Loss

By Beckers

(4)

His grasping fingers reached to the middle of their breakfast table. Malone tore off a large piece of warm bread, fresh from
the oven, then got down to the serious business of eating the rest of his morning meal. “Doesn’t it concern anyone but me
that we have a strange woman, who appeared out of no where, now sleeping in Roxton’s bedroom?” he asked, in a tone
practically dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, Lord John seems to think she’s some kind of dream come true and the rest of us
are just sitting here, accepting this Marguerite Krux at face value.”

“We're all leery, Ned.” Veronica, sitting beside the skeptical journalist, smiled mildly. She gently placed a hand on his arm.
“But, our guest has only been here for five hours and has been unconscious for about four hours and fifty five minutes since
her arrival. I’m sure she’ll wake up shortly and the reason she's here will be ... interesting.”

“It is worrisome.” Arthur Summerlee spoke quietly from the opposite end of the table, looking at the young man and woman
over his spectacles, and was forced to agree with Malone. “It’s a very bizarre situation, indeed.” He sipped his tea and
thoughtfully ran a thumb around the lip of the delicate china cup’s matching saucer. Last night their visitor had unnerved the
professor more than he was willing to admit. Why, after having heard his voice, did Miss Krux display such astonishment?
She appeared to know him from somewhere; actually she seemed to know *all* of them. He shrugged, attempting to dismiss
where his over active imagination was taking him. “However, she does appear harmless.”

“Appears.” Veronica stressed, her focus darting from Summerlee to Challenger. “I know the plateau has shown us some
strange and remarkable things these past few years but this is the first time it’s literally hand delivered an uninvited guest right
smack in the middle of my home.”

Malone acquiesced to his companion and also awaited words of wisdom from the elder members of their jungle household.

Chewing absently on a strip of wild-boar bacon, a previously silent and meditative Challenger pushed his plate away and
stood. “Whoever she is I think we would do well by not treating her like an intruder.” he encouraged, “Once Miss Krux
awakens we will acquire more information about the woman and the portal she traveled through. I’m certainly looking
forward to what she has to say!” Realizing the others were staring at him, possibly unsettled by his rash forward thinking
enthusiasm, Challenger pulled his zeal down a few pegs. “Still, you can’t be too careful. It’s good that Roxton is keeping an
eye on her.”

Veronica, watching an eager Challenger move away from the table to trot down the stairs into his precious laboratory,
allowed a nearly ironic chuckle, “I don’t think Roxton’s taken his eyes off the woman since her arrival.”

“And that’s peculiar too.” Malone commented quietly to his companions, leaning back into his chair. “Roxton’s been around
beautiful women before and he’s never allowed any of them get to him.” Ned paused then reassessed, “Well, not much
anyway.” He took in their diverted smiles and continued, “But even before he saw this Marguerite Krux in the flesh Roxton
was acting like a man possessed. I’m worried about him and her influence over him. Remember what happened with Danielle,
the Voo Doo Queen? If we hadn't rescued him in time who knows what she might have did. As it was, Roxton wasn't too
pleased with out interference.”

"I know. Despite what she did to him, to all of us, it took weeks for him to get over her death. I never really understood it.
She was evil." Veronica picked at the buttered toast on her plate.

Summerlee nodded but, through the wisdom of age, had picked up on something the young reporter and lovely jungle native
had missed, “Lord Roxton puts up a good façade, my friends, but he’s an injured man. Emotionally, he needs someone to fill
a void inside of him. Perhaps this mysterious young woman has all the answers he's been seeking.”

“And maybe," Malone added, "some evil in the jungle is aware of Roxton's mental state and brought her conveniently to
him?”

“You suspect a trap?”

“It’s not like it wouldn’t be the first time.” Veronica considered, “Maybe some entity feeding on the emotional wounds from
one of us?”

Without thinking, Malone reached down to scratch the lower part of his right leg, the area which was a wooden substitute,
not flesh and bone. Realizing his mistake, Ned commented: “We all have our scars, Veronica.” and glanced briefly at the
jungle beauty who, suddenly wounded, looked away from him. “But still,” Malone persisted, trying to ignore Veronica’s
reaction, “a he-man like Roxton losing his bearings over a mere woman? It just doesn’t seem right.”

Oddly amused, Summerlee lifted a crisp, red apple out of the bowl resting next to his left elbow. He stared at the fruit for a
moment, thinking of something he was told when still a young boy. Before taking a bite, Professor Summerlee made his
position clear: “No mere woman, my boy. A very special woman, I’d say.”

****

“Take it easy. Don’t move too quickly.” Roxton helped her sit up on the bed and spoke quietly. “You’ve been through some
ordeal.”

Marguerite gulped and groggily licked her lips. “I feel like I’ve been pummeled over and over again by a horde of troglodytes.”
She commented dryly, placing both of her hands to the side of her aching head. “The dream I was having …” Marguerite
then squinted, the light radiating from Roxton’s bedroom window hurting her eyes. Attempting to get her bearings she looked
about the room, feeling an air of familiarity but also loss. “Did I sleep long?”

“Several hours. You did go through a lot to get here. It's understandable.” His tone barely hid admiration. That she was
beautiful he already knew but her voice was like that of an angel. She was slender and graceful as well. His dreams … all
those times he had seen her … had imagined what it would be like if she was real … to touch her …

Marguerite gazed at John Roxton, taking him in, noting the unsure but familiar half smile and also aware of previously unseen
lines of suffering around his eyes. Or perhaps it was just fatigue. It would not surprise her to learn he had stayed awake,
watching over her, unable to sleep until he was certain she was well. What had happened to her anyway? The last thing she
remembered was him calling to her in the temple. It wasn’t until Marguerite noted, once again, that the man was in desperate
need of a haircut that she remembered where she was and how she got there.

“Oh, my God.” Marguerite whispered and her eyes widened as they flitted about anew to look over Roxton’s quarters and
whoever else may be about at the moment. “Where am I?” she asked and sincerely meant it. “How did I ...?” Marguerite
swung her legs off the bed and nearly stood when she was struck with yet another attack of vertigo.

“It’s okay.” Roxton eased her down and sat next to her on the bed. As the woman leaned forward, he softly patted her back,
unable to resist touching her tempting hair in the process.

As the nausea ebbed and despite the care and warmth of his fingers, Marguerite moved away from him on the bed. “Please
don’t touch me.” she insisted, “You’re not him. You could never be him.”

Confused, Roxton's hands dropped away. “Who? Who do you think I am?”

“You’re pretending to be John Roxton.” She looked him up and down for a moment, as if appraising, then glanced down at
her own hands, “NOT a very good likeness, I might add.” she stated but didn't appear entirely convinced.

Roxton blinked, “I am John Roxton. But how did you …?”

“No, you’re some figment of my imagination.” Marguerite fumed, frustrated by yet another trick played on her by this
accursed plateau, “You’re a tease or a punishment; something to make me regret all past wrongs here on the plateau. Because
it’s my fault — everything is always my fault. And no matter what I do my past is always there to haunt me. I keep hoping
that one day I’ll be redeemed or forgiven and just when it seemed like it might be happening … when some of my friends say
they trust me … when I can sincerely hope for the briefest moment of true contentment here …” She trailed off and, closing
her eyes, bit her lower lip.

“Look,” Roxton cleared his throat and stood. Attempting sympathy, he looking down at the enigmatic, moody woman. “I
don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly.” Roxton waited for her to look up at him. “But I do know what you mean
when you speak of happiness. I haven’t had a completely happy day since I was …” he dangled, and looked away from her.
“Let’s just say it’s been a long time.”

Marguerite hesitated and stared at him long and hard. If she didn’t know better ... Again, feeling a combination of relief and
panic, she licked her dry lips. She would know that grim expression anywhere. God help her. Her keen sense of self
preservation might have left her completely but she did trust him.“You haven’t been the same since William was killed?”

Shaken, the intense look Roxton gave her was piercing. “No one knows ... Tell me, do you collect old newspapers?” he
asked in a gruff voice. Acknowledging the woman’s uncomprehending expression, Roxton asked, "Who are you?”

Marguerite looked down at her hands and shook her head in a bemused fashion. “Someone, I think, who was in the wrong
place at the wrong time.”

****

By afternoon tea she was sitting at the common room table with the rest of the treehouse inhabitance, exchanging information
and coming to grips with what must have happened. Marguerite found herself a bit heartsick that certain touches to the
treehouse, things she had added to both beautify and make the place worth living in, were nowhere in sight. Before making
her appearance in front of the others, Marguerite had Roxton escort her to what was once her own quarters. It was nothing
more than a storage room now, occupied with what Marguerite could only guess was Challengers scientific "junk". Gone
were her scarves and the mosquito netting above her bed. Gone was her bed and the bamboo lamp table where she kept her
treasured jewlry box. If she wasn't so irritated by the whole matter she would have cried.

“You say in your world you were a part of The Challenger Expedition?” Summerlee attempted to bring the matter down to
one common denominator. He placed a plate of warm cocoanut cookies in front of their guest. “You funded the mission?”

“Yes,” Marguerite repeated, as she had twice before. Oddly, she didn’t feel offended by the grilling, particularly coming from
dear Summerlee, with whom she was delighted and saddened to see. Delighted because in this world, an existence where
Marguerite Krux had not come to the plateau, he had survived the attack by Dracul’s warriors. However, Marguerite was also
saddened because she now realized something that had never occurred to her before. In her own world, if she hadn’t been
wounded, if her injury hadn’t forced Veronica to help her over the bridge first, the blond jungle native and Summerlee would
have went off together before any of the others. He never would have been pierced by that arrow and taken a dive over the
great falls.

Guilty, Marguerite again turned shyly away from the professor.

Summerlee noted how uncomfortable Miss Krux suddenly appeared in his presence and made a mental note to ask her about
it later.

Malone stared at the woman from across the table. Grim-faced, he accessed Marguerite’s explanation. “You were in that
temple and a strange set of circumstances occurred to bring you here?” he asked her once again.

Marguerite gazed at the journalist and narrowed her eyes. There was something strange about this Ned Malone. He was the
same yet unaccountably bitter and suspicious. She saw little idealism in him but the accusation in his tone, even when he
wasn’t critical, left her wary. “I don’t understand it any better than you do, Malone. All I know is one moment I was in that
temple with Roxton, looking for,” she paused, "artifacts then I was here.”

“Fascinating.” Summerlee enthused, “I have heard of something like this before. Challenger can explain it better than I but it
sounds like the Parallel Universe theory.”

“Parallel Universe? I’m not sure I’m familiar with …” Marguerite began but was interrupted.

“And you say you know each one of us from where you come from?” Veronica asked, cautious but interested. She was
closest to Marguerite and leaned forward a little to whisper, “In your world did I… did I ever find …?”

“Find your parents?” Marguerite asked and almost wished she hadn’t when she saw the hope in Veronica’s wide, clear eyes.
What could she tell her? That her mother is Protector of the Plateau and her father is dead? In this world was it even true?
“No, not yet.” Marguerite blinked at the deception, “Our Veronica’s still searching as well. But we expect any day now to
find where they are and what’s been happening with them after all these years.”

Veronica nodded and averted her gaze, a little disappointed.

Marguerite’s eyes rose to search for an anchor and she saw him. Roxton stood in the background, leaning against a support
beam near their small fireplace, taking in the conversation but not truly participating other than to toss out the occasional
comment. She wasn’t certain if that was a good or bad thing. He did, however, smile when he saw that she was looking for
him. Despite fighting against it, a connection had been made between her and this Roxton. It was almost as powerful as the
bond between Marguerite and the man left behind in her own world. ‘And why shouldn’t it be?’ her thoughts did battle,
‘They are, after all, the same man. In a sense …’

“I have a theory that may explain you.” Challenger announced as he entered the common room from his laboratory. He
focused directly on Marguerite, obviously unaware of the eye contact between she and Roxton. “In our world, here on the
plateau, we have a shifting series of anomalies. It’s the cause of so much of the phenomenon we experienced in this lost
world.”

“Shifting plains of reality.” Marguerite said and noted Challenger’s visible regret when he realized he need not explain the
phenomenon further to her. “Are you suggesting, Challenger, that I’m not really here? That I’ll go back to my world
unexpectedly, without a moment’s noticed; whenever the powers of the plateau see fit to take me back there?”

“Not quite.” Challenger said, “I believe you will be able to leave the plateau, to go back to your own world, but you must
return to the location of that temple for it to happen. That is where your energised focal point is. Whatever mystical force it
was that brought you here still exists in your world and is waiting for you …”

“I’m ready.” Marguerite quickly stood, “Let’s go.”

“Not so fast, Miss Krux.” Challenger tempered, “The electrical charge or energy that brought you to us doesn’t not yet exist
here. Or, at least, we’ve never found anything like it. As a matter of fact, the temple you spoke of is also unfamiliar. If that
place exists here then its power must be dormant. We will have to manufacture the power from our end to send you back.”

“The windmill.” Marguerite caught on and smiled, “You can somehow channel it with the windmill like you do for the current
to electric fence.”

“Normally, yes.” Summerlee cleared his throat, “But we have been having problems with that process lately.”

“The electric fence has been down for over a week.” Veronica said.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Materials have not been easy to come by here and what we’ve been able to produce does not last long. If I could just get
my hands on a piece of non conductive material that will last for more than a few days ...”

“What you’re saying is you need silk or satin?” Marguerite asked, remembering a conversation she and Challenger had a long
time ago, when they first arrived on the plateau.

“Silk would be ideal but as I’ve said …”

“I’m wearing silk under drawers.” Marguerite thought seriously about it for a moment, "Actually, I think it's blend of some
kind but they should work."

"Really?" Challenger said, nearly deadpan.

"Yes." marguerite replied.

There was silence for about the count of six then a small explosion of laughter came from each of the explorers, including the
normally sour-faced Malone.

Here’s the deal.” Marguerite said, leaning forward and attempting to ignore the giggles. She placed both hands on the table
top, “You can have my underwear, do whatever it is you need to do to get the electricity sizzling, then send me home.
Meanwhile, you have silk and can continue experiments for years to come. Not to mention also keeping the treehouse
protected. How does that sound?”

“Miss Krux," Challenger reached forward and took her hand in a hardy shake, “I believe we have a deal.”

Approval, some more guarded than others, came from about the table. The only unsmiling face was that of John Roxton who
stood, still in the background, and did not appear overwhelmingly pleased.

God was cruel. How could he send her to him, the one woman who might free him from debilitating emotional pain, only to
take her away again so quickly? Slowly, he walked away from the others to the balcony and looked thoughtfully out into the
jungle. He could hear her laughter, a soft rumble over something Summerlee imparted, and it gripped Roxton’s heart. He
glanced to his right and gazed at Summerlee’s easel. The painting of Marguerite remained; seeming to mock him, and Roxton
wished he had never let himself hope for a respite.

“Hey.”

Roxton jumped when he realized she was standing next to him. He had been so lost in his daydreams and misery he hadn’t
heard her.

“Don’t you want to come and join the party?” Marguerite asked, a smile in her tone. She had seen him move away and could
almost guess what the problem might be. If he was anything like her Roxton he was having misgivings about what needed to
be done the following day. They were going to have to move the windmill to get Marguerite where she was going and it
wasn't going to be easy, especially if the T-Rex's were hungry and on the prowl.

“Maybe in a little while.” Roxton answered, “How long before you leave?”

“Challenger says it will take a couple days to get it all sorted out.” Marguerite replied. “Something to do with trajectory and
beams of light and so on …”

Roxton looked down at her and gave a short laugh. ‘Two days.’ he thought and was unexpectedly inspired. They had her
company for at least a couple of days and a lot could happen in that amount of time. For all they knew, Challenger’s theory
was wrong. As brilliant as the professor was mistakes had been made. Two days to talk with Marguerite, to understand her
and possibly even woo her. ‘Two days.’ Roxton mused again. In that amount of time perhaps he might even convince Miss
Krux that she belong here with him, was needed here far more than where it was she originally came from.

“Marguerite, it's still early. Would you like to go hunting with me today?” he asked, looking down at her with a bemused
smile.

“Umh …” Marguerite looked on the verge of saying "no" for a moment but then, reconsidering, she replied: “Sure.”

****

Ned Malone stared at the couple as they stood on the balcony together. She was a charmer alright but he just did not trust
this woman. Her story was ludicrous but he was the only one here that seemed to realize this fact. Challenger’s scientific
curiosity obscured his reasoning but what was everyone else’s excuse? Summerlee treated the newcomer like a long lost
granddaughter, even suspicious Veronica acted like she was a big sister with all the answers and Roxton … Well, he
obviously was not thinking with his mind, that was for sure.

Clenching his teeth, Malone decided he was going to watch Marguerite Krux very closely. She was not at all what she
appeared to be. He was certain of it.

((More to Come ….))