Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (12 page)

A FEW DIFFERENCES

Other Ed Keenan is a scientist at Black Island Research Facility while our Ed is a black ops sort of agent whose own people turned on him following events hinted at but not explored in the story.
 

Other Will Bishop is a lead consultant at Black Island Research Facility thanks to an expedition years ago where he and others uncovered something mysterious. On our Earth, Will didn’t experiment with what they found. On Other Earth, they did. Other Earth also adopted the Boricio of his world, which resulted in Other Boricio growing into a somewhat normal person rather than take the path of a serial killer like the Boricio you know and love to hate. Other Will also adopted that world’s Luca through circumstances explained in this episode.

Our Will, however, never met, nor adopted Luca or Boricio, though he was brought to our Luca through mysterious circumstances involving dreams – a gift both Wills have (though to different extents) following their exposure to the substance found many years before.

Other Luca’s parents died two years ago in an accident which led him to live with Will, and eventually to his adoption.
 

CHAPTER HEADINGS AND TIMES

When we write a chapter from an alternate character’s Point Of View, we title the chapter “(Other)Will,” etc… In the case of Other Luca and Other Boricio, we use their adopted names, Boricio Bishop and Luca Bishop in the titles to help clarify who is who.

We also include a time and location in the first section for a character in each episode, and sometimes the second section if time has passed between chapters.

We are focusing on flashbacks this season more than others in order to weave our story threads together and finally reveal exactly what happened on October 15. As this season comes to a stunning finale, we will be bridging the gap between present day (which is around March 2012 for most of the characters) and their pasts.

When going back in time for the flashbacks, we’ve been using the distinction “Other Earth” to start each chapter along with the date. This Other Earth is the same as the one our Goners are currently in. We wanted to distinguish however, that this is the past on
that
world and not the world from which most of our Goners were pulled from.

Phew!
— I hope it’s not as convoluted or as confusing as it sounds when I explain it!
 

If we were a TV show like
Fringe
,
 
which switched hues when the characters went from one version of their world to another, we could use some visual cues to indicate differences without using a bunch of dates, times, and locations.
 

You don’t need to pay too close attention to the actual dates, however. There’s not gonna be a test, and other than recognizing that something happened before or after The Event, you don’t need to keep track of what happened on what day.

To give this a bit of shorthand, we’re going to (sometimes) include something like, “TWO MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENT…” or “FOUR MONTHS AFTER…” below the introductory times for chapters, just to give you a quick feel for where the event places in the story. There may be times, for instance with a second or third chapter from a character in an episode, where we may not include that shorthand, simply as to avoid being too redundant.
 

I hope this all makes sense and helps you enjoy the story.
 

Things will make more sense in the coming episodes as you get used to the flow and we bridge the gaps between past and present, for what we hope will be our best season yet!

Thank you, as always, for choosing to spend your valuable time exploring our worlds and joining us on this really cool journey.
 

If you have any questions or comments regarding the story, feel free to email me at
[email protected]
at any time. I check the mail every day and would love to hear from you, or answer any questions you might have.

Thank you,

David Wright

www.collectiveinkwell.com

* * * *

CHAPTER 1 — Boricio Bishop
 

Other Earth

Paddock Island, New York

Sunday July 10, 2011

morning

FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENT…

Boricio woke from the dark emptiness relieved to hear the sound of the ferry’s horn braying in the distance. It was either the ferry that shuttled people between Paddock Island and the mainland, or between Paddock and Black Islands. Which one didn’t matter, as either of them served as a sweet beacon, letting him know that the death and destruction he’d emerged from had only been yet another nightmare.

He was back in the real world, laying in the warm layers of blankets and comforters of Rose’s bed, unable to wipe the stupid smile from his face. Today was gonna be the day.

It was finally here, the day Boricio had been anticipating for more than a month, though in a way, he had been waiting since around six seconds after he first saw Rose, as she was wiping cheese from the side of her cheek before shoving another fork full of dripping omelet into her mouth.
 

She had been eating alone, just like Boricio, sitting two small tables away, overlooking the C-shaped harbor where all the Richie Riches docked their fancy pants yachts.
 

The yachts matched the menu, and while Boricio thought the prices at Schooner or Later were big-ticket ridiculous, the army of taste buds in his mouth were ready to declare war on his brain if he dared to claim the meal wasn’t worthy.
 

The mystery woman must have thought the same thing since Boricio had seen her sitting and wiping cheese from her face three Sundays in a row, always two tables away.

Something about her spoke to Boricio in a whisper. Her whisper was soothing, worming its way not into his head, but his heart, making Boricio long for more of what he’d never really had.

Boricio had been with more than his fair share of women, yet those encounters were the sum of his good looks and natural charm; thin and brittle connections that left him disconnected and cold. While he never doubted the existence of true love, Boricio had never felt the warmth of its fire. Something about the woman wiping cheese from her cheek, two tables away each Sunday, made Boricio believe true love could happen to him, and that he, too, could find the happy ending beneath true love’s clear blue sky.
 

In the three or four months before Boricio first saw her sitting just two tables away, he had been living with an edge of discomfort coating his sanity like a layer of rust. This perfect stranger somehow, and quite suddenly, stirred a longing inside him, a longing that promised to soothe the growing shadows inside within.
 

Boricio had no idea how which feelings were in his head, and which were the result of reality. He didn’t even believe in love at first sight — a product of romance novels and people yearning for something more than their boring, stale relationships — yet he couldn’t ignore how from the moment he saw her, the rest of the world seemed to have vanished like the wispy plumes of a dying fire. The vague promise of the amazing unknown was enough to push Boricio to his feet and move him to her table.
 

“Acapulco?” Boricio asked, pointing at a chunk of avocado lying beside a thin wedge of tomato and a quickly disappearing pile of egg; the gravesite of an omelet the waitress had set on her table around four or five minutes prior.
 

She looked up at Boricio, smiling. “It’s the best omelet on the menu.”

The music of her reply made him long to hear more of her song.

Boricio sat. “You’re right,” he said. “The Acapulco is the best omelet on the menu, no argument.” He shook his head, almost playfully. “But I never order from the menu.”
 

Boricio volleyed a smile; she batted it back. He said, “The kitchen will make anything you ask; you just have to know what you want.”
 

The girl chewed on her lip, looking up at Boricio with interested eyes. He wanted more, maybe everything she had. For a moment, she looked as though she wanted him too. “And what do you ask for?”
 

Boricio laughed, thrilled she was asking. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

She smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not nuclear is it?”

Boricio smiled as if looking right into the center of a secret, then surprised himself by saying, “Boricio always knows what he loves.” He leaned across the table. “And the omelet I’m about to describe is enough to teach your tongue at least 10 new ways to savor.”

“Boricio?” she laughed, almost as if she couldn’t help it. “Is that your name?”

Boricio nodded. “Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
 

“I’m Rose.” She took his hand. It felt warm and sun kissed in his. “Tell me, Boricio, do you always talk about yourself in the third person?” she asked with a laugh.

Boricio returned the laugh. “Actually, I’ve never done that before in my life. I’m not even sure where it came from, but it came out before my mouth could stop moving.” He should have been nervous, but something about Rose made Boricio bold. He said, “Have I ruined my chances?”
 

“Well, I guess that depends on what you’re hoping to get!” She laughed, bringing a fresh sip of coffee to her lips. “And I suppose how great your omelet sounds. You do realize that ‘10 new ways to savor’ might be overselling it a bit?”
 

Boricio shook his head. “Well, that sounds like the testimony of someone who’s never had the pleasure of tasting the Boricio Breakfast Bomb.”
 

“Ha, is that what it’s called?”

“Yup,” he nodded, “and it’s had the name for a good five and a half seconds. Seven now,” he added.

“Okay, let’s hear it. The suspense is killing me.” Rose leaned back in her chair and smiled, then brought more coffee to her open mouth.
 

“Well,” Boricio said, eyebrows raised in display. “I’ve gotta warn you; this recipe is as definite as the details on any designer gown. And,” he added with a conspiratorial smile, “Schooner or Later is the
only
place you can get it, at least on all of Paddock Island. I’m only saying that to warn you that I might be setting you up for a
Matrix Revolutions
level of disappointment.”
 

Rose spit coffee through her laughter, passing the first page of Boricio’s geek test. She said, “As long as it’s better than
Sucker Punch,
I think we’re good.”
 

Boricio wanted more.

“So,” he said. “Does that mean you’re prepared to accept the risk?”

“I am,” she nodded, “as long as you realize that reality is the enemy of expectation.”

“Okay then,” he nodded, laughing, four minutes into their conversation and already feeling four feet from a fireplace. “Making the perfect Boricio Breakfast Bomb means starting with the right herbs, and when I say herbs I don’t mean the stuff they sprinkle on the white bread at Appleby’s.” He smiled. “I mean the genuine stuff: tarragon, chervil, coriander, etc. And that last one right there is the secret, the one that makes this Boricio Breakfast Bomb go nuclear,” he smiled wider. “Now, no one thinks of coriander as a fine herb, but that’s their mistake. I’m telling you, it’s coriander that gives the bees their wiry little knees.” He narrowed his eyes at Rose. “Please tell me you know what coriander is?”
 

“Of course,” she said. “Life without curry is like watching
Sucker Punch
on repeat.”
 

“Well, in that case, I think you’re gonna dig what I’m about to deliver.” He laughed.

“I’m waiting for you to prove it.”
 

Boricio continued. “You’ll also need butter — real butter not that fake sh . . . crap — and you’ll have to ask your waiter because they’re gonna want to use oil in the kitchen. And while there’s nothing wrong with oil, oil isn’t butter. Now you don’t need a lot.” He paused, then said, “It’s like a kiss, start right, and everything that follows is infinitely better.”
 

Boricio luxuriated in the blush of Rose’s cheeks as she shifted in her seat.

“Besides,” he said, “how can you not love the sound and smell of butter in the pan?”

“It’s impossible,” she said. “But I can’t hear or smell it all the way out here, so the omelet has to be damn good. So far it sounds like an herb omelet with butter. So what makes it so bombtastic?”

“Well,” Boricio said, “that’s because we’ve not yet discussed the dairy. There’s no water allowed near a perfect omelet, which is why the Boricio Breakfast Bomb needs milk or cream. Fortunately, Schooner or Later makes their omelets with milk anyway, so you don’t have to ask.” Boricio leaned across the table. “Now here’s the part that’s gonna blow your mind, and why Schooner is the only place on Paddock where you can order this omelet.”
 

“I’m ready,” she said. “Blow my mind.”
 

Boricio laughed. “You’ve gotta use mizithra cheese.”