Chapter 3
The weather was surprisingly warm for San Francisco that morning, and Maureen Prescott was surprised. She was used to the cold wind blowing through the buildings in the Financial District where she worked. This warm morning was certainly welcome, she looked forward to a lovely day. She was making her way to work—her boss wanted her in early that day. She’d promised him that she would be there by 6 a.m. She liked her boss, he was kind, and paid her well.
She was just stepping off the curb when she felt the rumble underground, and a low hum in the air. Suddenly, everything was shaking. As she looked around her, she did her best to keep her balance. There was a crashing sound as glass shattered in the windows near her. Looking around, she could start to see shards of glass hit the ground. She immediately covered her head, and tried to make a quick decision to move to safety, but where?
Looking up and down Clay Street she remembered there was a park about two blocks away, she’d go there!
She started to run. As the street beneath her rolled and shook, she headed toward the park, and tried to watch for falling glass on the way.
She never saw the car that clipped her from behind, nor did she see the man who was desperately trying to control the vehicle’s movement. All she felt was something heavy shove her forward. She tumbled, and felt herself falling. She didn’t know she’d fallen down an open basement doorway, but she felt the debris that tumbled in after her, pinning her to the ground. A scream escaped her throat right before everything went black.
Tom Palmer was doing his best to extricate the older gentleman from his car. He doubted the man was alive, since the car was partially buried in bricks, crushing the windshield and part of the vehicle, but he knew he had to try. Chaos reigned everywhere, but as a volunteer firefighter, Tom had learned that he needed to block out everything but the job at hand. He was sure that it was for that reason alone that he hadn’t heard the feeble cries five feet away. He was certain the cries were coming from below ground.
Once he’d helped the man out of the car, Tom sat down on the ground for a moment to catch his breath. His feet were planted on the ground, his arms draped over bent knees as he did his best to calm his breathing. In that moment he started to hear something. At first, he thought it was a cat trapped somewhere, it was such a high-pitched cry. Not actual words but muffled sounds. Then there was very definite “Help!” The word came out as a gasp.
Tom got to his feet and moved to the open basement door a few feet from where he sat moments before. He did his best to peer into the darkness, but he couldn’t see anything.
“Hello!” he called. There was no reply. “Is there someone down there!”
There was no reply, but he was sure that this was where he’d heard the cry for help. He listened intently, even descending a couple of stairs. His flashlight had long since gone out, so he had no way of seeing what was down in the hole.
“Hello!” he called again, ready to give up, thinking his ears were playing tricks on him.
“Help,” came the smallest of sound again.
“I’m here! I’m going to help you!” he declared, as he made his way further down into the hole.
He did his best to gaze through the darkness around him, but he couldn’t see any movement. Now he knew there was someone down in this hole, he knew he needed to help. “Can you please make some more noise, so I can find you?”
There was silence for a moment, but then he heard a brick shift to his right. He carefully moved in that direction, running into a pile of debris. “Are you here?” he asked into the darkness.
“Here,” came a soft reply.
Tom bent down and began to check the debris carefully. He cursed under his breath for not having any light, but he needed to figure out where the person was. He was cautious as he dug, so he didn’t cause the person more injury when he started to shift the surrounding debris. He patted gingerly along the outline of the pile, feeling sharp objects almost penetrating his gloves. Suddenly he felt a hand, and when he reached for it, it grabbed his in response.
“There you are.” He smiled, glad that the person was still conscious. “I’m going to try to get you out. Just hold on for a little bit longer, okay?”
The hand clutched his a couple of times, in what he assumed was relief. He began to shift debris from the pile and moved it to an area behind him. It took some time, but he finally uncovered a person.
“Are you hurt?”
“I…I yes, a little bit,” came the soft reply.
“Where are you hurting?”
“My leg, and my head hurts.”
“How about your back or your neck? Any pain there?” Tom asked gently.
A couple moments of silence passed between them, then he heard, “No. No pain there.”
“Okay, I’m going to pick you up, so I can get you upstairs into the light. I can assess your injuries then.” With that he moved to slide his hands under the person’s body. He was fairly sure it was a woman—she weighed very little as he lifted her. It was then he realized, she might be a child.
Maureen was so relieved she had been found! She breathed a sigh of relief as she was carried upstairs and out into the daylight. As they came up out of the basement, she looked up into the man’s face, and found that he was looking down at her. She was surprised by the bright blue hue of his eyes; they were particularly emphasized because of the soot and dirt covering his face.
“Thank you,” she told him.
He smiled. “Glad I heard you.”
He began to set her down, but that was when they both heard it: there was an explosion in the distance, not too far from them. Turning toward the commotion, Tom saw that many of the buildings were burning.
“I think we should get farther away from here.”
Maureen nodded, looking around for what she assumed would be a fire truck, since he was wearing a fireman’s uniform, but she saw no truck.
“Where’s your fire truck?”
Tom grinned, as he began to hurry farther down the road toward the park she’d been headed for when the earthquake had struck.
“No truck.”
“But, why?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“I’m a volunteer, we don’t get trucks.” He chuckled.
Maureen blinked a couple of times, surprised by his statement. “You volunteer to do this?”
“Yes ma’am.” He smiled.
“You are braver than me.”
“Bravery is just a state of mind, ma’am.”
Morgan came to, sighing as she did.
“Oh my, what is that sigh about?” Charolotte asked, grinning.
“I was just rescued by a handsome volunteer firefighter,” Morgan answered wistfully.
“Okay, where did you end up this time? I’m guessing this wasn’t in the civil war.”
“I was in San Francisco, there was an earthquake,” Morgan told her, proceeding to tell her everything she’d seen.
Charlotte nodded. “Maybe the big one in 1906?”
Morgan thought about it, comparing the clothes and cars of the day, finally nodding. “It might just be.”
“So, we’re in the 1900s, that’s moving forward.” Charlotte smiled.
“And then there were the blue eyes again.”
“The cornflower-blue colored eyes?” Charlotte quizzed.
“Yes! It’s such an odd color, I wonder why it keeps appearing,” Morgan mused.
Charolotte shrugged. She wasn’t sure what the eye color meant, she wondered if Morgan was imposing the color on various people in her hypnotic dreams.
Driving home along Highway 1, Morgan reflected on the fireman and Maureen. She wondered if Maureen ever saw him again. She remembered the way the fireman’s arms wrapped around her and how it had felt so comforting. She smiled. That surely wasn’t the end to their story?
It occurred to Morgan that she should be writing down the information she was getting from her past lives. She located a parking area with a view of the beautiful Pacific Ocean. Opening the center console of her vehicle, she pulled out a notebook and began writing everything. Her visions, her impressions, her feelings, it was a very cathartic experience. As she closed the notebook, she realized the sun was starting to set. She started her car again, not wanting to drive in the dark on the two-lane highway. She knew that there were perilous drops on every corner on these coastal roads.
That night, after a couple of glasses of wine, she fell asleep and dreamed of a handsome, blue-eyed firefighter who morphed into a beautiful blue-eyed, dark-haired woman.
***
“How many has she had?” Zion asked Jaims, as she watched Raquel dance wildly on the dance floor.
“Too many,” Jaims replied.
“She has been drinking a lot since she got home,” Case added.
“Yeah,” Jaims confirmed. Not mentioning the number of pills her roommate/best friend was taking lately as well. She knew Rock thought she was hiding it well, but since Jaims knew her so well, that wasn’t the case.
“Just keep an eye on her, J,” Zion said, patting her on the shoulder. Zion saw one of the bartenders holding up her hand to get Zion’s attention, so she headed toward the bar.
“I’m tryin’…” Jaims said, her voice trailing off as her eyes tracked Zion’s movements.
There was a man in a suit waiting for Zion. Zion shook the man’s hand and they headed back to Zion’s office.
“What do you think that’s about?” Jaims asked Case, who noticed the man too.
“Dunno,” Case replied. “Doesn’t look bloody good as far as I can see.”
“Hopefully it doesn’t have anything to do with Fancy,” Jaims said.
“Too right,” Case agreed, in a clear British accent.
Zion paced in her office.
“She’s been getting the payments, right?” Zion practically snapped.
“Yes,” the man replied calmly, “but she wants in on your next expansion.”
“How did she hear about that?”
The man smiled evenly. “She hears about everything.”
“Well, maybe she should send her spies to watch someone else.” Zion’s mouth curled in derision. Leave it to Jane to hear about the bookstore going up for sale and knowing that it would be the perfect opportunity to expand the bar again, she thought.
“She’s willing to fund the entire expansion,” the man, who’d introduced himself as Mr. Brown, an associate of Jane’s, said.
Zion shook her head. “No, I’m not doing any more business with her. Once I pay her off from that first expansion, we’re done, for good.”
“That’s just not going to work for my client,” Mr. Brown said.
“Tough shit,” Zion snapped. “You can leave my club now.” She gestured toward the office door and the exit that lay beyond it.
Mr. Brown drew in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as he stood up. “You’ll be hearing from us again.”
“Yada, yada, yada,” Zion scoffed, as she motioned for the man to precede her.
Mr. Brown left, looking far from pleased. Zion was less pleased. Jane’s claws were apparently still trying to hold on to something. Not that Zion understood why.
Driving in Zion’s Cadillac, Jane looked over at the bar owner. They were working on a deal for Jane to buy into the club. She really liked that Zion wanted to name the club after her new nickname ‘Fancy’. The nickname amused Jane. Zion had told her that it had been how Dax had described her. The idea that Dax was even thinking about her, excited Jane a bit—the hot pilot definitely had a sexy streak a mile wide.
Sitting next to Zion, Jane was evaluating her current lover. Zion was certainly one hot-looking butch lesbian, but some things about the woman just didn’t jibe. It bothered Jane no end, especially when yet another weepy, whiney song came on the stereo. What the actual hell?
“Why do you listen to this crap?” Jane asked sourly.
Zion, who’d been lost in her own thoughts, blinked a couple of times, always shocked at the changes in Jane lately. In previous months, she’d been sweet, complimentary, and extremely affectionate. Recently, however, she’d developed a habit at picking at things and being rather acerbic.
Perplexed, Zion raised a hand off the steering wheel and gestured to the stereo. “I didn’t realize it was classified as crap.” Her voice held no anger, it was its usual cordial tone, the same tone that also annoyed Jane.
Making an irritated noise in the back of her throat, Jane threw her hands up in anger. “You just don’t…match!” she blurted out.
Zion needed a moment to take in what Jane had just said. Her brows furrowed, even as she mouthed the word ‘match’. Finally, she shook her head. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”
Jane gestured to Zion as a whole, then pointed to the stereo and the surroundings inside the car. She twirled her finger as she said, “This! All of this!”
Zion nodded slowly, her blue eyes tainted with confusion.
Jane blew her breath hastily. “You are this hot-looking dyke, with the nice clothes, the cool hair, the right look, hell, even the badass sleeve tattoos! Not that anyone ever freaking sees them, ’cause you always wear damned long sleeved shirts!” She reached over, yanking at Zion’s sleeves that were turned up at the cuff, revealing only the slightest glimpse of the tattoos that adorned her arms.
“You’ve got a rock star look, and a damned folk singer heart!” Jane snapped.
Zion pressed her lips together, inclining her head. “And I’m guessing folk singer hearts aren’t acceptable?”
Jane stared back at Zion in obvious exasperation.
“I just don’t get it.” Jane shook her head. “I thought you’d be so…exciting.”
“I’m sorry I don’t meet your expectations,” Zion said colorlessly. She refused to show how much Jane’s words were hurting her. She’d learned years ago to keep her feelings to herself.
“Pfft!” Jane snickered. “Don’t play the poor hurt creature now.” She shrugged. “I’m still here, right?”
Zion licked her lips, nodding slowly, turning her attention back to the road. It was the beginning of a long weekend of complaints and more character critique.
What was meant to be a nice trip to the Napa Valley, turned into the longest weekend of Zion’s life. By the time Zion got back to the bar on Sunday night after dropping Jane at her condo, she grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the bar stock and headed up to the apartment to get quietly drunk.