Hollow Years

Author's note:

Please see part 1 for blurb and content warnings. And, if you haven't read Parts 1 & 2 yet, I strongly suggest you do so before proceeding.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

***

***

Twenty-Nine

"You must be joking," Paul guffawed as Mikaela held up another item for his perusal.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snickered as she gave the thick shag chartreus jacket a lengthy inspection. "You'd look sexy as fuck in this."

"Bootsy Collins would look ridiculous in that, honey."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But isn't that kind of his whole brand?"

"Would you believe he maintains that style? At least for the next fifteen years."

"Good for him," she replied as she replaced the jacket on the clothing rack and wandered deeper into the store.

He spared a moment to enjoy the sight of her well-formed ass (now encased in perfectly fitting jeans they had purchased at the last store) as he followed behind her. Their shopping expedition, which had grown from Mikaela's discovery that Paul only owned three days' worth of clothes, marked the conclusion of their 'vacation' in the suite at the downtown luxury hotel. Following the emotional first morning after Bartleby had given Mikaela a glimpse into Paul's past, they had set aside all thoughts of their mission and just focused on shared happiness. Their three-night interlude, during which they had forged a lifetime of memories together, had done each of them a world of good. Gone was the melancholy which had been their constant companion through years of wandering in loneliness. Instead, they now felt, body and soul, like they were the happy couple they appeared to be.

After departing the hotel, she had directed him to a mall which looked to be on the verge of being condemned. But inside they found a fair number of clothiers which were still open. Despite her objections, he had managed to direct their steps into a pair of stores wherein they had procured a dozen outfits for her, including the alluring ensemble she had changed into which featured a skin-tight black sweater matched with the aforementioned jeans, black leather boots and a black leather jacket which fit her like a second skin.

Normally loath to shop for even a second longer than what was required to procure the items he sought, Paul found himself greatly enjoying Mikaela's mixture of playful banter and preposterous suggestions. Before he knew it, the sun was low in the western sky, and he was laden with shopping bags. He could not complain, however, about the outfits she had convinced him to purchase. He had grown fond of the look he had worn for the last several weeks, but there was no denying the fact that he looked not unlike a hoodlum wearing a worn leather jacket, watchman's cap, jeans and work boots. Mikaela had made the case for a somewhat more refined look which might not be so out of place when they found themselves interacting with the middle and upper classes. She had supercharged her argument by making it known that, while she found him irresistible in everything from three-days' worn second-hand clothing to nothing at all, she could scarcely restrain her urges when he donned a form-fitting black button-up shirt matched with black dress pants and designer leather boots. Topping the ensemble off with a knee-length evening coat had proven to be an almost dangerous combination, as Mikaela had demonstrated when she molded herself to him as he was attempting to pay.

"How is it possible for one man to be this sexy," she murmured into his ear, emphasizing her point with a flick of her tongue.

"I would ask the same thing about you," he replied before dropping a kiss onto the sensitive spot just above the neckline of her sweater.

The clerk cleared her throat loudly to get their attention, whereupon she handed Paul his change with a judgmental look.

As Mikaela led him from the store, she muttered, "Someone's jealous."

"Pardon?"

"That woman knows I've snagged the hottest guy in the Mid-West. Wedding ring, or no, she's overcome with jealousy over the fact that a skinny broad like me snagged such a handsome fella."

"None of that, honey. Or I'll be forced to once again blow up our itinerary to find the closest hotel room so I can prove to you how perfect you truly are."

"I can barely sit as it is, babe. My body isn't used to this level of activity."

"You expect me to apologize?"

"Not if you expect to continue to enjoy my respect," she quipped. He chuckled and pulled her close as they exited the mall. She glanced up at the sky before observing, "We've only got a few hours until moonrise. Should we grab a hotel first, or just summon Bartleby from here?"

"I vote the latter. Just in case whatever he shows you is on the other side of town."

"Fair enough," she agreed as he opened the boot lid of the coupe and crammed their purchases into the tiny space along with their sparse luggage.

After handing her into the passenger seat, he rounded the car to slide behind the wheel and fire up the turbo-charged flat six. While he trusted Daphne's magic to make them less noticeable, he saw no reason not to improve their chances by driving across the street to an empty warehouse parking lot and pulling behind a dumpster so that they were not visible from the road.

By the time he had set the handbrake, Mikaela already held the expanding orb in her hands. He remained silent, not wanting to interrupt... whatever it was she did to summon the orb's denizen.

For want of something else to do, he reached out to Daphne with his mind. "How come she has to summon him, but you're always with me?"

"Bartleby considers himself above this plane of existence. He is only serving Mikaela because it will clear a debt he owes Jürgen."

"Is that what happened with you and Sam?"

"I should think not!"

"Settle down," he retorted. "I'm not attempting to cast aspersions. I'm just trying to make conversation, and to find out more about you. After all, you know all of my closest held secrets."

"Then... my apologies."

"So," he continued after a pregnant pause. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because Sam asked me to," she replied, as though nothing in history had been more evident.

"But you're not beholden to him," Paul began haltingly. "So why..."

"I would do anything for him," she murmured with aching vulnerability.

"Do you... love him?"

She scoffed, "Romantic love is a human concept."

"That's not a denial," he observed reassuringly. "No matter what you call it, I think it's beautiful.And, regardless of your motivations, I am genuinely thankful for your assistance. I know we haven't talked much in the last few weeks..."

"You were always meant to have a dual mission, dear boy," she soothed. "And while the future will always remain uncertain for your kind, know that you walk the path of the righteous with respect to both. Now, unless I'm mistaken, the lovely Ms. Mikaela is nearly done conferring with my colleague. You should prepare yourself."

Mikaela's eyes popped open a moment later and she turned to stare at him with a horrified expression. "South," she rasped. "Head south. Quickly."

***

***

"There!" Mikaela gasped. "I think it's that one."

Paul swerved into a parking lot adjacent to the office building she had indicated and screeched to a halt beneath the vestibule before leaping from the car. Mikaela met him at the locked outer door where he was furiously yanking on the handle. She peered through the glass, into the darkened interior of the lobby.

"Should we break it?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes," she replied resolutely. "I know he's in there. If we're not already too late."

Paul raced back to the coupe and opened the boot lid to extract a tire iron. Mikaela stood clear as he ran back to the door, giving him sufficient room to swing the roadside repair implement with all his might. The glass of the door exploded on impact and his arm continued until slamming into the jagged remains of the portal which remained affixed to the frame. He brushed the shards of glass from his jacket, noting with satisfaction that the leather remained intact, as he hurried into the building in Mikaela's wake. She slowed as they passed a directory posted near the elevators, but the building was small, and she managed to find the information she sought without coming to a complete stop. He followed her lead into the stairs, chasing her up four flights until she slowed.

She opened the door with a gentle touch as she whispered, "I don't want to spook him."

They slunk along the hallway until reaching an office door marked 'Reno & Associates'. She tested the knob, only to shake her head upon finding it locked. He lifted the tire iron questioningly, only to receive a shrug in response.

Before Paul could form the question in his mind, Daphne said, "You must hurry, Paul! Only seconds remain!"

He took a step back before slamming the heel of his boot against the door. He heard the wood splinter, but the deadbolt held.

"Who's there?" a worried voice called from within the office.

"Hurry," Mikaela pleaded.

Paul reversed his grip on the tire iron, using the flat end to pry the door open until the deadbolt failed with an angry pop. Mikaela flashed past him, slamming the door open as she burst into the sparsely furnished reception area. The pair hurried past the front desk, which looked unused beyond a lonely phone and blotter pad, and down the only hallway.

A meek voice called out from the darkness, "What do you want?"

As they had agreed while en route, Mikaela was the first to speak. "We're here to help, Mr. Reno."

"Then you're too late," he grunted before ducking back into the doorway at the end of the hall and slamming the door behind him.

"Hugh!" Mikaela shouted as they reached the door. "Please don't do this. We can help you. I swear."

"Tell Vinny that I didn't tell anyone anything. Tell him..." A ragged sob made its way through the door. "Tell him he wins."

"Vinny didn't send us, Hugh."

"Bullshit!"

Mikaela sighed wearily as she leaned against the door. "We know about the loan he gave you, Hugh. You built this business up from nothing when everyone told you it was impossible. You sent your kids to college and bought your wife her dream house. But then you made a single, honest mistake. The oil crisis bankrupted nearly eighty percent of your customers. As an accountant, you knew the economic downturn wouldn't last, so you just needed to keep yourself afloat until your customers could dig themselves out. But none of the banks wanted to give you a loan because you were already overleveraged due to your mortgage. So, you found another place to get your money. But you never meant to get into business with the mafia, and you certainly never thought that the penalty for missing a single payment would be getting framed for murder."

"How do you know all this?" Hugh asked plaintively through the door.

"Because we were sent to help you. You're not an evil man, Hugh. You're a man who got in over his head and made a single regrettable decision amongst a lifetime of good deeds."

"None of that matters anymore," came his defeated moan. "It's all gone. Everything."

"Please come out and let us talk to you, Hugh," Mikaela pleaded.

"You're talking to me now, aren't you?"

"Then please just put down the revolver."

"How did you..."

"We know everything, Hugh. That's why we're here. We can help you."

"Margie will never take me back after this," he wailed. "Don't you see! Her brother got mixed up in the mafia when she was still in primary school, and he ended up getting gunned down in a jewelry store robbery gone wrong. In her eyes, there's nothing I could have done which would be a greater betrayal. I'll never see her again... I'll never see my kids again..."

"I know," Mikaela sighed. "But we can still help you."

"Life isn't worth living without them."

"But what if you could go back," Paul interrupted, "and tell that mafia scumbag to kick rocks instead of taking his dirty money?"

"That's a dumb fucking question. But it's too late. The past is in the past, and there's only one escape for me now."

"Not anymore" Paul persisted. He paused while taking care to come up with the right words. As he looked around helplessly, he spotted a crucifix hung in a place of honor above him. Hoping beyond hope that he was not making things worse, he continued, "Because we're here, by divine mandate, to give you another chance. How else would we know everything about you? And to allow you to get a measure of revenge on that wretched sinner who took advantage of you."

Hugh's weary sob shook the door they leaned against. "But... that's impossible."

"So is two strangers you've never met knowing every significant detail of the last half decade of your life," Mikaela countered. "Yet... here we stand. Just come out, Hugh. Let us give you the second chance you deserve."

Thirty

"Are you sure it's a good idea to hang around here?" Mikaela asked worriedly as she surveyed their surroundings.

"We promised Hugh we'd see this through," Paul replied gruffly. "I feel like we owe it to him. In any case, there is the matter of the pictures."

"Right," she huffed. She reached behind his seat to retrieve a bag roughly the size of a purse, from which she extracted a small camera. "You're sure the cops can't trace this to us."

"Sure is a big word, honey. Suffice it to say that I'm fairly certain. We'll wipe down the film canister before we drop it at the pharmacy to be developed, so there won't be any fingerprints. Not sure what else could point them in our direction. The bigger question is... will the former Mrs. Reno actually pick up the film when she gets a call saying its ready."

"Hugh told us it's the pharmacy she normally uses," Mikaela offered. "Hopefully she'll just assume it's something she dropped off and forgot."

"Let's hope she gets some small measure of comfort when she finds pictures of Hugh being forced into that mafia thug's headquarters by a shady looking character, along with photos of that piece of shit who entrapped him being led out in handcuffs after being arrested for Hugh's execution-style murder. She may have divorced him a year ago, but she still lost her husband... and her kids lost their dad. We can only hope the letter he sent her on the way over, announcing that he was dissolving his company to end his affiliation with those assholes, will establish in her mind that he died doing the right thing."

Mikaela snapped a few pictures of a diminutive man being led roughly toward a squad car by a pair of uniformed cops, the unmistakable shape of a laden body-bag on a stretcher clearly visible in the background. Following the departure of both the police and the coroner, Paul dropped the coupe into gear, and they made the short drive to the address Hugh had provided for his ex-wife's preferred pharmacy.

After they deposited the film in the night drop, Mikaela sank back into her seat with a weary sigh. "Is it always this... I don't know... intense?"

Paul reached out to take her hand before replying. "Sometimes it's much worse."

"Well, I think we can declare the first true test of Bartleby's abilities a success, don't you?"

"Indeed. Out of curiosity, what were your instructions?"

"Nothing too specific... just a person of good heart who had made a single, terrible choice. And who was in the greater Chicago area. Why? Did you have something in mind for our next mission?"

"Not really. I'll admit, however, it's sometimes hard to not overthink these things."

"How so?"

"I know things. You know, about the future. But I find that none of my memories are specific enough to be even remotely helpful. For instance, I know there will be a nuclear disaster at a place called Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania at some point in the future. But I only know that because a few visits to libraries shortly after my arrival suggested that it hasn't happened yet. My memory is pretty spotty, however, since, while it was a huge news story at the time, it didn't impact me directly. It could just as easily be next week as five years from now. Same with the Space Shuttle exploding and the President getting shot."

"What's a Space Shuttle? And which President?"

"It's what we start using, at some point, instead of rockets to send people to space. At least low earth orbit. I seem to remember the idea being that they'd use it to construct a space station."

"There's a space station!"

"Well, not as of 1994. But that seemed to be the general idea based on what I read in the papers."

"Was it Carter?"

"Huh?"

"The president who was shot," she prompted. "If it was Carter, then it likely happened in the next year and a half, unless there's a major economic turn-around on the horizon."

"Reagan," he supplied. "And Ithinkit was in his first term. But, as I said, I can't remember."

"We gave that bigoted shit staintwoterms! God help us."

"Honey, you don't know the half of it," Paul chuckled.

"I guess there's not much we can do about any of that in any case. Your gift is more suited to allowing those responsible to go back and make things right. It doesn't work as well in advance."

"True, but I can't imagine I'll feel very proud of myself when I read about that shit in the paper. Again."

Mikaela leaned over to kiss his shoulder. "Didn't you tell me that Daphne made the point to you quite strenuously that it was never your mission to save them all, and that losing sight of that truth would drive you to madness?"

"Small comfort," he grunted.

"You cannot define yourself by those we don't find in time, babe. Only by the goodness I know you have in your heart, and in the heartfelt thanks of all those you rescue."

"Thank you," he murmured huskily.

"Anytime, handsome," she chirped brightly. "Now, I propose we find a take-out place that looks reasonably certain to not give us a tapeworm, and then a hotel that makes at least a token effort at cleaning. In that order. This girl needs a full belly, a hot shower, a deep dicking..." She reached over to his lap and gave his manhood a possessive squeeze to emphasize her point. "Andfourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep."

"In that order?" he ventured.

"I'm not picky. But I have no intention of facing the world again until I've had all four."

"I find your logic to be unassailable, gorgeous. Any suggestion on which direction we should head? After all, this is still very much your town."

She sank back into her seat with a goofy grin on her face. With the hand which was not resting on Paul's thigh, she waved generally to the north and said, "I don't know. That-a-way."

***

***

Three hours later, the couple had only managed to clear a small portion of Mikaela's wish list. The pizza they had settled for had been plenty filling, if lacking in such refinements as flavor or texture. The hotel, on the other hand, had been a genuine surprise. Located west of town, just off the expressway, what had first appeared to be a rundown motel had revealed itself to be a delightful (and, more importantly, impeccably clean) hotel featuring eclectic decor and comfortable furniture.

After finishing their meal, Mikaela had excused herself to attend to her desire to get cleaned up after deftly declining his offer to join her. He took a moment to clean up from their meal before settling back into the easy chair. He offered a brief glance in the direction of the television upon realizing he had, quite literally, nothing to do, but it took only a momentary reflection to realize that the programs on offer in this time period had failed to hold his interest, even when they were new.