Callahan: A Gothic Tale

Ain't No Mountain High Enough (1988)

31 Ain't No Mountain High Enough (1988)

"I wade in her droplets of mystery; my soul one with the wild charmed sea." -Angie Weiland-Crosby

Flashback, 8 pm, Same Evening, November 1988, Ocean Bar Cantina, Copacabana, New South Wales, Australia

She stared at the darkened horizon, illuminated by a bevy of scattered tiki torches and twinkling stringed lights overhead. She should have known better. Checking her watch again, she noticed the second hand inch ever-closer to 8:01. Maybe she should leave, now, before the waiter arrived with refills and she made a series of regrettable decisions—this probably wasn't even a date—ugh, why did she keep doing this to herself—self-flagellation at its finest—

"Soley?"

She gave a start, as Dex sat next to her, kissing her gently on the cheek. "My apologies, I made a reservation for two over there," pointing to a canvas canopied tent where a single sweetheart table sat perched with two chairs, lit candles, and a scattering of pink-apricot Floribunda rose petals.

This probably, definitely seemed like a date.

"W-what's all this?" Marisol asked in wonderment, transfixed at the amorous display before her. "Y-you shouldn't have—"

"I wanted to take you out on a proper date, but given time constraints, lectures, studies, I figured this was the most practicable option, not to mention the most scenic. You good with that?" She nodded mutely as he pulled her chair out for her to sit.

Apparently, chivalry wasn't dead.

11 am, Next Day, Early November 1994, Biochemistry Laboratory

Sample A: 0% agar/100% pumpkin jam—result: Scythe remnant consumed, mess-free

Sample B: 25% agar/75% pumpkin jam—result: ditto, slight smoldering, 1x1x1 cm across

Pumpkin jam, 1 tiny drop of agar essence...and feverfew.

Peering over her shoulder toward the doorway, she noticed Cora's beady eyes on her as she continued inserting hybridized pumpkin-agar-feverfew (nicknamed "kinafew") into her gelatin capsules. Soon, she thought to herself, jamming her pipette with the substance, the predator will become prey, thinking of the hidden camera she'd stuck to a corner of the window shelf. Soon, there will be answers.

Glancing at the first of her capsules, she noticed a sort of adhesion she hadn't seen before, a certain biochemical dance taking place of the most unusual and entrancing sort. She grinned to herself. Progress.

Flashback, 8:20 pm, Same Evening, November 1988, Ocean Bar Cantina, Copacabana, New South Wales, Australia

Apparently, it was too good to be true. Dex hailed from Pennsylvania, and she from Hilltowne, Michigan, far too long of a distance to attempt twice-a-week dating once the conference was over. But for Australia, their paths might never have crossed at all. Kismet, or a cosmic accident? She had no way of knowing; it was far too early to tell.

Whatever.

In this moment, in New South Wales, she was a woman who simply wanted to love and be loved in return. And enjoy what good company she had, for however long or as short a time she had. Though a nagging thought remained.

"Why did they pick you?" she finally asked.

"Pick me?" his brow furrowed in confusion. "Oh, you mean the speaker's bureau? They liked what my aunts did—"

"But they didn't think to ask your aunts to speak?" He shook his head slowly. Marisol glanced at the ocean for a moment, then back at him. "I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Their definition of "career diversity" is cis-gender males talking about their female-focused studies. Men explaining women. Mansplaining."