NFTF: Further Missed Missives

[The following rests under a rock beneath the window of the room in which Veronica stayed at the Compound, after the disappearance of Torvald Mayberry. It is written hastily on high-quality resume paper which has been thoroughly rubbed down with white wax crayon after the ink dried, to attempt some form of waterproofing. Unfortunately, this area is watered nightly via automatic sprinkler drip and mist system. The missive is rapidly mildewing at the edges. More care should have been taken with its placement and water resistance, or less caution should have been employed in communicating with Veronica.]

Dear Veronica,

I'm not sure how to get this to you without waking you or alerting others to my presence tonight. And the                annot risk alerting anyone -- there are those among the good Rachels and Ezekiels of t                              een subtly, deeply affected by the darkness of Torvald Mayberry. They do not know i               y                e devastating action in the event of my appearance or any major forward movement o               t of                her Henrietta.

              his reason that I leave this note. I think I'll make some grunting noises outside your window ton               bble around in the rocks and ferns there; hopefully that works and you find this note before too lon               tain now that you haven't found several of my other missives, and                nch farther when I am               ch things have I seen, my love: pearly wisps of the last fog of the sleep of the dreamer Merlin, soup upset by baby dragons, clearer glimpses of lost kingdoms than ever afforded by shroo               in Huddart Park. 

I have yet to gain complete control of my abilities. But I am working on it, learning a great deal. It appears that my overall lifelong distraction and apparent inability to pay attention to the time has been                indication of a deeper sense of time than would be shown by your average cubicle donkey; I get immersed in a moment, and for me the moment stretches -- it becomes elastic and malleable, and               times when I have told you I was certain I left the house on time and, with the absence of traffic, ou               to have been right on time to pick you up (I know you're shaking your head right now, stop it! Th               true! I'm not using everything we've been through to excuse a decade of inattentiveness and a life               missed deadlines, I'm explaining the exact why of those things! Gah.) -- those times when I h               either late or, just as often, oddly early -- those are the times when I have essentially been stretching the boundaries of my time bubble.

Think of it this way: when you yawn and stretch, it feels good, right? So imagine your mind and soul yawning and stretching, and kind of clicking in and becoming so relaxed that they stretch a little outside the edg               our personal time bubble. Or, in some cases, they stretch the bubble itself. Different effects               as a result of the nature of the stretching (hence the early or late variable, as well as the certa               of 'lost time' I've told you about -- you may remember Josh Q. speaks of an instance of lost tim               well; is this a Piscean ability?), but what's clear is that, as every individual's time on this earth differs, so every individual's personal time bubble and resulting relationship to time is as individual a               fingerprint, eye color, or taste in neckties. Time is not a universal force, but rather a human me               ent of a universally individual experience which, as most of us seem to experience it similarly, seem               e whole to adhere to a linear appearance. And as a result, those of us who occasionally step outside, ins               through time are labeled madmen, crackpots and liars. 

But I am a Time Traveler. And this Time Traveler -- no matter how early or late he arrives -- loves you. And will arrive in time. Quite literally. That's a promise.


Yours,


Edward


PS, Max is                                  and he needs food.

Notes from the Future: Laminated

This laminated note is ziptied to several wooden barbed wire fence posts along the ridge leading South from San Ramon to the Dublin Grade of 580; it is most often found where more heavily-worn trails lead close to, or under, the fences.

Dear Veronica,

If you have found this note, I have disappeared, you have lost Max and you've left our Honda behind.  A bold choice.  But you are going the wrong way. I know you think it's the right way, because of what you experienced back at the compound, but I promise you: what waits ahead is actually worse. As far as I can guess, you are planning to walk along this ridge until you reach 580, then walk down to the freeway and walk to Hayward from there. In theory, that is a great plan. But in actual practice, it cannot work.

Here's why: 580 is built along what was a road in a canyon, which before that was a trail in a canyon, which before that was a canyon. Canyons in this area have the potential to be branches of local fault lines. I cannot guarantee that any portion of 580 on the Dublin Grade is able to withstand the current climate of seismic instability.  

I know it's hard to face what happened, it's hard to face what you did; I know you prefer to move forward and never talk about the past and how it affects you. But I promise you, that is not the way to survive in life; running away from trauma will only bring it back to haunt you when you least desire it, and this can unravel even the best-constructed defense mechanisms -- often at the worst possible moment. If you plan to survive this ordeal at all -- and I think you must if you're trying to get to Hayward -- you've got to go back to the Compound and learn everything you can.

I'm leaving notes just like this all along this ridge. How I'm doing this is difficult to explain, but why should be pretty obvious: I love you, I want you to stay alive and I am always looking out for you.

Turn around and go back immediately.

Love,

Tad