On The Count of Three

part 1

"Because she could not go near all these wonderful things, she longed for them all the more."

― Hans Christian Andersen,​ The Little Mermaid

A thousand sounds reverberated in the air. Twila Pepper didn't mind, though. 

She enjoyed the metallic clangs, the simmering cauldrons, and the constant buzzing fromthe surrounding inventions. To her, it was sweet music; a reminder of how life used to be before the plague took her parents.

The curtains were drawn, protecting her from the empty streets outside. From a hole in the panelling, a gentle breeze wafted through. Above her, the oil lamp swung lightly back and forth. As the shadows danced across the table, Twila hummed to herself and studied the open notebooks in front of her once more.

The pages were worn and tattered, her father's writing was barely discernible anymore. Faded drawings adorned the margins—her own addition to her father's legacy. Gently, she caressed the edges.

"I miss you, pa," she muttered.

Grabbing a wrench, she walked over to her latest invention; the communicator. It was made up of different items she'd found lying around in the abandoned town.

The central piece, a gramophone speaker, had been one of her parents' most treasured belongings. Twila shuddered as she imagined the disapproval in their eyes if they could see what she'd used it for.

It wasn't like I had any other choice, she thought. A lock of hair fell in front of her eyes, and she whisked it away with the back of her hand. Either way, there is no going back now. She squatted down next to the device, and began fastening a bolt nut.

The past months had produced nothing but failure upon failure. She was desperate to procure a way to keep things cold without digging a hole in the ground. A chiller box, she called it.

It was her ticket out of this wretched place. Everything would be fine if she just managed to create one great invention that could convince the professors that she was an invaluable asset to the university and to her country. But it was evident that she couldn't do it alone. She needed a bit of help from the wisest man she knew: her father.

Thomas Pepper had been a great man, and an even greater inventor. Twila had studied his notebooks for months before she began experimenting on her own. Alas, all her attempts had proved useless. If only she could get a little bit of guidance...

Looking up, Twila caught her own reflection in the cheval glass across from her. She rarely took note of her own appearance anymore. There was no point. The scar on her left cheek was a jarring white across her otherwise tanned skin. Much had changed since her parents had left this plane of existence. With a shake of her head, she focused on the task at hand: Her trans-dimensional spirit-communicator.

"Only one more step," she muttered. From the table, she grabbed a small vial containing a clear liquid. A single drop would ensure that her blood would be diluted enough to power the communicator.

Carefully, she arched her head back and opened her mouth. She tried to make it drop straight down her throat, but the bitter liquid still hit the back of her tongue. Cringing at the taste, she grabbed a needle and pricked her finger.

Twila only needed a few drops of blood to fill the small compartment before closing it shut. Once, this particular piece had been part of a gorgeous jewellery box. She'd been hesitant to wreck it, at first.

At least it serves a greater purpose now.

While staring at it, she stuck her finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. Then she stood up and flicked a switch on the machine. After a few seconds, she could hear the tiny gears start to move, and the device began to crackle.