DWD-RP- Like Joan of Arc

The door opened to illuminate the house with the light of the world outside only to be drowned in darkness again as it closed. Her keys tinkled against the counter as she tried not to listen to the saturated silence of the house. Everything was alright, she reminded herself. The monster was dead, her husband was alive, and her children (though currently missing) were in excellent hands. Her bottom lip started quivering and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking through her lashes. She wanted them back, her babies would be safe now... she wanted them back and then she’d shove the next time traveling device she saw right down its bearer’s throat.

A flash and a bang ripped her hearing away. Her eyes snapped open as her shaking hand moved to the patch of red soaking her blouse as her legs gave out on her. She couldn’t feel the pain, or the blood that was now on her fingers but she heard high heels approaching. She slumped against the counter helplessly sliding her hand to the small pendant like distress signal device she wore around her throat but her wrist was seized by a powerful grip.  

“Your husband took the life of the paragon I loved.” A woman’s voice laced with madness informed her darkly. “I’m here to return the favor. Mildred Quackman. You’re dead.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

When I heard… well, I cannot rightly describe how I felt. Sick I believe would be the best word. Pale, sick, and angry. I had not seen her in six months and thirty seven days, I won’t get into the exact time, as it annoys my wife. But needless to say, it was a shock. Amanda has not taken it well at all. Nothing can lessen the severity of this loss and I know that it will only be a matter of time before her blood is avenged with more blood… the air itself is rank with the stench of tears and the outcry for vengeance. I can hear it between their sobs, and when her tears have quelled I can hear the beat of deep seeded desire for dark retribution in my wife’s heart as I hold her.  This should have never happened.

And that is when I remind myself that somewhere, it hasn’t happened yet.

“Mr. Adams?”

I start and look up into a concerned pair of brown eyes, I hadn’t realized it was so close to the beginning of the school regime. Her name is Eliza Pinfeather and she is twelve years old. Bright. A teacher’s pet really, but intelligent so I excuse her eagerness to muscle past her peers for my approval. I offer her a smile and her bill responds with one of its own slightly.

“Yes Ms. Pinfeather?”

“Well… you just looked… upset about something. Are you okay?”

“I am fine thank you.” I push my spectacles up my beak slightly and return to the stack of papers on my desk diligently.

“Mr. Adams?”

“Yes?”

“I had a question about the lesson the other day…”

“And what might that be.”

“You… uh… well you knew the color of her eyes.”

Unable to resist, I give her an admonishing look but she will not relent. Such is the ways of young ladies and gentlemen alike. Her eyes are upon me with a glint of dissection but an amateurish one at best. She thinks she will unravel some mystery I keep neatly tucked in my breast pocket or some such idea, but I know she will not.

“Whose eyes Ms. Pinfeather?”

“Helen of Troy.” She responded with a flare of determination. “I did some research when I got home and even went to the library and there is no record of what color eyes she REALLY had.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes! And last week when you were telling us about how the temples in ancient Greece were so massive and what was etched on the walls MOST of those temples are destroyed and were just big piles of rocks when they were found! How do you know all this stuff?”

“How I know these facts is a rather an anti-climatic tale…” Ha, ha, I laugh in the silence of my own head. “…so humor me and tell me how you think I know all this seemingly impossible information.”

“You’re immortal aren’t you?” Her eyes sparkled. “You look just about the same in all the year book pictures but people say you’re almost sixty years old! I bet you were an ancient ruler who was cursed to be immortal and now you live through the eons watching the world change around you and falling in love once every genera-“ She stopped with a blush.

“…Immortal.” I repeated with a slow blink and her cheeks reddened further no doubt realizing how ridiculous her enthusiastic tirade was. “No I’m very sorry Ms. Pinfeather, I am far from immortal, though I do appreciate that my appearance would lead people to think otherwise.”

“Then are you a… demon like Malicia MaCawber, she doesn’t age either….”

“I am not a demon or a pixie nor am I a magical entity that descends upon the masses every thousand years to teach them about ancient civilizations in a secondary school.” I feel her resolve diminish and I feel wicked for smashing her fantasy.  Imagination has never been a strong point of mine… which is what makes what I say next humorous to anyone who knows me. “I’m sorry Ms. Pinfeather but I just embellished the facts. I made them up to make my lessons more interesting. I did not expect you to put such in-depth consideration into such things.”

“Oh… really?” She questions, clearly crestfallen.

“I’m afraid so. I can have no real logical way of knowing that Helen’s eyes were navy blue or that the Temple of Hermes was crowned with mother of pearl shells, but it certainly makes you think of such things as if you might be able to see them yourself. And reality is a … fickle thing Ms. Pinfeather. Just one word can change the course of thought or… time.  We are truly powerful creatures, drawing to mind mental images of what has been and what might have progressed differently had the Trojans not used a horse but… a rabbit instead.  If someone fated to die…” she’s looking at me intently now as I fight to keep the emotion out of my eyes. “…like Joan of Arc would have been saved from her fate. All this can open up new paths and will ultimately lead us to new methods and practices in the future. I feel that you and your classmates can better learn the lessons history has to tell if you can imagine yourself there. What you would do differently if given the chance.”

“Yes Mr. Adams.”

“Now, I’ll see you for class later Ms. Pinfeather, you’d better go now or you’ll be late for your first course.”

She leaves in a tizzy and I close the door behind her. The lock clicks and I’m at my desk again in an instant pulling open my bottom drawer and producing a complicated device I always have on hand.

I think about how foolish I was to allow the boy to go as I adjust the settings to channel into the correct frequency. He always struck me to be so like his father but he so desired to follow in his mother’s heritage. My eyes drift to an empty chair by the window. He would sit there and pay undivided attention to the antics of the villains throughout time and he absorbed it all.  The signal comes through the speaker in my hand strong and I hear the sounds of a time past… literally. But above all… I hear him humming to himself. I put the receiver to my mouth and close my eyes knowing again, how foolish what I’m doing is.

“Timothy?”

A surprised scrabbling blossoms through the speaker and I feel a small smile threaten to crack the stony expression on my face.

“Mishtur Adums?!” Says the youthful voice… through a mouthful of god knows what.

“Swallow please Timothy. How are you? Have you encountered my past self yet?”

“No. I haven’t seen him… I’m with mommy and daddy and Gramma and Grandpa right now. I found Junior too… and a girl named Kamie-“

“Timothy I need you to do a favor for me. It’s very important. Do you understand?”

“Yes! I understand! Is this like… a secret mission or something?”

“…yes. But I must stress the word secret, do not discuss it with anyone but the few names I give you… do you have a piece of paper handy?”

“I have a napkin is that okay?”

“Yes that’s fine. Timothy, I need you to find three people and give them a message for me. The first person I want you to find is me. He’ll try to take the Croons gear away from you but you mustn’t let him. Do you understand?”

“Find you. Got it.”

“My name isn’t Mr. Adams there either Timothy, it’s Sigma.”

“Why?”

“Because it is.” I said flatly and he offers no further questions. “Once you find Sigma you are to ask him to bring you to Amanda Waddleson. And I want you to tell her that…” My voice dies in my throat at the thought of what this news will do to her…

“….Mr. Adams? Are you still there?”

“Yes. I want you to tell her that Mildred Quackman…  who she knows as Mildred Mallard there has been murdered. Write that down.”

“…Mah-lurd. Okay, is she uh… gunna…”

“She will want to know who. You are to tell her a woman named Thorn and that is all. Then you are to find your brother-“

“WHA-“

“TIMOTHY! Just do it! You find your brother and you tell him that since he was gone that Thorn has taken control of Prodigy’s resources and has been acting as his avenging angel.”
“….Mr. Adams…”

“Timmy… please. I need you to do this for me without question. It is so very important. Can I count on you?”

“…yes.”

“Thank you… I promise to explain everything to you once it’s changed.”

“How can you know if the future’s been changed won’t it change your memory too?”

I remember everything. I’ve watched the timeline craft and rework its way around me… I’ve been engineered to be beyond changes in the continuum. I remember all the paths that once were and what has since been rewritten. But would he understand any of that even if I explained to him my sordid past?

“…I’ll just know. Be careful Timothy, I’ll be in touch with you soon.”

“Okay. Murderlad over and out!”

I turn off the receiver and place it back in the drawer.  I can feel it reworking itself already. It’s almost humorous that I’ve become what I once strove to stop… but this life was not one that deserved such a death. I unlock the classroom door and let the spring breeze in through some windows. The sky is dark today… with a threat of rain… and vengeance is in the air.