Rikka Slater-White was now nineteen for 608 years total, and she was not having a good time.
She had assumed everything would repeat, but it did not, and when November 1st rolled around, and David was still dead, and so were the children, she awoke in the morning, in her home and didn’t understand.
Her alarm didn’t go off, because she didn’t bother to set it. After all, she thought everything would repeat. She woke up late, at 11:02 AM, with too many missed messages, frantic voicemails, and her holo-screen calendar was blinking red because she had skipped various appointments.
Groggily she sat up and propped herself up on her sea of pillows and she was heavy and sweaty all over. Last night was filled with a lot of drinking in her bathtub, alone, waiting for the end. She fell asleep, drunk, in only her underpants and still with her makeup on.
November 1st was never meant to come, but now it did, and she was now a 600 something-year-old woman who never properly adjusted to life. She was unable to understand the consequences of her actions because every time she did something it would reset, because nothing stayed.
If not for her money to protect her she would be dead, but the emotional consequences were still there. She looked at her holo-calendar, saw the date, and screamed.
Her hands shook, she pulled her hair and touched her face, ensuring she was still there. She crawled off her bed like an animal, unable to handle what was happening, fell to the ground and continued to scream, then she roared louder because she heard someone else .
Rikka was hysterical, no one else was in the room, she was the only one. Her belief that someone else was in her house, some frightened woman screaming along with her, magnified the terror.
She ran out of her room, wandering and paranoid, unable to believe it was real.
A prisoner released from prison a year or two may have some issues. A decade would take some help. Six hundred years inside prison would make one go mad, and now that she was free, she was terrified.
“What’s going to happen,” she mumbled.
“I don’t know, nobody knows, ” she answered herself.
“I don’t know my lines,” she shouted. “This isn’t good.”
Running through her house, screaming alone, she scratched at her arms, ground her teeth, the sounds echoing in her ears, echoing in the large, wooden halls.
“David’s gone!”
There was no going back. No repeats, no do-overs, David was gone.
He died on the S. S. Andromeda , protecting her, and he would never return, and now she was alone in this house, a house too big for any sole person, screaming for him to return, digging her long nails into her forearms.
“I can’t do this.”
She couldn’t.
For a month no one heard from her, and no one thought much of it, assuming she was grieving like everyone else, grieving over the deaths of everyone that died during the October Massacre.
She gained fifteen pounds, slept all day and night, rarely showered.
Rikka distanced herself from everyone because she didn’t know what to do. What scene was it? What is my line? Where do I go today? What is their line?
The world is scary when no one knows what is going to happen next. The knowledge to always know what will happen, day in and day out, a safe zone, to have that stripped from you, to have David taken from her at the same time, she didn’t want to go outside.
This was not a scene she was familiar with, she didn’t know her lines. Everyone would know the moment she came on stage, they wouldn’t want her anymore.
Her persistent paranoia drove a wedge in her mind, slowly, every day, and when Rikka had her first visitor in her home in a long time, it did not register in her mind.
Her mother found her, bundled in her sea of pillows and blankets, staring off into space. Rikka looked even tinier than usual, her head only visible in the pink and white scheme of her bedding. She didn’t turn to acknowledge her mother when she entered the room, only there in body, not in spirit nor mind.
Diana White had her own key to Rikka’s residence and was told she could come any time. Accepting the offer, she came of her own volition, worried about the absence of her daughter.
Diana walked over, her little black heels clacking on the floor, and scooted her way over to take a look at her daughter. Rikka finally looked at her mother when she sat next to her. The warm feeling she gave was so wonderful, it was so soothing, and she placed her palm on her daughter's cheek.
“It’s okay, let me help you,” Diana said.
Rikka didn’t want help.
She wanted to feel the pain like any normal person should.
Her father didn’t like it when Diana did this, Rico forbade her from doing this to Rikka when she was a baby, but Rico wasn’t there. He wasn’t there, so Diana did what any mother would do.
She placed her palm on her daughter’s cheek, smiled, and her eyes turned light coral. Rikka sighed because everything would be fine.
Everything is fine, nothing was wrong, and Diana used her ability to make her daughter happy, holding her close, cradling her like the day she was born. Rikka hated every moment of it, but the hate did not last more than three seconds and was replaced by the warm feeling inside.
“I know you’ll hate me later, but I can’t stand to see you sad,” Diana said.
“Can I have a normal hug? I don’t want this.”
Diana stopped.
The pain returned, and her mother held her again, crying with her. Diana didn’t know what was wrong, but she didn’t have to ask.
It wasn’t her ability, it was the sense of knowing when you looked at someone, loved them when you see their grief, it is now yours. Her daughter was hers, and so was her grief, and they shared it together.
Diana hated that the tears were so much harder to solve now.
Before it was only diaper time, or let’s go to the park. Then it was Jeremy doesn’t like me, or I’ve lost my favorite hat. Now the tears weren’t so easy to solve, and when her daughter cried, she started to think she had failed Rikka, quick to resort to cheap tricks.
“I can’t do this,” she cried.
“Yes, you can. Whatever it is, let me help you,” her mother said.
Rikka blubbered incoherently, and all Diana could make out was that she didn’t know what to do anymore. What will happen next? What do I do with the rest of my life?
Diana was ashamed that the question was difficult but easy to answer at the same time.
“Sweetie, that's normal. It’s part of your twenties, not knowing what to do. Don’t cry.”
Diana rubbed her back, and coaxed her, telling her maybe she should take a bath. Rikka tuned her out and nodded along with her, and then said yes, yes, I am about to turn twenty in a few months, this is normal.
Diana saw fear in Rikka’s eyes because she was debating if she should break her promise, so someone would understand what she was going through. If it would be anyone, maybe it would be her own mother.
“Can you keep a secret,” Rikka asked.
“Yes, tell me anything,” Diana replied.
Her enthusiasm was obvious, and Rikka was now bashful because her mother was too eager to help.
“This has all happened before. Thousands of times. All of this,” Rikka said.
“ The crying, ” Diana asked with concern.
Rikka explained, and Diana listened intently, not interrupting her a single time, and when Rikka was done with her story, Diana thanked her for being honest, she was happy that she could trust her with something so personal.
Diana then started to use very specific words that Rikka heard her father use before when he was at work and knew that her mother did not believe her.
“You think I’m lying, don’t you,” the dirty, half-naked, and hungover woman asked.
“No,” her mother lied.
“I can show you the truth,” Rikka said, her breath getting heavy, eyes flashing. “Don’t you want to know what daddy did?”
This got her attention.
That afternoon, Diana White learned that her husband made their marriage seem so horrible that it caused her to leave him, and created an addiction he never had. She looked at her daughter with brand new eyes and then remembered.
“You never forget anything, but you say everything keeps repeating...and we don’t remember…”
Rikka nodded, and now the scenario seemed much more plausible to Diana. She held her hand up to her mouth in shock, clutched her pearls, and let out a soft oh my goodness.
“I don’t want to be the only one with this secret any longer. Please, don’t tell anyone,” Rikka pleaded.
Her mother promised, and over the next several days, she helped her move out of bed, slowly leave her room, and eventually her house. They spent two and a half weeks together, and on the last day, Rikka’s mother left for her own home to get something and they would meet again at Levi’s home, but she would never arrive.
