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Invisible Lines (Novella)

At Rest
by Nan Andrews © 2005

Date: 2036, Denver/Wichita Econodential Zone

Jim stabbed at the bubble controls of the paypod at the fueling station, trying to enter his access code. It was like one of those nightmares where he was trying to make a call and was required to enter string after string of numbers into his cell keypad, only to make a mistake with the tiny buttons and have to start again.

He succeeded in paying, then walked back to his vehicle and pulled down the fueling connector.  In the SciFi books of his childhood, circa 1990, the future was shiny and mechanical. So different from the grey skies and gritty film covering every exposed surface of the present. He flipped open a port and attached the nipple to the value. Pressing a switch, the fuel gel began to flow into the tiny tank. Jim leaned against the railing and waited. This was another thing about living in the future. 'Chines had taken on many tasks, but now humans had to stand and wait until they were done. Jim would rather be doing something rather than just standing there watching.

When the fueling was finished, he detached the hose and watched it slither back into the roof. Jim opened the hatch and climbed into his PTV, personal transport vehicle. It was capsule shaped and carried one passenger and maybe a small bag. The only window was at eye height when standing up. Jim didn't feel like standing all the way to work, so he flipped down the small bench seat and sat down. A screen flicked to life in front of him.

Pressing more controls,  Jim set the destination. Salina to Pueblo in 75 minutes. Not a bad commute. The PTV pulled out into the maglane and merged with the traffic. There was nothing more for him to do until he arrived. The traffic flow was controlled remotely, the PTVs moving along with the help of industrial strength magnets. One more benefit of the forgotten space age.

He lived in the Denver/Witchita Econodential Zone. State governments had failed twenty years earlier and now the country was organized into Economic-Residential Zones. His living quarters were near what was once the city of Salina, Kansas, but he commuted to work, sometimes as far away as the western edge of the zone,  in what was Grand Junction, Colorado.  He worked in subway construction. This month, they were digging near Pueblo. Although the digging was entirely automated, zone regulations required that personnel supervise the 'chines and review the site for problems. Sometimes they hit old natural gas pipelines and there had been some serious explosions. Jim didn't like being the canary in the tunnel, but jobs were rigidly controlled and he didn't have the connections to find a better one.

Reaching the dig site, Jim parked his PTV and went to find the site supervisor from the last shift.

“Hi, Enrique. How's it going?”

“Good morning, Jim. Things went pretty smooth last night. The 'chines dug up somethin'

about 3 a.m. But it was just some ol' cemetery. No prob.”

“Aren't we supposed to report that?”

“Nah, too much paperwork and if somebody thought they're important, we'd be shut down for weeks. We ain't got that kinda time. Just ditch the stuff that pops up, ya know, any bones and bits. The 'chines just grind up the rest. See ya tomorrow.”

Jim shook his head as Enrique walked away. Those were somebody's relatives buried down there. Not that they'd ever find out whose. The 'chines made too much of a mess of that sort of thing, grinding through rock like it was dirt and through everything else like it was less than dirt. He clocked in and headed down the tunnel to check on the 'chines. As he neared the current edge of the dig, he saw something white lying half-buried in the dirt. He bent down and picked it up. It was a small bit of bone. Jim wasn't sure what part of the body it was from, or even if it was human, but he thought it might be. He stuck it in his pocket.

*                *                 * 

The sound of crying startled him. He was the only person authorized to be on the site. Jim walked down a side tunnel, one that had been dug the previous week. About a hundred yards down the tunnel, sitting in the dirt, was a woman.

“What the hell?” Jim broke into a jog. No civilians were allowed down here. Too dangerous.

She was sitting with her head in her hands, her long dark hair covering her face, but it was obvious that she was crying. Jim slowed to a walk so as not to scare her.

“Ma'am, are you all right?”

When she didn't answer or look up, Jim reached down and touched her shoulder.  Her head flew up and he saw her face for the first time. She was very pale, with dark eyes. Her face was dirty and tear-streaked. She looked at him blankly and then lowered her face to her hands again and continued to cry.

Jim was at a loss about how to handle this. He wasn't used to dealing with crying women.

“Ma'am, I'm afraid that you can't be down here. It's dangerous. Would you please come with me?”

He tried to lift her to her feet, but she resisted. No, she didn't actually resist, she just didn't help at all. She was a dead weight; a soggy, miserable dead weight in a long, tattered dress. Jim let her drop back to the ground. He really didn't want to drag this woman out of the tunnel and he certainly didn't want to throw her over his shoulder and carry her. He decided to go and get the hand truck that they kept for transferring 'chine parts when they were needed in the tunnel. He could move her out in that.

“Ma'am, I'll be right back. Stay here.”

He gave her one more glance and turned to go. He didn't think she would be going anywhere while he was gone.

The hand truck was quite a distance down the tunnel, so it was a while before Jim returned to the side tunnel where he'd left the crying woman. When he got back, she was gone.  Well, that was one problem solved. She must have gone out the way she got in, although he hadn't passed her along his way. Hopefully, he wouldn't see her again. He took the hand truck back to the storage locker and continued on to check out the 'chines' progress.

*                *                 * 

“Hello, Jim. How was the day?” The evening supervisor arrived for the shift change.

“Fine, Yevgeny. No problems, except one funny thing. When I was checking on the 'chines this morning, I found a woman sitting in one of the side tunnels. I tried to get her to leave, but she wouldn't budge. So I went back for the hand truck. When I got back, she was gone. Never saw her again.”

“Who was she? How'd she get in?”

“I have no idea, but if you see a crying woman in a long dress, that's her.”

“A dress, huh? Who wears that sort of thing these days? And you said she was crying?”

“Yeah, sobbing so darn hard she wouldn't even talk to me. But she didn't come back, so I think you won't have any problems.”

They discussed the rest of the day's minor details and then Jim clocked out and walked out to his PTV.

Heading home, Jim's thoughts went back to the woman in the tunnel. No one wore clothes like that any more. He remembered his mother wearing short dresses when he was a child, but everyone, including his current spouse, wore coveralls most of the time. The clothes of his childhood weren't practical and none of the Econodential Zones employed workers to create “fashion” these days.

He thought of the crying woman again. When she'd looked up at him, he could see the pale skin at her throat. Not only that, the dress had buttons down the front and the top two had been open. Jim had seen the barest edge of her cleavage in the gap. Now he remembered what else he'd seen.

Her breasts  had pushed against the fabric of her dress as she cried, her chest rising with each sobbing breath. He thought that her breasts weren't very large, but they were nicely rounded. His mind drifted and he imagined unbuttoning her dress, uncovering her bit by bit. He sighed. His spouse was away, traveling on an educational junket and he was left alone at home. There would be no way to ask her about wearing a dress for a while. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his groin.

*                *                 * 

The buzzer sounded on the entry panel. Who the hell would be visiting him at this time of night? His spouse was not expected back for a week. Jim hoped it wasn't some drunk co-worker, dropping by for an unexpected visit.

The door opened. In a rush of cloth and sighs, a woman collapsed into his arms. Jim could do little more than catch her before she hit the floor. Regaining his wits, he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the main room. She appeared to be unconscious. Jim looked at her closely as he laid her on the couch. It was the woman from the tunnel. Her eyes were closed, but leaning closer, he could feel her breath. Her chest rose and fell steadily. He arranged her limbs so that she wouldn't slip to the floor and then went to get some water.

Jim didn't know if he should call the Medpolice. This was twice in one day that he'd encountered this woman and he still didn't know what to do with her. Kneeling beside her, he picked up one hand and rubbed it between both of his own. She still didn't rouse.

He used the moment to observe her more carefully. In the normal lighting of his residence she was still pale, but less so than in the tunnel. Dark lashes lay against her cheeks and her lips were plump and deep red. He licked his own lips, unaccountably wanting to taste her mouth.

Reaching a hand up, he cupped her cheek, turning her face toward him.

“Hello,” he whispered, wanting to wake her but not scare her in the process. There was no response.

Her skin was very smooth and cool under his touch, despite the color in her cheeks.

Jim stroked her face gently, entranced by her appearance. His fingers traced a path of tear tracks down to her jaw, down her throat and across the collar of her dress. He curled his hand and slipped the tips under the edge of the fabric. Closer to her heart, her skin was warm.

“Oh.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Where am I?”

Jim pulled back his hand guiltily.

“You're in my rooms. Although how you found me, I'll never know.”

She sat up abruptly, forcing Jim to sit back on his heels in front of her.

“Please, I need your help.”

“Now, just a minute. First, I find you in the tunnel where you're not supposed to be and then you disappear there and reappear here. I think you need to answer a few questions before I agree to anything.”

“Oh, please. Just tell me that you'll help me and then I'll answer any questions you want.”

“Well, what kind of help do you need? I don't want to get involved if you're in trouble with the authorities.”

“Oh, it's trouble, but not that kind of trouble. Will you promise? You must help!” She was beginning to sound desperate, wringing her hands in her lap and leaning toward him. She smelled faintly of tunnel dust and something else he couldn't identify.

“All right, I promise to try and help you. Mind, I'm not sure what it is I'll be able to do for you, but I'll try.”

“Thank you.” She collapsed back against the couch as if she was exhausted by this exchange. Her hands dropped to her sides.

“First, tell me your name.”

“Mary Margaret.”

“And what's your last name, Miss Mary Margaret?”

“Reynolds. Mary Margaret Reynolds.”

“What were you doing in the tunnel this morning? No one but employees are supposed to be there.”

“I was lost and looking for help.”

“But why were you crying?”

She didn't answer for a long moment, as if trying to decide what to tell him. Jim wondered if she was going to tell him the truth or was thinking up some story.

“I was lost, like I said, and I was feeling awful. Haven't you ever been lost and lonely?”

Well, it didn't exactly answer his question, but it sounded like the truth anyway. Jim climbed to his feet.

“You look like you could use something warm to drink.” Jim turned and went into the small kitchen. He poured some Chai into two mugs and set them in the microwave to heat. Returning to the living room with the steaming mugs, he half expected to find her gone, but she was still sitting on the couch where he'd left her.

“So, how can I help?” he asked, handing her a mug.

She took a long sip and then set the mug down. Without a word, she moved closer to him on the sofa. Reaching out, she ran a hand over his arm. Her fingers were cold; the touch sent a shiver up Jim's arm and down his spine. Her hand slid up and around his head. She pulled him toward her and kissed him. Jim was surprised but soon lost his train of thought as she rained tiny kisses over his face, his cheeks, his nose, his eyebrows and finally found his mouth. Her tongue pressed into his mouth, warm and insistent. Her lips were soft and she tasted delicious.

Jim reached out blindly and set down his mug of Chai. She pulled his hands to her,  placing one on her waist and one at her breast. She moaned against his mouth, the kiss becoming more urgent. Jim felt the weight of her breast in his hand. Under his thumb, the nipple was firm. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to feel her bare skin. He began to unbutton her dress. The tiny buttons were difficult for his large fingers to manage, but she began to help him, starting at the waist and working upwards. They met in the middle and then her hands flew off and clutched at his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers.

Under the dress, she was wearing another type of dress or slip, trimmed in lace, but without all the buttons on the front. He reached up to her shoulders and pulled down both garments until they pooled at her waist. She was naked underneath. Jim broke off the kiss and pulled back to look at her. Her dark hair curled over her pale shoulders and the rest of her skin was very white, except for the dark pink tips of her breasts. He bent and lifted one to his mouth. The tip of his tongue traced a tiny circle around the nipple and he could feel the skin crinkle under his touch. He sucked it into his mouth, smoothing the skin with the flat of his tongue, wetting it and molding it like dough. The hard nipple in the center demanded the attention of his teeth and he nipped at it gently. Mary Margaret sighed and caressed his head, her fingers threaded through his hair.  Jim moved to the other breast and tasted it as well.

Mary Margaret's hands moved down over his back and tugged the rest of his shirt out of his pants. Pulling it over his head, she forced him to stop his explorations for a moment, but as soon as it was off, he bent to her breasts again. Her hands continued to his lap and Jim's cock, which had been rising steadily during this exploration, twitched under her delicate touch. She pulled at his buckle and succeeded in opening his trousers.

Jim's cock jumped under her cool fingers as she stroked the length. He sucked harder on her breast, wanting more, more sound, more taste, more touch. He wanted to lift her skirts and spread her sex, pushing his hard cock into her slippery, hot center, feeling it surround and encompass him. Before he realized it, this was just what was happening. He found himself buried in her pussy, thrusting as she groaned and clutched at him.

Time became irrelevant as he stroked harder, her muscles pulling him deep inside her. Finally, the tension inside him exploded and he cried out, spending himself in her softness. Jim shook his head, trying to clear it. Mary Margaret sighed again and pushed him off of her. She straightened her clothes and then turned to him again. Jim felt vaguely used and ashamed at what had just happened.

“I need you to take me back to the tunnel,” she said calmly, no reference made to their encounter.

“What, now?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, her dark eyes unreadable. “It's very important.”

“Why? What do you need in the tunnel?”

“Well, I'm not sure how to explain this.” She looked down at her lap, her hands twisting together again as they had earlier that evening. “I need you to bury me again, to make me safe.”

“WHAT?” Jim looked at her aghast. What was she suggesting?

“The machines dug up my bones today and I need you to move them for me, put them somewhere where they won't be disturbed. I need to rest.” Her voice dropped to a whisper by the end of this little speech.

Jim stared at her, trying to make some sense of what she was telling him.

“What are you?” he asked softly, dreading her answer.

“Don't worry, I didn't come here to harm you. I'm just a ghost, but I won't be able to rest until you move my bones.”

“A ghost? But....what about what we just...?” Jim's voice trailed off.

“Well,  I needed you to help me, so I wanted you be willing.”

Jim paused, still not sure how to treat this woman. He just couldn't grasp the idea that she was a ghost.

“So, what do we do? Just go back and collect your bones? How will I know that they're yours?”

“I'll know. Can we go now? Tonight?” She stood up and turned toward the door.

“All right.” Jim decided that it would be best to just get this over with. “If I move your bones, will you leave me alone? You won't come back?”

“Once my bones are buried again, I can rest. I won't bother you any more. But didn't you enjoy what we did? Was it so awful?”

Her eyes glittered in the light. Jim wasn't sure if there were tears in them.

“Yes, I enjoyed it. But I don't think we should do it again.”

She seemed satisfied with that response. They both walked out to the garage and Jim opened his PTV. For a moment, he was at a loss as to how they would both fit. PTVs weren't meant to carry more than one person. But she waited until he was inside and then she somehow slipped in beside him. He could feel her cool skin against his arm, but she hardly seemed to take up any space at all.

Jim set the controls for Pueblo and off they went. Jim had a million questions about his passenger. Where did she come from? When did she live? How did she die? But she kept her face turned away and he was afraid to ask. They rode the entire way in silence.

*                *                 * 

At the tunnel, Jim went looking for Yevgeny. It wouldn't do to surprise his co-worker, although he wasn't sure how he would explain the woman. She solved that problem by disappearing once they were inside the tunnel. One moment she was there and when he looked again, she was gone. Yevgeny was down a side tunnel, fixing a 'chine that was stopped. Jim called out to him as he approached.

“Hey, it's me, Jim. Is something broken?”

Yevgeny looked up from his work, surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

“I lost my watch and I think it might be somewhere in that side tunnel where I saw that woman. I couldn't sleep thinking about it. My father gave it to me.”

“All right. I'm just doing some routine maintenance on this one and then it's back to work. Go on and look for your watch and I'll see you in the morning.”

Jim thanked him and headed off for the place he'd seen Mary Margaret that morning. He found her waiting for him, a small pile of bones at her feet.

“Are those your bones?” It didn't seem like enough to make up one person.

“This is some of them. Could you please help me look some more?”

They began digging in the dirt of the tunnel floor. As one of them found a bone, it was added to the pile. Soon, it looked quite substantial. When they reached a point where they weren't finding any more, Jim stood up and brushed off his hands.

“I think that we've found everything we're going to find. The 'chines probably ground up the rest.”

“I guess that will have to do.” Mary Margaret looked mournfully at her remains.

Jim silently opened a bag he'd brought and piled the bones inside. Together, they walked back to the entrance of the tunnel, the sound of the recently maintained 'chine operating in the distance.

“Do you have a particular place in mind for the burial?” Jim asked her as they walked out of the tunnel.

“Well, I would prefer to stay nearby. My home was here and I was buried here. Is there someplace safe?”

Jim looked around the area. There was a small group of trees at the edge of the property where the tunnel was being dug. Jim knew that they were not targeted to be removed.

“You should be safe over there.”

He carried the bag carefully to the trees and began digging a hole in the middle of the grove. When the hole was deep enough he poured the bones into it and then covered them with soil. Pressing down on the dirt to secure it, he finished by covering the dig with leaves.

“I don't want anyone to see that there was something buried here. Then maybe you'll be left alone.”

“Thank you.”

Mary Margaret sat down with her back to a tree, next to the hole.

“I appreciate what you've done for me. Thank you again.”

“You're welcome.” Jim wasn't sure what else to say. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.  “Goodbye, Mary Margaret Reynolds. Take care.”


He looked back once on his way back to his PTV. She was still sitting under the tree where he'd left her. Jim climbed in and set the controls. It was very late and he was suddenly enormously tired. He leaned his head against the side of the compartment and drifted off to sleep. His hand in his pocket curled around the tiny forgotten bone he'd found in the tunnel.

© 2005 Nan Andrews. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio:  Who is Nan Andrews? Read her bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.

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