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The Scoop of the Century - Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2023-02-19 15:50:42 +0000 UTC“Does he have any sisters?” Paul Wallace asked. “Nieces? Cousins? Aunts? Grandmothers?”
Lanard Glass didn't answer, staring out one of the many windows in the office, down to the streets below Nightfall had come on the second eve of their stay in this new world where giant women appeared out of nowhere and walked around in broad daylight, only to disappear into thin air. He still wasn't fully able to grasp that this was reality. Perhaps he never would.
“What about his mother?” Paul insisted. “Do you know her name by any chance?”
“No, Paul, I don't.” Lanard replied, not without some sharpness. “I don't know his sister's name, his niece's name, nor his aunt's, or his dog's, or his third grade elementary school teacher's. Anything else you want to ask?”
“Can you look them up?”
“The power is out, Paul. No Internet.”
“There's a file of his information somewhere around here, right? Emergency contact information? He could have listed his folks as one of them. Perhaps his mother.”
“Even if I knew where that was, what good would it do us right now?”
“Well...” Paul hesitated. The old man looked scared, excited, and confused all at once. Ever since Chuck had briefly awoken, the geezer hadn't sat down the entire time. Lanard had felt sympathy for him at first, but now his constant pacing and his many questions were working his nerves. “We need to find out who 'Evanora' is.”
“He was pretty clear about who 'Evanora' is, Paul.”
“He was barely conscious and his words were slurred.” The old man replied quickly.
“He pointed out the window!”
“That don't mean nuthin! In his state we're lucky he didn't point at the floor!”
“He HAD to have been talking about her, Paul!” Lanard snapped. “After everything that we've seen in the last twenty hours, who ELSE could he be talking about!?”
“That's why I want to know about the women in his life.” Paul protested. He did not react at all to Lanard's shouting at him. He would not be deviated from his course. While Lanard's own mind was slow to grasp the situation, Paul's seemed on the verge of simply denying it all for the sake of his own sanity. When everything had started, he had instinctively jumped into his role as the owner of the Radio. But now that almost nights had passed, the reality of it all began to really hit home, and old Paul seemed to want none of it. “He could have had a dream about them. Got confused, that's all.”
“And w hat if he WAS talking about her?”
“Abo-About who?” Paul's lips trembled.
“Don't play dumb, Paul.”
“It's not possible.” The old man said. His wrinkled, liverspotted hands clasped tightly together and he began to pace. “It's impossible. And I'll tell you why. I'll tell you EXACTLY why.”
“Go ahead.” Lanard invited, rubbing his temples.
“For one thing, how could he possibly know anything about her?” Paul asked. His eyes had dropped to the floor and he spun on his heels and began to pace the other way, like a cartoon soldier patrolling an area. “Let alone her name. She arrived yesterday. No one knows anything about her, and that includes Chuck! He said as much on the roof yesterday when the three of us went up there!”
“You said something about her being a 'goddess'...”
“I-I...” Paul's throat made a clicking sound as he tried to speak. “I...no, HE was saying something about that, the damned fool! As if he was going to write some story about it! The scoop of the century, I think he said. Nonsense!”
He's not entirely wrong there, Lanard thought. “So what do YOU think she is, Paul?”
More clicking sounds came from the old man's throat. He couldn't deny the existence of The Giantess. It was far too late for that. He had been the one to vindicate Chuck after her initial arrival by using his Radio to track her moves. He had seen her firsthand. The haven of absolute denial, no matter how insane, was closed to him. Paul seemed to realize this and his mind was increasingly unwilling to relinquish any further ground.
“I don't know what she is.” He finally said. “But that's not what we're talking about! Right now we need to find out what he meant by 'Evanora'!”
“Paul...”
“Because it CAN'T be her! How could it be? How could Chuck possibly know her name?
“Maybe she told him?”
The old man actually stopped his pacing long enough to look at Lanard as if he was certifiably insane. “Told him? How? When? Did you see her speak to him? A thing that big has to have a loud voice to match!”
“True.” Lanard replied, shrugging. “But...if she IS a god then...”
Paul's face twitched and he broke eye contact immediately and went back to pacing as if something in him had been waiting to be triggered. He shook his head fervently.
“Impossible.”
“Paul, I know you're frightened...”
“It's not possible.” The old man said. “What kind of god just shows up on Earth out of nowhere dressed in leather pants and walks around aimlessly like a tourist in a foreign country? And besides, even if she was a god, why would she speak to Chuck Stephens of all people!? Why him? Out of all the billions of people that's who she speaks to? Why? It doesn't make sense.”
“None of this makes sense,” Lanard agreed.
“That's why it can't be her.” Paul continued. “She has no reason to speak to him. To any of us!”
“But if she's not a god then what is she?”
“I don't know...but if she's not a god then she couldn't have spoken to him. Not without the rest of us hearing it. And how would she hear him? She's enormous! She'd have to pick him up and put him in her ear! She didn't speak to him, it can't be her! Has to be someone else!”
Lanard sighed and rubbed his temples again for a moment.
“So she didn't speak to him.” He said.
“That's what I think.”
“And she's not a god.”
“I didn't say that, but...”
“But you don't think she is.”
“Right.”
“But you also realize that she's a gigantic woman who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, possibly dropping out of space for all we know?”
“...yes.” Paul said reluctantly.
“So...where does that leave us?” Lanard asked. “That Chuck was talking about some other woman in his life and the giant one walking around is...what? An alien humanoid?”
“I don't know what she is.” Paul said quietly. His lower lip was trembling. From fear or being overwhelmed to tears (or both) was anyone's guess.
“I don't either.” Lanard said, turning back to the window. “But what I do know is that her name is Evanora.”
“You don't...”
“No, I don't.” Glass cut him off. He raised a hand, its index finger pointing up to the ceiling. “And maybe Chuck doesn't either. But something happened to him while he was up there today. He was the first out of everyone in this building to see her and he was fine. The three of us watched her up there when she passed by yesterday and he was fine. So what happened this time?”
More clicking sounds came from behind Lanard, but got no reply. Then, the sound of the old geezer's worn shoes shuffling the carpet began again as he resumed pacing. Lanard watched the people down below. The streets had been filled with people that it almost looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse movie. But instead of constant moaning sounds, there was nothing but shouts and yelling. Lanard suspected that many were attempting to get out of the city, but this still wasn't possible. The streets were still blocked with abandoned cars and, while he did see officers scattered around, there was no clear move by any authority to retake order. As the night sky arrived, many of these would be travelers would thin out, perhaps returning to whatever shelter they had been in. However, some brave souls still took to the streets, where screams and gunfire occasionally rang out.
Though he view was limited to only down the street, from where he sat, it seemed the world as he knew it was on the verge of collapse. The only thing he could do now is wait for Chuck to wake up.
…
Sunlight. A warm breeze. Vibrant blue skies. Majestic mountains slopping beyond the vast green forest. And at the center, a large lake, whose crisp waters shimmer like diamonds in the sunlight. The song of nonexistent birds fills the air. Splashes are heard in the empty waters of the lake. Every so often the sound of incorporeal deer trouncing about flutters out from the woods. Lush flowers that dot the landscape are undisturbed, surrounded by the soft buzz of busy bees.
You walk along the edge of the lake, dragging your heavy and aching heart alongside, listening to the facade of nature flutter all around you. The Valley is magnificent; a place that you carefully and lovingly crafted. It is, perhaps, one of your finest works, the essence of the worlds out in the Garden recreated in exhaustive detail. But underneath all its wondrous beauty was nothing but vast stretches of emptiness. Only the prints of your boots were etched into the dirt paths of this place. Nothing else stirred. There could be. Very easily, in fact. But to bring life into this place only to fill the emptiness would only make it feel even more artificial, not to mention cruel. No matter how beautiful, this place would be a prison for any sentient life created here, and that thought abhorred you.
Your thoughts were of your Little Star...your curious child from the city who had looked up at you with bright, wondering eyes. Chuck Stephens was his name, you had learned that from listening to those around him. He was a journalist with the Daily Occurrences. No wife or children of his own. His mother and father were vacationing in Italy, attending the marriage of an old, mutual friend of theirs. This knowledge simply floats into your consciousness. Your mind is like a vast ocean, with many, thousands even, small rivers all flowing into it from countless continents. The sensation is strange and disorienting sometimes. Mercifully, you are not burdened with the bloated curse of omniscience, an affliction that would surely drive you to madness as never ending streams of information bombarded your faculties. Still, it made you feel connected to all of them. The glimmering reflections of you that walked the face of the pale blue dot called Earth...your fragile, delicate children.
You had beheld Chuck Stephens being carried by his fellow man. But while he was unconscious, his mind was bright and dreaming. You had taken the opportunity. A dreaming mind was able to behold more than a conscious one, as you had learned from the Avakonians. But even in the realm of his dreams, he had not been able to understand. You cursed yourself. Why? Why was communication so hard? Why were you cursed to a life of silence? However, just as you had begun to lose hope, the Little Star spoke. He repeated one word, your own name, which he had announced to those around him before fading into unconsciousness. No dreams this time. Your efforts had taken their toll and the Light within him was dangerously dim. So you had left and retreated here, to the Valley. And now you walked along the bank of the lake, alone, your heart heavy with remorse as the image of your weary star, blood dripping down his cheeks from his nose, haunted you.
The cabin was ahead and you embraced its rustic charm with weary relief. You could smell the fruits and flowers from the gardens you tended to in the plot behind the house. Unlike the Valley itself, which (while meticulous) had been made from dreams and thought, you had personally labored on everything in regards to the cabin. You had chopped trees, shaped the logs, and stacked them. You had crafted a forge to melt ore and reshape it. Your clever children had learned to shape their world just as you had eons ago. And the rivers of their knowledge had flowed into the ocean of yours. Out in the Garden, the only tools you had ever needed were your mind and your hands. But, here in the Valley, there was something gratifying in the work. It made the cabin feel real. Honest. Genuine. Deserved.
You walked inside and placed your bag onto the table and took out the samples you had collected from the Great Lakes out. After examining them absently for a moment, you crossed the room and carefully placed them in the wooden rack for test tubes in your small lab. You had learned tools and methods from your children, but you had knowledge they did not. You wished you could share that knowledge. To do so would like spreading rich fertilizer on any plot of land and watching the inevitable bloom. But you couldn't, at least not by speech. You had to share it directly, but your vast strength in power made it dangerous. But through the sciences of your children, you could condense your Light, and even the Darkness, in ways that could allow its use in very precise situations. Soon, the Great Lakes would be restored to their former pristine waters.
But that would have to wait. There was other work that needed done and your belly had begun to rumble. You stepped back outside, adjusting your sunhat to block the rays from above, and stepped into the garden behind the cabin. There were two of these. First was the flower garden which wrapped around the house, surrounding it with a painter's palette of gorgeous color from flora from all around the cosmos. Would-be remedies for many for sicknesses and woes that plagued your children of Earth grew from the soil of the Valley. You picked up the watering can and walked to the pump aside the house. When the can was filled to the brim you slowly sprinkled into the soil, stopping every so often to smell the blooming flowers. The wonderful scent brought a smile to your face and your heart felt a little lighter. Once all of them were watered, you replaced the watering can and moved on.
The second garden was bigger, requiring a long garden hose to water it. Fruits and vegetables of all kinds sprouted from the soil here which was meticulously sectioned so that the plants would not wage war with each other. The aroma here was strong and your mouth began to water. The amulet around your neck pulsed, a dark spot staining your otherwise brilliant white blouse. First you walked the plot, squatting every now and then to pull an intruding weed from the soil or correct any other plant that might be attempting to invade another section of the garden. Then, you unrolled the garden hose and carefully sprayed until all plots were a rich dark brown, the many bulbs and sprouts, etc, glistening in the sunlight. A soft tune escaped your lips as you slowly circled the garden, feeding the plants under your tender care. They began to sway slightly, and new vibrancy began to bleed into their color. The few flowers which had shyly hidden in their petals began to peek out, lured by your melody. You saw this and it filled your heart with joy and the humming became singing, your voice ringing across the Valley.
A chorus joined you. The breeze carried the voices of the trees. The birds that didn't exist echoed your melody. A brilliant rainbow, cast from the waters of the lake, filled the sky. The gardens swayed and bloomed, their colors seeming to shine out like the sun. Empty branches and vines became abundant with fruits and berries. Vegetables grew larger and heartier, as if pining for your attention. Your heart had been heavy but now it felt light as a feather and you allowed yourself to be lost in the moment, savoring every ounce of joy that you could. Every plant that fell under your warm gaze leaped with eagerness, some raising their heavier leaves allowing the water to more easily reach the soil. Stalks leaned towards you when you reached out a hand, offering their bounty for your fingers to feel their ripeness. The garden was thriving, the fruits of your labor joining you in song.
A loud rumble sounded from your belly, cutting off your chorus. The luster of the garden faded slightly as hunger filled your mind, imagining the crisp sound of your teeth biting into a ripe fruit, its sweet flesh and cool juice flowing across your tongue. The dark stain beneath your blouse had grown. It was time to eat.
You racked the hose and grabbed the woven basket and strolled through the garden. The plants no longer sang but they did not shy from you either, bravely standing tall at your hungry gaze. You reached down and gently plucked from various vines and stalks until your basket was full. Then, you stood and walked back to the cabin. Inside you chopped leafy greens, veg, and almonds. Some fruit and other spices in a pestle and mortal made the dressing. You took your meal outside onto the back porch overlooking the lake and sat, looking across the waters. Then, you began to eat.
The taste was nothing short of exquisite and you closed your eyes as the flavors seemed to dance across your tongue. Just as one biteful went down your throat, you eagerly brought another to your salivating mouth. The dark stain began to shrink and fade until the pure white brilliance from before was restored. As you ate, your mind drifted back to Earth, but not to your Little Star, but rather to the two men who had carried him down: Lanard Glass and Paul Wallace. You had only glimpsed them while on Earth, during which your form was too condensed to have access to your true power. But while out in the Garden, you had seen them and their names had streamed into your mind. After Chuck's declaration of your name, the two of them had retreated, and your eyes had followed them out of curiosity. During their conversation, they had referred to you as a God.
Many of your children, from all over the Garden, had viewed you with a similar term. The Avakonians certainly had in your brief stay with them. But you have never viewed yourself as such, and the children had no agreement on what the term even meant. Yet their voices cried out into the infinite, asking whatever may be listening to water their crop, heal their wounds and sickness, or bless them with good fortune. They didn't understand. The Romans and Greeks had. Their Gods were the cause of many woes, so much that humanity was often better without them entirely. You liked to believe that your actions were free from the puerile, vacuous whims and desires of the Roman Gods, but you know how destructive your actions can be. To answer the prayers of one child, one delicate little child, with your natural power would be like trying to pick up a single grain of sand with your bare fingers. You had other tricks up your sleeves, though. And when you returned to the Garden, returned to Earth, you hoped that what you would bring will make your children no longer cower in fear, but rather look up to you with the same bright, curious eyes that Chuck Stephens had.
You stood up and carried your bowl back into the cabin. There was more work to be done. And then, you would need to rest.
