Immortal

  Enough

  By

  A.R. Moler

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2022 by AR Moler

  Cover Titles and Graphic Design P.E. Ash & T.B. Bond

  Chapter 1

  Sophie

  I wasn’t stalking him, I swear. Sometimes the universe wants to rub your nose in what you’ve lost.

  I ride the DC metro five days a week. I do medical billing. It’s a job. It’s a low level, don’t make any waves, don’t attract attention, park your butt in front of a computer job. That’s my goal ninety-eight percent of the time, stay under the radar.

  When you have the same schedule most of the time, you eventually cross paths with people who have a routine similar to yours. Apparently, he and I worked at roughly the same time and in the same general area.

  The first time I saw him, it was just a glimpse, and I thought a superficial resemblance had stirred up a memory. It’d been quite a while since I had seen Fitz. Quite a while translated to damn close to a century. The second time I got a better look. He was seated on the train, a laptop open and balanced on his legs. He was typing, a solemn and studious expression on his face. It wasn’t a chance resemblance. My recall might have faded but the photo carefully stored in a bank safety deposit box was still in very good shape. I had looked at it a few months ago when I went to stow my illegally created birth certificate there. Fake name, fake date, fake parents… all done by an exquisitely good forger. I planned ahead these days. When I needed my next new identity, it was helpful to have one that had been in existence for a few years.

  Of course that photo was of a dead man. Liam Walker Fitzgerald had died in 1943. Every now and then I had a moment of heart-broken reflection. Seeing this guy? Whoever the hell he was, was just a little bit of a gut punch.

  Over the past three months, I saw Mr.- Looks just like-Fitz about once a week. I guess he eventually noticed me too, because I got a couple of slight nods from him, although he was usually absorbed in whatever he was working on, on the laptop. He was probably in his late twenties, tall, muscular, dark wavy hair and with those angular cheekbones and sharp jaw that attracted me to the original. I watched women try to flirt with him. Either he was gay or had zero interest in a casual hook-up, because beyond a polite half smile, he didn’t flirt back. Of course, I didn’t see any evidence of him flirting with guys either.

  When you’re female, and you ride the metro frequently, odds are favorable that you’ll eventually get harassed by some sexist pig asshole who either gropes you, gets in your face or both. It had been a while, but today was apparently my lucky day. Some guy I’d never seen before, sidled up close. I was standing, one hand wrapped around a pole. The train was moderately full.

  “Hey, you look like you could warm up my night?” he said. He was dressed in an average way, jeans, T-shirt, and jacket. He wasn’t hideous, but neither did I think he was good looking. More specifically, I had no interest in him.

  “Buzz off dude.”

  He made an attempt to fondle my left breast. I pushed his hand away.

  “Baby we would be good together.” He leaned closer.

  “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

  He crowded me against the wall of the metro car. “You’re being a bitch.”

  Movement behind him caught my attention, and a male hand gripped his shoulder. I suddenly realized it was Not-Fitz.

  “She’s not interested. Leave her alone,” Not-Fitz said.

  Obnoxious guy looked over his shoulder and saw that Not-Fitz was taller, heavier built and looking annoyed. He pulled away and moved to the other side of the metro car.

  “You okay?” Not-Fitz asked.

  I probably had a serious deer in headlights expression because I’d never heard Not-Fitz speak before. “Yeah.”

  Not-Fitz nodded, and turned to face the opposite direction, staring at his phone. In another few stops he left the train.

  My stop was the next one. I got off and exited the station, wandering slowly in the direction of my apartment, trying to analyze what had just happened. Not the asshole who harassed me part, the rest of it. Not-Fitz actually intervened. In today’s society, that’s kind of amazing. Believe me, I’ve lived through more than a century and the whole concept of good guys doing the right thing has drifted down to a low ebb. I might have guessed he was a cop, if I hadn’t spent weeks observing him hammering away at some work-related thing on his computer. And once he had token confirmation I was okay, he didn’t start a conversation. My apparent age wasn’t much different than his. I look like I’m about thirty. Considering the number of men who flirt with me on a regular basis, I’m at least average to look at.

  Was getting harassed by the moron on the train an insidious variant on my luck blessing or curse or however the universe wanted to spin it? I had no answer.

  ~

  It was three days before I saw Not-Fitz again. He gave me that slight nod and immediately was buried in his project on the laptop again. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. The concept of walking up to him and saying “hey, you look just like a guy I used to be love with” wasn’t really an option. Could I offer him a second thank you for convincing the moron who’d groped me to go away? Even that seemed contrived. Was contrived bad? After all, people concocted all sorts of lame reasons to get to know someone a little better? Did I want to know him better? Beyond the weirdly intriguing resemblance, I had no idea if he was even remotely interesting. The computer thing he was obsessed with was probably some accounting spreadsheet and he was likely some junior flunkie in an insurance company. I smiled. Like my job was any better.

  Most of that ride I cast surreptitious glances at him. The curly brown hair, long enough to brush his collar, the broad shoulders, the strong square angle of his jaw and that gorgeous mouth.

  I lost sight of him and presumed he’d gotten off at his usual stop. I exited at my stop. November nights in the suburbs of D.C. were hit or miss on temperature. It had been fairly warm when I left for work this morning. Here in the evenings near darkness, the temperature was dropping. I pulled my thin sweater a little closer around me as I walked away from the station. My apartment was less than half a mile away.

  As I walked, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. Ah, it was a woman I worked with. She was probably the closest friend I had at the moment, but even she wasn’t privy to my actual secrets. “Hi Carolyn.”

  “I think we should go clubbing tonight,” Carolyn said.

  “Mmm, maybe.”

  “It’s been kind of a blah week, Sophie. It needs to end with a little zip. I want to go to Siracha.”

  I waffled. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood. It’s usually pretty crowded on a Friday night.”

  “When the last time you went on a date?”

  “Months ago…”

  “Exactly. So what you need is a drink and someone to flirt with.” She was obviously trying to convince me.

  “I can drink by myself.”

  “That’s sad. And lame. You planning on drinking in an alley out of a paper bag?” She teased.

  “I have some very nice crystal wine glasses thank you very much.”

  “Wuss. Put on your big girl panties and come out with me.”

  “One drink.”

  ~

  Big girl panties on, the black lace ones… just because. Make-up, boots, shirt with some cleavage showing, and some black jeans.

  Carolyn and I went into Siracha. It was crowded. We decided to wait a little bit before fighting our way to bar, so we squirmed our way in the direction of the dance floor and danced to a handful of tunes before I decided I really could use that drink. I made it about halfway back to the bar when I experienced a gravity check. i.e. I slipped on a wet spot on the floor, likely a spilled drink and nearly did the full-on face plant. A pair of male arms caught me and pulled me back upright.

  I looked up and met the gaze of…Not-Fitz. Oh hell. I stood there like an idiot, mouth open, before managing to re-activate my brain cells… just a little bit anyway. “It’s you.”

  His mouth quirked in a half-smile, arms still wrapped around me. “I could probably say the same thing.”

  I slowly realized he was wearing a tight black t-shirt with a logo for the bar emblazoned on it. “You work here?”

  “Security. A couple nights a week. It helps pay the bills.” He let go of me and crossed his arms.

  “Oh. Um, I’m Sophie.” I held out my hand. Maybe I could stop labeling him Not-Fitz in my head.

  He shook my hand. “Fitz.”

  I’m pretty sure I revisited my deer in headlights look.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Um, uh, yeah.” My brain scrambled for something that sounded plausible. “I, um, shared a house with a guy named Fitz a while back.” Always shoot for something close to the truth so you don’t get caught in an elaborate lie.

  “Interesting coincidence,” he said.

  We were both basically shouting at each other to be heard over the music.

  “I think I owe you a drink for what you did on the metro the other day,” I said.

  “I can’t drink when I’m working.”

  I should have guessed that and stood there trying to think of an alternate offer.

  “I have a break in an hour. There’s a coffee shop

across the street,” he said.

  I gave him a thumbs up and continued in the direction of the bar. I could really use a shot of tequila.

  Carolyn was near the left end of the bar, waiting for me. “Do you know that guy? He’s smoking hot.”

  “We met, briefly, back at the beginning of the week,” which was loosely true. I flagged the bartender and order a shot of Patron. “To synchronicity,” I tapped my shot glass against Carolyn’s wine glass and then downed it. “Hypothetically I’m meeting him for coffee in an hour.”

  “Sounds like you’re going to lucky tonight.”

  “Maybe.” I wasn’t sure if that was what I wanted. The face, the name… it felt like the universe was having a laugh at me.

  ~

  In the coffee shop, I sat down with a latte and waited. Was he really going to show, or was the suggestion just a convenient way to part company with me? About five minutes later, he walked through the door. I raised a couple of fingers in his direction and got up to meet him at the counter.

  “Large macchiato,” he said to the barista.

  I paid for his coffee. As we waited for it to be prepared, I asked, “So when I see you on the train, I’m usually on my way home from work. How ‘bout you?”

  “I’m a doctoral student at University of Maryland, so I’m usually heading home from class or my research project.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Quantum non-locality.” He didn’t quite meet my gaze and his cheeks flushed just a little.

  “Okay,” I replied slowly. “Theoretical physics?”

  Fitz grinned. “That’s more than some people get out of that statement.”

  “And you’re working as a bouncer at a club.”

  “My grad student stipend only goes just so far.”

  “Money always seems to be a thing when it comes to life choices,” I said. I’d made some tough decisions in the early years after my “death,” including a brief stint at prostitution over a century ago.

  “And why are you using the metro?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.

  “My job’s in Bethesda, and I hate sitting in traffic. I do medical billing.”

  “Life goal? Or something to pay the bills?”

  “Um… probably the bill paying part. I don’t know if I have a grand and glorious future plan.” And if I did, there was no damn way I could tell him that plan might have to extend a lot longer than an average life span. “I really owe you more than a cup of coffee for helping me out on the metro.”

  “Guys who do things like that deserve a little intimidation. It’s not like I had to drag his drunk ass out of the club.”

  “One of your chores at Siracha?”

  He smiled a little. “Yeah.”

  “Seems a little at odds with getting a PhD in physics.”

  “The club lets me have a flexible schedule.”

  I let my eyes rove across his bulky muscular form. I could almost envision the muscle definition on his chest and the way his jeans outline his thighs was just delicious.

  He looked vaguely embarrassed. “When I’m working on data analysis and math, I lift weights to give my focus a break.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t think I remembered to ask your name. I’m bad at things like that.”

  “Sophie Makara.” I held out my hand. I had mentioned my first name inside the club, but the sheer noise in there meant he may not have actually heard what I said.

  He took it in his own. “Marcus Fitzgerald, but like I said, I go by Fitz.”

  I noticed he hadn’t let go of my hand, which I didn’t mind. His fingers were warm against mine. It made me think of the heat of being near a flame. It made me think of magick. “Nice to meet you officially then.”

  Fitz let go and self-consciously cradled his cup between his hands. “You came to the club with someone, um, the woman I saw you talking to? I don’t think I’ve seen you there before. Or maybe you come on different nights from when I work.”

  He was ridiculously bad at small talk. That amused me. “Carolyn’s been there a handful of times. It was only the second time for me.”

  “Oh.”

  “So tell me what your dissertation is about, maybe without calculus equations being involved?” I prompted.

  “To quote the infamous Dr. Einstein- ‘spooky actions at a distance.’ Although, since we now better understand the idea that space and time are essentially one thing and not two, along with fully embracing the quantum mechanics theories. My research proposes that the use of entanglement could allow for interaction of matter on a macroscopic scale under certain specified conditions. They’d be rare, obviously, but statistically calculable.”

  I had to think hard about what he’d said. When you have what looks like forever to study anything you wanted, I’d developed a passable understanding of quantum theory… on a conceptual level… minus the math part. I picked up the plastic stir stick on the table and waved it in the general direction of the door. “Meaning I could do this, and the door would open in response.”

  He grinned. “Yes! Obviously, macroscopic doesn’t really mean as big as a door, it just means not subatomic.”

  I took a hell of a lot of self-control for me not to call the liquid of the coffee in my cup into a coherent ball of substance that I could conceivably fling at the door with enough force to open it. Because yeah, that was within my capability. Instead I chewed on that stir stick for a few seconds before asking, “Is this currently a forty-five-page math proof?”

  “Sort of.” His gaze fell to his cup for a moment before he looked back up at me. “And more like a hundred and forty-five, but it’s also a simulation program and… I applied for time on the Linac and did get one session but truthfully 9 MeV’s is not enough energy to prove or even disprove the things I’ve been running the sim on.”

  “What’s linack?”

  “An electron linear accelerator. It can make electrons rev up to powers of nine mega-electron volts, an energy measurement. I had a half assed thought I could get some low-level supporting evidence for things the simulation program can’t seem to do. It … ended up being a dead end.”

  “In the world of science, isn’t a negative result useful too?” I asked.

  “Up to a point. It might also have been a design flaw in the set up. Or my simulation software might have a flaw in the programming.”

  He sounded frustrated, so I changed topics. “Are you from the metro area originally or did you grow up somewhere like Oklahoma?”

  “Baltimore. So I’m more or less local. I think my family’s been in the Baltimore area for a century or so. My father told me, we used to own some massive house in a really upscale neighborhood.”

  Gods… that sent chills down my spine. He really might actually be related to my Fitz. “I guess they sold it and moved to the suburbs?”

  “Depression thing. My … great grandfather, no, maybe it’s two greats, anyway, supposedly when the whole stock market crash thing happened, he lost the house and about half the stuff he and his family owned.”

  “Wow.” My brain was spinning a little more.

  “They moved into a tiny little house somewhere closer to Annapolis. I don’t think it exists anymore. I grew up in the Towson area.”

  Was the universe really dropping the great grandson of the man I’d loved into my lap? And was it doubly creepy on my part that I was attracted to him? He was younger than me. By a fuck ton. But then I only knew of four people who weren’t. And the term ‘people’ was a loose approximation.

  “Where’d you grow up?” he asked.

  Damn if that wasn’t a loaded question. I went with an answer I’d concocted over the past decade.

  “Batch of different places. My dad was into international commerce, and we moved a lot. Paris, Mumbai, Tokyo.”

  “That sounds amazing.”

  “There were upsides but also a lot of down.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I have to go in just a couple of minutes. Can I… Will you have dinner with me sometime next week? On a night I don’t have to work. Crap, that sounded stupid.”

  I smiled. “I understand what you mean. Yeah, okay.” I gave him my cell phone number and he entered into his own phone.

  He stood up to go. “I’m glad you came by the club.”

 

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