desperate for the warmth of her accidental partner, she presses her body against his. The temperature in here must be way below zero, low enough for deep freezing.

Ric shifts his stance and points his small grey box against the silvery insulation covering the door. A red light illuminates his features, painting stark contrasts of angular planes and shadows. "Quiet now, let's hear what our visitors have to say."

The red light flickers. Dan blinks desperately as darkness engulfs her and dissolves a moment later into another bright flash.