One Great Year (39 page)

“Well basically there are all these kids being born within the last twenty years or so, and they're, like, touched by
God
or something. She says they are vibrating on a higher frequency, and there's some evidence that they have an evolved genetic makeup or something. They have, like, a higher consciousness, psychic shit like future telling, mind reading, talking about stuff from other countries and other times that a little kid couldn't know about … obviously, I don't have all the info.”

“Do you think there is some truth to these Crystal Children? It's pretty controversial.”

“She does … and I dunno … it seems pretty farfetched to me, but it's a project …” Nate paused.

“And you like her.”

“Yeah, I really do. Whaddya think about this, you're into all this kinda airyfairy shit?”

“Thanks,” Quinn said, shaking his head with a smirk. “Well, I actually think you might be on the verge of doing something important. I've read quite a lot about these kids. They're called different names, sometimes indigo or rainbow. There are websites and they are all over YouTube. You should check it all out before you see her tonight … don't go in cold.”

“Yeah, I will, I know, I really want to blow her away. I am so sure this is going to be huge for me.”

“How do you know she has what it takes movie-wise? What's she done?” Quinn asked, and for the first time Nate looked uncertain.

“Well, to be honest, up until now she was a special-ed teacher in an elementary school. Before university she worked in the film industry as a production assistant and she just fell in love with the business.”

“Well, that's a pretty big leap, isn't it? How do you put that much faith in a totally unproven writer and director? And where does the budget come from?” Quinn asked, sounding like a protective father.

“Not sure, I think she's a single mom, so I don't think there's a whole lot of money actually, but she totally talked about hiring a DOP last night, so I guess I will have to figure out how to ask that without sounding like I am only in it for the bucks … but as far as her ability, wait until you meet this girl, she's just … got it.”

“I can't wait. What are you planning to tell Sarah?” Quinn asked, referring to Nate's girlfriend and housemate.

“I already told her … this morning. We're done … and that kinda leads me to my next question …” Nate said, pausing.

Quinn raised his eyebrows and waited for what he knew was coming.

“Can I crash here for a while?”

“You left your girlfriend of four years for a girl you met last night?” Quinn said incredulously, though he had suspected for a while that Nate was unhappy in the relationship.

“We've been done for a long time, I just didn't wanna pull the plug,” Nate said, hanging his head.

“Yeah … of course, you're welcome here, get your stuff … and hey,” he added as an afterthought, noticing the chaos of his kitchen counter once more. “I'm putting you in charge of recycling 'cause there's not room here for all of us. Either you, me, or that mountain of shit has to go!”

“Small price to pay, man, thanks. It won't be for too long,” Nate replied.

“No worries. I can't wait to meet your Eden,” Quinn said, as he settled in to the pile of work behind him, happy to have Nate's company to look forward to.

“My Eden, hmm,” Nate mused, as he carried boxes of cardboard and beer bottles out to his car and retrieved a duffle bag of clothes.

Seven hours and six phone calls from the crying ex-girlfriend later, most of Quinn's apartment was filled with steam from Nate's shower. Quinn didn't mind—he had significantly reduced his pile of work to be done, and two customers had picked up and paid for their computers that day. He took a self-satisfied puff on a small joint and offered it to Nate, who refused with a frantic wave.

“You might want to have a pull just to calm your nerves a bit, buddy, you're pretty wired,” Quinn said.

“I want to be sharp tonight. I don't want to miss half of what she says because I'm stuck in some stoner zone-out.”

Ouch. Nate's guileless honesty once again hit a nerve, and Quinn was made conscious of his fuzzy state of mind. Nate was too distracted to notice and smoothed his hands down his shiny black shirt and black pants. He checked his equally shiny, spiked-and-angled hair in the mirror by the door as he left.

“Good luck!” Quinn called out, hoping for his friend's sake that he wouldn't see him again until at least noon the next day.

Quinn was typing frantically an hour later when he heard Nate's key in the door. Not good. This was not good. A one-hour turnaround on the date of a lifetime did not bode well.

“Hey, man, what's up?” Quinn asked, as a surprisingly cheerful Nate rushed in.

“Oh, man, I am so glad you don't have a date tonight,” Nate started.

“Nice. Rub it in, why don't ya?” Quinn said, shaking his head. Nate's candor was truly a test of Quinn's ability to shed his ego.

“No, oh sorry. I … have kind of a big favor, well, I sorta made a promise actually, but just say no if it's too much.”

“What's up?”

“I have Eden's laptop, she's out in the car. She didn't want to put you on the spot, so just say no if you want … well she's having trouble with it and it's, like, totally her lifeline. She can't function without it. All her work stuff's on it and everything, and I told her that you're the best at this … I said maybe you could look at it tonight and we could pick it up in a few hours?”

“I can't promise, I don't know what's wrong with it, but I'll take a look,” Quinn said, inwardly disappointed that the flow he had just found in his writing was going to be lost.

“Thanks, man. You're the best,” Nate said, happy to have good news to take back to his date.

“Give me three or four hours—after that I'll be in bed, so I'll leave it on the table by the door. Hey, how's it going?”

“I'm in love, man,” Nate grinned, opening the door.

“Cool,” Quinn said, and he opened the notebook, wanting to finish as soon as possible and get back to his blog.

Quinn's slight irritation with Nate for hijacking his evening dissipated quickly. Eden's computer was a simple fix: some new security software and cleaning up spyware and a nasty virus. But within minutes of beginning the job, Quinn had begun to feel physically ill. Eden was his notable blog devotee, Anderson88! The coincidence seemed too great. Quinn had a clear profile of who she was. He knew her income, bank, address, and employer. He knew that her son was eleven-year-old Elijah James and that he was a bit of a handful. He knew how she spent her money, who she emailed, and how often.

Quinn couldn't stop reading and snooping, and he felt guilty and exhilarated all at once. He knew he shouldn't read her private messages, her Facebook entries, or even her datebook noting her menstrual cycle. He knew everything about her and his Marcus-brain was vibrating with excitement.

He had assumed Anderson88 was a guy and, though he had begun the blog to reach out to people, connect with other Emissaries, and possibly find Theron, he hadn't given any one contributor much thought. He had intentionally used the name “The Emissary” to spark a response. He couldn't pretend that he hadn't hoped. And now Eden, the beautiful blue-eyed brunette that smiled at him from the photos stored on her hard drive and from her Facebook page, was on a date with Nate.

“We clicked,” he had said.

“Like old friends,” Quinn guessed, and his stomach flipped with the possibility that she might be his Theron. Her responses to his blog hinted that she was. Her passion and topic as a filmmaker and her chance meeting with Nate all indicated she could be a part of Marcus's soul group, the key to his soul. Theron! She could be Theron! Though he searched desperately to confirm it, he knew he had to see her in person to verify his suspicion. His intuition was hammering at him. He could hardly wait to meet her face to face and know for certain.

It had been just under three hours, and Quinn was startled by the sound of Nate's easy laughter as he jingled his key in the door. Quinn exited the photo gallery he had been scrutinizing and clicked off Eden's laptop.

“Hey, just finished, good …” Quinn began, but he was struck silent by Theron's powerful karmic energy as it flowed into the room.

The petite beauty stepped out from behind Nate, and she was almost completely obscured by the light and color that Quinn saw surrounding her. Eden's purple aura glowed, and Marcus was ecstatic as it reached out to him. Their energies intermingled like grains of sand in a powerful tide, and Quinn was overwhelmed and unable to speak.

Eden smiled broadly at Quinn, oblivious to what he was experiencing, and reached out a hand that jingled with her many bracelets as she moved. Somehow Quinn found the ability to use his legs, though he didn't remember walking across the room, and he held her hand in his.

“Eden, Max Quinn … hey … are you crying, dude?” Nate asked incredulously.

Until that moment, Quinn hadn't realized he was. “No, no, it's just my eyes from working all night,” he explained, reluctantly releasing her fingers and wiping away a tear. He had been electrified by Eden's touch and its warm, familiar vibration. He turned his back to her, momentarily overcome, and struggled to pull himself together.

Eden had also experienced something powerful and compelling, and she was unsettled. “So sorry to make you work tonight! Thank you, I hope it wasn't too much trouble,” she said, misinterpreting his emotion as fatigue and his turning away as a dismissal.

“No, no, simple fix up,” Quinn said emphatically.

Nate noticed a strange tremor in his friend's voice. “You sure you're okay?” he asked with concern. He had never known Max Quinn to be less than totally cool and composed.

“We should go. I don't want to intrude. What do I owe you?” Eden asked.

Quinn's brown eyes flashed up to meet hers.

Pow! There was a jolt to her solar plexus as the intensity of his gaze ignited her chakras and tingled up and down her spine.

“No, nothing … no worries. Just stay. I've been cooped up here all night. Let's all have a drink and hear about your project,” Quinn said, maintaining eye contact with her and quickly regaining his poise.

Quinn's Marcus-brain was frantic. Theron must not leave. He had missed her so terribly. He had craved her spirit the way an addict craves a hit—his blood, his soul, and every breath was ignited by her.

Nate, however, was not enthusiastic. He wanted Eden to himself, and he was puzzled by Quinn's behavior. A buddy should know better. Guys understood one another, and Quinn was playing dumb and doing it all wrong.

Nate and Eden were both intuitive and, though they could not see the auras mingling magically around them, they could feel the heightened energy. It moved through them like wind through leaves, and Nate sensed that he was a bystander, an obstacle between his date and his best friend.

“No, no, we can't stay … we're going to go for a drink down at Charlie's. We just wanted to pick up the notebook before you were asleep,” Nate answered, regretting the decision to show her off. He was anxious to leave and break the spell that had been conjured.

Quinn decided that he must breach sacred guy-code and invite himself along to Charlie's, but he didn't get the chance.

“Let's stay,” Eden piped up, surprising them all. She didn't want to leave. She hadn't had time to think why, but she knew she wanted to stay longer in the messy little apartment with the books, diagrams, and sketches pinned and spread about. She was aware of the attraction she was feeling for Quinn, and it surprised her. The computer wiz was at least ten years older than she, and though he was undeniably handsome, he was Nate's buddy. If she and Nate were going to work together on the Crystal Project, she couldn't have any romantic complications. It would be unprofessional and it could jeopardize the venture.

Eden hadn't had any inclination of a romantic relationship with Nate. She could tell he was interested, but she was accustomed to dealing with crushes, and she hated to admit that sometimes it helped to have a slight edge. She was certain she could keep the relationship with Nate strictly professional. Quinn, however, was another story. Eden was surprised how far she had already taken her thoughts about the stranger.

Nate began to protest, but Quinn quickly led Eden toward the sofa, where he cleared a spot for her among his array of pictures, books, and dog-eared magazines. He chatted about her computer while he searched for a corkscrew, and Nate reluctantly took a seat next to her. He tried to catch Quinn's eye, but the Emissary intentionally avoided looking at him.

“All fixed now though,” Quinn chirped uncharacteristically, as he poured three glasses of cheap Merlot. “I've been reading about Crystal Children for a while. They're remarkable when they are authentic, which I think some of them are. What made you interested enough to want to make a film about them?” Quinn asked, now staring directly into Eden's clear blue eyes, his self-possession restored.

She was once again aware of how attractive he was—the cleft in his chin, the emotion in his eyes—and she struggled to focus. “My son Elijah's the only reason I know anything about the Crystal Children. He's always been so unusual and unexplainable. It started as soon as he could talk and that was really early … full sentences at about fourteen months. He told me about all these dreams and bizarre stories about places and people and inventions. He started drawing crazy, detailed pictures, some quite disturbing. I was a mental health worker and special-ed teacher, so my first instinct was to take him to a child psychologist, or three actually, but they wanted to ‘fix' him and drug him when I thought he was gifted, so I looked elsewhere.”