Serialize This -- Chapter 5
In which the Author ghosts
By now, on Page 16, a typical 3-act-form novel would have wrapped up introductions to place, time and cast.
If this was Fantasy, the Saracens would already have ridden in and cut everyone’s heads off.
Romance: bodice-ripping would be in-progress.
Sci-Fi adventure: a reptilian space admiral would be pacing the bridge of Battle Cruiser Krang, shouting threats at beautiful but reckless space pilot Candy Bootylicious while she undulated, heaving breasts straining against a tight and revealing space uniform.
You know, if I ever want to be successful, the first thing I should do is finish that story.
But no; I decided to write literary science fiction family drama.
Chapter 5
The Between-Life
When one speaks to the dead, it’s usually an ordinary dream, a conversation with oneself, influenced by feelings of doubt, insecurity, loneliness. Carmen Benequista had doubts —about whether she was experiencing an ordinary dream.
She stood in her deceased husband’s office at his family’s title insurance agency, a place she hadn’t been since a) he died and, b) his parents pushed her out of the company.
Anton asked a lot of questions and therefore, if every actor in a dream was nothing more than an aspect of the dreamer, Carmen had an inner self who didn’t know much about current events.
He was shocked to learn she’d come out of nowhere to be elected President of the United States.
She said, “If you ask around, people will say I earned it. In my opinion, it would not have happened without interference.”
Carmen reprised events of recent months. “The AjJivadi showed their faces last end-of-July, 25,000 years after the fact. Norse gods, Greek gods, gods of ancient Egypt, patrons who eventually became weary of us asking for handouts. They went into hiding around the time of Jesus.”
“How could you not know? Didn’t the military give you a heads up?”
“They could have, but didn’t.” Carmen made a sour face. “The entrenched political class has been a big problem. They would have murdered me if I hadn’t fought back.”
He gave her a solemn look. “We’ve been talking for a while. Are you sure that isn’t what happened?”
She shook her head. “I fell asleep in a recliner.”
“And possibly died?”
“I have alien tech growing into my brain. A neural implant. The occasional séance is a known side-effect.”
He rocked on his heels. “Why would you submit to such a thing?”
“It’s an enormous convenience.” The scene appeared to be fading, a stage hand drawing the curtain. Carmen rushed to speak a few more lines. “Anton; I have a suitor.”
“Is he a good man?”
“A knight in shining armor who came to my rescue in desperate times.” She clenched her fists. “And I don’t know how to tell the difference between love and gratitude.”
“How would you feel if he was no longer in your life?”
Her expression fell through the floor. “I would grieve. I would want to die.”
Anton made a wistful smile. “Listen to your heart.”
Carmen’s heart spoke of relief, reconciliation, empathy. She asked, “Is the between-life a nurturing place?”
Anton’s voice echoed like that of a man being lowered into a well. He said, “Is that what this is? It’s lonely. I have a hard time forming thoughts. I don’t know how long I’ve been here.”
Tears stained her cheeks. “Thirteen years.”
His hand passed through hers. Disappointment filled the moment. He said, “Secure your future before it’s too late to make a difference.”
Carmen Benequista, President of the United States, woke into the gentle attentions of her valet, Pascal the maroli, heart full of sorrow, a reply on her lips. “I’m not getting older, not anymore. The Anye have a cure for it.”