The Perfect Weapon Chapter 2007: Part 3 Section 3 of 4

[camillecarelli]

Chapter 2007: Part 3 Section 3 of 4

Jack looked at his watch. “We have ninety-eight minutes until the choppers are here.”

“The guards-“ Weiss began, hearing Jack on their com units. “Are down. We have enough time-“

Zamir shook his head. “Took down the guards, we did, all we could find. But we didn’t have time to check every cave." He broke off as a slight figure in robes emerged from a distant cave with a small pack. “No, we cannot assume--”

Sydney looked around as what seemed like the entire encampment surrounded them as they rode in. “I assumed we’d meet with some suspicion and--“ She stared down and smiled automatically under her veil as the children smiled up at them. They were adorable. But maybe the women were suspicious - who could tell under the veils? Who could tell what was hidden here?

“And some men.” Weiss asked, “Where are all the men?”

“Why are they staring so intently?” Vaughn asked Nia. “The children?”

“They’re smiling at us,” Irina hissed in an undertone. “Like... I don’t know. But smile back, boys.”

“I wish they’d get away from the horses,” Jack hissed as well. “I’m afraid I’m going to step on one because now will be the time for this damn horse-“

“Get a grip,” Zamir smiled at Jack. “On your reins, I mean.”

Nia looked around at the small sea of upturned faces. All smiling. This was...too much. “I do not know what is going on. This is...unseemly.”

“I didn’t realize your sensibilities were so fragile,” Vaughn told her.

“They’re not, you bloody twit.” Nia shook her head. “Children are always curious, but this staring - this would be considered rude. Quite rude to guests. Unacceptable in this culture. And there’s something...”

“They’re smiling,” Sydney whispered. “As if...we are expected guests.”

“Yes.” Nia agreed.
Jack pulled his horse up and spoke to Nia and Zamir. “There’s something...”

“Do you sense danger, Jack?” Zamir asked quickly.

“No.” Jack shook his head. “Not danger. It’s...”

“Excitement?” Irina asked. “Perhaps they’re just excited to see new faces, not that you can see our faces since we’re under the burkas, but-“

“Shh. I need to speak, since there are no men here.” Nia dismounted slowly, the rest followed suit. Nia bowed her head to a nearby woman who had come forward. They listened to them make the usual verbal exchanges and then Nia held up her waterskin. The woman bowed her head and gestured past three tents.

Nia nodded again and then asked, “Your men? Our men - would like to meet with yours. We have trades to make.” She stopped abruptly when the children began to giggle.

“What do you trade?” one woman asked boldly, coming slightly forward.

“Gold. Food. Toys-“ Nia broke off when the children’s mouths fell open and they began to talk amongst themselves.

“Toys?” A woman asked swiftly. “For the children?” Once again, the children began to giggle.

“Yes.” Nia looked at the children. They were oddly... What was it? Patient.

“What is it you wish in return?” Another woman asked. “We are a humble camp, with nothing to offer.”

“Ah, that is not true. You have your gracious hospitality, cool water from your well and information.”

“Information?” Someone asked sharply, her head turning tellingly toward the caves.

“Yes. A valuable commodity,” Nia said as she lifted the water from the well in a jar. “More valuable than anything else you might possess.”

“Anything?” a voice among the women asked.

“Anything. And we’re willing and eager to repay you for your generous assistance in recovering the...information we seek. We will pay for it.”

“How much?” Someone asked quickly, the usual pleasantries shrugged off in the need for haste. The men might return and spoil this trade. Men were not always practical with their concerns about honor. Honor would not buy food for the children. Or toys. But would it be worth it? Their benefactor was not ungenerous. “How much?”

Nia slowly lifted her outer covering until the skeins of gold around her neck was exposed. Slowly Irina and Sydney also lifted their veils to show more gold. The sight of the gold, so much gold, transfixed the women who looked at it and then at each other. The children giggled among themselves and then suddenly, scampered away, running toward the largest tent in the small village.

The women turned to stare after their children and then seemed to shrug. One woman said, “Your men will find our men by the caves. They may go there. But do you not want some-“

“Water,” Zamir answered softly. “We thank you for your gracious hospitality but we are all suffering from a stomach ailment and have no wish for food. I am certain you will understand that while we would love to partake of any delectable offering you might present, we would not insult you with our body’s inability to handle...” He went on and on.

Weiss turned to Vaughn. “He can speak for himself. I could eat.”

Arezou nodded at her father and held up the one small round of flat bread she brought with her and a small lamp in her other hand. He nodded and smiled at her as she went inside the cave.

She loved and honored her father, but she knew she had probably spent more time with Daoud in the last years. Learning, as he had listened. As he had listened to them all. Learning himself, he had said. Learning ways to escape, her mother had teased him more than once, Arezou remembered as she held her lamp up in the dank air of the tunnel.

She had rushed over from ‘her’ cave with the offering for Daoud. He might have no other time or food to eat today. His friends were rich, he had said, with much gold. She turned a corner and came to a fork in the path and went right. But still, they might not have enough food. No one had enough food, in her experience. She went left the next time and the next, shortly thereafter. How many times had their English lessons been broken by the sound of growling stomachs? The children or Daoud himself. He had taught them that word, ‘growl’ because of a hungry belly.

Now, the second right, then a long straight path. Then he had demonstrated what else might growl. A bear, he had said. Told them about. A lion. And a tiger. Then he had taught them that song. Daoud had an endless supply of songs. The children would miss them. But they would remember what they had been taught.

She was sure of it, she decided as she made the final, sharp turn that would bring her into the alcove.

“What was that babbling you were doing?” Zamir’s brother asked him as they left the camp and approached the caves. The guards left their posts, if guards they were and came forward, guns at the ready. “That endless-“

“What was it you used to say, Jack?” Zamir asked as they went forward.

“Oh. If you can’t amaze them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. You always excelled at that,” Jack said drily while Zamir’s brother snorted. Jack nodded toward the caves. “I see five guards on the left. Three on the right.”

“Or are they just men from the camp?” Weiss asked.

“Either way, they have to go down, I presume,” Vaughn said. “Start with the tranqs, right?”

Jack nodded. As they walked forward, he looked back at the camp. “The gold seemed to do the trick.” He smiled suddenly and kept the smile in place as they drew closer to the men. “Remember what Dave used to say when one of us was struggling with an accent?”

Zamir nodded. “When all else fails, don’t forget. Gold is the universal translator.”

“So’s a gun,” Jack reminded him and put his hand inside his tunic as they drew within shooting range.

Arezou frowned as she knelt in the dirt next to Daoud. No, she must remember. David. Dave. Uncle Dave. He was asleep? Or unconscious? She looked at the bread in her hand and shrugged. When all else fails, food works. She held the bread under his nose and watched fondly as his nose wrinkled up. “Dave... Dave...” She whispered.

Dave struggled to open his eyes. He had to open his eyes. He smelled food. Must eat whenever food was offered. He forced his eyes open and blinked, blearily. A young woman. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Food. Sydney must be older now. How old? He forgot. No, he didn’t know because he didn’t know the time. No watch. Food. Ice cream. It didn’t smell like ice cream, but Baskin and Robbins had had that apple pie ice cream, so maybe they’d made a flatbread ice cream too. He stretched his facial muscles and widened his eyes. “Sydney?”

“No,” Arezou laughed softly. He must know. She didn’t need to tell him. “It is Arezou-“

“Ah. Wish...” Dave nodded. He could smell the bread and had to force himself not to snatch for it. If he had enough strength to snatch for it, that was.

“Now, you must wish for food. You have not eaten in so long. Here...” Arezou held up the bread. The strangers who were no strangers had ridden in on fine horses with heavy packs and silver on their saddles. But just in case. “Just in case there is not enough food-“

“Isn’t this your bread for-“

“It does not matter. Take.” Arezou broke off a piece and held it up to Daoud...Dave’s lips. Carefully, not spilling a crumb. Food was as precious and as little seen as gold around the camp.

He shook his head. He could not take the food of a child. “No. You are too small. You must eat. Grow.”

“I am not a child anymore. You are confused. And rude.” Arezou shook her finger at him and then smiled and bowed her head in mock deference. “Do not refuse my hospitality,” she teased, knowing how to manipulate him. “Honored guest.” She bowed her head and laughed softly when Dave shot her an exasperated look. She shoved the bite between his lips and watched him slowly chew it. As they all did. Chewing slowly could fool your stomach. She reached for the waterskin. Nearly empty. “I will get water...” She stood up. “Just in case you need it.”

“Thank you. You are a good girl,” Dave said as he swallowed what remained of the bread in his mouth. Arezou shoved the bread into his hand with a stern look.

“I’m your just in case girl, remember?” Arezou smiled at him as she hurried out to do her job. Both of them. "Eat."

“We would like to fill our skins and jugs with water from your well first,” Nia told the crowd of women, one little boy peeping out from behind his mother’s skirts. Most of the village women flipped up their burkas now that the men had left.

“Of course!” A set of voices chorused. A mother called loudly and from seemingly nowhere, a young teenage boy appeared and took the reins of the horses. Dixon stayed still, careful to keep himself hunched over. Sark and Sydney pulled off the packs of toys, while Nia and Irina approached the well. Sark stared at the teenager as he led the horses away. Had he ever been that young? He put his hand inside his pocket and touched the car.

Nia and Irina approached the well. As one village woman assisted Nia, a little boy darted forward and tugged on her skirts.

“Hello, little one,” Nia said. She lifted up her burka and smiled at the little boy who held out his hands to help her while his mother smiled approvingly at his good manners. “Who are you?”

“That is not important.” The boy stared at her form, encased in the enveloping folds of fabric. In precise if slow English with a British accent, he whispered in her ear “Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?” Nia asked automatically. How did this little boy know English and why had he spoken to her in it?

“Are you Soraya?” The boy pointed at her. “Pretty.”

“Princess?” Nia gripped her water bottle in tight hands. How to answer? How? She could feel the stillness of the team around her.

Sydney felt a flash of heat and then cold seize her body. Dave must have done this. She knew it. This was her cue. Yes! Her cue. She knew it. She lifted her veil. Without thinking twice, she answered, “No. I am. Soraya Sydney.”

“Soraya Sydney! I see,” the boy nodded, his eyes huge in his face as if he were seeing... What? Sydney wondered. What did he see when he looked into her eyes with such excitement?

“You think we are...” Irina prompted, putting her hand over her chest, feeling her heart pounding.

The little boy smiled again and held out his hand to return the now-full skin. Then pointing at Nia and then at everyone else in the team, he added, “I think you are part of the story.”

“The story of what?” Irina asked quietly as she bent down to his eye level and cursed the small squares of light interspersed with dark blue that prevented her from seeing the larger picture.

The little boy glanced around at the circle of women surrounding them and whispered in English, “The children know. So does Yasmina and Arezou. Arezou used to be a child too, you know.”

“Know what?” Nia asked, calling on every particle of patience she possessed.

“The story.” The little boy took Sydney’s hand and pulled her toward the tent. “Come.”

“Where?” Irina asked, trying to quell the sharpness in her voice as she saw the perplexed looks on the women’s faces around them.

“To hear the story. To tell the story.” The boy nodded and puffed out his little chest at his own importance. He was doing his job.

“What story?” Nia asked. Surely she would come back in the next life as a human once again for such patience.

“Know you this. The story of the day Daoud will go home.”
Sydney felt her mouth drop open and saw the same on Nia’s face. She turned to her mother. Sark turned to Irina as well.

“Toto, I have a feeling that we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Irina whispered.

“No shit,” Dixon said with feeling.

“Toto?” The little boy asked the woman in the burka who had spoken. “Kansas? Are you Dorothy?” He knew which story now. The little boy giggled and grabbed Irina’s hand.

Irina looked down at him in shock. When was the last time a child had taken her hand? “Where are we going?”

“We must go. Tell the story.” The boy pulled her forward and everyone followed. Irina looked over her shoulder as the women followed them, excitedly talking amongst themselves.

“The story? Tell the story?” Nia asked, shooting looks at Irina and Sydney. “Any ideas?”

“Dave knew every movie ever made, but...Maybe, that story Dave told you that night on the glider! It involved you as a princess.” Irina looked over at Sydney. “It was a combination of the Wizard of Oz and Star Wars and...” She stopped and admitted, “I don’t remember. You must remember this-“

“Then we’re in trouble,” Sydney said glumly. She avoided looking over her shoulder. Where was her father? Was he even now hiding behind the canvas of the tents? Maybe he would remember the story. Maybe he would understand what the next step should be.

“Did you say they said something about a wizard?” Jack asked in a nearly-silent whisper. He looked over his shoulder back at the damnable string of caves, hiding Dave. Dave... What had he done? What were Dave’s strengths? Manipulation. If Dave were in this situation - Jack looked back at the caves - how could he manipulate the situation while trapped? Through affection, of course. Then...He had to make them believe he was more powerful than he really was. Was he the man behind the curtain?

Of course. Damn it.

Dave had manipulated the situation and these people susceptible to prophecy, using some damn story. Dave had seen every movie ever made and what were movies but stories? Jack grinned suddenly. A new corollary. Every strength was usable.

“What’s going on?” Kendall barked in the com unit in Jack’s ear.

“Dave used a story to foretell his own rescue. He had few resources beyond his own imagination,” Jack said softly. “So, he set up a foregone conclusion. Therefore, his captors will help him escape.” Jack shook his head. “It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.” And damn, it was good. Where the hell had Dave learned this kind of set up? Necessity?

“He set them up?” Kendall asked incredulously. “He was a damn prisoner! What kind of man--- ”

“The kind who was a psy ops officer specializing in this part of the world, starved for stories and believing in prophecy and magic. Someone who is the most manipulative...” Jack grinned over at Zamir, who grinned back.

“Go in!” Kendall ordered.

“It’s not my cue yet. Give them a few minutes,” Jack said absently. Leaning toward Zamir, he whispered, “It must be the Wizard of Oz.”

“I don’t remember the story...” Sydney said in a panic inside the claustrophobic walls of the tent filled with too many people and too much pressure.

Dixon reached his hand out and grasped Sydney’s elbow. He whispered, “Syd. Calm down. Just breathe. Sark and I will hand out the toys and stall.” Sydney nodded and watched as Sark and Dixon opened the packs.

“And if all else fails,” Irina reminded her daughter. “We can take the children hostage and then these women will tell us what we need to know....” She trailed off as Sydney gave her a look she could only describe as appalled. Honestly, they wouldn’t hurt the children and if it allowed them to accomplish their mission, what was the problem? She shrugged. One way or the other, they were leaving here with Dave. Today. She considered options as they watched Sark and Dixon carefully unpack each item, carry the toys into the middle of the tent and then back off. They all stared at each other, perplexed when the children looked eager but did not move. Instead, they pointed at Sydney and fended off the anxious imploring questions of their mothers.

Finally, the little boy who had led them here, came forward and pointed at Sydney. “Soraya. Tell the story.”

“I’m...not sure how it begins...” Sydney whispered.

The boy rolled his eyes. “As all stories do...”

The children chorused, “Once upon a time!” They turned expectant faces toward Sydney.

Sydney swallowed down her panic. “I can’t... Mom- you were there, don’t you-“
“I don’t remember the story!” Irina whispered, forcing her own panic down. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“Why not?” Sydney forced the whine out of her voice. “You were an adult, I was the child. Why don’t you remember?”

“Because I was sitting on your father’s lap and he was...” Irina smiled under her veil.

“For the love of God!” Sydney carped. “You were getting felt up and so you don’t remember-“ She stopped when Sark started choking under his veil. She kicked him.

“He wasn’t feeling me up!” Irina glared at her daughter, cursing the veil that was shielding Sydney from a glance that surely should have shut her smart mouth up. She hesitated to reveal herself before the deal was done; she and Jack had been concerned that Sloane might have shown the villagers a photo of her as well as Jack. “That would have been inappropriate! You were sitting right there-“

“Then what was he doing?” Sydney demanded.

“Does it matter?” Irina hissed at her daughter.

Nia looked in chagrin at their hostesses, who were watching the interplay that obviously had to be between a mother and daughter. But...This was good. They were all smiling and rolling their own eyes even as they questioned their own children to no avail. She watched as a woman came slowly into the tent. Seeing no men, she threw the burka over her head and tossed it aside in the pile with the others.

“Does it matter?” Sydney repeated back to her mother. “Considering the fact that our entire plan is hanging in the balance because you were paying more attention to the direction of Dad’s hands than the direction of Dave’s story - then - YES!”

“It wasn’t that. It was... The truth is, I was falling asleep because...” Irina gritted her teeth. This was personal and they were on coms. Softly, urgently, she said in a rush, “Because he was stroking my hair and we were on the glider and I felt safe with his arms around me, your toes tucked into my legs, and Dave sitting next to me. We were rocking on the screened-in porch with the light from the street lamp and it was warm and I could smell the roses and jasmine and I felt... like I was home-“

“You were home!” Sydney cried out in frustration. She took a breath, determined to stall, hoping that time would create a miracle and allow her memory to return. Although it hardly made sense that Dave would create an entire mythology around a story that she might or might not remember. She bit her lip and wondered if they were missing a point. She opened her mouth and allowed the words to spill out, hoping that somewhere in the flood she would find an oar that might steer them to safety. “How could you not know that? Weren’t you the one obsessed with the Wizard of Oz and... There’s no place like home but-“

“Yes. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” Irina said irritably. “But like Dorothy I had to...” She broke off as she registered belatedly a distressed sound coming from Sark. Then ignoring him, she asked, “Find my way home?”

“Home?” A heavily-accented voice interjected. Nia nodded as the short woman who had come in moments earlier stood before them. Clearly, she was the leader. They watched her struggle for words for a moment, before she began to speak in laborious English. As her eyes touched on Nia and Sydney and seemed to reject them, she looked from one burka-clad woman to another. Regardless of her accent, her tone was challenging as she asked, “Home? I understand that word. Do you?”

Irina flipped back her own burka and tossed it to the dirt floor under her feet. Enough! She had been challenged and by someone who apparently understood the rules of the game. Which was what, damn it, what? She was out of control and did not like it at all. She stared at this woman with her lined face, obdurate chin and tired eyes. She looked old beyond her years. A hard life. Requiring persistence and strength, Irina knew as she looked into those dark brown eyes that mirrored, in some ways, her own. In those eyes, she recognized someone just as stubborn as she was. “Who are you?” Irina asked in slow English, drawing on hard-won reserves of patience. She would like nothing better than to just stick a knife in someone’s throat and elicit the information by any means necessary, but... Patience.

“Yasmina.” The woman smiled, a slash of white breaking the nut brown oval of her face. Was this Jack’s wife? Was this the woman of many names? Daoud had said that the woman had trouble resisting a challenge. And this woman was the one who had responded to her challenge. Daoud was right. Find the weak point and press. “I know who I am. And you are?”

Without answering the question, almost immediately lost in the subsequent high-pitched excited babbling of the children, Irina squared her shoulders and demanded, “We are here seeking information.”

“You are here seeking Daoud,” Yasmina corrected.

“How did you know-“ Nia began, then stopped as the women of the camp began to speak.

Yasmina turned her head as at the sound of Daoud’s name, whispering had erupted. One woman nodded toward the strangers and told her, “This family is looking for Daoud, we think, and wishes to trade much gold--”

Yasmina nodded as she noticed the seemingly-endless strands of gold around the necks of the three women who were uncovered. Daoud had said his friends were rich. That much was true. He had said they would come today. And someone had come today. But that did not mean all was well. Could she trust this woman who had not yet said her name? The one who had responded, the one Daoud said he thought was easy to...what was the word. Irritate? She would see. Daoud was alive and not going anywhere. They had some time. Yasmina nodded and said idly, “Gold is good. It will buy food, clothes, much. As Daoud said they have riches-“

“Daoud said?” The women of the camp chorused. Irina frowned. It was like a damn Greek chorus and--

“Did Daoud foretell their arrival?” One woman asked, her eyes wide as she stared at their guests.

“Yes. This is the story of the day Daoud goes home. He said they would come in on good horses with much gold and wish to trade. His friend, his brother of the heart, Jack would come to bring him home,” Yasmina said softly. Where was Jack? He must be here. Unseen. She stared at a tent wall. Behind the canvas somewhere then. He would be here. Daoud had faith; so would she.

"You were not here, Yasmina. Daoud told you this?" A woman asked.

Another said, "They did come in on good horses, much gold..." She bent her head toward the visitors. Daoud's friends? Daoud's friends were their friends. Daoud knew so much... So if these friends were part of a prophecy, they must be important. “Most honored guests, whatever you wish--”

"Will be yours," the women finished, all bowing their heads.

“Where is the food? We must give them food and-“ another woman squawked. If Daoud had foretold their arrival, then his departure was imminent. They must eat.

“You did not tell us this....” one protested softly.

“The story will tell you all you need to know,” Yasmina said impatiently. She looked toward the flap. No, as she had reminded Daoud last night, she did not have a door on which Jack would knock, but where was he? “You remember, the story of the wizard?”

“Yes!” The women agreed and began to talk amongst themselves.

Sydney asked Nia, “What are the children talking about?”

“What are they saying?” Irina asked Nia, whose face looked too amused to be the preface to good news.

“They are debating which version of yourself you are and therefore which version of the story to tell. Irina, Dorothy, Grace or...the bitch.”

“A crossroads!” Sydney exclaimed, putting her hand up to her temple from long habit.
“Many names, because he told many versions of the story,” a boy explained. “He did not know what path she would take.”

“So, he told many versions,” another boy added. “Just...” He paused and waited for the rest to take their cue.

“Just in case!” The entire horde of children chimed in and then clapped for each other.

“May we begin the story?” Irina asked, focusing on the problem at hand.

“Of course,” Yasmina inclined her head. “Nothing will happen without the story.” She looked squarely at Irina and they both took the measure of each other, these women who had been friends to David Caro. One who both feared and accepted his loss and another who both wanted and feared his return. Both out of love.

“It is a test?” Irina asked.

Yasmina stared at this woman of the many names. “Which are you? Which name, which person?”

Irina rolled her eyes. Given that Dave must have created this story and given his words in that portfolio, she could only imagine what name or role he had chosen for her. “I hope I’m not the wicked witch-“

Yasmina blinked. “I do not understand the meaning of your words...” She said in slow, halting English.

Nia interjected softly in Yasmina’s native tongue. “A thousand pardons, but I think you mishear each other. English has many words that sound alike. Which and witch. Witch is an evil woman-“

“Ah!” Yasmina smiled and said in clear English this time. “Witch. Same as bitch. Yes. Are you the bitch?” She asked, pointing at Irina, remembering that Daoud had said that if this woman showed up with Jack, she would not be the bitch. But... “Daoud said-“

“Payback. It’s a bitch,” Irina said softly in remembrance. “I will kill him.”

“Or are you Laura? Irina? Grace? Grace, who was given a gift?” Yasmina asked. She would make up her own mind, she decided suddenly. Daoud would approve of that.

“I...” Irina frowned. “I am not certain...”

The little boy who had led them interrupted, “I think she is Dorothy.”

“Would you follow the scarecrow’s instructions or not?” Another child asked. “To find your way home?”
“Where do we begin?” Irina asked. She wanted to scream in frustration and put her hand on her arm, fingering one of her knives.

“How do you think it begins?” A girl asked slyly.

Nia put her hand on Irina’s arm, sensing her understandable impatience. “In this culture, drawing out the story into a call and response format is part of the process. Especially a well-beloved story.” Irina nodded.

“I know how it begins,” Sydney offered. “The way all good stories begin.” Or the ones Dave had told on the glider. “Once upon a time...”

The girl nodded and responded. “In a galaxy far far away...”

Nia added, “There lived...”

“A princess!” The children called out and pointed at Sydney. “The princess was called-“

“Soraya Sydney,” Nia, Sydney and Irina responded.

“And her mother, the...” A little boy continued, while they all stared at Irina.

Irina bit her lip. What would Dave have referred to her as in this part of the story? What, what... Princess, princess.... Queen? She knew Jack had shown Dave that photo of her in the golden sari draped in jewels; he had loved it so. Jack would not have told Dave the details of that night - at least he better not have or she’d have to kill him - but he might have... “The queen,” Irina said promptly and relaxed when she received smiles of approval from the children.

An older boy lowered his voice and added, “But the queen...What would she be? Her name?”

“Dorothy?” Irina asked, praying she made the correct answer. It had better not be ‘bitch.’ She also prayed that she would wait until Dave regained his strength before she killed him. She watched the children look to Yasmina, who nodded slowly.

“Dorothy!” The children cried out, clapping their hands in unison.

“Dorothy was caught in a storm....” Sydney ventured as she remembered the movie and that night, watching a mass of clouds move toward them, but feeling safe on the porch within the circle of her family.

“Whooooooo!” The children whistled and began to turn round and round in three circles, then stopped abruptly. Sark took a step backward and forced himself to take deep breaths. Dixon caught him by the elbow and gave him a concerned look.
A little boy pointed to Irina and asked. “But what kind of storm?”

Damn Dave! He had turned their lives into some damn allegory! He had actually been listening when she and Jack talked about literature? He had always been so bored. He had hated the Jane Austen game, hated the quotation game and yet, and yet... He had heard, absorbed, remembered for some day he could have never imagined. But somehow had used his imagination, used what was effective, she knew it as she saw the eyes of the children waiting. Saw the placid yet eager faces of the women, waiting for the story to unfold. They were going to accept Dave’s rescue because he had foretold it. Just as, that fateful day he had rocked her world on its axis with his soft but relentless recriminations, he had foretold the emotional death of her marriage if she did not make an effort to catch Jack when he fell. She closed her eyes, thanking providence that this culture valued patience. She needed it.

”You can do whatever you want. Be whatever you want. Your choice.”

That day that Dave had confronted her and enabled her to save her marriage, he had harped on choices. Her bad choice in not catching Jack that night in the falling game. Her bad choice in not paying attention. Irina closed her eyes. Let go, she told herself. Let go and find the answer. You know Dave. You know what he must have thought of you. What would he tell these children? How would he use her mistakes to teach them? Teach... Another quality she and Dave had held in common. In her mind she heard Dave’s voice, saw his face, as he told her over and over

Your choice.
Your choice.
Your choice.

“It was a storm of bad choices!” Irina called out. Yes, she knew Dave. Always ready, willing and able to drive a point home, endlessly, relentlessly. And suddenly she knew the basic thread of the story. “Yes! Dorothy should have never ventured far from home. She got caught in a storm and she should have gone home earlier, gotten to safety instead of-“

“Sitting on the glider!”

Sydney nodded and picked up. “The glider that went...” She began to make a rocking motion with her hand and stopped abruptly when the children began to rock their bodies back and forth as if they were on a glider. “Sq-“

“Squeak, squeak, squeak!” The children chorused along with Sydney, who looked relieved. Irina wondered why there wasn’t a screen door wasn’t going, ‘Slam, slam, slam,’ but then realized that this people had no doors. This was their story as much as it was hers.

“What happened next?” Nia prompted with wide eyes, crouching down to the children’s height.
“The glider broke!”

“And went flying through the sky into the-

“River,” Irina supplied wearily and watched unsurprised as the children nodded. Yes, Dave had made their life story into some damn allegory. Just...She squared her shoulders, even as she told her brain to relax, let go. Jack was right. Life was a mess. What would Dave have thought, told in this story? “Into the river Dorothy went, spinning-“

TBC at Chapter 2007 Part 3 Section 4 of 4