Paradeisia: Origin of Paradise (2 page)

There was no intruder.  She had lost the baby.

He couldn't believe it, after all they had been through.  As he stepped back toward the bed, he thought about the last maternity checkup.  Doctor Kingsley said everything was progressing just fine.  That was four days ago.

So what happened?

Wesley approached the bed and was sick at the sight of a little lump under the white comforter.

It definitely wasn't moving.  Then again, he didn't expect it to be; he was pretty sure a baby couldn't survive a miscarriage at fourteen weeks.  The duvet was draped off the side of the mattress and was dripping blood.
 Wesley had never felt so sickened in all his life.  He didn't want to uncover the lump in the covers.  He didn't want to see their baby like this.  He wondered if it would be best just to call 911.

"Wes?" Sienna cried weakly.
  "Is he...  Is he alive?"

Wesley closed his eyes and jerked the cover off the lump.
 Slowly, his stomach in a knot, he allowed his eyelids to open.

It was a wad in the sheet.

The baby was not there.  The lump under the duvet was nothing but a sheet wad.

Wesley checked the path back to the bathroom again.  There was no fetus on the floor, only blood.  He checked through all the covers, searched under the bed.  Nothing.  He went back to the bathroom and looked at his wife's surroundings.  The fetus wasn't there.  He opened the lid of the toilet, just in case.

"What are you doing?" his wife asked.

"It's gone.  There's no fetus."

"Don't call him a fetus."

"Did you go anywhere else but the bathroom?"

"No, I...
  I came right here," she was pale and looked weak.  Then she gasped, clutching her stomach, where the baby bulge had clearly disappeared.

“Bad pain?” Wesley asked.

She nodded, her eyes squeezed shut.

"I'm calling 911," Wesley said, concerned that she had lost so much blood.

But as he walked out into the living room to retrieve his phone, something told him that he should also be worried by the fact that their baby had totally and completely vanished.

International House of Bacon

Her cell rang from her apron where she stood at the server's station.  The blonde pocketed the lousy tip she had just counted, wiped the sticky syrup off her hands, and dashed around a corner.  “Hi,” she answered.

“Aubrey, it's Maggie.”

“I'm at work—what's up?”

“You know the job I told you might open up eventually if you were really really
really
lucky?”

“Uh, yeah...  You told me
yesterday
.”

“It's available!  If you make it to La Guardia in an hour, you'll get an interview!”

“An hour?  I couldn't possibly make it that fast.  I don't even have my resume ready.”  That's what Aubrey said, but her heartbeat accelerated with hopeful anticipation.

“That's okay!  I'll send a limo for you—don't worry!”

“A limo?  I'm in my uniform!  And besides, I couldn't wing an interview for that job!  I don't even have any experience!”

“I'm sending a limo now.  Just get in and I'll take care of everything else.”

Aubrey stepped forward from behind the corner and gazed at the floor of the busy restaurant.  She had dreamed of leaving this world of bacon and pancakes for a long time; in fact, pretty much from the moment she arrived.

“Brie, you there?”

“Yeah, I'm—” Aubrey could see the black form of a limousine pulling up outside the frosted glass.  “Maggie, the limo's already here.”

“Already?” Maggie voice sounded a little anxious, “Wow!  The driverless ones are
so
fast these days!  Hurry and get in or you might miss it!”

Uncertainly: “Maggie...”

“Hurry!”

“Maggie.”

“Aubrey Vela, I'm older and I've lived way longer than you, so listen.  Most people only get one chance to change their lives forever.  This is your chance.  Get in the car.”

She paused a moment, pondering her choice and trying to calm her nerves.  Finally, she said “OK.  I'll be there.” 

Although her heartbeat was fluttering with excitement, her stomach was queasy as she slipped her phone back into her apron and walked slowly past the piles of plates...the screaming kids...the pots of coffee...and out the door.

La Guardia

When the limousine pulled up to the departures platform, Aubrey spotted Maggie standing at the TransPacific Airlines kiosk, rubbing her own shoulders for warmth.  Maggie ran up to the limo and opened the door for Aubrey, exclaiming, “I'm so glad you made it in time!”  As Aubrey emerged, Maggie clutched her around the waist and manhandled her into the busy airport—almost like a porter with a piece of luggage.  When they were inside, Aubrey broke free and protested, “Now you didn't tell me why I had to come to the
airport
for the interview.  Why so fast?”

“Yes, well, we have to leave just as soon as he's seen you.  He's just taken on a new company from England and we're flying out right away.”

“So wait, you're telling me that if I'm going to accept this job, I have to fly out today, right away, without any warning at all?”

Maggie admitted, “Uh.  I mean, yes, that would be a yes.  I wish I could give you more time.  But this is urgent.”

“Maggie!  I don't have anything with me except what I'm wearing!”  Aubrey's mind and emotions were in a whirlwind.

“I know, sweetie, I know.  But we'll get you new things.” 

When this didn't alleviate Aubrey's baffled expression, Maggie added, “Better things than you had before.”

Aubrey wasn't impressed.  She drew a long breath and exhaled fast, trying to compose herself.  “How long will we be gone?”

“I don't know.”

“Can you estimate?”

“I frankly have no idea.  That's the name of the game here.  But I know you'll love where we're going.”

“How do you know that?” skeptically.

“Because it sure as heck won't be International House of Bacon.  Now let's go.”

They rushed so quickly past the iris scanners and through the terminals that, before Aubrey knew it, they were outside again and at the steps of a screaming white jet the size of a commuter airliner.  It read “INTRAWORLD CAPITAL” on the side in black letters.  The smell of jet fuel was strong despite the chill of the air.

Maggie was halfway up before Aubrey's protest came from below, “Maggie, I don't have a passport.”

“What?”

“I've never flown before,” Aubrey said sheepishly.

“Sweetie, I know you're naïve, but gosh....  Nobody needs a passport anymore!  You got your USID card like all of us, right?”

“Yeah.”

“They scanned your irises.  That's your passport.  Now get the heck up here!”

So Aubrey dashed up the steps and entered the cabin, greeted by a rush of cool air.

Jet

Inside, Aubrey hardly had time to take in the surroundings as she was whisked through the plane, and although she hadn't ever been in one before, she knew this didn't look like anything people usually flew in.  There was a lounge with supple, leather wrap-around sofas and sleek-looking armchairs, a conference room where several men sat at a rich wooden table, and a hallway with wood paneled walls—one side lined with doors and the other side arching down and dotted with the small, round windows typical of airliners.

They stopped at a door in the hallway and Maggie quickly looked Aubrey over and batted some dirt off her skirt, saying, “Okay, if he asks you about your experience, just make something up.”

“You mean lie?”

“Yes; lie.”  Maggie knocked on the door.  An immediate, baritone response came from inside, “Come in.”

Motioning for Aubrey to wait, Maggie stepped in and closed the door behind her.  Aubrey heard her muffled voice, “Your new personal assistant is here, sir.”

The reply came in a rich, Anglican accent, “Show her in, Maggie.”

The door opened and Maggie's hand appeared around the door frame, making two quick motions to usher Aubrey along. 

She stepped around the corner into what was a contemporary, but elegant office; there was a modern sofa against one wall and two chairs facing a glass desk.  Behind this sat a strongly-featured man, breathtakingly handsome, but austere in expression, with eyes fixed on a transparent screen that he held between both hands.

Aubrey stood there before the desk, waiting, but the man didn't even lift an eyebrow.  She cast her eyes at Maggie, searching for some kind of guidance, but Maggie motioned for her to wait.  And so she did, for at least two minutes.

Finally, the man raised his eyes and, as if he was surveying a new suit, fleetly looked Aubrey over.  He then nodded to Maggie, “She'll do.”

Aubrey's jaw would have dropped, but Maggie didn't give it a chance to, pushing her straight back into the hallway.  After the door was closed and they were a safe distance away, Aubrey protested, “
She'll do
?  What kind of an interview was that?”

“We're departing soon; he doesn't have time to do a full interview.  You're actually lucky,” Maggie laughed nervously.

“I don't know if I feel lucky or insulted!”

“Trust me, you're lucky.  Now let me show you where you'll sit for the flight.”

Maggie led her back through the aircraft to an area directly behind the cockpit where there were three sections; one was a galley, one had bunk beds and the last had rows of seating.  In one of the seats was a sixty-year-old-looking woman with bright red lipstick.  She had big curls that were dyed golden and she held a long-stemmed glass of sparkling champagne in one hand.  Maggie introduced her as “Lorraine, the stewardess.”  She then directed Aubrey to sit in one of the seats and dropped a cell phone in her lap.  “If this rings and it says, “Henry Potter,” that means he needs you for something.  Go find him and ask him what he wants—politely.  I'll be back later.”  Maggie left them alone.

Aubrey felt a tingle of excitement when the plane began to move.  Despite the strange “interview,” she felt pride at having been granted the job.  She had, after all, dropped everything to come here at a moment's notice.  Few people would have had the nerve to do that, she surmised.

“So you're Henry's new personal assistant?” Lorraine asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

“Yes.”

Snickering: “Well good luck.”

“Thank you...” Aubrey said, her satisfactory feelings now giving way to dubiety.  “Why would you say that?”

“Oh, no reason.  It's just that his last personal assistant left this plane about two hours ago.  And she had only been with him for five days.”

“Oh really?”  Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place.  The urgency, the limo, the lack of an interview...  Maggie had been on the hot seat for a new PA, pronto, and she'd capitalized on Aubrey's ignorance.

Lorraine chuckled hoarsely, and broke into a cough.  When she recovered, she said, “Oh yeah, I've been on Henry's planes since the first time he had one, and I've never seen him keep a personal assistant longer than three months.”

“Oh...  Really...” Aubrey's disappointment was betrayed by her voice.

“Sorry, kid, but Henry Potter is a first-class jerk, at least when it comes to his PA’s,” Lorraine said.  “This new job of yours is going to be hell on earth.”

The engines fired loudly and the plane started to accelerate toward takeoff.  Lorraine raised her glass jovially, “Champagne?”

The cell phone rang.  It was Maggie, “Come down to the conference room as soon as we're in the air.”

“What for?”

“Just do it.”

Antarctica

Having not seen the titanium submersibles in over a month, Zhou Ming-Zhen, PhD, cringed at the sight of them now, lined up on a platform in the drilling station.  They were shaped like giant phalluses.  They were identical: eleven feet tall, twenty-five inches wide, tubular, and topped with an acrylic glass bubble.  Hidden inside the edge on the bottom of each was a propulsion fan.

Members of the international press had congregated around them; some were snickering to each other.

Back in the East China Sea, Doctor Ming-Zhen had spent hours under water in order to master his claustrophobia and learn how to maneuver them.  Conditions inside were atrociously confined: it was like being in a metal coffin.  To say he was relieved when training was over was to put it mildly.

At the insistence of his camera crew, he jumped up to pose in front of the subs with the only person who would descend after him: Doctor Ivan Toskovic.