May 22, 2038 [19]

Martha scooped the Grape-Nuts over itself to distribute the milk and soften the bran cereal. It had always been her father's favorite breakfast and eating it made her think of him. Thinking of him made her feel guilt. The guilt, pain. And as a masochist consumed with self-hatred, she took every opportunity she could find, especially when it could stay hidden.

Seated at her kitchen table, she took a bite of the flavorless cereal. Calories and fiber. That's all I need. That's all I deserve.

Martha's first life away from James had been tedious and uninspired. She did what she needed to get by; worked a job until she felt like quitting; lived in a place until she felt like leaving... But not once did she feel an ounce of control or purpose. Because wherever she had come from or was going to was irrelevant with a poisonous cloud hanging over her every move.

Presently, Martha took another bite of cereal then blinked twice to activate her smart lenses. A display of options floated in front of her and she settled her eyes on 'NEWS.' After a moment, a feed appeared and Martha flicked her eyes up to scroll down until she found a story of interest. Her eyes settled and the story went fullscreen. A patrol boat for the Italian Navy was blocking an inflatable raft, teeming with people.

"Tensions remain high in Southern Europe as migrants fleeing North Africa continue to overwhelm its shores," a journalist narrated. "With temperatures often surpassing sixty degrees Celsius, the majority of land at or near the equator has become utterly uninhabitable. Meanwhile, Greece and Italy continue to struggle with catastrophic flooding of their own. EU officials have said they intend-"

Martha muted the video and continued to watch the disastrous B-roll. The collapse was starting earlier than usual. Even in lives when neither she nor James put any effort toward solving climate change, it normally wouldn't get this bad until the 40's.

But though she'd kept her insights from the scientific community, her second life away from James had been far more deliberate than her first. She'd committed herself to servitude and charity, volunteering at nursing homes and homeless shelters, then teaching English and Math with the Peace Corps in Rwanda, and again, back in Chicago's inner city.

Later, she'd transitioned to nursing, sleep-walking through its schooling and certification then finding employment at an overwhelmed and understaffed state-run facility.

Over the years, she'd helped a lot of people and made a lot of difficult lives easier.

And yet...

As with a rubber band, the more she pulled away from the urge, the harder the urge pulled in return.

Martha blinked twice and the news report disappeared. She left her cereal at the table and walked to the window of her second story apartment. Though nowhere near lakefront property, she could still make out Lake Michigan in the distance, its troughs and crests reflecting the deadly sun in a sparkling dance.

She wasn't sure why she'd moved back to Chicago. Did she want to be reminded of him – more masochism by association à la the Grape-Nuts? Was part of her hoping to bump into him accidentally? That would be pathetic and potentially disastrous. For though she ached to see his face; to hear his laugh; to pull him close and wrap every part of herself around him for the rest of time – she had, in fact, made zero progress fixing herself or solving her ethical paradox or whatever the hell she needed to do to get back to him. If anything, she was further down the hole than when she'd begun. Because if it was true that one couldn't love another without loving oneself, what of those who consider themselves monsters?

...We don't stand a chance.

Ramirez had seen it in her. One monster sniffing out another. And his words haunted Martha to the day:

"You'll be chasing that high forever!"

His words continued to haunt her because thus far, they'd held true.

While she hadn't given in to the urge, the fantasies were becoming more and more frequent. Her shifts as a hospice nurse presented a near constant opportunity. But she'd resisted the temptation with a disturbing rationale: murdering the terminally ill would be unsatisfying.

There was another place, however...

Stop.

Where she volunteered on the weekend...

No!

A hospital for children...

Godamnit, no!!

A buzzer tore through the apartment breaking Martha from her spiral. She looked down and realized she'd dug her nails into her palms, breaking the skin in multiple places.

The buzzer sounded again and Martha shook out her hands as she walked to the intercom. Built into the wall next to her front door, it consisted of a metal speaker beneath a glass touch screen. She swiped the latter to activate the black and white security feed.

A man, dressed unseasonably warm, leaned against the frame of her porch. He pressed the buzzer again, forcing Martha's hand.

She tapped the screen to stop the buzzer then spoke. "I'm not interested, thank you."

The man flinched, as if startled by her voice. "Miss Beckett?" he said into the intercom, his voice, coarse and strained. "Am I speaking to Martha Beckett?"

"Yes. This is she. But as I said, I'm not interested in what you're selling and if you're collecting for a cause, I gave at the office."

"I mean to do neither, Miss Beckett, but it is urgent that we speak."

"Urgent? Yeah, now I know you're selling something."

"Please. Lives are at risk. I must speak to you regarding Mr Quinn."

What? James? Oh, now I get it. Confusion became irritation and then anger. Clearly, he'd sent whoever this man was.

Strange though... It felt out of character for James. He'd been true to his word for nearly two lifetimes – no contact whatsoever – and this is how he'd decided to break? With a hobo-themed singing telegram? And what exactly was his goal? To trick her into taking him back? To taunt her? To punish?

"I implore you, Miss Beckett. I've traveled an extraordinary distance to see you."

Martha debated for a moment. Oh hell, what do I have to lose? It's either this or back to the cereal. She tapped the screen to unlock the door. The man lurched toward it then left the screen.

Through the wall and down the building's staircase, Martha heard a series of THUMP's ascending steadily. They stopped at her level and she opened her door.

The stranger wore a gray duster coat stretching to his feet and a thin black scarf covering his nose, mouth and throat. His eyes met hers then darted away and to the floor apologetically as if a pauper standing before his queen.

He lowered the scarf and Martha noticed he was panting. Where the hell did you find this guy, James?

Without making eye contact, the man spoke. "Miss Beckett... I..." He cleared his throat. "That is to say... Would it be..."

Martha sighed. "Oh come in. Come in." She opened her door wider and motioned the stranger into her apartment. What's the worst that can happen? He attacks me? I think I'll survive.

The man limped past her and straight to her couch, on which he sat – collapsed is more like it.

"Make yourself at home," Martha said, wondering if she'd made a mistake. "Can I offer you a glass of water?"

"Thank you, but no," he said as he took off his coat and scarf. His skin was notably pale, dark circles framing his eyes and unconcealed, blue-green veins winding up his forehead and down his neck. "Drinking your water would be catastrophic."

"My water? Wha– Okay. Okay. Let's get this over with. Urgency... Lives at stake... Yadda yadda... Let's go."

The stranger smiled and a small laugh turned into a large coughing fit. Her servitude on autopilot, Martha sat next to him and gently patted his back. "Are you sure you don't want any water?"

He finished coughing into his white shirt sleeve. "Yes. I am sure." When he brought his arm down, Martha saw the blood stain left from the fit.

"Oh my god. You should really go to a hospital," Martha said as she held her hand to his forehead. Sure enough, he was burning with fever. 101 at least!

"Thank you, however that would be of no use. But apropos of my health, we haven't much time." He began to roll up the bloody sleeve. "And I apologize for misleading you slightly. It is not urgent I speak with you, but rather, you and Mr Quinn together."

For a moment, Martha was furious. This was his scheme? To send her a decrepit and sickly man whose dying wish was to see them back together?

That moment passed when she saw the red, blue, and green lights blinking beneath the skin of his wrist. He pressed the lights in deliberate sequence and they all turned green. Then golden lines flowed and split from his ears to his temples like tributaries. Almost as if it were flowing through his veins. But... those aren't veins... That's circuitry!

She stood from the couch and flinched back a step. "What... what the hell is that? Who... the hell are you?!"

"This is my bio-ware," he said, then positioned a throw pillow on the side of the couch before swinging his legs up to lie down. "I will tell you who I am, as well as who you and Mr Quinn are and why neither of you are able to die, once you've brought him here. Now, do you see this light?" He pulled the back of his ear forward revealing another red light blinking slowly beneath his skin.

It was a simple question with a simple answer, but Martha, the immortal girl who'd seen it all, needed a few seconds before she could force out, "Yes."

"Good. Once Mr Quinn is here, press and hold and I will re-animate."

"Slow down." Martha shook her head in confusion. Was this really happening? "Re-animate?"

He stared at her a moment longer with a sad smile and furrowed brow and then his body snapped rigid.

Martha covered her mouth reflexively. She wasn't sure what she was looking at. Eyes open, frozen in time, the stranger wasn't quite gray, but... grayed. She attempted to touch his hand as it lay across his stomach, but as hers came near, she felt an invisible force pressing back. She reached again, this time pressing against the force with her own. But the closer she came, the greater the force repelled until it felt like pushing against a brick wall.

Some kind of magnetic field surrounding his body? Martha looked beneath her inanimate guest and, sure enough, there was a half an inch of air between his back and the couch.

She'd never seen anything like it. In all her lives witnessing and crafting technological breakthroughs, nothing approached what appeared to be a magnetic bio-shield and legitimate, suspended animation, reversible at that, if the stranger was to be believed.

Believed...

Did he actually know why and how they'd become immortal?

It didn't matter if she was ready to see James again. She didn't have a choice.

But how would she find him? Whatever he'd done in this life, he'd kept it low profile. His mother would be dead by now, but Martha could go back to his hometown and ask around...

Or I could just look him up, I guess.

It was a long shot. Most people, herself included, chose to unlist themselves from the tel-implant database, consistent with the mid-21st century trend of psycho-social isolation. She blinked twice and navigated to a directory and then to a James Quinn matching his date and place of birth. His number appeared and she closed her eyes, afraid to linger.

He's listed! Well, of course he's listed. You told him to wait for your call, you heartless witch!

Her eyes still closed, she took a breath. Am I ready for this? Probably not, but oh well.

She opened them and focused on his number. The display shifted as the call was placed. After five rings, an automated voice greeted, "I'm sorry but..." There was a slight pause and then the voice was his. "James Quinn..." And then back "...is not available. Please leave your message after the tone."

Martha hung up in a panic. His voice! A painfully familiar warmth bloomed in her chest. Suddenly, she wasn't calling him because the floating corpse had told her to, but because she needed to. Because she needed– No, Martha! Get it out of your head! Nothing has changed.

She steadied herself and called again. Five rings, an automated voice, Martha hung up then redialed. Two rings...

"Hello."

It was James, voice cracking slightly with age as it always did, coming through with the hyper-clarity her tel-implant created.

"James," she said.

Silence. The wind from wherever he was blew through her head as the timer display ticked forward.

"James?" she repeated.

More silence. This was punishment, she was certain – punishment she deserved, perhaps – but there was no time for passive aggression.

"James, please-"

"I'm here."

"Where? Where are you?"

"That's it? 120 years and you just jump right-"

"I know. I know. We need..." She wasn't ready to talk with him about Nan or Ramirez. But she wasn't ready to talk with him at all and she wasn't ready for a strange man to be floating above her couch, so really, what was stopping her? "We need to talk about that and... I don't know. Now is not the time."

"Not the time?" His voice remained calm as he twisted the knife. "Well, it must be nice to be you, Martha. You decide when we separate. You decide when we reconnect. You decide when we-"

"I get it! I'm sorry. Please, you have to trust me. Where are you?"

Anger pulsed through Martha. She wasn't sure at whom it was directed. James? Herself? The stranger?

Finally, James said, "Wisconsin. About thirty miles up the lake from Milwaukee."

"That's great! I need you to come to me."

"Can I know why? Am I at least worthy of that information?"

"There's someone you need to meet."

"New boyfriend?"

"Goddamnit, James! Stop! I know I hurt you. But right now, you have to get over it. This is bigger than..." Martha stopped herself. He doesn't understand yet. James is in pain and he doesn't understand. "He says he knows us. He says he knows what we are... and how... and why."

There was a pause, and then, his voice free of sarcasm or bile, "Send the location." Then he hung up.

Martha forwarded the address then blinked away the displays.

He was coming to her; speeding towards her as she stood.

Martha looked at her couch where the stranger hovered, frozen to the last atom, yet bursting with potential.

More important, however, than the mysterious visitor breaking the rules of physics like John Bender racking up detention... He is coming to me!!

The thought occurred to her. She lifted the collar of her t-shirt to her nose and her eyes went wide. She left the living room to find a clean shirt and a stick of deodorant.

Author's note:

And just like that, we've looped back to Chapter 1.  Now you know how Martha and James feel.  ;)

Thanks so much for reading!  <3 <3