The Aurora City

  Markman staggered away from the confusion and managed to reach some cars in the parking area nearby. Within the shelter of parked autos, he leaned against one and looked back at the chaos surrounding the emergency entrance. The doctor had returned to the baby and was staring down in shock at his completely healed patient. The man looked up and began searching the area for Markman but did not spot him. Markman lurched further away and found a better spot out of sight. Energy was ever-so-slowly returning. His vision was widening and becoming sharper. The weakness in his chest was fading. He began deep breaths, using circular breathing, hoping to regain strength faster. His thoughts began to organize. He straightened up and tried to remember what he had been doing before the nightmare.

  His car. He was headed for his car. Core was out there somewhere. He pulled out his keys and fell against another parked vehicle. Looking at the key ring, he called, “Core, come.” Somewhere not far away an engine started up. A minute later, a very slow moving Corvette with heavily tinted windows crawled into view. It pulled up in the aisle near Markman and the driver’s door popped open. Markman surveyed the area as carefully as possible. He fell into the driver’s seat and struggled to pull his legs in then let the door shut. Core sat with its engine idling, waiting for instructions. Markman rubbed his face and commanded, “Park.”

  Core crept forward and found an open area without other cars, and pulled into a spot. Markman commanded, “Windows open, engine off.” Core complied.

  Markman tipped his head back against the rest and passed out.

  It must have been a short nap. When he opened his eyes, the melee at the emergency room had slowed but was still going on. It was more spread out, had more people running to and fro, but no Gurney were parked outside. Ambulances were arriving with less frequency. Markman’s first thought was that it had all been a bad dream. He looked down at himself. There was dried blood all over his clothes and hands. His next thought was to call Cassiopia for help. Something made him hesitate.

  What really had happened? Markman looked at the blood on his clothes again. The stains kept erasing any hope he had imagined the whole affair. What would come of all this now? Would there be publicity? He still couldn’t think straight. Suddenly, he realized he was starved. He urgently needed something to eat. High protein. A stop would be needed at the hotel first so he could change out of the bloody clothes and hide them.

  Hide the clothes he had on? Was he already plotting a cover-up of what had happened? What had happened? Markman gave a long sigh of frustration and confusion. “Core, take me to the hotel.”

  Core’s engine fired up immediately. It pulled forward across the empty space ahead and turned toward the highway’s entrance. A navigation screen lit up on the dashboard showing the route. Markman kept his hands on the wheel, helping to drive as much as he could. He felt so weak it was possible he would pass out again. “Core, at the hotel park,” he said just in case. Core beeped understanding.

  The trip to the hotel was a blur, but as the ride progressed more and more of his strength returned. The hunger pains were at their maximum. At the hotel, he stumbled up to the room by the rear stairwell, tore his clothes off and hid them in his backpack. He washed the dried blood from his face, hands, and arms, and pulled on fresh black jeans, and a black sweatshirt. He grabbed his black jacket and hurried back down to the hotel restaurant where he took a booth near a far corner. The waiter was excruciatingly slow.

  “Pancake special, eggs over medium, rye toast,” said Markman in a tone that begged urgency. The waiter slowly wrote the order, looked over at other customers waiting to be seated, and strolled off to place them. Markman rested his head in his hands.

  When the food finally arrived, it did not last long. As he hurriedly devoured it, the feeling of weakness began to subside further. Energy flowed back through the system. His mind came back to full focus. With the last bite of pancake, he sat back and took a long drink of coffee. He placed the mug slowly back on the table and began to wonder again what really had happened?

  Had electric shock from his hand healed that baby? Couldn’t it have been a simple static electricity discharge and something else had done the healing? Was the reason he had felt so drained of life because life-force had been drawn from him to heal the child? Markman sipped his coffee and rubbed his mouth in frightened awareness that the only real explanation was that something from inside him had cured that baby. This had to be a part of the abilities gained from the Coffer of Dreams. ‘Such radiant treasure win, to die is to have sinned.' The poem played over and over in his mind. The power to move physical objects wasn’t the whole reward. The power to heal was also a part of it. Markman felt a tinge of nausea at the thought. The prospect of having these powers was alarming. How else had he been changed? What would come next? Would he morph into some grotesque creature like in a science fiction film? Would he become some raving maniac eventually hunted down and killed?

  Secrecy was now paramount. No matter what happened, his only chance of having some portion of a normal life depended on that. He would have to take this one day at a time. He would need to learn just how much change was taking place and how much control he had over it. At the same time, he would need to act as though nothing at all was happening.

  Would there be publicity from the event at the hospital? Would that doctor claim that a baby was mysteriously healed, or would he keep quiet for fear of ridicule? Had anyone seen it happen? In the mass confusion of the place, there was no way to be sure about that. Thank God he had gotten away before the doctor returned. At least there was a chance that no one had seen. The only one who knew anything was the doctor. He had seen Markman’s face clearly, but in the intensity and confusion of the mass chaos, perhaps that memory was obscure. A cell phone ring interrupted Markman’s panic. It was Cassiopia.

  “My God, Scott, did you hear about the I95 accident?”

  Markman stuttered, “Yes it’s…ah… on the news everywhere.”

  “They say thirty-six cars crashed because of smoke from a forest fire near Henrico.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Yes, I haven’t heard of any fatalities yet. Keep your fingers crossed. If you drive anywhere, be careful. There’s still ambulances racing around.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  “Are you okay? You sound funny.”

  “Nope, just fine. When will you be back at the hotel?”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I see the doctor. He should tell us when we can get out of here.”

  “Okay. Let me know.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Markman clicked off and tucked the cell back into his pocket. The short conversation had helped him get a grip on reality. Suddenly, the power to move physical objects which had so preoccupied him earlier now seemed insignificant. This new power carried with it complex danger. The process of healing the child had drained him so completely at one point he thought he might be dying. And, the challenges associated with this new ability were far more complicated. With levitation, there was no obvious, constructive way to use it. With healing, that could be utilized twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, everywhere! But, the drain on his system must have meant there were limitations. Could this have been a one shot deal? Maybe healing the infant had taken so much from him he no longer had that power. He remembered the injured bird. He had thought it was just stunned and had awakened on its own. That probably was not true. The healing process had probably brought it back, as well. He just hadn’t understood at the time.

  There were teachers in the Himalayas who had this power. He had witnessed it on several occasions. They would vigorously rub their hands together and then clap them on a student’s wound and like magic the injury would be healed. How did they manage the power? They did not go looking for the sick or injured. Victims who believed in them always sought them out, instead. How did those Chang Hun masters justify not using their healing power more proactively? The only other person he
could think of who could heal was Christ himself. Christ walked the land and helped anyone he met, or anyone seeking his help, but even he did not seem to try to heal everyone everywhere, all the time.

  Once again it was clear he could not seek anyone’s council. The same consequences applied. A secret given up could never be taken back. If these powers remained with him forever, he’d never be able to escape the stigma. Markman suddenly realized he was already creating new rules for himself. Markman’s 1st rule; Do not reveal these new powers to anyone. Markman’s 2nd rule; do not use these powers if your identity will be exposed.

  It would be so much better if he could just tell Cassiopia and ask her what to do, but that wasn’t an option. Just as before, he could not take chances with the most important person in his life. There was still the possibility these powers were temporary. He would just have to take things one day at a time. He’d have to learn what he could do and what he couldn’t, then develop a plan from that. If he could use this healing power at will, he’d have to figure out how, when, and where. The thought that he could walk out the door right now, visit the nearest hospital, and possibly cure someone near death depressed him. How bad an injury or illness could he take on without killing himself? If he was going to try to use this, there would need to be some experimentation, some way to measure what could be cured and what could not. Markman finished his coffee and looked around. The restaurant had only a few customers. The inattentive waiter had not brought a check and was nowhere in sight. Markman rose, left a tip on the table, and stood at the cash register waiting. Four or five minutes passed. A lady server appeared and came to the register.

  “I didn’t get a check.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Hang on a second.” She headed back to the kitchen yelling, “Bernard….” She returned several minutes later and rang up the amount.

  Outside, the clear blue sky helped Markman collect his thoughts. Richmond’s shiny skyscrapers rose high, occasionally bordered by older brick or cement buildings. Markman walked the wide, deserted sidewalk beside a black wrought iron fence that guarded a short grassy lawn in front of an office complex. Trees had been planted along the way and hung over the sidewalk. The air seemed fresh and clear, despite the tangle of traffic entering the turnpike up ahead. He came to a knee-high brick wall in front of a glass-steel building, and stopped and sat.

  Out of nowhere, a mischievous tan and white terrier darted up to him and perched two feet on Markman’s knee. “I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t have anything for dogs.” The dog was well fed and had a shiny new collar and tags. It backed away and ran in circles in front of him. He suddenly noticed something was wrong. The dog was holding its right rear leg off the ground, using only the other three to run or walk. He called the dog back over and began to pet him. The dog licked his hands.

  Moving slowly, Markman ran his hand up and down the dog's injured leg. There was one particular spot near the hip where electricity began to flow each time his hand passed over. He held gently to that place and felt the current flow increase. This time it was gentle and not at all uncomfortable. Slowly the area began to heat up, but the dog did not seem to mind. A moment later, the current seemed to shut off abruptly. Markman withdrew his hand and ruffled the dog's fur near his shoulders.

  The terrier gave two quick barks and pulled away. It ran another circle around Markman, and this time the rear leg was working perfectly. The terrier paused for a moment, almost as though it was surprised. It took off down the sidewalk at a full run, seeming happy to have the speed back. It disappeared around a corner.

  Markman sat back and sighed. The power was real and could be used at will. He headed back to the hotel to retrieve and wash the telltale bloody clothes from the hospital.

  In his hotel room, the TV was covering news about the big wreck on I95. No one had died, but there were serious injuries. Returning from the laundry with his freshly cleaned clothes he rode the elevator up and tried to stop thinking about things. When the doors opened, an elderly lady with a walker slowly worked her way in. Markman held the doors. “What floor?” he asked.

  “The lobby please, young man. Thank you, so much.”

  Markman stepped out and let the doors close. He stood for a moment in renewed doubt. What could he have done for the old lady? At this point, it did not matter. Markman’s 2nd law; do not use your powers if your identity will be exposed. These new laws that had seemingly formed of their own volition were already guiding his actions and his life. Back in his room, the freshly made bed looked too inviting. He fell upon it and was asleep in seconds.

  The chirping of cell phone awakened him. In half sleep, he struggled to pull it from his jeans. Cassiopia’s sweet voice made it worth the effort.

  “What you doing?”

  “I fell asleep at the hotel.”

  “You probably needed it. My father gets out tomorrow. I was able to book the room right next to ours. Want to come pick up his things and take them back to the hotel?”

  “Sure. Where will you be?”

  “I need to sign some paperwork in the finance office; then I can meet you afterward for dinner somewhere. When will you come?”

  “Now?”

  “Great. I’ll gather up his stuff.”

  No sooner had Markman hung up than his phone chirped incoming text. It was from John Paul. ‘Research complete. When will you be ready to resume? There may be some urgency’.

  He typed an answer. ‘Professor released to hotel tomorrow. I’ll help with the transfer then head your way.’

  A reply came back immediately. That will be fine. We will be set up when you arrive.

  Markman splashed water on his face and applied a fresh coat of deodorants. He made his way to parking and in minutes was cruising the city streets back to the hospital. As usual, hospital parking was nearly full. He settled for a spot at the far end. From where he parked, he could see the emergency entrance in the distance. Things seemed to have resumed some sense of normality. Markman took the long way around to avoid it.

  Cassiopia was not in the Professor’s room. Professor Cassell was sitting up in his bed, biting down on his briarwood pipe. It startled Markman enough that he stopped and stared.

  “Now don’t you start, too. It is not loaded. They told me it was against the rules just to have it, but I wore them down. Perhaps it will aid in the prudent processing of my discharge paperwork.”

  “Professor, you are sounding like your old self.”

  “My warranty has been extended, or so they tell me.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “A blur. That’s the best description I can assign. A massive blur in time. People dashing about, bright lights, apologies without reason, tubes and fluids of varying color, all apparent in between uncharted periods of consciousness. I shall never return. Perhaps that was the underlying purpose of the entire affair. In any case, I know the busybodies around here will celebrate in their own way once I leave.”

  “Well, I‘m glad your okay, Professor.”

  “I think we must talk, my dear boy, about the state of our affairs and the future thereof.”

  “I think Cassiopia has that planned for tomorrow, sir.”

  “We have attracted the attention of sleeping dogs, have we not?”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “I should like to tell you of my recent adventures in delusion. Would you believe I gave a lecture to a group of thousands who were not really there?”

  “Professor, lately I have also seen things few people would believe.”

  “Just what is it we have gotten ourselves into, Scott?”

  “A world bigger than the one we knew I think, Professor.”

  “The one I knew was a construct of dozens of universes beyond our own.”

  “We’ll need your daughter here to translate, Professor.”

  Professor Cassell pulled the pipe from his mouth and laughed. “Mice in a maze, Scott. I think we may be mice in a maze.”

  Markman spott
ed the group of suitcases in the corner of the room. He grabbed the handle of the first one, expecting to yank it up under his arm to make room for the next. The suitcase barely budged. “Professor, what have you got in these?”

  “Books, my boy, books. Wisdom is not found in an electronic reader the same way it is in a good thick volume of printed matter. One must have books.”

  With a forced smile, Markman began dragging the suitcase toward the door. “I’ll get a cart,” he said and abandoned the case to go looking. To his surprise, a cart suddenly appeared right outside the door, making him wonder if the hospital staff was indeed as anxious to facilitate the Professor’s leaving. When the cart was well stacked, he waved at the Professor. “I’ll see you later. This is all of it, right?”

  The Professor bit down on his pipe and nodded.

  Markman pushed his load toward the elevators, pausing to navigate around hospital staff and visitors. As he pushed by the main desk, a nurse looked up and declared, “Thank God!” Markman smirked and nodded.

  At the elevator, he waited impatiently for visitors to unload, then worked the cart inside. A small briefcase fell off in the process, and he had to hold the door to maneuver out and retrieve it. As he did, he looked up and saw a man in white at the far end of the hall staring. The man had a stethoscope hanging from his neck and a clipboard in one hand. A nurse was speaking to him, but he wasn’t paying attention, his focus completely on Markman. It took Markman only a second to realize; this was the doctor who had been treating the baby in the emergency room, the same doctor who had drafted him to help.

  Markman froze for a moment like a deer in the headlights. The doctor’s recognition peaked as he continued to ignore the nurse speaking to him. He brushed her aside and began walking briskly toward the elevators. He held up one hand and called out, “Wait, wait….”

  Markman stood stiffly upright, wide-eyed. He fumbled with the briefcase and quickly forced himself back into the elevator. He tapped at the close button on the control panel and watched worriedly. The doctor had broken into a trot. “Wait! I just need to talk to you. Wait!”

  Markman hammered at the close button. The doors finally began to obey, creeping closed ever so slowly. There was a six-inch opening as the doctor arrived. The eyes of the two men met and locked in a frozen moment of wonder and fear. The doors snapped shut. Markman fell back against the wall and exhaled. He stiffened and wondered if the doctor would try the staircase to catch up. To his relief, the elevator dropped directly to the lobby without stopping. When the doors reopened, he wrestled the cart out and tested the limits of courtesy as he hurried past guests in the lobby. He skidded and slipped his way to the exit and nearly rammed the sliding doors before they could hiss open. In the parking lot, he wrestled his keys from his pocket and yelled into the key ring, “Core, top down, start engine.” At the car, he dumped the baggage in, slipped into the seat, and pulled out onto the road, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the doctor was not in pursuit.

  With centerline markings speeding by, he adjusted himself in his seat and decided it had been a clean getaway. This problem shouldn’t be a big deal. Tomorrow, the Professor would be transferred to the hotel and there would no longer be any reason to visit the hospital. He would probably never see that doctor again. Once they left the hotel, who knows where they’d end up. Probably back in Florida. No chance of being bothered by the guy then.

  At the hotel, Markman battled the Professor’s luggage up to the room, all the time thinking levitation could have made the job easy. As he stacked the suitcases, his cell phone rang.

  “Hey, where are you?” asked Cassiopia.

  “Just dropped the last of your father’s library.”

  Cassiopia laughed. “It is that, isn’t it. Let’s have dinner at the hotel, that way it will only be a few short steps to collapse into bed.”

  “With you on that plan. Call me when you’re on your way. I’ll get a table from the slow-motion waiter down there.”

  “Will do.”

  At the designated time, Markman managed a table out of the way, toward the back of the restaurant. In a rare moment of hindsight, he asked the waiter for candles and had them lit with wine waiting when Cassiopia arrived.

  “My, my, aren’t you becoming the romantic,” she said as he held the seat for her.

  “Maybe you bring out the best in me,” he replied.

  “How do I do that so I can be sure to continue?”

  “Just be you.”

  “Mr. Markman, you are sweeping me off my feet!”

  “That’s a drunken monkey move.”

  “Ah, there’s the inevitable irreverence I’ve so grown to love.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You look all stressed out. You were supposed to take the day off. What have you been doing?”

  “No, nothing. I’m fine.”

  “I don’t know. On the phone you’ve seemed uptight. Is something going on with you I don’t know about?”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “There was a doctor in my father’s room today. He was looking for someone who kind of fit your description.”

  “Really?”

  “He was checking with all the patients on that level, but I don’t think he found who he was looking for.”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “So wasn’t that I95 accident horrendous? The state police are taking some heat for not shutting down the road when the smoke got too bad.”

  “Some people sure drive blind. I just don’t get that.”

  “It’s a miracle no one was killed. Twenty-one people injured. Fifteen hospitalized.”

  “Seems like that shouldn’t be able to happen, you know?”

  “There was even a baby in one car.”

  Markman rattled his coffee cup and nearly spilled some. He looked up and found Cassiopia staring with curiosity.

  “Did I say something?”

  “No, no, just a twitch. Nothing really.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Having dinner with you? There’s no place I’d rather be.”

  “A real romantic, Markman. A real romantic.”

  The next morning, the greatly-anticipated relocation of Professor Cassell went off without a hitch. At the hotel, the Professor stood outside the front doors, stretching and declaring his regained independence. Somewhere between the hotel elevator ride and the hallway walk to his door, he discovered his energy reserves abandoning him. Markman grabbed him by one arm, ignored the objection, and guided him to the bed where he sat for a moment before gently toppling over backward onto pillows. Cassiopia raised his feet and in a moment the Professor was asleep.

  “I need to head to Culpeper, but I should be back tonight,” said Markman, taking Cassiopia’s hands in his.

  Cassiopia looked up and smiled. “John Paul texted me that these rooms are safer than Fort Knox. He arranged for this one to be a smoking room. I don’t know how he managed that, but it was nice.”

  “Boy, just out of bypass and he needs a smoking room. You’ll have your hands full when he wakes up.”

  “Yes, but I think his energy level will keep him at bay. I’ll probably need to get a few dry erase boards up here, that’ll take up the rest of his energy. He’s been mumbling about the equations those guys wanted him to solve. He must’ve been close and now they’re stuck in his head.”

  “What about you? You gonna be okay?”

  “I’ll study my stuff along with him. By the time I’m done, I’ll probably know more about that sensesuit computer than John Paul’s people do.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Cassiopia pulled Markman down and kissed him.

  “You can be sure I’ll be back just as early as they let me.”

  “Good luck in your forbidden tunnels. Don’t take any chances, right?”

  “I shall be on my best behavior.”

  “You’d better.”

  Chapter 15