Into the Ether by Vanessa Barger

“You don’t remember the beginning of your life, do you?”
    I hesitated. This subject I did not speak to anyone about. Not even Terry.
    â€œI don’t hold it against you.”
    The answer came out, against my better judgment . “I don’t remember anything before Terry found me in an alleyway six years ago.”
    â€œTerry?” He raised an eyebrow.
    Another blush swept from my collar to my brow. “He’s my best friend.”
    Colonel Worthington grunted and moved into the Ancient Greek gallery. We stopped in front of a life-size marble statue of Aphrodite . She was looking off over one shoulder, one arm gracefully moving away from her body, the other missing from the elbow down .
    Colonel Worthington motioned to the statue with his crutch. “Go on. Tell me about her.”
    I wiped the moisture from my upper lip and rubbed my hands together. “All right.”
    I could feel the statue watching me. Waiting for me to touch her. My hands hovered over the carved leather of her sandals. I strained my ears, listening. I blocked out the sound of Colonel Worthington’s watch, his heavy breaths, the echo of Adele’s steps in the foyer, and my own heartbeat. A tiny thread of sound rose to the surface .
    I never needed to touch an object . That was for show. It made me feel better, and it did make it easier to “hear” them sometimes . But now , I was a bit uncertain. Once I’d touched an object without paying attention. It had been an Indian deity of destruction. He’d had his own personality, and the experience had been…well, I didn’t care to repeat it.
    You don’t have to worry about that from me, love.
    The statue had some presence. Being so old, I’d have been a little surprised if it hadn’t.
    Tell me something only you and the curator would know. Please.
    The statue heaved a sigh that echoed through my mind like autumn. Well then, a test for you. How sad. I thought perhaps you were looking to take an interest in me. I suppose some things don’t change over the course of history.
    â€œWell?” Colonel Worthington ’s voice seemed distant.
    I flapped a hand at him.
    I apologize. But you ’ re right. People don’t pay enough attention to art like you anymore.
    Flattery. The statue snorted. I should be insulted, but I am a statue of the goddess of love and beauty.
    I waited. You didn’t push objects with a mind of thei r own. Just like people, they get difficult.
    Tell him I know the thing the walking statue guards. I know there are two pieces. I know where they are.
    Thank you. I pulled away from the connection. I’ll come back and visit again.
    I repeated the words, and Colonel Worthington ’s whole demeanor changed. He grabbed my arm, his fingers biting into my flesh. “What do you know? Where did you hear that?”
    He shook me and I backed away. Real fear zipped through my body . I tensed, balancing on the balls of my feet, ready to run. This was no frail , old cripple yanking on my arm. Iron strength ran through his palms.
    â€œI—I don’t know. It’s what she said. What does she mean?”
    He pulled me close and stared into my eyes. “What is my mother’s maiden name?”
    I asked the statue. She sounded as shaken as I felt.
    â€œReynolds ,” I replied.
    He released me and I st aggered back against Aphrodite’s pedestal . As my hand came in contact with a stone toenail, images flooded my mind.
    Thomason followed Colonel Worthington in the dark. He glowed with heat and brass and something else. He carried a small package, and Colonel Worthington struggled with a larger one, wrapped in rags and slung around his neck. He muttered as he walked past the statue, but the words were garbled.
    And I knew. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the box I searched for was hidden inside the folds of the grungy package bouncing against his chest. And somehow, Thomason was