Advent Awakening 3

She had short brown hair, ladylike eyelashes, a cute button nose, and olive skin. Her drawn breaths were slow and deep, as she slept peacefully. She was slender, even for a girl of thirteen.

Mary was amazed that she hadn’t been bothered to check the rooms adjacent to hers in the tiny cabin, and felt slight self-criticism for her ignorance. The girl was sleeping in a room right next to Mary’s, in a similar bed, but the last time Mary had seen her, the young thing had been holding tightly onto her mothers’ hand, with the most heartbreaking look of fear on her face. While she stood leaning against the doorway into her bedroom, with Michael peering in, noticeably close, Mary was remembering more and more with each passing minute. She now felt a chill as she remembered seeing what had happened to the little one the last time she had seen her. It was a second before she realised Michael had said something to her.

“What?” she asked.

“What’s her name?” he repeated.

“Oh…Rebecca Long, or Becky for short,” said Mary. “Where’s her Mum?”

“Mother? I…she must not have survived,” Michael finished, a little uncertainly.

“Yeah? That’s surprising,” Mary said, sarcastically. “No actually, you know, come to think of it, I’m not surprised. See, last I saw her she was crushed by a two-tonne I-beam. As was her daughter, here….”

Mary took that moment to pointedly freeze her gaze on him. Michael stared back. His poker face was excellent.

“So what the hell happened?” Mary continued, aggressively. “I can understand if someone’s body was more or less intact, you can mess around with tissues or whatever, but believe me, this girl and her Mum were dead.”

“Nevertheless…”

“Oh, nevertheless? Nevertheless. I’m glad you pointed that out. I just can’t argue with nevertheless.”

Michael said nothing, waiting out her rant in his extremely annoying way. It peeved her, and she continued to rant.

“Also, you are telling me that you brought back Becky, with no apparent trouble despite her body being crushed like a pressed flower, but not her Mum. Do you guys play God here too? What is she, some kind of clone?”

“She is not a clone. Calm down. I know you deserve an explanation, but now is not the time.”

Mary scoffed. “It’s about the timing? In these circumstances, unexplained resurrection and all, I would prefer to discuss them as soon as possible. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but where I’m from, people crushed into paste do not come back.”

She was angry, though the reason eluded her. She was thinking about the Rebecca Long that she knew, and somehow found a disturbing sensation, in her worry that she was gazing at a copy of the original.

“I can appreciate your concern, and you deserve answers, but we still have two other survivors, and I need your help to identify them. When everyone is awake and recovered, I can give you all information as a group, and you are all able to ask questions. Is it possible for you to wait until that is the case?”

Mary stopped. Michael’s tone of voice informed her that for the first time she was trying his patience. For almost all other men, she would pay no attention and milk his emotional response for all it was worth for the sheer joy of it, but she was finding he was particularly resistant to her manipulations, and this made him suddenly seem intimidating. She hated it, despite her intrigue.

“Uh…ok sure, whatever.”

Michael ceased his conversation, and she watched him observe her youthful previous acquaintance, his latest of charges, and possibly the most vulnerable. “Cute kid,” he remarked appreciatively.

Mary looked back at Becky. The girl drowsily shifted her head to a more comfortable position, her consciousness lost in teen girl dreams. She appeared completely innocent, like the worst she felt she should encounter today was lame Saturday morning cartoons, and the desirable challenge of conquering boredom throughout an active, youthful weekend. Maybe skateboarding, or swimming in rivers, or shopping at the mall, milkshake in hand. Laughing with friends, talking about boys.

The thought was almost hauntingly depressing, as Mary thought about what kind of experience the girl would encounter instead, when she woke. When she discovered what had happened to her Mom.

“Yeah,” she replied, thinking of the Rebecca Long that she knew. “She’s a little angel.”

The embarrassment came a little late, after she felt Michael’s eyes on her, as he awaited her elaboration. She didn’t really want to talk about cherished, and long gone, memories with a stranger.

“What’s she like?” Michael asked, as though sensing her thoughts.

Now, Mary realised where her anger had arisen from. Mary was worried that the real Rebecca Long was dead, and that she gazed at a cheap knockoff, a clone, or a fake entity designed to look like the real thing. It would have been insulting in the most despicable way she could think of. There was no way to replace Rebecca Long.

“She loves everyone,” Mary replied, her attention lost down memory lane. “That’s why everyone loves her.”

She suddenly laughed, as she remembered a humorous event that epitomised Rebecca Long.

“We used to work with this engineer. Mark Worthington. Crusty old guy, overweight, bald, never washed. He was terrible, degraded everyone. Lazy, good at doing nothing and covering his ass. When Becky first showed up, me and some friends showed her around, just casually. She wasn’t an employee, so she wasn’t going to work anywhere. But we showed her the workshop, and Mark was in there, sitting at his desk. He had never seen her before, but he swore at us, and her, said something like rug rats under his feet, her being a nuisance and all. Said he didn’t want any of us there…”

Mary shook her head, her amused grin lighting her features.

“Becky looked at him, smiled the most amazing, winning smile, and leapt onto his lap, wrapped her arms around him in this really tight hug, like she met her long lost uncle. Gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek, told him he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. I mean, I could smell the guy’s smoker’s breath from about twenty feet, but she didn’t even seem to notice.”

Mary laughed again, the images of her recollection flashing through her mind.

“The guy was absolutely shocked. It looked like he could have laid an ostrich egg. The look on his face was priceless!”

Mary couldn’t help but imitate the image in her head,. Her eyes were opened as wide as she could, as was her mouth, gaping like a fish, though the edges of her lips couldn’t hide her persistent smirk. Her arms shook like those of the man in her memory, as though he was forcing himself to refuse to feel the affection of an innocent young girl, refusing to return an embrace, as much as he wanted to, and could only perform movements reminiscent of an epileptic fit, practically horrified at the unexpected fondness.

Mary was brought back to the present by the sound of soft chuckling. She turned slowly, and saw that Michael was enjoying her story with a bright smile. His smile distracted her for a second, and she couldn’t help but stare at him, before she continued.

“She brought him out of his shell. He started showering, thank God, and then he started eating dinner with us, though she at first had to drag him there by the hand. She brought him little origami pieces she had made every day, after getting Kobi to teach her how. His workshop was covered in them, like he was loath to throw them away. After a while, she asked him questions, in front of everyone, and we began to hear about his wife. She passed away, from cancer, before he had been deployed, after she fought for about eight months. He said that she had sworn she didn’t want to leave him, because she knew he would hide from the world, and no one would know him, any more. Know how special he was. The only reason he took a job in Antarctica was because he thought he had nothing else.”

Mary’s smile remained, though it faded slightly.

“Becky knew it all before any of us did. She started to call him Mr Wilson, like the Dennis-the-menace character, and soon, we were all doing it. When we talked to him, we’d imitate Dennis, yelling out ‘Mr WILSOOOON!’, like we were all annoying kids who came over to naively torment him.”

“He would make jokes about his grumpiness, though it was never serious any more. He’d say stuff like ‘Get off my lawn, you meddling kids!’ Someone would put on loud dance music, and he’d yell out, ‘Turn that damn rock-and-rapjazz racket off!’”

Mary shook her head, her smile continuing. Briefly, she realised how much attention Michael was paying her. He hadn’t looked away from her once.

“Kobi and Drakken would take him on patrols, when he wasn’t working. After that, though, he was a lot busier in the workshop. I think he liked telling Becky how stuff worked. He was even helping her with her schoolwork.”

“It sounds like she really liked him,” Michael commented.

“She did,” replied Mary. “But she liked everyone. People who were stressed would find their shoulders gently massaged as she wandered past, just because she thought they looked like they could use one. She’d raid the kitchen, charm the kitchen staff or whatever, and make chocolate brownies and ice cream for everyone, and it was really good.”

Mary smiled again. “Like, she might have laced them with crack or something…it was that good. I don’t know how she found the time to please everyone, but she somehow did.”

A thought occurred to Mary, and immediately, her face creased with confusion, and concern.

“What?” asked Michael.

Mary shook her head. “It was just really strange. Children weren’t exactly allowed at an Antarctic base. It was a unique arrangement she was even there. Her Mom was highly thought of, and she arranged for Becky to accompany her. But…”

Mary paused, trying to remember.

“But…there were rumours. About the reason she was there. Like no school in the US would have her. Like…she was an ex-juvie or something. A really, really bad girl, who had done something terrible. It just…didn’t fit her in the slightest.”

Michael nodded his head, absorbing all that she had told him. “Any idea what happened?”

Mary shrugged. “Like I said…she was an angel. I couldn’t understand why anyone would think that. But I was never comfortable asking her, or her Mom.”

Silence followed as Mary continued to reminisce. Her previous exuberance was dampened by a realisation.

“I think…she’s really going to miss Mr Wilson” she said softly.

Michael nodded in understanding. “I want you here when she wakes, in a few hours. She’ll need someone familiar.”

Mary nodded, swallowing. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Good,” Michael paused, and Mary realised he wanted to talk about the other survivors. “About your crew.”

Mary closed her eyes for a moment, and nodded.

“Do you remember anyone of either African or Oriental decent?”

Mary blanched. She spun abruptly, staring at Michael, her eyes wide.

Michael returned her gaze. “Have I surprised you?” he enquired.

Mary shook her head in slight disbelief. “They…they’re both alive?”