HI THERE!!! Welcome to Chapter 2. Well, it looks like Church and Shawn will be getting ready for a trip soon. I wonder what that will involve. Interdimensional travel sounds like a big deal, but maybe it isn't. I guess we'll have to see. Enjoy the chapter and thanks for reading.
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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: From Whence I Came The second installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
2
Home and an Unexpected Visitor
I drove us out of The HALL compound into the evening. It was late summer and hot, but hot without humidity. I had the windows down anyway. Air conditioning wasn't really a thing on Solum. The people preferred to experience whatever nature gave them as opposed to fighting it. Shawn was unusually quiet for the first half of the drive. He broke his silence as we got near the apartment.
"Were you serious about children?" Shawn asked, his voice tentative and his emotions more curious than concerned.
I rubbed the back of my neck with the heel of my right hand. "What...kids...shit, I don't know. When we started talking about years and years in the future, the thought entered my head. I'm human. I've thought about what it would be like to be a father. I've got a pretty good roadmap of what not to do. I'll be forty-six this year. I remember your uncle saying people often wait until they're over one hundred before they have children. In sixty years, I'll be the right age...and as I say it, it still sounds bizarre to me. What do you think?"
Shawn's left hand was a fist, his right closed around the outside, the knuckles were white. "I think I'd like to be a father."
"How would that even work?"
"With a surrogate. It's very acceptable for same sex couples to have children. Surrogates are well paid and held in high regard."
I felt myself grip the wheel tighter than usual as we explored the weighty subject. "I guess her egg and your swimmers? Probably should leave me out of it."
"I'd rather it be OUR child with our genetics, yours and mine." Shawn held a silencing hand up as he predicted my objection. "It's a simple process of removing the genetic code from the egg and implanting one of ours. When the egg is fertilized, our genetics blend to become our child."
I chewed that over. Beyond the strangeness of two men being able to conceive a child with some help from a third party, I found the idea of passing on my genetic code both compelling and disturbing. "It's the big pedal on the right...pecker-head." I muttered to an overly timid driver in front of us.
Shawn knew I wasn't mad at the other driver. I was conflicted about what he'd just told me. He patted my thigh with a gentle hand. "We've got lots of time to think about it." He soothed.
The idea of reproducing...it freaked me out. I pushed the thoughts aside and tried to focus on driving.
I parked in front of Shawn's building, we grabbed our bags, and staggered through the door of our first-floor apartment. Earlier in the day, Shawn had notified our caretaker that we were coming home. Signs of his activity and thoughtfulness were everywhere. The apartment lights were low, the curtains drawn, the television played soothing music, the kitchen island was set for a meal and the Culinarian programmed with one of our favorites. There was even a folded card on the island with `Welcome Home' written in sprawling calligraphy.
How we wound up with a caretaker is an interesting story. Our original plan of turning the second-floor apartment of Shawn's building into a physical therapy gym for me never came to fruition. I'd preferred to go to a facility for my therapy. It got me out of the house and gave me a better sense of accomplishment, like going to work every day. That meant the apartment remained a furnished studio. For all the attention we paid, it was little more than a closed door on a landing that we passed if we visited Neb on the third-floor or Bem on the fourth.
That changed when, at some point during my year-long recovery, Doctor Altrix came to Shawn and me for help. He told the tale of a medical student, a bright young man the doctor knew personally, who'd had a reversal of fortune. He needed money and a place to live, or he'd have to drop out of school. The doctor didn't want to ask Neb for the money because their relationship was still young. The doctor didn't feel right about asking his girlfriend to fund his personal charity case.
The young man in question, Met Iners, visited Shawn and me without knowing why he was doing it and we held an informal interview. Met impressed me with his attitude, and he impressed Shawn with his medical knowledge. We offered him the second-floor apartment rent free, plus a monthly stipend, if he'd manage the building. This amounted to paying the bills, seeing that the cleaners did their job, dealing with building maintenance people, and hiring contractors when repairs were needed. He agreed, accepted on the spot, and was very grateful. He told us with a place to live secured, he'd only need a part-time job to handle the rest of his expenses.
I tried to raise the amount of his stipend so he wouldn't have to work, but Met wouldn't hear of it. He was too proud to accept what he saw as charity. What young Met didn't know, was that Shawn and I could be as stubborn as him. We worked with the doctor, who knew the university bursar personally, and arranged an anonymously funded scholarship. It covered the full balance of Met's education, including books and all incidentals, and was awarded to the boy for `academic achievement in the face of adversity,' or some such nonsense.
Met's words and actions, when he was notified that his financial problems were solved, were inspiring. The boy doubled down on his studies. He felt that was the only way to pay his anonymous benefactor back for his or her generosity. He worked constantly, reviewed things with Shawn, sought advice from Doctor Altrix. He even helped with my therapy, all in the name of learning to be the best physician he could be.
Shawn was so moved, he reconnected with the bursar through Doctor Altrix and endowed a scholarship fund for students with similar troubles as Met. He liked the feeling of being a philanthropist.
We benefitted to the extent that we gained a devoted caretaker who we trusted to administer all things related to the building. Over and above his normal duties, Met took it upon himself to see to our comfort every time we returned. We hadn't been inside the apartment in almost a year, but with Met's kind attention, it felt like we'd only been gone a few hours.
I dropped the bags in the entry way, kicked my shoes off, and flopped on the couch. The wheels in my head were turning. I wasn't brooding exactly. More like thinking with intent. It was pretty serious though because my left hand drifted to my pocket and felt my watch through the fabric. Shawn sat next to me, on my left side. His presence made me take my hand from the watch. I didn't want him to know I had it. After a few minutes of both of us staring at the blank wall, he broke the silence.
"Do you want to eat?" He asked.
"I just want to sit."
"How about a drink?"
"I just want to sit."
"Do you want to tell me what's bothering you?" He persisted.
"Not really."
"Do you want to fuck me?" Shawn asked in the same tone he used to offer me a drink.
"No." I replied just as flatly.
"Do you want me to fuck you?"
"No." I replied again and felt myself starting to lose patience.
"Do you mind if I sit here and pleasure myself?"
With that last question, Shawn had beaten me. I tried to hold it in but couldn't keep the gasps and snorts inside. I surrendered and laughed at his ridiculous suggestion. When I was finished, Shawn grinned. "Feel better?" He asked.
"Yes. You win." I smirked back.
"You wanna tell me about it now?"
I chuckled internally at Shawn's use of `wanna.' When we met, my language was somewhat coarse. I was well-spoken by construction site standards, but my normal speech patterns, peppered with obscenity and vernacular words, were far from refined. Shawn always spoke in a very proper manner. He rarely used contractions and never used words that weren't words. Since we'd been together, my speech smoothed out while obscenity and colloquialism invaded his.
That had nothing to do with what he'd asked me, so I heaved a sigh and returned my mind to the serious subject. "I'm afraid to go to Earth. Maybe `afraid' isn't the right word. I don't fear the trip, I dread it."
"I don't understand, why?"
I picked at the arm of the couch while I tried to find a starting point. "I'm not sure how to explain this so you can understand, but I'll do my best. Even before my parents were killed, I wasn't living my best life. I was lonely, sexually confused, frustrated." I lost track of what I was trying to say and took a breath to reset my direction.
"While I was recovering from the first mission, I had way too much time to think, and I tried to sort my life out to see why I wound up the way I did. Between being brought up by religious fanatics, being a closeted homosexual, and a lot of other things, even if my folks hadn't died the way they did, I probably would have been much the same as I was when we met on Earth. The career I chose also made things difficult, being in construction and being gay are not two things that go together well."
I turned to face Shawn, to read how he was taking my ramblings. He was visibly confused. I tried to clarify. "Anyway, every once in a while, my mother would dig out photo albums and show me pictures of myself as a very small child. I think she did it as some kind of lesson, trying to show me the potential I'd wasted. Doesn't matter why she did it. I hated it. I didn't want to see that little kid who had hope for life ahead, because the adult he turned into didn't have any. The idea of going to Earth is kind of the opposite but still the same feeling. Now I have hope and I don't want to see all the scenes of the misery I left behind."
"I think I get it." Shawn said as he rubbed his hands together and folded them in his lap. "What about the rest of it though? You lived on Earth for forty years. You had to have something you cared about. What about your brother and sister? Don't you want to see them? Even if you don't, shouldn't you at least let them know you're not dead?"
I shrugged and shook my head at the thought. "As far as they're concerned, I may as well be dead. It's not like I can be part of their lives from here. Besides, what exactly do I tell them? `Hi Joe, Mary, I'm not dead. I've been living on a parallel world for the last six years. Oh, by the way, this is Shawn, MY HUSBAND.' I think that may be a bit much for them to take in."
Shawn was silent for a second, his eyes downcast as he thought about what I'd said. "Yeah, I could see that being a lot to swallow." He admitted. "We'll figure it out. Maybe your brother can help us with the investments. He's a lawyer, right? If we spent some time with him, he might accept it."
"I don't know. Maybe." I answered with no enthusiasm.
"Come on." Shawn jumped up. "Enough of this serious stern face. We've been home almost a whole hour and we both still have our clothes on."
Shawn repositioned himself on the couch and threw his leg over mine. He straddled my lap and faced me with his eyes locked on mine. His hands rose, they trailed up my torso under my shirt. He flipped the front of it over my head and framed my face with his soft, delicate hands. He moved in so slowly I was buzzing with anticipation when his lips finally crushed against mine. I completely forgot my dread as I lost myself in him.
I woke first the next morning, like I usually did. Even when we both woke up late, I still woke up first. The sunshine that was trying to get around the curtains told me it was full morning. I didn't get up right away, instead I reveled in the feeling of being in my own bed, in my own apartment. It felt so good just to be home. I really wanted to lay in bed and do nothing, but Ars had only given us three days to get to Earth. I got up, programmed coffee, and took my cup with me to get cleaned up.
Shawn jumped into the shower as I stepped out. A short time later, he and I were sitting to our breakfasts. Shawn had his usual, two eggs over light, two strips of bacon, and two slices of toast. I had three eggs scrambled hard, bacon, home fries, and toast. It was a big meal, but it was on the larger side of normal instead of being on the larger side of massive.
Since we'd defeated the magic barrier over the Demon's Citadel, the magic levels on Solum were back to normal. That helped me in particular because my body uses its own mass to create magic. Instead of my body generating a ton of magic for a world that was lacking, my bonfire of power was only warming Shawn and I, not trying to heat the whole world. My appetite, though still large, was under control.
We finished breakfast but remained to chat over our dirty plates. Since Shawn and I had been together, some of his good manners had worn off on me. I'd learned to eat first and talk later. "How does this work?" I asked, meaning interdimensional travel.
"The catalyst uncle gave us yesterday will take us, and anything we want to take with us, to Earth. It functions a little like when I connect to someone to examine them medically. My power allows me to send my consciousness into their body. The catalyst allows me to send my consciousness to Earth ahead of our physical beings to select a spot to arrive. That keeps us out of walls and away from obstacles. It will take us anywhere I picture in my mind. Your memories open up more options than I had the last time, when I went by myself."
Shawn got up to clear the plates away while he continued the explanation. "I know this sounds counter-intuitive, but it's best to go back to a public place; a bus station, train station, even a shopping mall is good. Strangers aren't scrutinized in those places, and we'd have immediate access to transportation for wherever we need to go. When I went to your world the last time, I arrived in a bathroom stall in the 30th Street Train Station in Philadelphia."
I asked a question that was long overdue but one I'd never thought of before that moment. "Then why was your license from Cleveland? I mean, your uncle gave me a Pennsylvania ID just last night. Couldn't he have made one for you back then?"
"Think about it," Shawn said, "if I was stopped and questioned by the local authorities, they would expect me to have a frame of reference for the place listed on that identification. A Cleveland license in Philadelphia wouldn't have been too unusual and could indicate something as simple as a business trip or a visit to see friends or family. Then the authorities wouldn't expect me to have local knowledge."
"Makes sense." I tried for a sip of coffee and found my cup empty. I set the cup down and asked another question. "Can we take the Vic back? I'd like to get the engine rebuilt and I can't do that here. The metallurgy on this world is all wrong."
Shawn programmed another cup of coffee that I hadn't asked for, but he knew I wanted. He handed it across with a word of concern. "I thought it wouldn't run anymore."
"A heater hose split, the coolant leaked, and the engine overheated. The bottom end took a beating when the oil thinned out. It's got low oil pressure, but the bottom end will hold out long enough to get us where we need to go." I explained, telling Shawn far more than he wanted to know about the condition of the Vic's high-mileage V-8.
We negotiated back and forth. Shawn agreed to going back in the Vic provided I check on the car and make extra certain it would do what we needed it to do. We also decided to return on the lower level of the Girard Point Bridge on Interstate 95 just north of the Philadelphia International Airport. It wasn't exactly a tunnel, but close enough for our purposes and much nearer our destination than the Baltimore tunnel.
The topic of clothes was raised. "We can't show up dressed like this." I gestured to our outlandishly colored outfits and wedge heels. "We'd stand out like American tourists in North Korea."
Shawn agreed. After we cleared the breakfast things away, we made a search of our closet for clothes that would be suitable for Earth. Inside, we uncovered our military fatigues and tactical boots. Their dark colors and simple style were perfect for Earth. Shawn's fatigues fit him as well as they always had, because he was in the same shape that he'd been in for the first mission. I had to cinch my belt in to hold up the pants that gathered and bunched around my much-smaller waist, and my shirt was big enough to be a one-man tent, but it didn't look too bad tucked in. The clothes would serve until we could shop.
We passed the rest of the day on mundane tasks. Shawn unpacked us from our previous trip and took care of the wash. I went to The HALL where the Vic was in storage to do the pre-check on the car. The battery was very dead. I had to picture the flywheel in my mind and turn the engine over with magic. It started with the sound of a coffee can full of ball bearings falling down a set of metal steps. After a few minutes, the worn-crankshaft-bearing / collapsed-lifter racket quieted to an acceptable level.
I drove the old girl around the parking garage and inside the compound. The automatic transmission still had its forward and reverse gears, the brakes stopped the car, and all the tires held air. I double-checked the fluids, topped everything up from containers in the trunk, and considered the car ready for interdimensional travel.
Back home, I helped Shawn fold and put away clothes and passed a pleasantly normal evening. We went to bed early.
I can usually count on one finger the number of nights a month that will see me awake in the small hours. That's why, when I opened my eyes just after midnight, and I didn't need to pee, I knew something was wrong. I strained my hearing into the darkness to try to identify what it was. I listened so hard, I started hearing sounds that weren't there. I'd almost convinced myself that my imagination was playing games with me when I heard a sound that was there.
A dull, hollow sound, like the flat of someone's hand patting a wall, came to my ear like a teenager sneaking into the house after curfew. I eased out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I pressed my ear to it. The sound repeated. I pulled the door open.
Bem was on the other side, propped against the jamb. He looked like shit. His hair was a mess, his face wore a two-week beard, his clothes hung on him like they belonged to someone else, and were so rumpled, they looked like he'd slept in them for several days. His eyes were shut.
Bem must have felt me staring at him because he cracked an eye open, saw me, and tried to speak. His voice wouldn't work. He cleared his throat and rasped. "Big Guy...help a tired man upstairs."
He pushed off the doorjamb to stand, but his legs wouldn't support him. He crumpled, a house of cards in a draft. I caught him with magic and lifted him into my arms. I carried him inside and spread him on the couch. "SHAWN!" I shouted into the dark apartment.
Shawn, startled awake by my urgent shout, sat bolt upright in bed. "HUH, what?"
"I need help!" I turned the living room light panel ceiling on as Shawn crossed the floor, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
He went into `Doctor Shawn' mode as soon as he saw Bem. He did a quick, superficial exam, then a slower, more thorough one. Shawn finished and leaned back, crouched next to his patient and sitting on his heels. "He's exhausted," Shawn announced, "physically and magically exhausted. I don't know how he made it here on his own. I don't know what was keeping him on his feet."
Shawn picked up one of Bem's arms and shoved the long sleeve he was wearing up to reveal a bony appendage. "Look how thin he is. I don't know what he's been doing, but he's not going back to it for a while."
"What can we do?" I asked, worried for my friend.
"It's a good thing he came here. There's something only you can do. Do you remember how I needed magic when we were in jail two years ago? You can give Bem magic the same way you gave it to me."
I remembered the situation. Shawn and I had been thrown in jail while we were in the middle of a mission for Shawn's uncle. Ars had sent us into a situation of social unrest and there was a misunderstanding. We wound up getting arrested with a bunch of protestors. I was pissed off and wanted to use my white magic to get us out of the holding cell, but Shawn wouldn't let me. He worried about retaliation from the police who had arrested us. He'd instructed me to `let the process work.' I grumbled about it but did as he asked.
While we were in the crowded holding cell, one of the protestors had a medical emergency. Shawn tried to get the attention of the cops, but they thought the guy was faking and refused to call a doctor. Shawn had to treat the guy. The protestor's appendix had burst when he was tussling with the cops, and he was starting to go septic.
Shawn did what he could, but he ran out of magic power before the protestor was out of danger. Shawn knew that he could draw magic from me, but he'd only ever done that when he was already connected to me. He couldn't connect to me to draw the magic and be connected to the protestor to heal him at the same time.
The urgency of the situation gave Shawn an epiphany. He remembered that my Vitalis magic was pure energy. Shawn thought that if I activated my power, but didn't put any force behind it, I could transfer magic from my body to his. Shawn had me put my hand on his shoulder and activate my power. To my complete amazement, my magic flowed into Shawn and replenished the power he needed to finish healing the protestor. It was a one-time thing, though. I hadn't given Shawn, or anyone else, magic since that time.
Shawn took my hands and placed one on Bem's stomach and the other in the middle of his chest. I was surprised by the way my friend felt under my hands. Bem's stomach felt hollow, and his ribs felt like piano keys. Shawn gave me some instructions. "Just like before. Activate your direct magic, but don't push it out. Imagine you're making your magic available to him, offering him the help he needs. Let it seep from your hands."
I did as I was told and felt the magic flow. It wasn't enough to activate the power plant in my core, but I definitely felt the flow as the magic entered my friend. Bem's eyes fluttered open. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"Giving you magic."
"Oh." Bem said like what I was doing for him was an everyday occurrence. "Thanks, Church. That feels really good." Bem's eyes slid around to Shawn, and he frowned. "Sorry. I guess I woke you guys."
"Doesn't matter," Shawn soothed and ran his hand across Bem's head, "glad you did."
Shawn tapped my shoulder. "That's enough for now."
I shut my power down and removed my hands. Bem sighed. "Can you help me upstairs?"
I didn't know what to say, but Shawn did. "No, you're not going anywhere. You'll stay right here. You are not in any condition to be left alone."
Bem didn't agree with Shawn, but he didn't argue. He seemed too exhausted to argue. Bem let me undress him, and Shawn instructed me to put Bem in bed between us. Shawn explained that Bem still needed more magic, but he had to get it gradually. It would help if he could draw from me. We laid down, pressed to either side of our friend. "Why are you guys so good to me?" Bem whispered to the dark.
Shawn answered. "It's `cause we love you, you silly ass. Go to sleep."
Bem settled. I felt him relax and his breathing changed to be even and steady. He slept almost immediately.
What the hell could have happened to him?' I wondered. If I find out someone hurt him, I'll...I don't know but it will be awful.'
I didn't dwell on menacing the unknown, but I still worried. I tried to console myself with the idea that, as long as Bem was with us, he was safe. I knew that Shawn and I would protect him, and we would make sure he got better. I allowed myself to relax...a little.
Soon, I felt my husband's consciousness shut down as Shawn followed Bem into dreamland. I stayed up for a while as my mind played over all the possible things that could have happened to put Bem in the state that he was in. A Bem who was unable to be lewd while I undressed him and put him in bed, was a very sick man. Eventually, I exhausted my ponderings and joined the other two in sleep.