Flash Fiction Magic: January 13th "Cabin Fever"

This flash fiction prompt came from Emily Barnett, on Instagram @embarnettauthor. This flash fiction piece is a hypothetical situation between characters I created for my time travelling sci-fi novel. It may or may not appear in the book. :)

Photo: The living room of the Rickenbackers' New York City apartment. Date: late 1930s Collection: Eddie Rickenbacker Papers Repository: Auburn University.

The events of last weekend had scared us all into lying low. William asked Dr. Mallory's neighbor - Mrs. Tracy, who was a solid twenty years older than our kind professor, though still incredibly agile - if she'd please pick up groceries and cigarettes for us so we didn't have to leave the apartment. We told her we were working on a strict deadline for the university, and needed all of our hands and brains available at all times. She didn't question, and I wondered if we needed to lie.

Mrs. Tracy would not buy us Whiskey, however. She had been a staunch supporter of Prohibition, Dr. Mallory explained, and she still grumbled when other tenants stayed up too late drinking or left too many empty bottles in their bins. Her position was unfortunate, because we all could have used a drink - or a few - after the incident.

When I was dating Heath - in the future that I'd already experienced, a concept that still overwhelmed me at times - I'd witnessed, on multiple occasions, the obsession and violence that is often directed at those who barrel down the path to their own holy grail with little regard to who or what they destroyed in their wake. And a small, growing part of me understood why frustrated people acted the way they did towards the most wealthy, most powerful people on the planet.

And why those people had teams of security personnel to keep them safe.

William, Dr. Mallory and I... we were not wealthy aristocrats, titans of industry, or even evil scientists. But we were currently employed by someone whose personage was comprised of all three, and since our real intentions during our employment were not known, it appeared we'd now suffer the same spite that those frustrated, combustible people aimed at our employer.

So for a week we stayed in the small apartment in New York, hoping the busyness of the city had prohibited anyone from following us. I prayed that having Dr. Mallory's mother's maiden name on the property title would prevent anyone from finding us.

For the first few days, William checked the lock on the door and peered out of the windows from inconspicuous angles too often. Bridget and I jumped whenever Mrs. Tracy knocked to deliver a sack of food and cigarettes. Once I ran, and hid, in the back of a closet until I was sure it was only our elderly neighbor and not another hitman with a bomb.

When he wasn't confirming our security, William closed himself and Dr. Mallory off in the office and they'd stay there all day, using voices so low I couldn't hear what they were talking about. A week ago I would have been indignant but now... I didn't care. I didn't want to use my brain at all. I felt numb. Mushy.

I tried to escape into one of the many novels in Dr. Mallory's personal library but lacked motivation to get past the first page or so of any title. After a few days I found a stash of paper and a pencil in a kitchen drawer and considered sketching some of the dresses I'd seen in Los Angeles over the past few months, but any desire to draw disappeared as soon as I saw the blank page. Instead, I stared off into space, willing myself to focus my vision on the room we were in and not on the memories that had recently taken up space in my mind.

On Thursday, we sat down to another paltry dinner of leftover roasted chicken and staling bread. The way the meat flayed off the bones suddenly reminded me of what I'd witnessed at the conference, and I pushed my plate away, trying not to vomit at the table.

Dr. Mallory took a breath and placed his elbows on the table. He eyed me with deep concern in his eyes, but I could not speak. He held my gaze, fatherly emotion swirling behind his penny brown eyes, but spoke instead to William. "I think..." he blinked and turned his head to look pointedly at his favorite student, "Ingrid needs to get some fresh air."

I froze, anxiety replacing my nausea as I waited for William to tell him it wasn't safe, or to make up some other excuse to avoid leaving the apartment. Instead, he mimicked Dr. Mallory's posture and drawled, "I think you're right, Dr. Mallory." He held the old man's gaze for a moment, then turned to me. "I think we're all getting a bit of cabin fever in this place."

"Oh, finally!" Bridget exclaimed, and I startled. "I asked Mrs. Tracy to get me a train schedule yesterday. There's a midnight train back to Los Angeles that leaves tonight. If we pack up now, we can get a taxi and make it to the train station by ten..." She was talking too fast, I had a hard time understanding what she was saying. Leave? Tonight? We're... we're not ready... it's not safe... my thoughts were racing. I stared at her, eyes wide with alarm.

Then another thought came to me... had I been the only one who was really afraid of what happened? Bridget had paced through the apartment for the past few days, stealing occasional glances at me. I could feel her looking, but never bothered to catch her gaze to see why. I never realized she was feeling cooped up. Am I the only one who was affected by this?

I turned to Dr. Mallory and William to confirm my speculation. They were both looking at me with pity, but also with worry, and understanding, and... William's face held something I couldn't quite place. Maybe anger? Was he angry with me for remaining so intimidated?

But he was shaking his head at Bridget. "No, Sissy," he used her nickname whenever he had to deny her, "We can't leave yet. We need Palmer to think we're not afraid, that we're going to fight for him - with him - no matter what threat comes our way."

Dr. Mallory nodded his head. "And I have the perfect way to show him."