Chapter 11

November 29, 1963

Polk County, Georgia

6:00 AM

As the sun continued to rise over the horizon, the bus stop felt painfully cold despite the temperature not having dropped that much. Winter was already on its way, and the idea Dennis would be training in cold conditions... Well, she’d rather not think about it.

Instead, Agatha Orville looked her son over once and began asking questions.

Again.

“Did you pack everything you need?”

“Yes, ma.”

“Everything? You’re sure?”

“Yes, ma.” Dennis repeated, almost mechanically as he eyed the rucksack on the bench.

Figuring there wasn’t much more to be done, she eyed her son’s uniform. Again. Everything seemed in order. Belt was proper, shirt was buttoned up, his cap was on alright, his hair was cut to regulation, though thankfully not to the point she couldn’t play with it. Only if she so wished to of course. It would certainly be embarrassing to mess her kid’s hair in front of those he would soon be working with. In fact...

She quickly passed a hand through his dark hair, smiling at the familiar feeling despite now having to reach upwards and get rid of the Army cap. Dennis didn’t complain, he rarely did, but he did appear somewhat unamused as he made sure his cap didn’t fall to the bus station’s floor. Agatha forced herself to smile.

“Little Dennis Orville... all grown up now.”

He gave her an uncertain smile as Agatha could hear the bus approaching.

She quickly said, “Remember, eat well, and brush your teeth.”

“Yes, ma.”

“And say your prayers.”

“Yes, ma.”

“Every night.”

“Yes, ma.”

“Keep your hair tidy.”

“Yes, ma.”

“Keep yourself clean.”

“Yes, ma.”

“No smoking!”

“Yes, ma.”

“A-and try to write, alright? I know it’s going to be difficult to call, so I understand if...” she stopped, taking a shaky breath.

“Ma, I know. It’s just like last time, alright?”

She frowned at his vain attempt at reassuring her.

“It’s most certainly not! You’re more than likely going to deploy this time. Bows and arrows or not, I don’t want you getting hurt or...” she stopped herself right there. She wasn’t about to consider the thought.

Dennis still nodded, still wearing a naïve expression; despite the fact he clearly didn’t grasp what she was trying to tell him. How could she tell him? He had no idea what war was. He hadn’t lived through the terror of the Second World War. He’d been sheltered, as had most young Americans, from the war in Korea.

Still...

Dennis then said “Hey, uh... I’m going to come back.”

Agatha only found herself nodding.

But then, just as quickly she shook her head.

“Do some good wherever they send you, alright?” she managed to whisper as the bus finally stopped by them.

“Ma?”

“Try to do some good, wherever they send you. That’s what I ask of you.” She repeated, trying to hide her inner turmoil. She gripped his hand tightly.

Dennis smiled at that, the confidence in that naïve expression of his hurt her more than she cared to admit.

“I will! I promise!” he said as easily as though he were agreeing to wash the plates.

Agatha swallowed the knot in her throat, forcing a smile once again as she pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around him, tightly, not saying another word. She felt him awkwardly pat her back, which made her want to hold him a little longer.

But she knew she couldn’t.

The bus door opened, and she immediately forced herself to let him go, taking a step back. Dennis was quick. He adjusted his cap, a tuft of dark hair peaking under it, and picked up his rucksack before turning back to her.

“See you, ma. I’ll write as often as I can. I promise!”

She nodded, slowly waving him goodbye.

Agatha’s nails dug into the palms of her hands as the door closed behind her son, and as she felt ice-cold fears climb up her body, she hugged herself. The bus lurched away, leaving a dust trail in its wake.

Quietly, she whispered, “Don’t take him away from me... don’t take him away from me.”

Finally, the second the bus was out of sight, she stomped her foot into the ground, shakily breathing in and out.

“Oh, God...”

She forced her tears back yet again, but she was unable to do so for long. After a moment, she was standing there alone, forced to wipe her humid eyes dry on her sleeve.

Was it ever easy?

She thought back to doing the same when Stephen had departed to Korea. She remembered the assurances, the many utterings of “don’t worry”, the many promises of “I’ll see you soon”, the reassurances of waiting, the strong front pretending to assure him they would be fine at home and to focus on coming back. What had all that really accomplished, in the end? Did the bullets or artillery or bombs care for such promises? Did the enemy when similar promises had likely been made to their families? All she could really do was hope it was better this time around.

Agatha could easily remember the painful wait for letters and updates. Better than Dennis she quietly hoped. A part of her wondered how much her son truly remembered of those days waiting to hear from his father. Stephen had been so young after all. The naivety in his voice, the genuine belief he would be fine in his deployment.

He almost seemed excited for it...

She walked back home slowly, glad to be on her own as wiping away her tears and snot was already an unseemly sight even with a handkerchief, but she doubted she could convey the reasons for her tears, let alone in a way that wouldn’t appear like she was spoiled.

Should she not feel more honored of her family’s servicemen in the American military?

Sure, it didn’t make saying goodbye any easier. It didn’t make the fear feel any less prevalent. But it was some source of comfort they had been fighting for a good cause...

Was it not?

She shook her head at her own doubts, forcing the thoughts back as she managed to begin calming down. The cool Georgia breeze soothed and helped dry her face, the grass and trees swayed. She could hear the occasional bird sing as she kept walking. She paused to see if she could see some, noticing the small group of Finches squeaking away at one another on the tree branches.

All seemed so peaceful.

As if on cue, a voice cut in.

“Agatha?”

She turned to the couple walking in the opposite direction on the road not too far away, carrying a basket.

“Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Jones... good morning!” she said, speaking formally, forcing a polite smile as she dried the moisture on her face and tried to appear presentable.

The pair approached her, silently acknowledging her greeting, concern lining their face as they closed the distance.

Vicky Jones, crossed the road quicker, asking “Did he leave already?”

Agatha nodded.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. We wanted to surprise you, I... we brought some breakfast, and- oh, dear, I’m so sorry.”

The older woman pulled her into a warm embrace, but Agatha forced her tears back once more, maintaining the façade of being alright more important now. Did she really need her neighbors worrying about her? Was it not unbecoming of someone from her generation to appear so needy?

She said, “I’m alright, Miss Jones, I just... worry.”

“Well of course you worry, he’s your boy! I was just talking to Terry about the twins having to leave soon as well, but... With the whole crisis in Dallas, Dennis will... oh, you poor thing.”

Agatha, for the briefest instant, frowned at the pity, as though the woman was being condescendingly concerned when in reality it was an excuse to talk about her own worries. But she knew better.

“They enlisted in the Navy, right?”

“Yup, so they probably won’t have to travel to that... other... place. Can’t Dennis just stay in the Reserve?”

“He’s a bit like his dad. He wants to go and fight.” Agatha stated matter-of-factly, swallowing at the knot forming in her throat, her smile fading.

Terry Jones nodded, adding almost quietly, “Yeah, a real patriot.”

Agatha ignored the subtle, almost imperceptible sarcasm in the older man’s voice, but Vicky Jones apparently could not.

“Terry, watch that tone of yours.” She chided.

He placed his hands in his pockets, shifting in place as if agreeing, but then saying “I’m sorry, but... he’s leaving his mother alone, that ain’t right. I have to disagree with him. Doesn’t he care about all you did for him?”

Agatha shrugged.

She could argue.

She could easily say the fact they’d been alone since Stephen died may have contributed to Dennis wanting to get a job immediately in order to support her. That even if there was selfishness behind his motivations it was likely done out of an almost childish desire to help her as well.

But what did it matter?

Her lack of an answer seemed to irritate her neighbor. The man then crossed the street, saying “Look, if he doesn’t care for you, then we will. Understand?”

Agatha shut her eyes, firmly saying “Terry, I appreciate it, but-”

He interrupted her.

“No buts. Here. Take it.”

Agatha opened her eyes, seeing the envelope.

She shook her head.

“You’ve both done enough. I can’t-”

Vicky said “Please. You’re going to be home alone for a while now. Trust me, we know.”

Without a word, Terry placed the check in her hand, saying “Consider it an emergency fund. In case the boy doesn’t make much money.”

She ignored the unspoken implications Terry had made and nodded slowly.

“Thank you, both of you. Um... Were you headed to the bus station? To see him off?”

Vicky smiled awkwardly, adding “Terry really wanted to give Dennis... um... more of a piece of his mind.”

“Was just going to give my two cents. Maybe remind him he has someone he needs to come back to. Stephen would-”

Vicky Jones stomped on his foot.

He fell silent.

Agatha only nodded again.

“I appreciate it... if you want, you can come over for a spell and early breakfast?”

“Oh, that would be lovely, dear.”

Terry Jones only silently followed after.

Agatha managed a soft smile.

Her headache was back, but it was a touch lighter this time around.

Dallas, Texas

10:24 AM

If there was one benefit to the side effects of opening that accursed doorway, it had to be that the sight of her weak and frail body attracted sympathy from those around her. Even those that saw her and spoke of her as though she was a strange creature seemed to empathize with her whenever they were in the room. She also didn’t have to pretend to be in constant pain as her body was, indeed, constantly aching. Her legs barely worked, and she doubted she would ever walk again.

Though a touch of theatrics never hurt.

She would shakily lift cups of water and juice, as though she couldn’t even perform the task. It would cause the older women in white dresses to quickly come to her aid, with soft motherly words trying to comfort her.

Poor fools.

The plastic cover was now gone, her arm hurting a touch more from all the vaccinations she had been given. A curious concept, preventing diseases from harming the body by giving the body a less deadly version of the disease so it knew how to fight it. It was one of the more fascinating surprises of this new world.

Another pleasant surprise for her was the man named Father Aleksander.

An appropriate name. “Defender of man”. She understood the concept of advocates in such circumstances, and the man was very much defending her when the men in black and white clothes began asking their pesky questions.

“Why did you open it?”

“Where is your family?”

“Where were you raised?”

“What do you want?”

“For how long was this planned?”

To which Father Aleksander would more than happily explain “gentlemen, please, she’s doing her best to help”, which would in turn drive the irritating men in black and white clothes away from her.

Still, she had to give her answers.

And carefully.

She was to play the victim, meek and helpless. Forced into slavery and tortured for her ability to see into another world. Forced to work for madmen who wanted nothing more than to expand and enslave others against her will.

Well, at least it was partly true.

It didn’t really matter.

If it meant these people could get their righteous war and destroy as much of Iberia as possible, then all the better. Even if they didn’t bother destroying it entirely, her cooperation would guarantee her a comfortable and safe life in this far more peaceful and prosperous world.

The door opened slowly and in walked Father Aleksander, the man smiling softly as he asked “Are you ready, Domitia?”

She nodded slowly as some nurses walked in with a wheeled chair.

Domitia began attempting to sit up, making sure she appeared to struggle just enough that Father Aleksander ran over to her.

“Easy now, young lady, easy. We can take you there, you just... help us answer some questions, alright?”

Making certain her voice sounded as quiet and weak as possible and that her ears were in a more submissive stance, she said “yes”.

Thus, she found herself out in the morning sun, in the still damaged parts of the American city, right at the epicenter of the attack, the massive doorway she had opened staring back at her.

Father Aleksander sighed, saying “The death toll is at around four hundred. Mostly our people, and well over a hundred of theirs. It’s a tragedy.”

“Soldiers?”

“No, Domitia, our citizens.”

She said nothing.

The corpses were gone now. Some buildings burnt down, charred black due to the fighting she imagined. Still, the victor was as clear as the four American iron elephants, their trunks staring down at the doorway she had opened.

Except they were not called “Iron elephants”, they were called “tanks”, and their “trunks” were their “main guns”. She then saw the large iron barrier they had constructed, ensuring nothing simply marched out of there as easily as that first day only two weeks prior.

Trent Colbert’s voice called in the distance, but she ignored it, glancing instead at some of the well-built young men walking around.

Father Aleksander did not.

“Ah, agent Colbert. I know you don’t like him, but he is willing to help us here.”

Domitia nodded, turning her gaze in the man’s direction. The “Central Intelligence" Agent casually walked out of the building and crossed the road towards them with a confident smile.

“Father Aleksander, Miss Domitia, my apologies for the current state of things.”

Domitia took the initiative, digging through the words she’d learned as of late.

“Many casualties? Are your men alright?”

Trent’s aviators made it impossible to really guess what he was thinking, but Domitia assumed her “genuine concern” may have caught him off guard.

Trent said “Several dozen dead from our troops. I guess that makes our total losses, oh... Two-hundred-fifty-seven?”

Domitia said nothing, feigning sadness at the loss of life.

“Urban combat. It’s not easy even if your enemy has no firearms.”

She nodded, though the statement seemed to closely resemble a senator trying to gain favor with his constituents. But what did she really know?

“I understand you cannot use your... ability... not anymore?”

She shook her head, saying “I... think I can. But only when I’m close to the doorway. I feel the connection... better. But even then, it takes much strength to do, and I’ve barely the strength to do so.” she replied purposefully slow.

“But... you can use it?”

“I feel that I can. I haven’t tried yet.”

Trent nodded, then said, “So, if you wanted to, and we got you up close to the portal, you could show us what’s on the other side?”

Oh, that’s what you want?

She nodded.

“Good. Well, let’s get to it, then.”

Father Aleksander said, “Might I ask why?”

Trent only said “We have plans, father. That is all.”

Domitia didn’t protest as she was wheeled towards the doorway between worlds. It was an interesting structure the more she looked at it. The colorful walls reflecting sunlight contrasted with the pitch-black entrance, covered now by a large iron fence that was being reinforced with steel plates.

A few feet away from it, she felt her connection to the other world strengthen, but she said nothing.

Briefly, she wondered if she could get away with lying, saying she really couldn’t do it because of some reason or other and avoid the discomfort. Maybe feign weakness, or that her connection was all gone, or something along those lines.

But one look at the men working on barricading the large entrance told her she needed to win favor with these people if she wished to survive.

And being useless was not a way forward.

They eyed her with a darkness she’d never seen before. She’d seen killers. The Imperial Army was full of them. Uncaring of who they killed, be it men, women, or children. If her meetings with the Imperial Generals were anything to go by, many seemed to enjoy it.

Not these soldiers.

The dark circles under their eyes, their somewhat sluggish movements, their disheveled green uniforms, and the sheer look of anger...

You caused this... they blame you... be careful what you do next.

As if to punctuate the point, Trent said “Think you can show us the other side now, Domitia?”

Father Aleksander went to translate, and she allowed him to do so even though her English had improved greatly.

Domitia took a deep breath and prepared.

This was going to hurt.

“I think so... hold, please.”

She clasped her hands together, not to pray but to hold on to herself. She took a deep breath, then concentrated on the skill she’d long trained for. Peering through the doorway, seeing the images on the other end, focusing on grabbing and holding that same image, and then...

“Well, would you look at that...”

She didn’t need to hear the American exclaim to know she was projecting an image, the pain of the process already making it difficult for her.

“Can you give us a better look of those mountains?”

She didn’t say anything, responding only by doing as told.

“Great, hold that... Alan, get a picture. Hopefully, it comes out clear.”

She frowned in irritation as her head began to ache further, but did as she was told.