Anita Stern
Dec 18th, 2008, 02:30:55 AM
<o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com<img src=" forum="" images="" smilies="" blush.gif="" border="0" alt="" title="Blush" smilieid="2" class="inlineimg"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com<img src=" forum="" images="" smilies="" blush.gif="" border="0" alt="" title="Blush" smilieid="2" class="inlineimg"></o:smarttagtype><!--><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id=ieooui></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]-->[I]Here, apologies won't undo what you've done
The echoes linger on, the backlash has begun
Feigned indifference, your least convincing mask
But deep down inside, it's forgiveness that you ask
-Consequence - Assemblage 23
That feeling had been bothering her. She didn’t think it would ever come back, that nothing would ever evoke it again, but sometimes feelings… sometimes the darkest of feelings cannot be avoided. It had been a few weeks since it occurred to her. Michael Stern had been in and out to visit within a flash on a whim, and they even went on an outing together, a small date. While he was nice enough (dearer to her each day), there were other things occupying her consciousness that were beginning to push him out and demand incapacitating amounts of her time. Things that had been there longer than the almost ten years she had been living in the States, and things that were not quite as old, but remained with her since the time before her tenure at the Cullen’s Institute for the Gifted. Things like her feeling at her father’s death during her high school graduation trip to Australia, things like the appearance of her powers and her mother’s subsequent withdrawal due to that death, and (Anita suspected for a long time now), the advent of her powers coming into play in her life. The woman hadn’t allowed Anita to touch her in any fashion or allow herself the same to Anita, either. Not even when Daniel vanished, when Anita had drained her eyes of tears and made herself hoarse from the sobbing and fighting to push words through the grief. Without so much of a word, he had been gone. No clues, not a trace of his physical self remained save for telltale traces of DNA within his studio apartment, and other places he frequented. A body never surfaced. No reports of his person. It was as if he evaporated into thin air and the trail didn’t even exist to get cold in the first place. The authorities did their best to help, but they were just as stumped as she. The thoughts of abandonment came first, followed by other more furious options occurring to her as semi-formed acceptance of his missing presence set in. No stone was left unturned, no option left unconsidered. Every crevice the known and more unknown aspects of his life were looked in to. Every line came up blank, and still Annette Florence offered no comfort beyond words.
After six months, the first of those involved in the search for Daniel Hartford began to drop off from the task. Within the first year, everyone save for Anita herself had given up. Fourteen months in, she reluctantly gave it up. The lack to sleep was taking a disastrous toll on her physical health and sanity, and was beginning to show in her papers and dissertations. Taking on her second set of two full master’s degrees since the middle of her high school days, she had many supporters who helped set her back on track, get her the help she needed, and nursed her back to health. Until the very last, she tried to push them away, but as true friends, they wouldn’t relent. In the end, they succeeded in all their goals, as did she. Then they vanished, too. This time, it was simply life pulling lives in all directions. That feeling was still bothering her. The return of things she thought long gone in her heart and soul, coupled with an eerie recurring twinge that traveled down her spine, a cold crawling over her skin, that when she thought on it, seemed to point to things yet to come – things that were never good. Such was the case with the letter she received one day in July.
***
<o>
</o>
<st1:date year="2008" day="25" month="7">The Cullen's Institute for the Gifted
</st1:date><st1:date year="2008" day="25" month="7">25 July 2008</st1:date>
1613 hrs
Wednesdays were always a relatively quiet day at the Institute. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, the midweek was always a little more relaxed what with a shorter day for the younger students, most of whom went home to spend that extra time with their parents, if they weren’t abandoned to the care of the Cullen’s faculty. If such was the case, they were often kept amused by elder students who had the time, in addition to supporting faculty who were not encumbered by the load of classes and other responsibilities that the teaching staff carried. Being that it was the summer, however, most every day in most corners of the facilities was quiet, each spot barren of the usual activity that occupied the entire place from fall through to the last vestiges of late spring. The silence was a welcome thing for the first month, but after that, many of the staff – herself included – found themselves wishing for the liveliness the students brought. On the other hand, it was somewhat of a relief having fewer responsibilities, to be able to devote their time to the more important matters of the safety of their student body and the occupants of Cullen’s as a whole. The world, each day, was a darker one than before. Everyone knew… they could see it and feel it, and it was difficult to ignore. Anita had her own minute experiences with it, what with Michael Stern returning just over a month before today in the state he had been in, and informing her of the entire story of the time he was gone. She wasn’t sure she entirely liked or agreed with his newfound demeanor, the roughness he had acquired during his time away. The determined anger surrounding the cause of his disappearance (technicalities aside), worried her sometimes. He never seemed to really express it straightforwardly around her, but she knew it was there… and she found she was distancing herself a little, again. Purposely keeping herself busy just the way she would have before she met him.
<o></o>
There were other things on her mind. Annette, her mother, had not emailed for a week and a half now, when she normally would several times a week. Usually these interruptions in communication came with prior notice, but this one had not. Monday morning, Anita attempted to call her mother, only to be met with the answering machine, and she had tried again this day, with the same result. Ever since that second attempt, Anita had left herself mostly locked in the library office, stewing in her worry, and attempting to self-distract with tidying of the organized mess her office had been in since the final examinations period. When she was in the deep of it, rediscovering things she had lost in the deep of the organized piles, one of the secretarial staff (a nice girl, Jeanette), came by with the mail, rat-a-tatting gently on the office door and causing Anita to pause hesitantly at the sound.
<o></o>
“Do come in. Please don’t mind the mess.” She called out, hoping her voice would reach well enough through the thick door. Within a moment, the small shifting of the door opening told her it had, and Jeanette peeked her head in.
<o></o>
“Miss Florence… You have mail.” The girl, just twenty, said softly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
<o></o>
Anita turned her head from her kneeling position on the floor on the opposite side of the office from her desk and gave a welcoming smile. “Oh, not at all, Jeanette. What do you have for me?”
<o></o>
Shuffling through the small pile of post, Jeanette pulled out a soft lilac envelope and held it out to her. Anita stood up slowly, smoothed her clothes and brushed hair from her face, tying it back with the elastic around her wrist before reaching out a hand to accept the single piece of mail. As soon as her hand touched it, transference from Jeanette happened that caused Anita to smile sweetly before the girl let go. Then something else from the envelope itself that caused the petite professor the need to hold back a reaction.
<o></o>
“Thank you, Jeanette.” She managed, just barely, keeping her voice from wavering to the slight shock of an unexpected feeling.
<o></o>
“Not a problem, Miss Florence.”<o></o>
<o></o>
“Please, Jeanette, call me Anita.”
<o></o>
The request caused Jeanette to smile. “Only if you call me Jeanie.”<o></o>
<o></o>
“Fair enough, then. Goodbye, Jeanie.”
<o></o>
“Later!” And the door swung shut slow.
<o></o>
When Anita was sure the girl was gone, she stepped over to her desk and pulled out the chair, seating herself in it with the uncomfortable letter in hand. Pulling away at one of the ends, separating glued paper, she neatly opened the security envelope (strange that Annette Florence would use such an envelope – stranger still that she could tell nothing of its actual contents on contact…), and pulled out a folded piece of lined paper with one finger and a thumb, and suddenly, a deeper dread set in, and that eerie feeling that sometimes caused her to want for a fleecy throw to pull about her shoulders crept over her. But when she opened the letter, and read the short contents, the feeling didn’t quite match the words expressed within. Something was not right. Something was terribly wrong.
<o></o>
Within seconds, she was on the phone to one of a few internationally flying airlines, and booking a ticket for the next available seat to <st1:country-region><st1>France</st1></st1:country-region>. By Sunday, she would be in <st1>Europe</st1>, ready to spill secrets from Annette Florence, without so much as a peep to anyone else she knew. The ‘so much to tell, that I should have said sooner’ told there was more to her parent than she thought she knew.
<o></o>
Maybe it would make this feeling go away once and for all. She could only hope.<o></o>
<o>
</o>
The echoes linger on, the backlash has begun
Feigned indifference, your least convincing mask
But deep down inside, it's forgiveness that you ask
-Consequence - Assemblage 23
That feeling had been bothering her. She didn’t think it would ever come back, that nothing would ever evoke it again, but sometimes feelings… sometimes the darkest of feelings cannot be avoided. It had been a few weeks since it occurred to her. Michael Stern had been in and out to visit within a flash on a whim, and they even went on an outing together, a small date. While he was nice enough (dearer to her each day), there were other things occupying her consciousness that were beginning to push him out and demand incapacitating amounts of her time. Things that had been there longer than the almost ten years she had been living in the States, and things that were not quite as old, but remained with her since the time before her tenure at the Cullen’s Institute for the Gifted. Things like her feeling at her father’s death during her high school graduation trip to Australia, things like the appearance of her powers and her mother’s subsequent withdrawal due to that death, and (Anita suspected for a long time now), the advent of her powers coming into play in her life. The woman hadn’t allowed Anita to touch her in any fashion or allow herself the same to Anita, either. Not even when Daniel vanished, when Anita had drained her eyes of tears and made herself hoarse from the sobbing and fighting to push words through the grief. Without so much of a word, he had been gone. No clues, not a trace of his physical self remained save for telltale traces of DNA within his studio apartment, and other places he frequented. A body never surfaced. No reports of his person. It was as if he evaporated into thin air and the trail didn’t even exist to get cold in the first place. The authorities did their best to help, but they were just as stumped as she. The thoughts of abandonment came first, followed by other more furious options occurring to her as semi-formed acceptance of his missing presence set in. No stone was left unturned, no option left unconsidered. Every crevice the known and more unknown aspects of his life were looked in to. Every line came up blank, and still Annette Florence offered no comfort beyond words.
After six months, the first of those involved in the search for Daniel Hartford began to drop off from the task. Within the first year, everyone save for Anita herself had given up. Fourteen months in, she reluctantly gave it up. The lack to sleep was taking a disastrous toll on her physical health and sanity, and was beginning to show in her papers and dissertations. Taking on her second set of two full master’s degrees since the middle of her high school days, she had many supporters who helped set her back on track, get her the help she needed, and nursed her back to health. Until the very last, she tried to push them away, but as true friends, they wouldn’t relent. In the end, they succeeded in all their goals, as did she. Then they vanished, too. This time, it was simply life pulling lives in all directions. That feeling was still bothering her. The return of things she thought long gone in her heart and soul, coupled with an eerie recurring twinge that traveled down her spine, a cold crawling over her skin, that when she thought on it, seemed to point to things yet to come – things that were never good. Such was the case with the letter she received one day in July.
***
<o>
</o>
<st1:date year="2008" day="25" month="7">The Cullen's Institute for the Gifted
</st1:date><st1:date year="2008" day="25" month="7">25 July 2008</st1:date>
1613 hrs
Wednesdays were always a relatively quiet day at the Institute. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, the midweek was always a little more relaxed what with a shorter day for the younger students, most of whom went home to spend that extra time with their parents, if they weren’t abandoned to the care of the Cullen’s faculty. If such was the case, they were often kept amused by elder students who had the time, in addition to supporting faculty who were not encumbered by the load of classes and other responsibilities that the teaching staff carried. Being that it was the summer, however, most every day in most corners of the facilities was quiet, each spot barren of the usual activity that occupied the entire place from fall through to the last vestiges of late spring. The silence was a welcome thing for the first month, but after that, many of the staff – herself included – found themselves wishing for the liveliness the students brought. On the other hand, it was somewhat of a relief having fewer responsibilities, to be able to devote their time to the more important matters of the safety of their student body and the occupants of Cullen’s as a whole. The world, each day, was a darker one than before. Everyone knew… they could see it and feel it, and it was difficult to ignore. Anita had her own minute experiences with it, what with Michael Stern returning just over a month before today in the state he had been in, and informing her of the entire story of the time he was gone. She wasn’t sure she entirely liked or agreed with his newfound demeanor, the roughness he had acquired during his time away. The determined anger surrounding the cause of his disappearance (technicalities aside), worried her sometimes. He never seemed to really express it straightforwardly around her, but she knew it was there… and she found she was distancing herself a little, again. Purposely keeping herself busy just the way she would have before she met him.
<o></o>
There were other things on her mind. Annette, her mother, had not emailed for a week and a half now, when she normally would several times a week. Usually these interruptions in communication came with prior notice, but this one had not. Monday morning, Anita attempted to call her mother, only to be met with the answering machine, and she had tried again this day, with the same result. Ever since that second attempt, Anita had left herself mostly locked in the library office, stewing in her worry, and attempting to self-distract with tidying of the organized mess her office had been in since the final examinations period. When she was in the deep of it, rediscovering things she had lost in the deep of the organized piles, one of the secretarial staff (a nice girl, Jeanette), came by with the mail, rat-a-tatting gently on the office door and causing Anita to pause hesitantly at the sound.
<o></o>
“Do come in. Please don’t mind the mess.” She called out, hoping her voice would reach well enough through the thick door. Within a moment, the small shifting of the door opening told her it had, and Jeanette peeked her head in.
<o></o>
“Miss Florence… You have mail.” The girl, just twenty, said softly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
<o></o>
Anita turned her head from her kneeling position on the floor on the opposite side of the office from her desk and gave a welcoming smile. “Oh, not at all, Jeanette. What do you have for me?”
<o></o>
Shuffling through the small pile of post, Jeanette pulled out a soft lilac envelope and held it out to her. Anita stood up slowly, smoothed her clothes and brushed hair from her face, tying it back with the elastic around her wrist before reaching out a hand to accept the single piece of mail. As soon as her hand touched it, transference from Jeanette happened that caused Anita to smile sweetly before the girl let go. Then something else from the envelope itself that caused the petite professor the need to hold back a reaction.
<o></o>
“Thank you, Jeanette.” She managed, just barely, keeping her voice from wavering to the slight shock of an unexpected feeling.
<o></o>
“Not a problem, Miss Florence.”<o></o>
<o></o>
“Please, Jeanette, call me Anita.”
<o></o>
The request caused Jeanette to smile. “Only if you call me Jeanie.”<o></o>
<o></o>
“Fair enough, then. Goodbye, Jeanie.”
<o></o>
“Later!” And the door swung shut slow.
<o></o>
When Anita was sure the girl was gone, she stepped over to her desk and pulled out the chair, seating herself in it with the uncomfortable letter in hand. Pulling away at one of the ends, separating glued paper, she neatly opened the security envelope (strange that Annette Florence would use such an envelope – stranger still that she could tell nothing of its actual contents on contact…), and pulled out a folded piece of lined paper with one finger and a thumb, and suddenly, a deeper dread set in, and that eerie feeling that sometimes caused her to want for a fleecy throw to pull about her shoulders crept over her. But when she opened the letter, and read the short contents, the feeling didn’t quite match the words expressed within. Something was not right. Something was terribly wrong.
<o></o>
Within seconds, she was on the phone to one of a few internationally flying airlines, and booking a ticket for the next available seat to <st1:country-region><st1>France</st1></st1:country-region>. By Sunday, she would be in <st1>Europe</st1>, ready to spill secrets from Annette Florence, without so much as a peep to anyone else she knew. The ‘so much to tell, that I should have said sooner’ told there was more to her parent than she thought she knew.
<o></o>
Maybe it would make this feeling go away once and for all. She could only hope.<o></o>
<o>
</o>