A millennium of lives and deaths, from what was to what is, an eye-blink of time, an eternity of pain, all suspended in the wherewhen.

     Pete Gregory caught himself staring, and not for the first time that evening, at the blue and red asymmetrical dot matrix of pinpoint lights hanging from the ceiling of the hotel bar, mesmerized, almost hypnotized by their flashing rhythms as they pulsed in disharmonious synchronicity to the music.  The axions, neurons and synapses of his brain were transmitting some strange messages tonight.

     Blinking, he returned, and shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the weirdness.  Boredom, he thought.  Boredom and fatigue and frustration will do it to you every time.  As he refocused on the brandy snifter cradled in his palms, after-images of color continued to dance in front of his eyes, bouncing off the surface of the cognac.

     Pete had come to hate business trips.  Calgary and Edmonton were nice enough cities but all he ever saw of them were panoramic vistas from the corporate office towers of the oil companies.  It was a buyer's market for oil and gas-well casing and tubing these days and Pete was trying to sell.  He heard about non-conformance to specifications, about late delivery, about unacceptable quality.  Order cancellation was threatened, future business was also, legal action too. Diplomacy was one of his strong points, but even diplomats reach the point where it is all they can do to keep from telling million dollar accounts what to do and the gymnastic moves required to perform the feat.

     He was too tired by half.  And cynical.  And depressed. And burnt out.  Three more days out here and then he was flying home to Vancouver, for a week-long skiing vacation, time enough to decide whether or not it was worth his while to keep on with this hell-hole of a job.

     Springsteen sang in volumes too loud for speakers that small. Tuesday night and the bar was nearly empty, populated at this early hour by other business people like himself, relaxing in their cups.  Pete was not by nature a solitary drinker but he preferred the atmosphere of the bar to the oppressive sterility of his hotel room.  And besides, his waitress was a real looker.

     She appeared to be a little younger than his own thirty years, maybe twenty-six, maybe a little less.  He was attracted by her strong classical features and by the way her long hair was loose, falling to the middle of her back.  This bar dressed their servers in repugnant red dresses slit high up to here in the side, and low down to there in the front.  Pete felt genuinely sorry for what these women had to go through for a buck.  When Hannah?—he thought that was what her name tag read, but he couldn't be sure—brought him another drink, he smiled and over-tipped her.  Let the expense account take care of it.  She thanked him and smiled back, a cold professional smile.  And then, for a moment, she hesitated by his table, and the smile warmed.

     A table of four obnoxious, over-weight pin-striped businessmen called her away.  Pete sighed and finished his drink too quickly.  He looked, but could not see her when he left.

     After another long day on Wednesday, Pete dropped into the bar.  She was not there.  Different waitresses were working this night.  He didn't stay long.

 

 

     Hatch.  Not Hannah.  Her name was Hatch.

     Pete had come into the bar after work, desperately needing a drink.  It had been that sort of day.  That sort of day was becoming more and more common, it seemed.  He had finished his first beer quickly.  His waitress (an un-appropriate mind-set, perhaps, but that was how he thought of her) was not around.  Maybe a third beer and then he would have to find something to do.

     “Hello,” she said.

     He looked up quickly toward the voice and choked. He had not seen her come in.

     “Why, hi,” he said, stumbling on the simple words.

     “May I?” she asked.

     Wake up, Pete! “Oh, of course.  Please sit down.  Could I buy you a drink?”

     “Thanks, but I can't.  I go on duty in a few minutes.”  She glanced disdainfully at her working attire.  “I just wanted to say hi.  It's nice to see a friendly face in here.  This place is such a menagerie, at times.”

     “I can imagine.  Hatch?” he said, reading her tag.

     “That's me.”

     “Unique.  And nice.  Short for, or nickname?”

     “A bit of both,” she answered, and smiled.  “And you are…?”

     “Pete.  Pete Gregory.  It's nice to meet you.”

     “It's nice to meet you, too, Pete.”  She pushed her chair back from the table.  “I better get ready for work.”

     “Listen,” he said quickly.  “Not to be presumptuous, but would you let me buy you a drink after you finish tonight?”

     She paused and smiled a rich, heartbreaking smile.  “I would like that very much,” she said.  “Thank you.”

     He raised his glass.  “Good.  And thank you.”

     Pete commandeered a booth in the corner of the bar and Hatch served him Glenfiddich on the rocks. The day's paperwork was spread out on the table in front of him but for the first time in a long time did not dismay him.  He almost enjoyed the mindless number crunching.  And he watched her as she worked.

     He had come to the conclusion that she was more than beautiful.  She was regal.  Her walk, stance, and posture all indicated some formal training or perhaps an earlier career as a model.  It was impossible not to watch her as she moved.  This regal nature was accentuated by the ornate necklace that she wore.  He had noticed it before but now it caught his eye every time she walked by.  A yellow-gold chain, accented with gems and semi-precious stones, held a pendant medallion.  It was an old-looking design, almost Egyptian.  It must have been an heirloom, he figured.  He'd never seen anything quite like it.

     George and Lennie slipped into the booth across from him and it took him a minute to register their presence.  Straight out of OF MICE AND MEN, no doubt.  They were so totally incongruous that Pete was hard-pressed to suppress a chuckle.  George, the wily one, immediately started into his spiel.

     “Now here's a gentleman to whom we could be of service.  A young executive, striving to succeed.”

     “Excuse me?” said Pete, his chuckle fading.

     “And we can help you achieve that success,” continued George, undeterred.  “Whether it's an added burst of energy late at night to keep you on the fast track or perhaps something to allow you to relax after your latest conquest or perhaps something special for those valued leisure hours, we have what you need, don't we?”  He looked sideways at Lennie, who nodded slowly, with a malefic grin.  From the far side of the bar, Pete could see Hatch with a concerned look on her face.  She was slowly but firmly shaking her head no.  After a second, George followed Pete's gaze and frowned.

     “Sorry, fellows,” said Pete, his voice oily, icy.  “But do keep us in mind if we can be of assistance.  We're always around.”  He offered his hand, which George refused.  The two of them left the bar, George in the lead, Lennie a dutiful few steps behind.  At the door, George stopped for a moment and wagged a disapproving finger at Hatch.

     In a few minutes, she came by with a fresh Glenfiddich.  “I didn't think you were the type to be taken in by those creeps,” she said, as she put the glass in front of him, “but the stuff they sell is good only for killing rats and even rats deserve a better death.”

     “I'm pretty square in that regard,” said Pete, “but I appreciate the warning all the same.  You're not going to be in trouble because of that, are you?”

     “To be forgotten, both of them.  They sell what they are.  Ignore them.”

     Her sudden coldness surprised him a little but it passed quickly in a spread of warmth as she smiled and said, “I'm off in one hour.”

     Pete helped her into her coat at the door of the hotel.  A mixture of rain and wet snow had fallen earlier, and a cold wind had made everything slippery.  He took her arm as they headed out.

     “There's a nice place just a couple of blocks from here,” she said. “I think you'll like it.”

     “Lead on.”  They walked in silence for a few moments.  “Tell me about yourself,” he said.  “All I know is ‘Hatch'.”

     Her brow clouded, it seemed.  “Not much to tell, really.”

     “Well, where are you from?”

     She answered, “I'm a citizen of the world.”

     Pete stood on the curb and stared after that enigmatic answer as she started across the street.

     There was no doubt that the kid came around the corner too fast, the back of the car fish-tailing and the tires squealing.  Pete saw the car first and took a second to track its path.  “Hatch!” he screamed.

     She turned and saw why he had yelled.  But there was no real danger yet.  She had time to move out of the way.  And then, with utter calm…

     …she positioned herself in front of the car and turned to face it, arms at her side.

     The kid hit the brakes hard.

     The car, already swerving, hit a patch of ice and spun.  The back door on the driver's side made the initial impact. Hatch was thrown in a lazy arc through the air, her body completing one full loop before she landed. Pete heard, but did not see, her hit the pavement.  It was many moments before he could open his eyes.  The kid was reacting and she lay motionless and shapeless.  Pete's legs became unhinged and he fell to the sidewalk.

     A foot in front of him lay Hatch's necklace, torn from her neck by the collision.  Mindlessly, he picked it up and put it in his pocket.

     The police questioned him for a long time despite the almost complete lack of any worthwhile information.

     Hatch.  All he knew was Hatch.

     He got back to his hotel room about four in the morning and poured himself a stiff drink from the in-room bar.  He had not told the police that she had moved toward rather than away from the car.  It made no sense.

     The necklace was still in his pocket.  For some reason, he hadn't mentioned that either.

     There was a knock at the door.

     Pete looked toward the door blankly. After a second, the knock was repeated. Stronger. Insistent.  Surely the cops could leave him alone until morning.  Taking his drink with him, he went to the door and opened it.  Standing there in torn and bloodstained rags was Hatch.  He staggered one step backwards and fell with an audible thump.  She moved quickly into the room and closed the door behind her.  “My necklace, have you got it?” she asked with trembling voice.

     He stared up at her, mouth agape.  She asked again, imperatively. He nodded and pulled it from his pocket.  Her tension dissolved as she took it.

     “What…” he asked, as he struggled up from the floor.  “But I saw…”

     “My name,” she began, with conviction, “is Hatchepsut.  I am…”  Then she stopped as all the strength left her.  She sat on the edge of the bed fingering the necklace with reverence.  Then, most softly, “I WAS the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Lord of Two Lands, wearer of the Red and White Crowns.  I am, was, an Egyptian ‘Pharoah'.”

     “I…” he said.  Too fast, too fast, too fast.

     “Don't interrupt.  I've told no one the truth for many hundreds of years.  I was the daughter of a king of Egypt and I assumed power when the only male contender to the throne, Thutmose III, was still an infant.

     “Believe me, I would not be here if it were not for the necklace. It is all I retain from my reign of twenty years.”  She began to pace the room as memories bloomed.  “The land prospered and flourished under my leadership.  Fine monuments were built, we traded for fine ivory, gold and spices.  But I underestimated the hatred the child held toward me.  Thutmose III felt I had stolen his rightful throne and he wanted me to suffer for his humiliation.  For years, he conspired with Habusoneb, vizier and high priest of Amon, a man I trusted.  Between them they delved the depths of unholy magic.

     “He could have had me killed, but instead he condemned me to live.

     “One night, Habusoneb asked for a private audience. I granted it, suspecting nothing.

     “I remember little of that evening. Dark magic ruled.  I awoke to the laughing vindictive face of my malefactor.”

     She paused. “He had changed me.  I was changed in body and face, younger than I was, to what you see now.  He granted me perpetual reincarnation, immortality, so that I could see him obliterate my name from the land I loved.  In my changed condition I could not stop him, and could convince no one of who I really was.  I was sent out of the palace to live as a peasant in the land I once ruled.  Only through deceit and trickery did I manage to retain the symbol of reigning, the necklace.

     “I watched him destroy my temples and smash my statues.  Over time, I saw the glory of Egypt fade, and I've seen the rise and fall of many empires since.  And I survive because his magic will not let me die.  Alive, I do not live.”

     She sat back down next to him.  “Crazy, right?”

     Pete did not respond.  The tone in her voice and the look in her eyes told him she was telling the truth, or at least what she believed the truth to be.  But then, he had seen the blood.  She should be lying in the morgue, not here, telling him this story.  But she was, and there wasn't a mark on her.

     He didn't want to ask, but he had to know.  “Tonight, why…and how…?”  He left the obvious questions unasked.

     “I have probably attempted more suicides in the last few months than you have drawn breaths,” she said, simply.  “The magic that has bound me to this hell cannot be so strong that I will forever be denied peace.  But so far, I have recovered from all injury.  When I awoke an hour or so ago, I was in the hospital morgue.  Escape was relatively easy.  My absence, or disappearance, will cause little concern as I was little better than a Jane Doe.  I will eventually be listed as a bureaucratic foul-up, or the result of some grotesque joke.  Look, I shouldn't have come here, and I wouldn't have if it wasn't for the necklace.  I've said more than I should and I thank you for what you've done, but I'll be going now.”  She started for the door.

     “Why?” he asked.

     She turned back.  “Why?” she asked, incredulously.  “By the gods!  Look at me!”  He could see blood.  “For the millionth time, I've got to start over to find a new place and live a life I detest in a world where I do not belong.  Who are you to ask ‘why'?”

     “Just a friendly face in the menagerie,” said Pete.  “May I offer you that nightcap now?” 

     The anger dropped from her like a veil and she smiled sadly.

     In the morning Pete let her sleep while he did some shopping: jeans, shoes.  High fashion it wasn't, but having never bought women's clothes before, he was not about to start now.  This would at least give her something to wear now.  He stopped also at the library long enough to determine that the facts of her story were correct.  The demise of Hatchepsut still stood as an academic question mark.  Her body had never been discovered.  It should have been entombed in honor.

     He also had to decide what to do next.  He was only going to be in town for one more day.  He went to work in a fog, attended his meetings in a fog, and irritated a major customer by answering even the simplest question with a silly grin and a “Huh?”  Finally, about 1:00 he made his decision, cursed all at work, and left.  For the first time in years, he was thinking, there is something good in my life, and it's about time I dug myself out of this canyon of a rut and made some positive changes in my life.

     Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Hatch.  She's immortal and was once an Egyptian pharaoh.  Oh, and by the way, I quit my job.

     Why not?

     He drove too quickly back to the hotel.  Seize the moment, someone once said.  The DO NOT DISTURB sign was still on the doorknob.  Hatch was sitting on the edge of the bed in the clothes he had dropped off that morning.

     “Good afternoon,” he began.

     “Look, Pete,” she said hurriedly, “I appreciate what you've done to help me, but I've got to get out of this town, find a place to start over.”  She said the words in a rush, the lines obviously rehearsed.  “I know what I'm doing.  I've done it before.  It's just a matter of leaving one place and going somewhere else.”

     “Good,” Pete said, smiling.  “Let's go.”

     “Let's?”

     “How about Vancouver as a place to start over?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Look,” he said.  “There's a flight leaving in about one hour.  Vancouver is my home, and I'm planning to take a couple of weeks off to make some plans.  Why don't you come with me?  You don't have some place better to go, do you?”

     “No.”

     “Why not?  It's got to be obvious that I like you a lot, regardless of the short time I've known you.  And I'd like to have the opportunity to know you a bit better and I can't do that if you disappear to heaven knows where.”

     “Despite what I told you?”

     “I'll admit that I haven't quite absorbed all that you said, but, yes, despite all that.”

     She shook her head.  “I don't think you really understand.  You're a nice guy and all, but I'm really not the sort of person you want to get too involved with, believe me.”

     “I don't,” he said.  “Believe you, that is.  I'll take the chance.”

     She smiled at him and suddenly everything was all right.  “You're going to regret this,” she said.

     “I don't think so.”

     She looked at him for a long time.  “I've got some personal business to clear up first,” she said, finally.  Then, with concern, she said, “I don't know if I can afford the ticket.”

     “No problem,” Pete said.  “I'll buy your ticket and you pay me back sometime.  I'll trust you.”

     “You shouldn't be so trusting.  It'll backfire on you one of these days.”

     “I'll meet you at the airport.”

     Pete checked out and was at the airport in plenty of time.  He confirmed his own reservation, and then bought an additional ticket.  The ticket was to Mrs. H. Gregory.  She might not approve, but what choice did he have?

     The sky was cloudless.  It would be a glorious view flying over the Rockies.

     At ten minutes before flight time, Hatch had still not shown up and Pete was getting nervous.  The flight attendant had just announced final boarding.  In another few minutes, he was going to have to decide whether or not  she was ever planning to come with him..

     He wouldn't have to make that decision.  Hatch was running toward the gate, wearing a gorgeous white robe and carrying a small bag.  “Sorry I'm late,” she said as they boarded the plane.

     “No problem,” he said.  “You look stunning.”

     “Thank you.”

     They took their seats, she at the window, he on the aisle.  This was a 737 business flight, sparsely filled.

     No sooner were they in the air when she tapped his shoulder.  “Excuse me,” she said sweetly, “I have to powder my nose.”  She took her bag and headed for the front of the plane.

     In a moment she passed him heading the other way.  Occupied, she mouthed as she passed.  He smiled.  He could not remember being happier.

     After a few minutes, she returned.  He took her hand and together they watched the Rockies approach.

     The attendant came around offering coffee and snacks.  Pete had coffee but Hatch did not.  After the first couple of sips, however, he had to put the cup down.  His throat had suddenly tightened up to the point where he could hardly speak.  “What?” he croaked and noticed that Hatch was watching him coldly.  He could not even force his head to turn fully to see her.

     “Don't panic,” she said in a whisper.  “The paralysis is swift and total.  Death will follow in just a few minutes.”  She could see the fear in his eyes but her voice did not soften.  “I did warn you not to involve yourself with me.  But you gave me an opportunity to flee this hell that I've never had before.  Our nice friends at the bar, remember them, sold me some rather powerful tranquilizers.  Nice guys.  They don't ask any questions as long as the money is good.  I've contaminated the water supply, the coffee makers, anything I could get at with an overly concentrated dose.  I assume that everyone on board including the crew will at least have coffee, and from what I can tell,” she said, noting the uncommon quiet, “I've assumed correctly.  I don't regret killing you.  There is too much pain in me to allow for regrets.  But I do thank you for allowing me the best chance I've ever had for a final peace.  The old magic is strong, but even it cannot overcome the destructive force of a crashing jet.”

     Pete probably hadn't heard the end of her explanation.  His breathing had stopped and his eyes had begun to glaze over, frozen in shock and disbelief.

     Hatch sat back in the plush seat and watched the magnificence of the Rockies pass underneath the plane.  The power of Ra lay above.  The wide expanse of the Pacific lay ahead.  She stroked her necklace, her symbol of power, absently as she waited for the plane to run out of fuel.

     On the ground, the unsuspecting watched the doomed jet scratch a lonely line across the sky.