By Wren Elton
100407.2300
After San Francisco Nights
-=San Francisco, Earth=-
100407.2300
After San Francisco Nights
-=San Francisco, Earth=-
Wren could feel the rough texture of the wood against her skin as she placed her hand once again on the old and worn out door. She was momentarily stunned and had to brace herself against the eerie familiarity of the sensation, which should have faded completely with how long she’d been gone. All of a sudden it was too real as energy seemed to surge through her hand and throughout her entire form. She was not looking again upon a memory but now she was living it.
Her mind attempted to flash back but found no difference in her recollections to distinguish them from her reality. She was here and here was there. It wasn’t just the building, though the place was so much more frighteningly similar than she’d expected. This entire street, largely empty at late morning, seemed in a feat that one would long for in so many more pleasant times, not to have aged with the rest of the world.
That was not to say it was young by any stretch of the imagination. This was and always had been the area so depressing at night you thought would surely look better by the light of day. Then the morning came and just more of the same was revealed.
There were no trees for birds and no people or traffic on the street, so it still sounded just as it had so long ago. As she’d walked the uneasy stems from where the transporter had left her, her feet had found every crack in the ground from that time remained unhealed. Every movement she made began to slow as the sense of this place overcame her. She didn’t want to be here.
Yet even still the slowest steps couldn’t keep her forever from seeing this place that almost physically forced her back even as it drew her in to feel it so real. She’d never thought she would come back here. A large part of her had hoped that when she did this place would have been gone; taken by time and never to be returned. Yet there it was still. It was unchanged with the same depressing undersized, undecorated dark walls that seemed always untouched by the light in the middle of day.
It’d been boarded off and there’d been a sign placed up to declare that it was closed. Somehow it even seemed even less maintained than it always had then. Yet, and though it felt perhaps a little smaller, in every measurable way it was the same place where she’d made the best and worse choices of what was starting to feel like a very long lifetime.
This was the very tavern where she and Rada had met for the very first time. It was only now though that she really thought about that fact. All this time she’d been so worried that about how he might suffer when his memories were reignited, but before this moment she hadn’t truly asked herself how hard it’d be for her to look upon such familiar sites again. A slight chill passed throughout her body with the cold wind somehow blowing on the otherwise sunny day as she wondered if seeing it all again now so bereft of the romance she’d known there wouldn’t remind her too much of all the times he’d looked at her since the resequencing was over. It’d hurt like a knife through her heart every single time.
She wasn’t sure she had the strength to face that all yet. Steeling her mind back from her the tide of memories of emotion and passing a glance up and across the entrance from where she stood confirmed that it didn’t matter though. The building itself was clearly locked up tightly; perhaps to remind her that looking to the past was easy but returning there was rarely so.
She couldn’t get in even if she wanted to, and realising what a relief that was she felt a twinge of shame. She needed to get in, regardless of how every moment here threatened to overpower her, and she had no right to give up yet. Sadly Wren sighed as she finally brought her hand away. The very instant she broke off contact, she felt she could breathe again.
Maybe she could try to pry open the seal on the door. However she doubted she had the strength to do it alone. It wasn’t so long ago though that she’d thought she’d had the strength to do everything alone.
Discovering that her hand had already developed a coating of dust from her contact with the door, she looked around for a tap or something to wash it off, but finding nothing she reluctantly chose to she wipe it off on her shirt as best she could. Then looking down at what she’d done she frowned. Thankfully the simple dark top she’d chosen to wear, far from the beauty of her efforts the night before, hid the dust well. By that respect it’d been a good choice, but by no other.
In this moment very aware of where she was, how she was dressed and how she was feeling; Wren was so glad that he couldn’t see her now. She was so very unready to see him again yet. After last night and all the tears as she recalled the foolish choice when she met with the father of her child here, she didn’t feel like herself at all. It was so much so that she doubted that even with all his memories intact he’d recognise her now.
Yet that wasn’t the thought she had now or the thought that made her so sad. Now she recalled another night not long after that. It was the night where she’d so quickly left this door for what she’d decided must be the last time. It was the night that’d cost her so many years, years so much longer than the time they’d had together that she made them spend apart.
“What a waste,” she said softly to herself.
“You’re right about that,” agreed a voice from behind her, causing Wren to jump slightly when she heard it.
She’d been so blinded by her own thoughts she’d not sensed the woman’s approach. For a telepath more than anyone else this experience could get the heart pounding.
Seeing her surprise, the stranger quickly apologised as she moved towards her further. Quickly Wren got a sense of who it was and her heart rate began again to slow.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But you’re right about the building.”
Wren turned now to see this woman’s face, finding to her surprise that in contrast to the bold voice the figure moving slowly, attempting to move anything but, seemed the very picture of a frail old lady. With two of what Wren could only assume were much loved cloth shopping bags beneath her toothpick arms, apparently full judging from her difficulty in balancing herself with them and her purse, this lady moved anything but gracefully. In fact the very quick first sense Wren found of her was that, contrary to her ‘little old lady’ appearance with the faded Sunday dress hanging over her, stark white hair styled into a bun and the glasses that seemed far too large for her thin face, she was not to be mistaken easily for a lady.
“I don’t suppose you know what happened to it…” Wren started but her words appeared to be unheard.
The old woman turned her attention from the building to Wren herself, her eyes opening in curiosity and disbelief.
Though her awkward walking style had seemed slow, the old woman had already clamped her arms around Wren’s arms and pulled her closer in towards her face as if to examine her. There was surprising strength in her, what appeared to be, arthritic hands which said this woman was tougher than she looked. Of course, in this neighbourhood she’d have to be.
The woman was squinting behind the thick frames as she looked Wren’s face up and down with fascination, as if just trying to get a sense of what, if anything, she was seeing.
Then a flash of disappointment crossed over her features and she began to frown.
“You’re not Diane,” she insisted to Wren with a hint of disapproval, still holding onto her for the moment.
“No, I’m not,” Wren answered, not meaning to sound as impatient as she did. She was just too tired right now to really be thinking about this.
“I’m sorry, dear. My old eyes aren’t what they used to be,” the old woman explained as she released her. “You sounded like someone I once knew. Then since I saw you looking at her tavern I thought you must have been her.”
“Her ta…?” Wren started in confusion before she made a connection in her mind. Pausing for a moment, she asked a question with curiosity. “When you said Diane, did you think I was Diane Robinson?”
“You know Diane?” The old woman asked in almost disbelief, Wren getting the sense that she once has known or at least she felt she had known Diane very familiarly. Clearly they hadn’t kept in touch though; that was no surprise where Diane was concerned.
“I used to run this tavern before she did,” Wren explained, though she had known Diane far better than just that.
The old woman’s face now lit up at the thought that she’d found one of Diane’s young friends.
Wren hadn’t made the connection straight away because she had always called Diane Di for short. Almost everyone did. Rada of course never had because he was far too worried that she’d think me meant ‘Die’ as a suggestion.
When it came to Di and Rada one could never have found a more different pair. She was wild and impulsive. She brought out that side in Wren too. In fact they were like twins and they would egg each other on to always try to be the worst behaved one. It was a matter of strange pride to never be outdone in spontaneity or foolish decisions.
At the time nights spent on the town with Di were the greatest things of her life. Looking back they became some of the most frightening. It was a miracle that both of them survived it. It’d be an even bigger one if Di was still around now.
“On, she was a lovely girl,” the old woman insisted, giving a warm encouraging slap to Wren’s arm as she did. “She was always so busy though. Then I guess she’d have to be with all those young men she brought back.”
The old woman’s eyes suddenly widened in horror as she quickly stuttered out.
“I don’t want you to take that the wrong way. I’m certainly the last person to criticise her for having her fun. “
“It’s alright,” Wren assured her softly. “If there was anything Di liked it was men.”
The old woman smiled knowingly and contrary to what she was now seeing Wren sensed that once upon a time this woman was quite popular with the young men herself. In fact Wren would even suggest that even in her nineties as she must surely be, she was still breaking hearts; even if those hearts weren’t in quite the best shape anymore.
“My name’s Wren,” Wren added, not quite sure whether a handshake would be the appropriate greeting given the weight of groceries still awkwardly supported beneath this old woman’s arms.
“Oh, isn’t that exotic,” the old gold commented, taking hold of Wren’s hand even if it hadn’t been fully offered yet. “I’m mad Madelyn. Call me Mad.”
“Alright, Mad.” Wren smiled slightly once her hand was finally released, though it was far from a genuine smile. “You wouldn’t know how to get into contact with Diane?
“I’m afraid not, dear,” Mad answered, and the disappointed expression on her face said she’d been hoping that Wren could tell her that. “Ever since she left a few years ago, and closed the tavern, I haven’t heard a thing from her. It’s a little disappointing, but never mind.”
It was clear that it was more than a little disappointing. Knowing Di the last words she said to Madelyn would have been about how she would be in touch soon. That would be her intention too, until the very second the next distraction came along.
“I was just hoping she could let me in, to have a look around the old place,” Wren explained as she indicated the sealed door.
“Hmm,” Mad stopped for a second, thinking about this problem. “You know I might know someone who can help you with that.”
“Really?” Wren asked, every sense telling her to say “don’t worry about it”, but all the knowledge of herself telling her that she simply didn’t want to get in and so should ignore those senses. “Any help would be appreciated.”
“Well, keep in mind I can’t promise he will be able to help but Daryl is generally good with this type of thing. He fixed the door on my shower and the viewscreen in my bedroom. I know he’d be happy to help Also, you never know, he is a good looking young man. You two might even hit it off.”
Madelyn wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“I’m really not looking for someone at the moment,” Wren said flatly, and the expression on Mad’s face was again knowing but now in a very different way.
“I understand,” she said quietly. “I lost my husband, twenty years ago next March.”
“I’m sorry,” Wren said simply, choosing not to correct her on the minor details of her misunderstanding, and the old woman just shrugged her shoulders. She felt she’d mourned enough already.
“Daryl’s at my place right now. You can come with me to see him if you like.”
“I’d like that, thank you.” Wren said, then gestured to the groceries. “Let me help you with those bags.”
“Thank you,” Mad said with complete surprise, as Wren took the heavy bags into her own arms.
For a moment she just stared at Wren with a mixture of sadness and amazement. This was simply not the type of thing many people did around here.
“It’s a shame, really,” She finally suggested.
“What’s that?” Wren asked.
“I know you and Daryl would hit it off famously.”
-=/\=-
The walk to the Madelyn’s tiny apartment wasn’t long, in fact it was only across the street. It was however quite slow. Her room was on the fourth floor and in spite of her age the old girl was insistent on taking the stairs. Though by the looks of this place the lifts likely wouldn’t have worked anyway.
For most of the journey Wren simply smiled and nodded, pretending to be really listening as Mad all but literally sung this Daryl’s praises. If Mad was to be believed then he was a dashing and mysterious adventurer whose creative genius could solve any problem. Of course given his list of impressive accomplishments involved the installation of a towel rack and stopping her replicator making a strange ‘humming noise’, Wren was suspicious of that last part. Perhaps she was spoiled by her time spent among Starfleet Engineers, she’d certainly been spoiled by one in particular, but then just perhaps it was that candles shone their brightest in the pitch black of night. Around here any help likely felt like entirely unbelievable; she knew she had felt like that with Rada when she’d first realised all those years ago that he wasn’t just in this for himself.
This Daryl apparently had on the day of his arrival volunteered without charge to help an old lady with a few things when the building’s superintendent had kept her waiting months. Wren was a little sad that the first thought that entered her mind upon hearing that was that he might just be casing her home to come back and rob her later. She’d seen it too many times. Still, aside from a warning that likely wouldn’t be believed, there was nothing much Wren could do. On the bright side, a criminal past likely wouldn’t have been counterproductive to assistance in breaking into a building.
Thinking about this, as they continued walking and Mad continued talking, her mind wandered slightly to the type of men she was for so long on track to end up with. They were criminals. They were exciting. They were just like her father. It was frightening to think now just how she could have been helping another man like that father a child and continuing the cycle on. Then maybe that ship had already sailed. All the prestige in the world didn’t mean a thing when she considered that if Tam’s father could abandon his child then if he wasn’t a criminal that just meant the laws had some catching up to do.
His family had been wealthy, which meant a lot more than people said it did even on Earth, and so they may have ended up in some place nice. However with most of the men she knew a building like this was more likely. She’d have probably outlived them, because their lives were rarely absent of danger, then would have found it was just her and her children until eventually they left to. Then all she’d really have to look forward to as the years continued on was the occasional loveless tryst with aging men who should really know better, and that just every now and then she’d be able to believe a young man was just helping her out simply because it was a nice thing to do.
Being here and looking upon Madelyn, as the woman continued chattering on as if she’d not been allowed a real conversation in years, only made Wren’s heart hurt more for the thoughts of the man who saved her from that fate. She wondered where he was right now, and if he was happy. As selfish as it made her feel, she truly hoped he wasn’t happy with someone else.
Finally they cleared the final set of stairs and reached Madelyn’s door. Wren was slightly tired by the journey with the heavy bags, whereas the old woman seemed almost unaffected likely having made that same trip without anyone to offer her the smallest gesture of help for many, many years.
The feeling of tiredness however didn’t last at all long, though Madelyn didn’t notice the sudden change in her follower.
After fumbling around through her purse, swearing only once about the mess, Madelyn took the key out and scanned it over the reader. She then pushed open the door and stepped slowly into the small mixture of kitchen, dining and entertainment room that made up her entryway.
“Daryl, I’m back!” Mad announced at the top of her lungs, not seeing the young man and so assuming he was probably working on that loose shelf in her bedroom.
“I’ll be there in a second,” his voice answered her. “You know you really should have had someone look at the supports on these shelves a long time ago.”
“I’ve been trying to. Before you no one else could be bothered,” Mad replied simply, as she automatically moved over to the kitchen counter, before she quickly realised that she didn’t have her groceries to put there.
“Oh, just put the bags down here,” she said to Wren who she assumed would be just behind her, but as she turned she realised that this young woman wasn’t really listening to her anymore.
In fact she looked as pale as a ghost and was moving almost not under her own power.
“Well, I’ve fixed them now.” Daryl continued, his voice coming closer. “It’s a good thing I did. I’d say a few more weeks and they’d have collapsed. You could have really hurt yourself…”
By the time he opened the door Wren’s heart was pounding. She was so completely unready, and in such a mess, but she had no way to get out of this now and she was far too paralysed to even try.
Before she could even say another word, it was confirmed to her eyes what her ears and other senses had realised already. There in the doorway stood the man Mad had called Daryl; the sweet and kind young gentleman who had helped her with various small repairs and pleasant company throughout the short time in which he’d been here.
That man was Rada Dengar.
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Wren Elton
Manager, Afterthought Café
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
Wren Elton
Manager, Afterthought Café
USS Serendipity NCC-2012