Sands of Time

[Derrick Mason Gray]

His concession had a hitch in its tone. Surprise perhaps? He was going to have to get used to the fact that she was unnaturally attuned and intuitive. Her senses made her more accurate than a shot of sodium pentothal and a lie detector. She heard things others didn’t, the barest changes in pitch, rhythm, breathing, even at times the flutter of lashes and if close enough… the flutter of the heart.

 

And the longer she knew someone… the more accurate she got.

 

Perhaps more interesting was the indifference with which he answered her notation that it still might blow up the city.

 

[atticus] There are several fail-safe’s in place to keep the risk down. [/atticus]

 

[derrick]…I am sure they said the same of Chernobyl.[/derrick]

 

Quiet words lingered in the air as she found her head was heavy against the back of the couch. Words regarding the sentience of the Mehir slipping her lips without thought but his breathing said he took sharp notice of the revelation. Looked like Mighty Mouse didn’t know all he thought he did about his rock.

 

[atticus] It would seem, however, that you might be able to provide some much needed insight into the mind of the artifact. I’ve seen them before, the dreams. It communicates via the subconscious, the connection strongest during deep sleep. [/atticus]

 

Whisper of a frown marred the brow above her dark shades. So he did know a little. She wasn’t sure if that made her trust him more or less

 

[atticus]Did you see or feel anything at all, Mason?[/atticus]

 

Ears itched with his anxious fidgeting. He was the damn energizer bunny. Wasn’t sleep supposed to be on their agenda? When had she last slept? Thirty?....forty hours? That would be pretty normal for her had she not been still healing from their "cruise" and gone to play at the arena like a banshee for hours on end.

 

[atticus] Thus far, I’ve been the only one to establish a line of communication with the artifact, if one could call it that.[/atticus]

 

Somehow she seriously doubted his "communication" with it and her "communication" with it were the same. Chest rose and fell as she continued to "stare" at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure why she had said anything to him. She hadn't dared tell anyone about it because she was sure anyone would think she had lost her fucking mind. Hell, sometimes she thought she had. Fingers on her left hand flexed, the ebony tendrils over the back shimmering and appearing to shift in the light before settling once more in place.

 

[derrick]…..started with dreams. Didn’t have 'em before.[/derrick]

 

As far back as she could recall, she had not had dreams. Not till after her "death".

 

[derrick]… thought I was goin' nuts there for a while. But figured out it wasn’t really me but "it".[/derrick]

 

Shoulders rocked into the couch as the bottle was swung to the side of the arm and gently set down on the table there, leather harness and guns settling into the "bowl" of her crossed legs as she melted into the couch. It was probably the fatigue, but damned if it wasn’t the most comfortable couch she could recall being in in a long time.

 

[derrick]Started to notice when they were particularly disturbing the patterns changed.[/derrick]

 

Fingers absently scratched at the soft fabric over the amalgam of ebony patterns. That the "scar" was not static was something she hadn't shared with anyone either.

 

[derrick]Finally put two and two together and figured out 'it' was causing them, not me having a screw loose.[/derrick]

 

She didn’t bother to mention that it had taken several months to figure it out, during which she was snarfing energy drinks and uppers to keep from falling asleep.

 

[derrick]Its evolved from there…..[/derrick]

[Atticus Gale]

Atticus hadn’t cared too much for her accusing tone when it came to his safety protocols concerning the Menhir. She didn’t know him, but he let it slide, being more concerned with her connection to the monolith.

‘Dreams.’ She had said, ‘It started with dreams.’ The scientist wasn’t surprised given his own experiences with the Menhir’s subconscious communication. Only hers, he suspected, were far more comprehensive given that the same mystical material that comprised the Menhir had amalgamated with her physical being.

She was the key! He was more sure of it now than ever. ‘It’s evolved from there….’ She went on, the tantalizing admission leaving him hanging off the side of a cliff. ‘What? What had it evolved into?’ For a while he hung on the words, waiting, until it became clear that she either wasn’t ready to discuss these personal experiences with a stranger or they just couldn’t be adequately articulated. Whatever the reason, Atticus knew that the worst thing he could do was pressure her any further. It was late, she was tired. There would be other opportunities.

[atticus]Fascinating.[/atticus] He nodded, checking the time on the clock behind her. [atticus] We should discuss this in more depth at a more decent hour.[/atticus] Atticus suggested, rising from the couch. [atticus]I have a few things to attend to. Sorry to keep you up.[/atticus]

The apology was sincere. Atticus was more than aware of his obsessive tendencies when it came to puzzles. Unfortunately, it didn’t prevent the behaviour, only more or less dampened it.

 

CONTINUED TO:

"AND THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES...?"