How Johnny Cash Saved my Life--300 Years After He Died

second-director. Demand that he explain this to me. But gut instinct tells me that’s not a good idea. I just can’t imagine they’d want me to work for them so much that they would manipulate me into doing it. Everything I do seems so minor, like shopping errands in the world of spying. Yet--could I really be a far more effective weapon than I realize?

  I shudder at that thought. They have some kind of technology out there that will erase memories. It’s usually used for prisoners or people with PTSD. I--they had to have used it on me. I would remember this otherwise. Who knows what they know about me? Who knows--

  I don’t know what cowboys are but the message Cash is almost screaming at me is clear enough. I can be trapped eternally in this life or I can change what I do and be free.

  I need to get out. Nothing fancy. Nothing complicated. I just need to leave.

  Now.

  Hastily, I begin to gather up my bag, then stop. They’ll realize I ran away. I needed to make it look like I’m gone--but not on my own will. A kidnapping. That would be explainable.

  For once, the massive number of fight movies I’ve watched as a child have a purpose. I begin to choreograph and recreate a fight scene. It’s hard, being two people at once, but what choice do I have? About forty-five minutes into my scene setting, someone yells at me through the walls about all the noise and calling the police. I do my best to sound like a man, pushing his thoughts in that direction too, and shout at him to mind his own business. However, I immediately knew that’ll cause him to call the police. Sometimes past experiences make twists reacted differently than what I plan. Fine with me though. Time to leave. Time to kidnap myself.

  With the room now trashed from something I’m hoping more than a junior policeman will call a fight, I take only my pod, the paper and just enough money to get by. Don’t rightly know how I’m going to manage without anything else. But I can’t risk it. I shouldn’t even take my pod but the idea of leaving behind Johnny Cash can’t be considered.

  With that, I slip out the window and into the alley. I walk quietly through the mostly deserted streets. No one notices me. Most people are not even conscious enough at this time of night to notice anything. Still, I take as many back roads I can ‘til I make it to the spaceport. From there, I pick the next flight with a liner that’s not subject to my planet’s legal jurisdiction. That way, they can’t extradite me or stop my ship before we reach our destination. Once again, I don’t care where I go, just so long as the bored and exhausted teller believes that I’m a battered woman fleeing my husband. That keeps my name from being put on record. He’s too tired to even notice my mental shove in that direction.

  I shove my ticket deep into my pocket and press my way through the crowd. My hood is over my head so the cameras don’t catch me. I need to be invisible. Completely invisible. I send that impression out of me. Mass manipulation. It’s almost as hard as moral people and even more tiring. But the lack of caring, with my extra probe, means no one will remember me even in a week.

  “Marie?”

  I don’t stop. With all my inner strength, I shove the suggestion towards him that he has me mixed up with someone else. It’s not me. It’s not me!

  “Marie!” He grabs my shoulder.

  I spin and strike. He blocks and catches my other hand before I can strike again. Reflexes are too predictable and he knows all mine. We sparred each other too much not to. He also knows it takes me three strikes before I think ‘bout what I’m doing.

  He reaches over and pulls out my headphones. His hand just barely touches my cheek. I try to ignore the shivers he sends down my back. It’s been two years after all; I shouldn’t care about him one little bit.

  “Long time no see.”

  I try not to look at his face and his warm, chocolate brown eyes, but I can’t help myself. He’s right. It has been. Nor has he changed one little bit. My heart stops a beat. I’ve done my best not to notice what Rob Straights has done since we last spoke. I didn’t want to remember him at all, let alone have emotions for him effect me. He didn’t want anything to do with me. Made that one pretty clear.

  I put a hand on my hip. “So? You’ve been off saving the galaxy. Just as I have.”

  He releases the grip on my arm, confident now that I’m not going to hit him. Least not from a reflex. “Still the same perky attitude I see.”

  “You dated this perky attitude for two years.”

  He pauses. “That I did.” He looks at me. “Coming back in?”

  “I’ve already been in. Heading out.”

  “That’s a quick turnaround.”

  “What do you know about my turnaround time?”

  He shrugs. “I keep a bit of an eye on what you are up to. Want to make sure you’re doing fine.” Strange. After two years I can still sense his emotions as easily as the day I last saw him. He probably forgot that. Otherwise, he wouldn’t lie to me. I just wish I knew which part was the lie.

  “Well, you know how much I hate the holidays.”

  “Too much focus on family. I know.” He pauses again. “You’re still so beautiful.”

  “So?”

  “So--? What is it with you, Marie? You’re about as tense as a--a convict or something. We haven’t seen each other in almost two and a half years and you’re still acting like it’s my fault we broke up!”

  “It is your fault; you--” Two and a half years. Suddenly, the paper in my pocket’s on fire. I’d forgotten that. We broke up three days after that scheduled meeting. Could it have been because.... “Why did we break up again?”

  He frowns. “I don’t remember. It’s been a long time.”

  He’s lying. Again. “Why did we break up?”

  “Marie, I didn’t stop you to get into an argument.”

  No. You stopped me to ruin my carefully choreographed fight scene. I catch his eyes. It’s easier to apply the pressure. Just enough. It’s like my words go directly to the brain as a drug. He needs to do whatever I say. “Just answer the dumb question then, Rob. Why did we break up? What made me so intolerable at that moment that you couldn’t spend another hour with me? Couldn’t even break up in person? That you had to get a long-term assignment and vanish right away?”

  He clenches his jaw. I can already feel his emotional wall crumbling. I’ve never done this to him; he insisted on taking me out actually. I never thought I’d want a relationship ‘till he came along. But he’s very easy, maybe because I know him so well. “Marie--don’t ask me. Please. I can’t--”

  I lean up close to him and whisper. “Why?”

  He closes his eyes. The walls fall. Suddenly, he grabs me and shoves me against a support pillar. My first instinct’s to fight. Instead, I take a slow breath. He isn’t going to hurt me yet. He leans next to my ear. “I know you’re making me tell you this. That’s why. I couldn’t live--” He pauses. I can sense an inward struggle. He’s the only person I was ever close enough to feel the deep emotions to. But my mind doesn’t seem to be the core issue. Sure, I told him. Barely. Okay. To be honest, I panicked. When I could tell he planned on proposing that night. I didn’t think I was ready and I thought it’d postpone him. It did. Then a few days later.... “I can only say that I was--strongly advised--by the higher ups that we had no future beyond casual lovers. I knew you wouldn’t go for that.”

  He’s right; I told him as soon as we started going out that I needed commitment or nothing. He’s not lying either. I close my eyes, still very much aware of my surroundings. Another gift from my mind. I can look defeated and still be very alert. “Who told you that?’

  “Came from the director. I know more but it won’t be good for you if I tell you.” A truth. A desperate truth at that. Maybe he remembers then. Maybe he’s using my skill against me here. I told him everything that night, including that I can sense his emotions very acutely. Either way, he doesn’t want me to ask me more. He’s scared of something relating to that information.

  “Let me go.”

  “What?”

  “J
ust let me go, Rob!” I shove him away from me, both physically so he moves backwards and mentally so he suddenly finds me revolting. He trips on the sidewalk and falls. I take off--making sure to crunch his hand as I do--and shove the emotions of futility towards him. It’s worthless to chase me. The pain is too much after all. And that broken hand will help his defense if they start questioning him too much. It keeps him from looking like he helped me. Just so long as he doesn’t call me in.

  Oh please don’t call me in!

  It seems to take forever to get to my ship. My hands are wet with sweat and shaking as I shove my ticket at the attendant. She beams plasticly and allows me on board, not even mentioning that I barely made it. I find the most tactically advantageous seat. One that will let me escape if I need to. I don’t normally like to leave the enemy behind like that. Without a clue as to what they’ll do. Nor do I know what Rob will do. He should call it in. He probably knows I’m lying. But would he realize that I’m running right now? Did he ever know I intended to quit before?

  I can only wait, while trying my best not to act tense. My life and mind are on the balance here. Not just prison. They have to know. They will do everything they can to keep me confined. To keep me their weapon. That much Rob told me. I’m still tense even twenty minutes later, when the ship takes off. Something is bound to happen. I’m bound to get caught.

  But nothing does.

  Only when