Circle of Circles

By Michael K.

Embrace your imagination and journey into a realm where dreams hold the key to infinite possibilities. This surreal novel follows the mind-boggling journey of Caleb Fleur after a profound gift within his slumbering mind is revealed. As he dreams, he unveils glimpses of alternate universes and divergent timelines, leading to his quest for self-di

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Mendez
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088154564

Book preview

CIRCLE OF CIRCLES

MICHAEL K.

ॐ

DEBUT DIGITAL EDITION

First Edition

Copyright ©2017 by Michael Keith Mendez

Updated Copyright ©2023 by Michael Keith Mendez

Cover Design by Michael Keith Mendez

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Circle of Circles (Book 1, Part 1 - 3)

Published by Michael Mendez

Atlanta, Georgia 30309

www.circleofcircles.love

www.officialmichaelk.com

Published 2023

ISBN: 978-1-312-44224-5

TO EVAN, WITHOUT WHOM I WOULD NEVER HAVE THOUGHT TO WRITE

EPIGRAPH

BALANCE - PEACE - LOVE

Through the quiet of eternal expanse, there is balance.

Behind our perceptions, there is supernal peace.

Within The Background, there is ubiquitous love.

ॐ

CIRCLE OF CIRCLES

MICHAEL K.

MANHATTAN

ॐ

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

There's a hum that brushes the eardrum when walking through Grand Central Terminal during morning rush hour. It's loud enough to drown out the repetitious clanking of almost seventy trains thundering in and out, particularly when there's an operational need to be infallible.

Delta operative 2-6 walked a typical commuter's pace with his hands in his jacket pockets, hustling to the upper concourse with the target in sight. His left contact lens displayed a solid green line just above the target's head that underlined the name Jonathan Moore.

2-6 let his subconscious mind calculate the trajectories of commuters zig-zagging in front of him. No one would break his focus, nor would they get a good look at his face. Circumnavigating NYPD surveillance was easy — a tilt of his head at all the appropriate times.

Jonathan Moore stopped near a pillar to wait for the 4-Train. He pulled his hat down low on his brow, and stood with his thumbs looped under the straps of his backpack. After a moment, he stepped forward and looked down the tunnel at the faint headlights from the train coming around the bend.

Delta-2-6 smirked knowing there were exactly thirty-two seconds before the 4-Train was scheduled to arrive. He waited casually behind the target, toggling modes on his contact lens to give him a view of the apparatus secured in that backpack.

After a Doppler effect of repetitious clanking and whining of grinding metals, the train halted. The target boarded and carefully swung his backpack to his front, placing it in his lap as he sat in the first seat available on the right. To the untrained eye, Jonathan Moore was calm and collected; just another guy on the train going wherever they go. But 2-6 knew better. He didn't even need the analytics on his contact lens to see the unnatural suppression of fear prior to martyrdom written all over the target's face. Another man brainwashed to be a suicide bomber.

2-6 approached the target with his hands still in his jacket and leaned against the vertical handrail. He waited. Patiently.

The train came to its first stop at 33rd Street. Some passengers exited and some entered. The seat to the target's right was now available, so he took his hands from his jacket while there was still commotion. He jabbed a pressure point at the target's neck with his middle finger, instantly cutting off the circulation of air to the target's brain and disrupting his nervous system. The kiss of death. The target's head slammed against his shoulder and hung down at his chest. Jonathan Moore would regain consciousness in less than five seconds, and before the hour was up, he would suffer from fatal cardiopulmonary arrest.

There were two glances from commuters who arbitrarily bothered to look up just then, but no real observations. 2-6 was too fast. He swiftly grabbed the backpack by the top handle and walked off the train just as the doors were closing behind him.

When 2-6 surfaced, he was at 33rd Street and Park Avenue South. It was time to return to base to disassemble and properly dispose of the chemical diffuser now in his possession.

There was no sense of pride or vanity in a Delta operative's success; it was just another day at the office to do something as profound as prevent an attempted chemical terrorist attack on Wall Street. Mission accomplished.

PART ONE - HIS FATHER'S BEGINNING

HIS FATHER'S BEGINNING

HIS FEET FELT heavy running through the woods, dodging branches and tree roots along a hidden path. This time, he knew he was dreaming. Something like déjà vu, he knew where he was and what he needed to do.

It was difficult for him to see through the thickness of the fog. Only faint moonlight lit the way. The wind had never been so calm. A mob of men, women, and children were close behind, fanned out through the woods with torches, frayed rope, and sharp tools. The ignorant vulgarities and threats they were shouting echoed through the night.

All the while, his brother's body was lying under a thatched roof shelter, seizing. His heels were exposed behind his worn sandals banging onto the pebbles and tree roots while he watched his brother in his own mind. He could smell the mist of the maple forest as his brother ran. He could feel his brother's anxiety as they chased him. His other two brothers knelt beside him, trying to keep him from choking or biting his tongue.

When the fourth brother finally made it to their shelter, he plowed through the frail front door.

The man's seizures ceased and his eyes cleared as he gasped for air and sat upright. Tell me my son is safe!

Chest heaving to catch his breath the fourth brother opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the gut-wrenching scream of a female from the woods. The brothers all froze to listen. Another one screamed; the voice of a younger man. Then another shouted in pain.

Together, the brothers dared to look out from the open door. Through the trees they saw the spread of torches in the distance, one of the torches drop to the ground, then the one beside it with more outcries. There were swirls of fog sliding from one torch to the next like a mystic breath extinguishing each flame.

Then it was done. The four brothers stood at the threshold, listening to nothing but the quiet of night.

ॐ

OTTER ROCK, OREGON

Caleb Fleur took a sharp breath in, hot now under the covers. He sat up with a stressful stretch. Beside him, his wife Caroline woke to his stirring.

She took a breath and muttered, Hey Siri, what time is it?

The virtual assistant announced, The time is now 6:05 a.m.

Caroline turned only her head and watched Caleb work his way out of bed and into the bathroom.

Caleb opened the drawer on the 'His' side of the double vanity counter and reached for the toothpaste beside an empty bottle of antidepressants whose label read: 'Prescriber: C. Newton'

As he brushed, a vague haunting of flashes from an unintelligible dreamworld shrouded his thoughts. He remembered something to the effect of being in the woods at night, but nothing at all substantial.

The restorative powers of coffee and breakfast soon set him straight, rectifying his energy to its natural state. Coddling an off-white mug, he leaned back on the kitchen island to watch the sunrise beyond the autumn trees from the view of his bay window.

Caleb was infatuated with the very moment when the sun becomes wholly visible above the tree line. It was like a suspension of dissonance that finally came to cadence — like a silent auditorium after the final measure of a symphony. As often as he could, he enjoyed watching it color the clouds and bring the world into view.

In the heart of that cadence, Caleb's attention was lured to the sight of freshly-showered Caroline wrapped in her white cotton towel. Strands of her rich, coffee-colored hair were still matted to her forehead and neckline.

Still holding his coffee mug in one hand, Caleb reached out and grabbed her hip. Have I told you lately that you make me so happy? He smooched the corner of her lips.

Half-kissing him back, Caroline noticed a full mug steaming under the coffee maker waiting for her. Next to it on the counter was a napkin draped over a breakfast burrito. She smiled.

Let's talk, he said.

I thought you were going to the beach?

You're more important.

I'm fine, she said. It's just hard.

I know. He reached out and took her hand in his. Tell me again.

Somewhere in Caroline’s feelings, Caleb felt a slow wave of inattention come over him like an uncontrollable cross-fade of thoughts. Then, a sharp pain hit with a flash of white that quickly turned to gray.

He wanted to move but the confusion about his new surroundings stunned him. There was a small annex of sorts in the distance, surrounded by nothing but a dense fog that clung low to the ground — if there was a ground. He could barely see below his knees. There was a hollow hum that strained his ears, one that only pure silence could make. The distinct smell of nothingness confused him. Somehow it felt alive.

Just then he noticed a young girl. Just as quickly, she disappeared into the thickness of the fog. He recognized her in a way, the texture of her black hair and the shape of her pale face, but her eyes… her eyes were different - empty.

She showed herself again, this time a bit closer to him. Squeezing her cheeks together she drank from the straw of a Styrofoam cup. Her hair levitated in slow motion. Her gray clothes blended with the gray walls of the annex. A red stain coated her bottom lip.

What are you drinking? he asked. But the silence was too strong, not a sound came out.

She appeared in front of him then - cup-in-hand offered up to him as she wiped her lip.

Caleb took it. The cup was heavier than it looked. He pressed the straw between his lips and pulled until there was an implosion inside of him - a kind of void. His insides felt as empty as that silence.

The girl sank into herself and fell to her knees. Blood seeped from her nose and into her mouth as she began to fall back. Her body looked prosthetic now as she lay lifeless in a growing puddle of blood. Her arms and legs contorted. Blood settled between her teeth.

Beside the annex, a light shone through like a pathway from the heavens. Out of its brightness walked a woman draped in a white, silk cloth. She came and stood over the body, looking down at it curiously. She unwrapped herself and knelt to drape the cloth over the body.

The world went white again, and Caleb found himself back in his living room watching Caroline gently dabbing a few tears from the corners of her eye. When he realized that he had disengaged for a moment, he began collecting the other two tear-soaked tissues from the coffee table.

Are you okay? she asked between sniffles.

Me? Caleb responded. Yeah, sorry, I was just… thinking. I'm fine.

ENTRANCE BELLS

THE SUN WAS bright, and the colorful autumn wood suggested that it should have been colder than it was that day. Caleb slalomed between potholes on his motorcycle finding new roads to traverse and fresh air to breathe. A joyride kind of day. A good day to go get lost. His final destination was Beverly Beach, though he started north just for the sake of riding. Eventually, he let off the throttle and sat upright to open the GPS app on his phone. He tapped it a few times but it wouldn’t respond. He thought maybe his gloves were losing their touch sensitivity.

Getting directions to Joe's Diner, the voice announced through his helmet speakers. The map displayed an overview of the shortest distance outlined in blue and began turn-by-turn navigation.

Confused, never having said anything about Joe's he stared at it for a few moments, wondering if maybe Caroline had used his phone.

Hey, Siri. Get me direct—

Out of the corner of his eye and through his helmet visor he saw something his subconscious could no longer ignore. His heart pounded. Before he had time to hit the brakes, the truck had just barely passed through the intersection ahead of him. He pulled over and took his helmet off to breathe.

In one hundred meters, make a U-turn.

Once he gathered himself, he zoomed out on the map. Apparently, Joe's Diner wasn't so far from his home. It was tucked down a dead-end road near Devil's Punch Bowl.

ॐ

On that same autumn morning in Otter Rock, Melanie Klein Mendel woke to her alarm with her laptop lopsided on her stomach. With little else on her mind, she reached out and scanned her fingertip to unlock it, and a smile emerged.

She saved her notes again just to be sure nothing would go missing, then she climbed out of the sheets barely needing the coffee that she habitually brewed. She ran a brush through her hair as she gathered her things into her purse and laptop bag. She brushed her teeth as she watered her plants. She managed to open her front door holding her coffee mug in one hand and purse and laptop bag in the other, then closed it with a foot. Hey, Siri. Lock my front door.

To the untrained eye, her '69 Dodge Challenger seemed too large for her to handle. With one hand on the steering wheel, she set her eyeliner with the other. I see now that I am blessed, Melanie said, getting her thoughts into the universe. On the threshold of a dream come true. The door has been placed before me. All that remains is to walk through.

She smiled into the rearview mirror as she tucked her wavy beach hair behind her protruding ear and nodded subtly at the confidence that she found deep in her moonstone eyes.

Before she knew it, she was parked around the backside of Joe's Diner’s rocky parking lot. There was a still-lit cigarette smoking on the lid of the dumpster. Gross, she thought with a curl of her lip. Inside, she found the kitchen staff seemingly hard at work, but nobody preparing the front of the house. We open at eight… why is this difficult? she asked herself. Luckily there were no waiting guests.

As Melanie grudgingly began rolling silverware in one of the booths, she heard the rear door open. Erin dropped herself into the seat across from Melanie with feigned exhaustion as if to excuse her tardiness. The lead server was a hand taller than Melanie with cropped blonde hair. Without apology, she began rolling silverware with Melanie, and after a minute of awkward silence Erin curiously said, Something's different with you.

Melanie rolled her eyes climbing out of the booth. I died my hair, she said.

Hmm. It looks happier. You meet a guy or something? Erin asked.

Melanie unlocked the front entrance to Joe's, and as she did she heard a throttling engine and the crunching of rocks under wheels in the front parking lot.

Caleb dropped his kickstand and let it settle between the rocks of the empty parking lot. He pulled his helmet off and took a deep breath in, spotting a poster board on the siding of Joe's Diner. A vacation advertisement whose text read: 'Today Is The Day! Take Your Trip!' The text was arched above a young couple wearing bathing suits, smiling and posing in front of a poorly superimposed beachfront villa.

When he opened the front door, the entrance bells tolled back and forth.

GRAVITY, FATE, OR HAPPENSTANCE

MELANIE'S HEART SKIPPED a beat and a rush of heat came over her. She whacked her hand on the host stand, incidentally knocking over one of two picture frames perched.

Collecting herself, she tucked her hair behind her ears. Hi, how many?

Just one, Caleb replied with a half-wince smile. That looked like it hurt.

Happens all the time. Melanie laughed with a perfunctory wave.

Caleb looked at the silver-lined picture frame that she knocked over; a photo of a man and a young girl standing outside of Joe's Diner. The young girl had one foot hiked up behind her, two thumbs up, and a big smile. The man was significantly less enthused.

Is that you and your father? Caleb asked.

Grand Opening of Joe's! Feels like ages ago.

Cute. And your mom? Caleb nodded toward the second photo on the podium. One with a gold frame.

Most people guess sister. Melanie snuck a glance at his silver wedding ring and grimaced. Right this way, she said. As she led him down the aisle, she billowed the scent of coconut shampoo over her shoulder. Booth or table?

Booth, please. Toward the back, if you have. When she gestured for him to sit, he said, Just your famous cup ‘o’ Joe for now.

Solid choice. I'll leave these here in case you want something else. She situated the roll of silverware near him and stretched out long to the back of the booth to set the menu down.

Back in the kitchen, Melanie took several deep breaths as she filled his mug.

Erin inched in casually and said, I can get that.

No, I'll take care of him, Melanie said. She took a second to look herself over before she went back into the dining area.

Caleb watched her gingerly carry what wafted ahead of her as a potentially regrettable, overflowing mug of coffee.

Here ya go, she said, balancing the saucer with the spoon on its edge. She felt a few errant strands of hair hovering in front of her face, so she twisted her mouth to blow them away. A few long seconds went by as she just stood there watching him.

Caleb breathed to speak, but Melanie finally said, I'll be right over there if you need anything. She pointed awkwardly with her hip before she backed off and made her way back to the kitchen.

"Yeah, you can get his table all right, Erin said, louder than Melanie appreciated. Is he why your hair looks happy?"

Shh! The grave whisper slid between Melanie's clenched teeth and thin lips.

You're weird, Erin said.

Melanie took a glance at him from around the corner. She wanted to climb inside his brain and find a cozy little corner to lay back with a bottle of Merlot and read his mind cover to cover.

ॐ

Beverly Beach was busy despite the chill in the air. Caleb lay on a towel with a book open on his phone, but his mind was distracted. A couple walked by hand-in-hand. Another couple nearby sat face-to-face playing chess. A man by the shoreline stood captivated by the open water. One child chased another.

Caleb found himself dreaming up stories for each of these strangers, picturing what their lives might look like in some other universe. As the stories unfolded in his mind, he felt compassion for everyone and everything around him. Love of love, love of life, and appreciation for the good in his own life regardless of where he came from or where he was going. Still, he couldn't help but consider that in another billion years on planet Earth, if it lasted that long, none of it would matter.

There was no way to truly know how he came to have the life he did, but he was grateful that he had Caroline. Whether it was gravity, fate, or happenstance, he was confident that love was the answer to all the questions.

CALAMITY

CAROLINE'S YOUNGER SISTER Anna Matthews was like a compact version of Caroline. Same brown hair, green eyes, and the same dimples in their smiles. Anna was slumped in Caroline's arms, both sunken into their mother's couch with pink noses and glassy eyes. Caroline brushed Anna's hair back to see her face. In the most loving, sisterly way possible she hated that Anna was one of those pretty criers.

Their mother was adjusting petals in a bouquet of lilies. A millimeter was the difference between art and a leaf pile. Mind the mascara, girls. Please and thank you, Hillary said.

The cadence in her mother's voice put a crick in Caroline's neck. She stretched it out before she slid out from under Anna to address her. Her lifelong grief came out with a whisper. I swear to God, Mom. You are on my last nerve. I know you don't really give a shit what happens to her kid, just like you didn't really give a shit what happened to us… Caroline angled herself toward her sister … But Anna loves that boy and actually has a healthy relationship with him. Novel concept, I know. So, why don't you be a halfway decent human and show her some respect? Pretend to care for one fucking minute. Please and thank you.

Caroline couldn't wait to get out of there. She wished Anna wasn't so attached. It didn't matter how many times they had the same conversation, Anna refused to see it. Not to say that their father had any emotional availability either.

Anna's divorce attorney, Peter, sat patiently across from her. His pen was already on top of an adhesive with an arrow to the signature line on the last page of the agreement. He adjusted the knot of his tie, then the cuffs of his sleeves. When finally he cleared his throat, Anna composed herself with the wiping of her eyes and managed to sign her bubbly font of a name.

In her small voice, Anna asked, This is real isn't it?

No one answered Anna's rhetorical question.

Peter looked at Caroline who walked over and said, Thank you for taking care of this, Peter. I owe you one.

We'll talk soon, Peter said. He gathered his things and left.

Caroline pulled Anna up from the couch by her hands and held her in her arms. Hey, I'm here for you. You take as much time as you need. You're taken care of. And you can always stay with us if you need. I'm here for whatever, okay?

By the time Caroline left it was late afternoon. As she drove on, the phone icon on the steering wheel of her 4Runner seemed to be harassing her into calling her father. It had been over a month since they had spoken, and even that was a superficial, compulsory phone call. A ‘pulse-check,’ she liked to call it. She couldn't remember the last time she saw him in person; maybe two or three years ago. Frankly, she wasn't even sure if he knew Anna was getting divorced, or if he cared.

She looked down at the phone icon, then back at the road. Then she did it once again before she turned on the music: tracking forward through every nostalgic 90's hits song that came on.

When she got back home, most of the lights were off. Parked in the garage she chose to sit in her car alone for just a few minutes.

ॐ

Caleb had been in his office for some time, staring at his computer screen with his elbows on the desk and his fingers tangled in front of his mouth. His eyes were open, but he wasn't seeing the screen. His eyes were glazed.

He floated over to his beeping coffee maker for his fresh pot of Paradise Roast. With three fingers looped through the handle of his coffee mug, he poured synthetic coffee. He put the pouch of grinds back in the cabinet, and the yellow smiley face under the italic design of Paradise Roast winked.

The front door slid open as he floated through it. The pillowy fibers of his custom patio lounge chair reached out and supported his naked lower back and shoulder blades. Then his calves and butt. He relaxed his body and let the chair lower him to a seated position on the front porch as he gazed out to a bustling cityscape as far as his eye could see.

Browse BBC-Galactic for breaking news, he said, placing his mug in the levitating cup holder.

Absolutely, Sir. Are you enjoying your coffee? a British voice replied.

It’s great. Thank you, he said, studying the three holographic displays of news broadcasts, weather, and financial news already in front of him.

Here you are, Sir. A BBC-Galactic headline with twenty-two billion hits and thirteen billion comments that you might be interested in.

He yawned and nodded as it took over the center display. There was a gray-haired news reporter in a patriotic studio, leaning onto his right elbow with his left palm flat on a large elliptical desk. His lips were tight before he started:

"Jonathan Edwards. BBC-Galactic. Unfathomable breaking news: intergalactically loved actress Amy Lynn Fanning pronounced dead on arrival along with hundreds of spectators. Thousands of others in critical condition due to a tragic malfunction at the Advanced Zero-Gravity Stadium in Sector 12 Jupiter during a BLITZ preseason exhibition match. Local Forensic Investigation officials have not yet published details on the malfunction. When questioned about the stadium's structural integrity, the A.Z.G. president says, 'We stand by our systems and its history of safety.’

In other news…"

The news feed continued at a lower volume and a stock ticker ran from right to left at the bottom of the screen.

Shame, wouldn't you say, Sir?

Terrible! A.Z.G. Stadiums are the best contractors in the universe. Sounds like foul play. If stocks drop below eighty-thousand a share, buy two-thousand shares. Also, let’s change the artificial landscape generator.

What would you like it to display, Sir?

Let's do, he thought for a moment, Hawaiian Islands.

The cityscape gently faded away as the Hawaiian Islands materialized when suddenly his security beacons began to flash red and blue just beyond the property. A loud, dissonant alarm screeched. The landscape abruptly turned off, revealing miles of barren desert. His coffee mug was sucked into the chair, the holographic displays were turned off, and the security gate dropped down from the roof.

Inner perimeter security breach. Inner perimeter security breach.

Like second nature, he turned on his heel to run inside.

Zero-six-zero degrees. Three kilometers. Approaching fifteen meters per second squared.

He grabbed two electromagnetic pistols from the wall safe in the hallway and hurried toward the vault.

Commencing emergency incineration procedures. Two-hour lockdown and localized incineration in t-minus twenty seconds. Please advance to the security vault.

"What the fuck happened to my outer perimeter warning?" he shouted over the piercing alarm.

Please advance to the security vault.

He tried to stay calm as he came to the top of the stairs and looked down to the bottom. Deliberate step after step he descended until he got to the last few and jumped the rest. He pushed off his landing and lunged into the vault. Then he slammed his palm onto the red button to lock the door and stood in the back corner away from the blast-proof glass.

Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One.

In the moment before the incineration consumed the house, he saw a large, red-scaled beast wielding a translucent red orb between its hands. It released it toward him in a blinding flash of flames.

The two chirps of the house alarm brought Caleb back to see his screen saver pulsing random shapes in shades of blue, red, and white. The sound of the door opening reminded him that he was still in his own house back in the real world. He clicked the mouse, putting his attention back on his bank statement; a $100,000.00 EFT was front and center. No depositor or description, just the strange available credit with more zeroes than he was accustomed to.

He heard Caroline rustling in the kitchen now. He made a note to settle the discrepancy during business hours after the Columbus Day holiday weekend.

Caroline stood beside the kitchen counter already pouring a glass of red wine for herself.

That bad? Caleb asked.

That bad, she said.

Hopefully we'll have a nice time at dinner later and you can relax, Caleb said. I know Kara always cheers you up.

ॐ

A few hours later, walking up to the entrance of an Italian restaurant, Caroline tucked herself under Caleb's arm. He matched her stride by the sound of her heels clicking, then he took his arm from her to get the door. He gestured for her to enter, and when she passed him, the air behind her carried the familiar smell of sandalwood, coconut, and peach - a perfume he gifted her about a year ago.

Clinking silverware echoed, but not much else filled the dining hall. Kara was already waiting at a table, waving an excited arm. Her smile was even brighter than her copper hair; how anyone could have such perfect white teeth tended to be a point of banter now and again. The Scottish matchmaker still wears the badge of honor for the Fleur's 'happily ever after.'

Kara climbed out of the booth and gave Caroline a tight-but-brief hug. And to Caleb, she pressed her full body into him with the side of her head on his chest. It was the same hug she had given him since their high school years.

Caleb was indifferent to her husband Andrew's absence. Andrew was good to her, that was all that mattered to him.

They found their seats, and Andrew came back giving Caleb a friendly clap on the back and a wave to Caroline as he sat. Don't get up, he said. He made an exhausted gesture when he sat as if the walk back to the table was too much work.

Kara crossed her legs under the table as she asked Caroline, How'd it go with your sister? Her Scottish accent had barely faded since she moved to the States as a teenager.

Caroline began to update her on the morning's meeting with Anna, and Andrew leaned in slightly toward Caleb. With a voice just above a whisper, he asked, You been following that Hurricane Matthew?

The girls continued their discussion.

Caleb slowly swung his arm up and around Caroline's chair as he leaned back. Yeah, Florida's in a state of emergency. They say it's supposed to hit pretty hard.

Kara convinced me to cancel my business trip, otherwise I’d be down there waiting for it. I’m glad she loves me.

Andrew went on — as did the overdue double date — though somewhere along the way Caleb couldn't help but trail off in his mind. Conversations went on as distant echoes while he silently let his mind go where it would — and too often it went to one particular metaphysical abstraction: What is love?

His fingers lightly pressed the stem of his red wine glass. With subtle, absentminded movements he twirled it. Softly, slowly, watching the tabletop candlelight flickering behind the legs of his Merlot.

Caroline's lips danced to the rhythm of her conversation. It was beautiful. They knew just the right steps to take. Touching and pulling away, stretching and pressing tightly in cadence, her tongue occasionally moistening her lips. Even her long black eyelashes seemed to flutter in rhythm.

What was he to make of his dreams which felt real as the wine he tasted then and there? Real as those lips he loved to kiss? How to explain imagination rooted in unintelligible shades of potential reality? His thoughts remained dormant parasites, dwelling in the shadows of his psyche.

Caroline once told him that her greatest fear in life would be losing him.

Kara made a point to exaggerate her gestures and bring Caleb back into the conversation. … I know it’s just my opinion, but I think if he truly ever loved her things would’ve been different. She should take time to think on that. She caught Caleb’s eye then, waiting for his opinion without actually asking.

Caleb cleared his throat. I think when you love someone so greatly, he looked at Caroline and back at Kara, you do absolutely anything to protect them from their nightmares.

THE PROMISE OF ADVENTURE

PEVENSEY BAY, ENGLAND

The towny pub was bustling, but there seemed to be a soundproof bubble around the small table where Emmett sat with his mates. There was just enough air in it for tales of fools.

No, no, no! I've got it. Listen here. Emmett said adjusting his posture and gesturing for silence. "I'm walking out of Starbucks — I dunno, a few weeks ago — and this babe taps me on the shoulder. She says, You've dropped your pen. I say, Sorry? I hadn't come in with a pen. But she insists that it's mine… keeps trying to hand it to me. I mean, clearly on the pull, right? So, I take the pen from her, I hold her fingers like this, and I write my phone number on the back of her hand. She says, Are you busy this evening? I say, You happen to be in luck, love. She says, I'll ring you then, yeah? And she turns around and walks back to the queue.

I get a text later on from a 1323 number; it's her! She tells me she's dressed and ready. Gives me her address. So, I get there, and she answers the door wearing this dress that gives me a fucking hard-on the size of the bloody Gherkin. So I say, Ya know, I thought we could stay in tonight and talk; like really get to know each other. She says, Sure, whatever you like. So, I went inside… and there ya have it!"

Emmett ran his thumb across his nose.

Well? How was it? Mick asked.

Wait, Rob cut in. More importantly, what did she look like?

Well fit, bro, Emmett said, raising his eyebrows a few times.

I bet you learned a thing a two, Mick added.

Sometimes you learn, sometimes you teach. I taught, Emmett said.

Before I let you go on thinking you've won, you hadn't heard mine from the other day yet. Rob shifted in his chair to prepare his story to trump all stories.

Hold that thought, we need another round, Emmett said. He swirled on his stool to get up and walked over to the bar bobbing his head to Don't Stop Me Now by Queen. He leaned in, facing a gorgeous barmaid. Two Golden Pride and a bottle of Red Fox, please, he requested.

D'you have a tab, mate? she asked.

Archer, he said smiling. It's a— but she turned away out of earshot, so he whispered to himself blue Visa. He looked her up and down, then he scanned the rest of the pub for more realistic prospects.

That's when he happened to notice a man against the wall behind the billiards table wearing a black felt cowboy hat with its strap hanging below his chin. His face was partially concealed by shadows.

The thud of a bottle and mugs drew Emmett back around to the barmaid. He took a sip of his Red Fox and then made an arrangement to carry the two draughts.

He stopped mid-turn at the sight of the cowboy now just beside him, and some beer soaked his hand. He wasn't quite sure if he should feel threatened or intrigued. The cowboy leaned against the bar and hooked his thumbs in his denim pockets. It's time, son, he said.

Emmett laughed in his throat at the sound of his Wild West accent and the movement of his thick mustache. Time for what? ‘The hell are you?

Someone needs your help.

You're gaming me. Emmett laughed. Brilliant. Who put you up to this? Rob? He looked for some expression of trickery from Rob or Mick who seemed oblivious to his situation.

The cowboy extended an envelope.

What's this? Emmett asked, waiting for a punch line. He looked at it for a second before he put the beers down. Inside was a self-printed airline ticket and a few large American Bills. You've really gone out of your way, haven't you? This looks authentic.

Things are about to change. You need to be the one to make sure everything stays all right. If you're paying attention, you'll know what to do.

Who the hell are you? Emmett asked, now letting his estuary accent slip into Cockney.

The cowboy pushed himself from the bar, took a few steps toward the exit, and turned his head over his shoulder. Head toward the Punch Bowl. The rest'll come. Heel-toeing his boots with his thumbs still hooked in his pockets, he exited the pub and looked up at the night sky. A pair of headlights turned in his direction and he brought his thumb and index finger to lower his hat.

Emmett stood agape for a few dumbfounded seconds with his hands out to the side before he made his way back to Rob and Mick.

What took you so long? Rob asked, grabbing his draught.

Emmett sat and tossed the suspicious envelope on the table. You having one of your little jokes? he asked.

What's this all about? Mick asked, picking up the envelope.

And what the hell is a punch bowl? Emmett asked.

Oi! Free money! Mick said.

Did neither of you see that? Some guy just gave me a flight ticket to… He grabbed the envelope back from Mick to investigate.

Who? Rob stood halfway up from his stool to take a look around.

The guy I was just talking to. The bloody cowboy! Are you two blind or pissed? He wasn't exactly incon-fucking-spicuous.

I think he's lost the plot, Rob, Mick said.

"You are pissed!" Emmett shouted.

E, Rob said softly. You're yelling. About a cowboy. You tell us who's pissed.

How do you explain this? Emmett unfolded the printed ticket, waved it in Rob's nose, and then slammed it in the center of their round countertop table, spilling a good amount of beer from the freshly poured draughts.

I supposed you could've stolen it, Rob replied, irritably throwing some napkins at the spill. And well done making a scene. I love being stared at.

Can you be serious for once?

Okay, Rob patronized, "so this cowboy gives you an envelope and tells you to go to… he picked up the ticket …ha! The States? For what? And with… a few hundred dollars?" He fanned out the bills without really counting them.

Emmett snatched the ticket back. He has my address, my name. How do you explain all that? If you're gaming me, I swear it!

Rob and Mick continued drinking — grinning like they were watching a comedy skit. I reckon it's a scam, Rob said.

Yeah, I agree, Mick chimed in. "Happens all the time nowadays. Ya know? They give you money, send you out to a different country, all of a sudden there's a girl involved, and the next thing you know, BAM, you're in a tub of ice missing your kidneys wishing you hadn't been thinking with your cock. He laughed with a bounce of his shoulders. There's only enough blood for one head, and the big one is currently saturated with booze."

Rob rapped his hand on Mick's shoulder. Yeah, that's been a thing lately. Look. E, all we're trying to say is take the money and forget it.

He said someone needs my help, Emmett said aloud to himself.

"We need your help! Rob raised his glass for a toast. To pay for all these fucking pints."

Mick crashed his beer into Rob’s, spilling more onto the already puddled table. Eeeee, he gestured using a melodic voice, leaning in ear first as if tuning his vocal cords to solicit Emmett's harmony. Then, he and Rob sang together, "Don't be insincere. Have no fear. Just pick up your beer, and bring it here!"

Too agitated to partake in the ceremony, Emmett stifled the urge to smile at Mick's terrible singing.

Mick sat back disappointed and said, "Let's just have fun, it's Friday night. Otherwise, you'll just be sitting there all boring, waiting for a sign to fall in your lap. I know how you are, E. Trust me, there's no reason to go to the fucking States. The world doesn't work like that. The grass isn't greener on the other side. It's all burnt from dog piss. Just forget it, yeah? You're done with uni now, you should be focused on your next affair." He raised his mug once more.

Emmett looked down at the one-way ticket. Yeah, you guys are right, he agreed. He finally clinked his Red Fox against each of their pints of Golden Pride. The bottoms went up, gulp after gulp until Mick stopped and set his down, then Rob and Emmett were allowed to stop chugging.

Emmett belched as a paper airplane landed directly in front of him, slowly absorbing the beer on the tabletop. It seemed to have writing on it.

What's that, E? Mick clumsily leaned over.

Emmett snatched it up before it became illegible. He unfolded the small white notepaper, turning it right side up.

It read: Over Here.

It was handwritten and perfectly aligned within the borders. Each scripted letter perfectly proportioned with perfect curves. Below it was an arrow pointing to his left toward the bar.

Emmett followed the arrow to a sophisticated young woman perched on a bar stool with her legs crossed.

Mick asked again a little louder. Oi! What have you got there? And when he finally noticed the woman Emmett was gawking at, he whispered, Sweet Queen Elizabeth.

Rob said, Don't tell me you'd rather be snogging one of us tonight. Sod off!

Emmett was in the pull of her gravity when he said, Mick, you and Rob have yourselves a lovely evening. His estuary accent encroached posh. He slipped the cowboy's envelope into his pocket, touching his ever-present lucky charm. He composed himself obviously; clearing his throat, smelling for his own cologne, unnerved by her youthful skin and sporty features. The left side of her tight, black dress was slit horizontally at her midriff, revealing enough of her torso to see that her midsection was well toned. Her thighs were exposed between the high-slit of the dress which fell to the sides and down over the front of the barstool.

She swiveled back toward the bar and took a sip of Port through her smirk. She gave a subtle nod to the barmaid who blushed and served her another glass.

Do I… know you from somewhere? Emmett asked reactively; as if he would forget meeting the most beautiful woman in Essex. He felt like everyone in the pub was watching.

I just wanted your attention, she said. She slowly uncrossed her legs and recrossed them in Emmett's direction.

Emmett couldn't resist a glance.

And now I have it.

Emmett darted his eyes back up. That’s a very, uh, unique color. He pointed to her lips.

Cranberry?

Emmett stood silent for a moment.

Well? Say something of interest to me, she said with raised eyebrows and an ear in his direction. Her strawberry blonde hair fell to the side and draped over her bare shoulder.

Ah, something of interest. Emmett leaned into the bar to intrigue her. Get this. Not five minutes ago, this cowboy walks up to me — complete stranger mind you — and hands me a flight ticket to the States. He tells me someone needs my help in a bowl of punch or something, and then he vanishes! I'm to leave first thing in the morning. He laughed at himself, still in disbelief, and only at that moment did he wonder why he didn't go after him and ask him more questions. He looked toward the exit as if there were still a chance.

Wow. That is quite the story.

You don't believe me? Emmett took the envelope out of his pocket to show irrefutable evidence.

I do. That's the trouble, she said, ignoring the envelope. She took a larger sip, leaving the glass close to empty.

What can I get you? Emmett asked, proposing to buy her next round despite her refilled glass.

A bar of dark chocolate would be nice, she whispered to herself.

Sorry?

She sighed and took another sip. Chocolate and Port… never mind.

Emmett took note of her lack of interest but was all the same happy to be beside her. You know you're pretty interesting yourself, he said, charmingly.

The woman smiled.

E. He extended his hand properly. Emmett Archer.

She placed her hand onto his, locking her elbow. Aislinn.

Emmett gently took her fingers and kissed the back of her hand, and he was suddenly engrossed by the sharp perfume on her wrist; like lilies and a tropical holiday. That's brilliant. What is that? he asked, taking in several sharp breaths.

Yes, brilliant. How about we get out of here? Aislinn asked.

At the mere sound of the invitation, Emmett's jaw dropped. He quickly brought it back up. Sure!

Aislinn gracefully stood from the bar stool collecting her matching clutch, and led the way out. The red bottoms of her shoes cut through the crowd of neutral-colored patrons who seemed to part for her like the Red Sea.

Emmett watched as several men stepped aside for her. One of them slid his hands bashfully into his own pockets unsure of what to do with himself — his girlfriend did the same thing.

Do you have a place in mind? Emmett asked as he hustled to get the door for her.

My place. You'll follow me, she said.

Emmett watched her strut to a nearby parking spot and climb into a white Aston Martin Coupe. She pulled up beside Emmett and lowered her blacked-out window.

It's getting late, she said.

Emmett had ample time to respond but stood silent as she rolled the window back up. Just before it was all the way up she let out, And you haven’t paid your tab.

He turned on his heel and hurried back praying to God she’d still be waiting. He let out a great sigh of relief to find that she was. He followed her coupe out onto the main road. With his left hand over the top of the steering wheel, he sent a group text to his mates.

Emmett: There you have it.

Rob: Bollocks! She ditched you, and you left with your cock in your pocket.

Mick: You're chirpsin' ain't that good.

There was a full moon just over the horizon across the English Channel that drew his attention beyond the city lights. For a moment he let himself wonder if perhaps true romance was on the horizon.

After the short ride, he pulled up behind the Aston Martin parked at the valet of an all-glass high rise. At the top of the building, there was a large, silver-lined, black-faced clock embedded flush with the glass. Emmett got out to see Aislinn revering the exterior of the building. Most of the lights were off, given the late hour. The lobby and a few office suites remained lit, even the parking lot was dim.

Emmett was finding it difficult to make sense of why she seemed so disinterested in him. Watching her there he thought maybe she was the wife of a wealthy, apathetic businessman looking to slum it for sport.

When Aislinn began to walk, he followed her inside, sneaking a quick snapshot of her from behind for Rob and Mick as proof.

The glass doors at the entrance had a large, transparent symbol etched across both panes. It looked like the number 30 with a top hat. He followed into the vacant corporate lobby — one step behind the whole way — and followed her to an elevator. They waited. Awkwardly. The elevator dinged.

You don't seem like much of a talker, Emmett said with a peek at her left hand absent a ring as they entered. Sorry if I talk too much.

Aislinn smirked, subtly twiddling the ringless fingers on her left hand as she reached out and pressed her right thumb in the center of a small panel. A camera scanned her face. Then she said, Thirty-two. The elevator began to rise. You do have discursive tendencies, but you're nice enough.

Emmett suspected that a woman stating, 'but you're nice enough,' bespoke a chaste night.

As the elevator door opened to Floor 32. The walls in the hallway were top to bottom glass the whole way down. Displayed on the right wall was a life-size, three-dimensional rendering of the same symbol etched into the entrance doors downstairs. It was silver-lined and black-faced, and it rotated slowly, floating in the foreground of an outer space scenery. Emmett made an unintelligible murmur as he walked up to the glass.

Aislinn went through the first door on the left. She scanned her thumb and face again. Fancy a nightcap?

Emmett felt like he had simply left one pub for another — only classier, and with an upgrade on the bartender.

Cranberry. Neat, he said.

Cranberry and vodka?

Sorry?

You said cranberry, yeah?

Whisky.

Emmett examined the open floor plan, confused to see that it was just slightly less sparse than the lobby. There was a white suede sectional in the living room facing the full-length window walls. A perfect view of the lights that outlined Eastbourne Pier.

Aislinn approached Emmett from the bar with a rocks glass of whisky extended toward him. You need to go.

Emmett took the glass. But, I just got here.

To the States. I’ve had time to think. You need to go, she said before a sip.

Emmett raised his own drink in unison with her and sipped at the peated Scotch whisky. Her eyes were thoughtful. Two rings of interlocking mango wood and jade. His own eyes began to water from the fumes of his swallow.

It'll be best, she said.

What's it to you? He sat on a white barstool and placed the glass on the white marble bar top.

You're an adventurist at heart, E. I can tell. You need this in your life. Think of it as an opportunity to make something of yourself. High heel after high heel, Aislinn Leary swaggered around the bar, sliding the tip of her finger across the edge of the countertop until she reached him. She bent at the hip with her pelvis inches from his knee, and tossed her hair to the side, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Emmett tilted his chin as if opening his neck for her to feed. He felt her chest lightly brush against his. Nothing good was to come of it — he suspected that now, he wasn't delusional — but it aroused him all the same. There was so much to read in her eyes, so much to taste on her lips. He froze.

Placing her freckled cheek on his, her words seeped into his ear with a gentle breath that taunted. Would you prefer the pubs of Pevensey for the rest of your life?

To his own surprise, Emmett shifted his jaw, and his bottom lip touched her tiny earlobe as he breathed back, What makes you think you know me?

Oh please, she stood back. I read you like a book. You're bored with your life anyway, so why not experience something worthwhile? Go do something productive with yourself. Who is Emmett Archer right now?

I dunno what you’re on about, but I think it's time we part ways, love, Emmett said. He took one last harsh gulp and barely caught