Several days later
Paul raises a hand to his brow and glances over the horizon. No converging of angry clouds, no thunderous sound of hooves. Calamity Jane, and her stagecoach, are nowhere in sight.
Simone observes Paul Bunyan from a distance, knowing exactly who—and what—he is looking for. She approaches at a slow gait, unsure of how he will react to her presence. When she is on a line with him, she lightly places a hand on his right shoulder. Paul turns his head, glancing down at the hand resting on his shoulder. He eventually meets Simone’s gaze. Simone’s eyes are kind and gentle, and her voice is soft.
“Don’t worry, Paul. Give her time,” Simone says. “I’m sure, she’ll be here.”
Sherlock Holmes chooses this moment to leave the warehouse. He straightens the hat upon his head and tilts his face toward the sun.
“Interesting…” Sherlock muses. “Not a cloud in the sky…And it’s already past midday. Calamity Jane is never late. She makes her deliveries like clockwork. I wonder where she could be?”
Simone shoots Sherlock an angry glare which shushes him. He realizes he may have said too much and takes a step closer to the pair of humans before him.
“Well, I never said she might never be late,” Sherlock says correcting his former statement. “We’re only human after all…Well, mostly.”
They stand watching the horizon for another twenty minutes. Not a peep spoken between the three of them. Glancing sideways at Simone, Sherlock reaches into his pocket and retrieves his opium pouch. The look of disappointment on Holmes’ face tells Simone all she needs to know.
“This is quite an unfortunate situation,” Holmes intones. “I’m nearly out of opium. I had hoped Jane would find more. Perhaps, she will turn up tomorrow."
With a sad sigh, Sherlock goes back to the warehouse. Simone turns to Paul to find him already staring at her, his eyes sad and his mouth drawn downward. He appears to be in such emotional pain that Simone is unable to keep from feeling sorry for him. What has happened to Calamity Jane? Did seeing Paul Bunyan cause the brave frontierswoman some kind of discomfort? That must be the case. Otherwise, why break with her usual schedule?
Simone wraps her arms around Paul and hugs him. At first, Paul keeps his arms at his sides, but gradually he places one arm and then the other around Simone’s back.
“I’m so sorry, Paul,” Simone says, emotion choking her voice.
“You needn’t be,” Paul Bunyan says in a voice which chills Simone to the bone. It sounds completely devoid of emotion, almost like a dead language.
Simone leans back and studies Paul’s face. The expression on his visage is like one who has been through a terrible shock. Paul’s color has bled from his face. His eyes are emotionless and dull. His breathing is slow and measured, as felt through the front of his shirt.
“I told you…It’s not good to wish for things which cannot be,” Paul says. “The universe may have other plans.”
Paul politely shrugs out of Simone’s hug. She shoves both hands into the pockets of her pants, and lowers her gaze. Paul strolls with purpose away from Simone. A few paces away, he turns back to her.
“If you need anything…I’ll be in the barn,” Paul says in a hoarse whisper.
Simone sighs and watches the large frontiersman lumber solemnly away. She can only hope that there are no more bottles of whiskey hidden in that barn. The last thing Paul needs right now is to be drunk. The last thing he needs ever.
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Crank hesitates before striding into the abandoned ooman grocery store. His heart sinks at the idea of damaging the semblance of order they have maintained for nearly four weeks. He has not even dared to fully explore the grocery store, out of an inexplicable fear that he will somehow cause irreparable harm. The overall energy in this place of abandoned ooman buildings, dust and sand is very unpredictable. Any subtle change might prove to be catastrophic.
However, Crank is still in dire need of parts for the energy transporter. If he is able to build the transporter, it won't matter if the magical food door--with its shiny red lever--disappears. They will be able to leave this place of storms and sand. Assuming the matter transporter, or even the hydroengine for that matter, work at all.
Crank steps toward the back of the store, examining everything he sees along the way. He enters a large empty storeroom, with many hooks hanging from the ceiling. Crank touches his finger to one of the ceiling hooks, causing it to swing back and forth. In his mind's eye, he sees skinned bodies hanging from the hooks above him. Yes. An ooman storage facility for meat.
Crank walks further into the place of meat storage. He tilts his head as he observes a large metal object in the corner. He approaches the massive object and drops down on one knee. He sounds out the single word emblazoned across the front.
"Gen-er-ac," Crank says with uncertainty.
Crank's eyes widen and his mandibles flare open. This word is one he knows and understands the meaning of very well. An ooman power generator. But how can that be? There are no electrical hookups for such a machine. Not anywhere. He has checked again and again. Like everything else about this place, the existence of the ooman power generator makes no sense. Nevertheless, he will find a way to adapt it to his needs.
Crank decides to make the grocery store his new workshop. The others have already been warned not to come here. Keeping the power generator a secret should be fairly easy. No use getting Simone excited over nothing. What she doesn't know won't affect her.
Paul Bunyan can continue gathering wood for the holding chamber, his own side projects, and other minor details. However, Crank will work on the transporter on his own time. While the others are asleep. Only when he has made sufficient progress, will he inform the others.
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Simone finishes pumping water into the clay jug, and stands to her full height. Leaving the jug on the ground, Simone places a hand at her brow and peers toward the distant horizon. Still no sign of Calamity Jane. Turning to gaze in the direction of the barn, Simone has a sinking feeling. How will Jane's absence affect Paul?
While she likes Paul well enough, she suspects that his recent brooding has an altogether different reasoning. For the millionth time, in mere days, Simone wishes she were home. To hug her little girls, and tell them she loves them. To never see this place of sand, sun, dust, and grit ever again. But what then? Even if they manage to get back, what will become of Crank?
Simone releases a deep sigh and stoops to pick up the water jug. A cough behind her causes Simone to spin almost fully around. Sherlock Holmes stands only feet away, his pipe jutting lazily out of one side of his mouth. The world's greatest detective offers Simone an apologetic smile and takes the pipe from between his teeth.
"I do apologize if I frightened you," Sherlock says cordially. " I simply came to get a drink of water."
"Oh," Simone gasps. "No, you didn't frighten me."
Simone manages a thin smile and Sherlock steps a little closer. Almost in yautja fashion, he studies Simone very closely.
"Where is your friend, Simone?" Sherlock inquires slyly. His eyes never once leave Simone's face.
"Well...He's off doing..." Simone stammers. "Whatever it is he does when...We are not together."
Sherlock's mouth pulls into a large grin and he nods understandingly.
"You mean...Hunting?" Sherlock Holmes retorts. "Or rather, attempting to hunt."
Simone's blood runs cold at the thought, and she considers everything that she knows about Crank. It does seem a likely possibility. However, there doesn't appear to be any other lifeforms in this forsaken place. Even the wily Calamity Jane has gone AWOL. What could there be for Crank to hunt? And why is he still trying in vain?
"I don't believe that's what he's doing!" Simone counters without much conviction. "If he's doing anything...He's scouting."
"Ahhh!" Sherlock says with mock ecstasy. "Is that why he uses his fancy shielding? To appear invisible to the rolling sand?"
Simone watches Sherlock with narrowed eyes. Her breathing comes in furious breaths, and she struggles to quell the rage building within her.
"Why is everyone so critical of Crank? What has he done to earn such distrust?" Simone nearly yells.
"Nothing, good lady," Sherlock says. He once again shoves the pipe into the corner of his mouth. "But you will do well to remember who and what he is? Changing one's nature is a daunting task. Old habits...Are hard to break."
Simone throws up both hands before placing them at her hips.
"Yeah, right," she protests. "I'm really going to take advice from a man who's high more than half of the time, and walks around with his pants on his head! Brilliant advice, Mr. Holmes. I'll keep it in mind."
Sherlock steps even closer to Simone, and it is the first time he has ever been so close. He studies the lines on her face. Lines of worry, laughter, subtle aging, and guilt. He glances down at her hands, clenched into tight fists at her hips; but shaking almost imperceptibly. Taking Simone's right hand, in both of his, Sherlock peers into her eyes.
"I do not mean to offend you," Sherlock says concernedly. "My job is to study people. I learn about them. That is what I do. For many years, the only company I have had is an ornery goat, and Calamity Jane....From time to time. Please excuse my insensitivity. My good friend, Dr. Watson, always warned me that my callous manner would get me into trouble. I fear he was right. I do miss my good friend."
"Oh no...I'm so--" Simone begins. Sherlock cuts her off with a tiny wave of his hand.
"No...No, I am fully to blame," Sherlock replies. "I should not have spoken ill of your friend. Nevertheless, he is hunting. I have seen him. If only to keep himself from going mad...I suppose. He does it also at night. When he believes we are all sleeping. Sometimes, he even pretends to stalk the large blue ox or the goat. I have seen the shimmer of his... Invisibility cloak...On at least six different occasions. We cannot change what we are. He has done no harm. I simply thought...You might like to know. In order, that you may make an informed decision about your future."
The gruff snorting of the local goat causes Sherlock to stiffen. Babe lumbers into sight. The goat, named J.M., follows closely behind the big blue ox. At one point, the goat even does a giddy trot, as if remembering fun times as a kid.
Sherlock and Simone laugh enthusiastically at the goat's silly antics. They watch the pair of animals until they amble out of sight. Simone turns to Sherlock, and that is when she realizes he is still gripping her hand.
A casual smile dances across the detective's lips and he squeezes her hand. Simone is quite tall for a woman. Even taller than Irene had been. Perhaps this is why the space alien and the lumberjack oaf find her attractive? He looks almost straight into Simone's hazel eyes.
"Believe me, Simone," Sherlock says wistfully. "If I did not have my opium...I would lose what little is left of me. All I possess in this forsaken land...Is my wits, my memories, and my opium. For a long time, I have lived only in my fantasies. That is the only place where I can be with the ones that I love. Irene, my good friend Dr. Watson, Mrs. Hudson, my brother Mycroft. When I am not with them, I am...At the hour of my death. I am in a mortal battle with my greatest foe...Professor Moriarty. The fiend did not only manage to steal my life...But any future lives as well. I never believed in an afterlife. Until I came here. You...And your space alien friend...Have given me another chance. A chance to test my wit and skill. I am sorry to have offended you. As I said before, one cannot easily change who and what they are."
Simone leans forward and kisses Sherlock Holmes on the cheek. The detective appears surprised and raises a hand to his face. Simone grins amusedly in his direction.
"You don't know everything about people, Mr. Holmes," Simone says with a chuckle. "Maybe you should try studying people a little less...And try living with them?"
"Now...You sound like my old friend, Dr. Watson," Sherlock says with a wide grin.
"I should," Simone says. "I've read all of the books."
Sherlock's eyes nearly bug out of his head.
"Books?! Aha! So you mean to say...There are books about our adventures? Mine and Dr. Watson's?" Sherlock exclaims.
"Yes. A great many books about the World's Greatest Detective, Sherlock Holmes," Simone teases. "Only they're by a man named Arthur Conan Doyle. It's a literary myth kind of thing."
"Humph," Sherlock mutters, a challenge in his voice. "I would like to read the books of this... Arthur Conan Doyle. I am sure they are a plagiaristic bastardization of the works of my good friend, Dr. Watson. I will have him exposed."
Simone stifles another laugh and stoops to grab the water jug. Sherlock Holmes reaches down and hauls it up instead. For the first time, there is real joy in his eyes.
"I will carry it where you wish to go," Sherlock insists. "And you will tell me more about this...Arthur Conan Doyle."
"Sir...Arthur Conan Doyle," Simone laughs. "And sure...Why not?"
The pair begin making their way to the old farmhouse.
"And another thing," Holmes says. He offers Simone a sly smile. "Do you think you could convince your alien friend to loan me a bit of his string? I have need of a new violin."
"A violin? Oh, of course...A violin," Simone says. "I thought something was missing from all of this."
Sherlock's grin grows even wider.
"You do know quite a bit about me!" Holmes says with a tiny chuckle.
Simone remembers Sherlock's shower under the midday sun and bites her lower lip. She slides her eyes over to the detective with a cryptic smile.
"More than you know!" Simone says.
In the distance, atop a large dune, Crank sits perfectly still--surveying all around him.