Storyteller's Universe // Violent Visions
Square One
I go to eat lunch under the apple tree, my favorite spot for lunch in Haven. One of the apples drops on my head, it hurts a bit.
I massage the sore spot on my head. I had this vision yesterday, that’s quite a step up from seeing just a moment ahead. I’m improving!
I sit under the giant beech on a hill nearby Haven, watching Raphael first send people back to… I suppose the “real world” is a good way to describe it.
He handles it exactly the same way Sebastian did, including even the same hello and goodbye ritual.
I feel my stomach drop when Raphael announces that it was everyone already. I immediately get up and walk up to him, he looks worried when he sees me approach.
“Waiting for Aubrey?”
I nod.
“They are a busy critter, something might’ve held them up back in Paris. Have patience, I’m sure they’ll be here next week.”
Raphael is right but I can’t help but worry.
I am the last to walk up to Raphael, I grab his hand.
“Shae?”
“It’s been a month, I need to know what happened to Aubrey.”
“Next transfers are in a week, where will you sleep until then?”
“I don’t know. I hope Haji will help.”
Raphael grabs my hand more firmly and pulls me into a hug.
“Sebastian made a promise to keep you safe. You are the one ending that promise, do you understand?”
“I know.”
Raphael ends the hug without letting go of my hand.
“Be safe, child. You will always be welcome back. Goodbye.”
I suddenly find myself in an underground garage, holding Sebastian’s hand. We’re surrounded by people who are next to go into the Haven.
“...Shae?!”
// bad news // digital footprint wiped // no cctvs // no tracking // definitely anomalous //
I let my head fall into my hands, I curl up on the sidewalk.
I look at the business card, then at the phone booth in the Paris Métro. Do people still use these things?
I walk up to it, the display shows something about a prepaid card I need to insert in, but the contact instructions on the business card specifically say to ignore everything.
I pick up the handset off the rack, wedge it between my cheek and shoulder so I can listen in — oh, it’s saying something in French, I don’t understand. I type in the unusually long phone number onto the keypad.
With a weird buzz and a whirr, the call connects instantly.
“You have reached the Contractors, would you like to place a contract or do you have other business with us?”
I swallow hard.
“...I would like to talk with Agent Sybil.”