Mistakes Were Made / Lost Elements

It was a cold and dreary morning. It was one of those days that was not quite winter any longer, but not yet spring. The snows had melted and refrozen causing the yard and street to turn into a monochromatic still life. The birds that graced the yard in winter had gone north, but the spring creatures had yet to return. The morning was silent as death.

The grey sunlight filtered through his window casting muted shadows across the mess that passed for the man’s bedroom. The hour was early. He woke, bleary eyed to the crackling of speakers as his stereo alarm began to fire. “Oh sonnova…”

The stereo suddenly blared like thunder.

“I woke up this mornin’ and the sun was gone. I turned on some music to start my da-“

With a crash, he fell out of bed clutching at where the stereo had been the night before grasping only air. The sound of Boston screeched in his ears as he landed with a solid thud next to the stereo. Slamming his fist on the CD tray of the aged Sony boom box the distorted music was cut short.

Slowly picking himself off of the floor, he fumbled around the nearby night stand attempting to find his glasses. After a few moments of searching, he felt the chill of the metal frames graze his fingertips as he silently cursed his luck and memory. As his the fuzz of sleep wore away, he began to remember moving the stereo the night before to ensure that he didn’t reflexively mash the snooze button, again. Silently cursing the day ahead, he began to go through his morning ritual.

First he cracked his various knuckles and other miscellaneous joints. He started low this morning with the small of his back, twisting round until his spine sounded like fresh popcorn. Next came his fingers, toes and lastly his neck. Donning the glasses, the grey blur of the room gained a sudden striking clarity. It was a mess. The same heaps of dirty laundry, the same disused piles of disks and books atop the desk, and even the same muddied work boots tossed in the corner where he had left them the previous week. Nothing seemed to change in this place.

He grabbed a fresh towel and made his way out of the room and into the bathroom to complete the ritual. The remaining cold felt as though it had seeped into his very bones. This morning, he stayed under the steam and hot longer than usual. His sinuses cleared and his beard softened, he proceeded to complete the ritual with his shave and scrubbing of his teeth. Feeling groggy yet, he made his way back and donned only his pants before making his way to the kitchen.

Once there, he set the aging Bunn to brew. Coffee. That sound as the water began to boil, that smell as it began to cascade into the pot… They were ecstasy to him.  This was a sacred part of the ritual, the coffee. To him it was the only tangible proof that there was indeed a higher and loving power. What it was, he would never know, never care. But that liquid… Oh, that liquid. It made everything better.

As he poured the first cup he wistfully gazed out the window as a small smile began to spread on his lips. It was the first day. His roommates were gone on vacation. His boss was gone as well. He was the only man left in the house. He was the only one left to run the business. He was free. For a few days at least. He would finally have time to clean, to finish his book, to actually go out and DO something.

A remarkably unhealthy number of cups of coffee later, he was knee deep into the book. It was, as with everything he chose to read, wondrous fiction. Tales of advanced technology, magic or ancient times… He could care less. The setting meant nothing. The characters and creatures within those stories, in his mind, as he read, they gained life. He could see every expression on their faces, smell the heat of their breath and the sweat of their work, and hear every melodious tone I their voices as the spoke or sang.

It is worth noting that this man was unusual. He was in his mid twenties, but had never gone to a college or university. He had traveled abroad once as a young teenager, but remembered little from his experiences. His friends and associates were few. Those that he had, he held dearer than even his own family. He had many close shaves with death over the years. His work and hobbies of choice were dangerous. Many of them were anyway. Today though, there would be none of that nonsense.

Stretching, he returned to his room. All that was to be done today was retrieve the mail from the office. Nothing more, nothing less.  Everything else beyond that point was his choice. That freedom was beautiful.

As he donned his clothes, he began to ponder what to actually do with the day. Perhaps he’d stop by the Arboretum, or maybe visit his nieces and nephews… He smiled at the thought. He’d been so busy and exhausted in previous months that he hadn’t had time to check in and say hello. As he donned the rest of his personal uniform, he made up his mind to do just that.

“His personal uniform,” now there is an odd phrase. He dressed unusually at best. He wore old western boots ‘neath faded jeans, topped with a white button down shirt under a  grey vest, a steel ring on his left middle finger and a tarnished silver pendant of a hawk around his neck. The hat he wore was an old grey faded fedora. The coat he had donned was an ancient and faded blue military surplus tenchcoat.

Stepping out into the grey, he looked to his car parked in the driveway. It was covered in snow. The faded grey light had managed to melt the snow off the drive, the street, and even what was left of the lawn. Sadly, however, the car was still coated. With a sigh, he began to clear the windshield. It would seem that, though it was nearly mid April, a freak snowfall had occurred in the middle of the night. Traffic would be a nightmare.

As the little hatchback roared to life and the stereo began to blast, he pulled out and made his way, slowly, but steadily to work. Knowing that his day would be brief, he couldn’t help but grin in spite of the traffic on the way.  Turning the music louder he began to sing along.

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Twenty minutes into the normally five minute drive, he finally arrived at the little dilapidated building that was his second home. Even though it was technically and office and a workshop, it actually looked much like an old slightly run down home. The only way anyone unfamiliar with the place could tell it was a place of business was the small parking lot and faded wooden sign out front. The mail was several hours out yet. Parking alongside the large utility van that passed as the company work vehicle he exited the car and made his way to the door.  As he fumbled for his keys he heard a loud pop followed by a soft voice behind him.

“Um, excuse me… Sir?”

Turning around, key in hand, he started, “Hi what can I do fo-?”

Much to the man’s surprise, there was a small group of women in front of him. The group in question had not a single one of them wearing so much as a stocking. Even more surprising, was the fact that aside from their shivering, none of them seemed to notice.

“um… I… Ah… Are you ladies alright?” He stammered while desperately trying to maintain eye contact with simultaneously all and none of them.

“I’m cold.” Piped up one towards the edge of the group who’s hair had been died a stunning rainbow of colors.

One towards the center of the group shot her a scathing look. This woman had a dark purple tinge to her hair with a bright pink streak through it. “Rainbow, what’s wrong with you!? Show some manners!”

Collecting himself, the man turned to the door. “Please, let’s at least go inside. I have no idea who you ladies are, but we have a fireplace in the break room that you can warm up by. In the meantime I’ll see if I can find you something to cover up with…”

Fumbling the keys again, he unlocked the door and gestured towards the split entry downwards. Wondering what precisely he was getting into, he removed his outer coat and offered it to the apparent youngest of the bunch, her only defining feature being strawberry blonde hair that bordered on pink as she appeared to be the coldest of the bunch.

“Oh, no… That’s alright. I’ll be fine.” He identified her voice as the first he had heard.

“No please miss. I insist. You look like you’re freezing.”

“As long as it’s not too much trouble, I guess that’d be okay…”

“I assure you, it’s no trouble. Just relax downstairs and I’ll be down as quick as I can."

A thought crossed his mind. "Oh! The fireplace is gas! Just flip the switch on the left and it should fire right up!"

A few moments of raiding the coat racks, closets and old lockers strewn throughout the upper level or the building, he had scrounged just enough to give the ladies some decency. A few pairs of jeans, some old work shirts, a few sweaters... They were nothing fancy or flattering, but they would make a large variety of things easier.

Gathering the clothes, he made his way back towards the breakroom. As he made his way down the stairs he paused as he heard a few of them arguing in hushed tones. One spoke with a marked southern drawl, another with a high pitched almost shrill squeak that reminded him of a hyperactive cartoon character, and the third was the one who had reprimanded the other on the parking lot.

"What in tarnation 'ave you done to us now Twi'?"

"Who cares!? We're somewhere new! It's exciting and scary and cold and he's really nice to us; maybe we should bring him back with us if we can find a way back; that is if he wants to go with u-"

"Pinky. Shut it. I don't know what went wrong. I don't know where we are. I don't know what happened to our bodies. If I could just get to my books maybe I could find a solution..."

The third voice seemed on the edge of panic. Part of him felt sorry for the poor girl. After allowing them a moment to calm her down, he continued his way down the stairs.

"Sorry these won't fit particularly well, but it's just me and my boss here these days. Lucky for us all I suppose, today it's just me. They'll be a bit big on you, but they should make life a bit easier."

He was speaking from behind the pile of clothing in his arms. Part of him was thankful that the clothing piled so high he couldn't see beyond it. Making his way by memory to the breakroom table, he deposited the clothes on it with his back to the rest or the room. Tilting his hat downward so he could only see the floor directly in front of his feet, he began to make for the stairwell.

"I'll be down in an hour or so to check on you ladies. I have some work that needs to be done."

Work. That was one word. There was something clearly off about these women. For one thing, where had they come from? There was no car in the lot outside. And how had they managed to get here without anything on? Surely, someone must have seen them. Escapees perhaps? No. The man had known plenty of criminals as a kid. None of them fit the demeanor. Mental patients? Maybe. The nearest hospital was over 15 miles away though.

The only thing that seemed plausible was druggies. Plenty had shown up at the office in the past. The insane hair colors fit the stereotypical bill. That would also explain the lack of clothing and seeming indifference to said lack thereof. There was only one problem with that theory. They were all apparently stone cold sober. From the rigid eye contact they didn't show any of the usual signs. No dilated pupils, no pasty skin, no cold sweats, no indifference to the temperature. For lack of a better term, they seemed simply... ignorant. Whatever the case may be, some investigation was warranted.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************

Nothing. Over an hour of searching and another of phone calls, the bewildered man could find no evidence of any prison breakouts, escaped mental patients, or even missing persons reports that matched the six women in the basement of his office. Today was not going to be the day at work he had anticipated. Looks like the next chapter of Scheherazade would have to wait. Nor could he find any examples of any drug that would fail to show any signs like those the women downstairs displayed. Well, he could find none that would be easily accessed in the least.

Whatever the case may be. At the end of the day, he had six, unknown women, apparently oblivious as to where they were or how they got there stuck in the basement of his office. He might be able to do many things during his day... but figuring this one out alone was not one of them. Picking up the phone he dialed a familiar number. After a few rings, the line was answered.

"Hey, Amy? Yea. It's me. I need your help.  .....    Think you can skiv off of work today?   .....  Sonnova. Alright. What time do you get off?  .... That'll work. I think. Can you meet me at the office?   .....   Awesome. Oh, and can you bring some spare changes of clothes? Not for me. Just some stuff you have lying around that you don't care too much about. .... Yea. That stuff we packed up the other day for Goodwill should work perfect.  .... Why? Would you believe that a bunch of naked women showed up at my doorstep and I have no clue how to handle the situation?  ... Har har. You're funny. See you then. Thanks bud. "

Hanging up the phone with an exasperated sigh, he reached into his suit coat. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he proceeded to pack them, draw one and light it. Rising from the desk he had been sitting at he wandered down the steps and to, where if this were still the house it once was, the garage would be. Opening the door, he strode into what was now a workshop and turned on the stereo. As the music played and the music and nicotine from the cigarette eased his tension, he began to examine the latest broken piece of equipment that had come into the shop.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************

After what seemed like mere minutes to him, what in reality had been hours, the computerized display was in hundreds of pieces strewn across three oak work benches. He had found the problem and had begun the repairs. The soldering irons were hot and the shop was as smoky as ever courtesy of the burning trace oil on the solder itself. The fumes from the Isopropil and Taluline he had used to scrub down the corroded parts filled the place.After finishing and carefully reexamining his work, piecing the display back together and finally washing down the exterior of the case with simple windex, he was done.

As the last notes of Tchaikvski's 1812 Overture rang through the shop he threw open the side door to let some air in and the smoke and fumes out. As he did so he found himself dancing across the shop floor around the piles of weights, and tool kits conducting an invisible orchestra with his hands to the great crescendo of the booming cannon and crashing cymbals. Once the crescendo was complete he sat back and began to hum the next tune on the playlist. As the Overture ended and the tune he had been humming started, he began to sing along.

By this point, he had entirely forgotten about his unexpected guests. Work such as this had that funny effect on him. When he was confronted with a task that required all of his attention, everything else was long forgotten until well after the task was done. This was always how he relaxed when no one was around. A puzzle accompanied by music followed by song, and, on rare occasion, dance. Today, the music was right. Sinatra always made him want to dance. Before long, he found himself waltzing through the workplace, eyes shut, entirely lost in the music.

Much to his surprise, halfway through an old favorite, his dance was suddenly joined. One of the girls had come out of the break area and instead of interrupting him, had joined him. Stunned for a moment, the man simply stood there, embarrassed and surprised. She stood there in front of him, her right hand in his left, her left on his shoulder and his right on her waist.

This woman had a dark purple color to her hair and a fair, almost alabaster complexion. At his sudden cease in movement, her face went from a slightly amused look, to one of disappointment. Without knowing why, he simply felt... good. The Hell with it. He thought. I may as well finish the song.

And the two did just that. The music ended. The dance concluded. When it was done, he stood back and gave a somewhat mocking courtly bow.

"My apologies. It's something I do to ease the stress a bit. I had honestly forgotten you ladies were here."

"Oh, it's no trouble my darling. The dance was wonderful. I'm simply glad I still can in... this." She said gesturing to her body.

He laughed.

"To be fair, old work jeans and a ratty old t-shirt are hardly ballroom dancing gear."

As he spoke, he noticed that the clothes she wore, while they were the same as those he had brought down, had been tailored to fit her form and figure almost perfectly.

"My sincerest apologies" she said with an odd dramatic emphasis. "The girls and I were just wondering if all was well and that you were alright. You have been absent for quite sometime.We were worried our sudden appearance may have, ah,  disturbed you in some fashion."

"Disturbed? Not really. Surprised...? Yes. Very much yes. I suppose I should actually some down and meet you properly. Sorry. I tend to lose track of time while I'm working."

"That was work?"

Laughing he replied, "Oh no. That was my work." He said this as he gestured to the now shining piece of equipment.

"All things considered though, perhaps we should step inside and rejoin your... sisters...? friends? The others."

He gestured to the door allowing her to enter ahead of him. Together they walked down the stairs to join the others. Not knowing what was in store, who these women were, why they were here or even their names, he felt strangely at ease. He'd known just the one for mere minutes, and he already felt as though he'd known her for years. Now THAT was a strange feeling. Whatever the case may be, all he could really do at this point was hope that the rest would have similar qualities in terms of calming one's mood.