Heart of Fire | ONC 2020

8. ignite

Aera felt an emptiness in her stomach as she sat and ate dinner with Mason and Jack. The feeling did not dissipate as she ate. The taste of the food before her did not register on her tongue. She did not speak. Mason refrained from asking her any questions as if he could sense that she was not in the mood.

She waited until Jack left to let the words she'd been holding back tumble out. "I think I met your grandson."

Mason nearly choked, coughing and sputtering as he took a sip of whiskey. "Pardon?"

"The boy who pushed me out of the way, he told me his name was Draven Caulfield."

"Something about that seems highly improbable." He paused, scratching his gray beard. "But then again, so does everything that happened earlier today." He took another sip of his drink. "I suppose it is possible that there is a universe in which my son's wife, Charlotte, never got in that car or hit another red light. There is an endless stream of possible events that may not have lead to her death. I mean, in our universe, everything had to align perfectly for her to even wind up with my son. Bless her. She was a sweet, kind lass." He leaned back, letting his head rest against the back of his armchair. Aera could tell by his rambling that he was getting drunk. "You saw how my son got when you even made him think of her memory." 

He closed his eyes. Aera wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake until he suddenly began to speak again. His eyes remained shut. "I'm not sure you should tell him, Aera. About his son. He'll never get to meet him, I don't think. The possibility will only crush him."

Aera settled in on the same couch she'd sat in before, draped with a quilted blanket that looked homemade. She felt that heavy kind of tiredness creeping in - the kind where it gradually became impossible to hold her eyelids open, no matter how hard she tried.

She said nothing, but Mason continued to speak in a soft voice. Aera honestly wasn't sure if he was aware she was there, or if this was something he did regularly when he was alone.

"There's probably also a universe where Arin didn't crack his head today." He sighed deeply. "Jackie was in tears when she called me before dinner. I felt so bad." Mason hiccuped, then took another gulp of whiskey.

There was a painful pang in Aera's heart when he said Arin was dead, as if one of her heartstrings had been plucked so hard it snapped.

"Some of my choices led to the events that caused his death. I brought Aera to work. I made her light the match. She was hurt because of me. I asked Arin to get the first aid kit. He told me before. He told me how embarrassed he was that he fainted in school when a girl got a paper cut. I told him he shouldn't be ashamed for something he couldn't control. He was such a dedicated, hard worker. The human body is so fragile." Tears began to stream down the man's cheeks. "I never got to know Draven, but Arin was a grandson to me."

"It's not your fault," Aera whispered, even though a part of her also felt responsible. If she had never come into Mason's life, it also never would have happened. Simultaneously, she knew that it was an accident, for which no one could be blamed. Aera decided to try to change the subject. "Jackie seemed so hopeful about . . . inter-universal travel."

Mason smiled. "It's what I've been hoping for my entire life. Every year, it feels more and more like a pipe dream. And then you show up, and you've completed my life's work by accident. By lighting an ordinary match."

"You really think that's what I've been doing?" she asked. 

"You saw the graph, Aera. That was a signal from between universes. It's not exactly scientifically verified - I would like to do many more trials. Except you've now told me you might appear in highly dangerous, potentially deadly situations, like in front of a speeding car, or on a world without adequate oxygen. It feels rather unethical and hopeless."

"I'll do it. I'll light a full book of matches in your lab, just to see what happens or where I go."

"You don't know what you're saying," he said dismissively, tipping back and emptying his glass. 

"I want to do it. Our situation here, in this universe, is what feels hopeless." She gazed out the window of his apartment, but the glass was too stained with grime to make out anything but blurred outlines. "And if you won't let me do it in your lab, in a controlled setting, I'll have to go out and do it on my own."

"Has anyone told you before that you're remarkably stubborn?"

"Yes," she replied.

He tapped idly on his empty glass. "We'll start tomorrow."