And What Do the Stars Say About Me?
by Sue Kite
He was bone tired; that much was evident. It didnít take a nurse or a psychic to figure that one. I studied the sleeping young man two chairs down from me in the busy Chicago airport. His chin rested on his chest, showing thick, wavy black hair, cut short in military fashion. Of course, that was evident, too. He was in military uniform, a khaki color that on first glance might have indicated Army. The insignia, the gold braid on his sleeves told me otherwise. He was Navy, fairly high ranking.
I am sure there was more than just weariness there. He looked like he might also be sick. There was some movement at the boarding counter and I turned my attention there. The flight had already been delayed for over two hours. I gazed out the window where I was gratified to note that the snow was letting up. My legs were tight and beginning to hurt. My posterior had been giving me pain messages for some time. Now I think that nether region was simply numb. Leaning forward, I stretched my arms, rotated my head and moved it from side to side to loosen my shoulders. Although my daughter kept telling me how bad it was for me, I cracked my knuckles for good measure.
It was always a crapshoot flying out of OíHare this time of year, but the lure of the grandkids out in Phillie made it all worthwhile. At least once I got thereÖ Oh, and how wonderful when I did! A year was too long to be without grandkids in my lap. Why in the world didnít I just give up and find some clerk job closer to them? Because I am better than that! I cut those thoughts before they got started and looked out the window again.
Another glance at the watchóeleven oíclock. Enough time to grab a snack? As though in agreement, my stomach growled a protest. There would be something to eat in first class, so maybe something to drink would be sufficient. On the other hand, we might be here until it was time for dinner!
There was more activity at the counter. Someone sat down between the Navy officer and me. He didnít stir.
"Flight 221 to Philadelphia will begin boarding in ten minutes. We appreciate your patience."
Thatís a beginning! Surprisingly, it was a very short time before they called first class to board. I pulled out my boarding pass and stood up. A quick glance showed that the Navy man was still asleep. Should I wake him? He was surely part of the flight. Why else put up with this crowding here? Shouldering my carry-on pack, I stepped in front of the man. "Excuse me, sir," I began tentatively. He didnít stir. I leaned forward and touched his shoulder.
He jerked as though shot, then he bit off a slight groan. His hazel eyes glanced around before settling on me.
"Iím sorry, but are you on the flight to Philadelphia?" I asked him. "You were so sound asleepÖ." I let my voice trail off.
He blinked and nodded. "Yes, thank you." He stood up like someone twice my age, picking up his briefcase. As he moved, he seemed to gather more energy, or at least he was more in control of himself. He pulled out his ticket and stood at the end of the line of those boarding first class.
For some reason, I was hoping he would be sitting near me. I berated myself for my silliness. He was a handsome, mysterious, young service man. My dad had been in the service, World War II and the Korean War. I had always liked men in uniforms. So how the heck had I ended up with Jonathan, I argued? The only good thing heíd done was to give me a wonderful son, whom he didnít get the chance to pass his bad habits to, thankfully.
As it was, I lucked out. He had a window seat and I was in the aisle seat right next to him. He grimaced as he slid his briefcase in the overhead bin and sat down heavily. As he buckled his seat belt, he seemed to notice me beside him. "Would you prefer the window seat?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I prefer aisle, if you donít mind my looking out every once in a while."
"I donít mind," he responded with a tired smile.
I felt my nurse-ly concern welling up. "Are you all right?"
"Iím fine," he returned, rather too quickly, I thought. "Just tired. It was a hard . . . mission."
Remembering the kaleidoscopic array of pictures that had whizzed by when I had touched him earlier, I didnít wonder. "Your submarine?"
He shot me a look of sudden distrust.
"You have dolphins," I hedged, gesturing toward his uniform. "My father was service."
He relaxed and nodded. "Yes, I serve on a submarine."
"You look too tall to be comfortable on a sub," I bantered as other passengers got on. This was the only time I doubted my choice of seats. I was jostled by a man too large for the aisle and then kicked by a squirming baby.
"I duck a lot, and I serve on a larger-than-normal-sized boat," he replied with a smile.
"Elana Brockman," I introduced myself, holding out a hand.
He nodded but didnít take my hand. "Forgive me if I donít reciprocate," he said. "But it would be a bit . . . awkward."
There was something wrong. I guess my concern showed.
"Not anything serious. Accident on the boat. Sore ribs."
I knew there was more than that, but I wasnít going to press someone whose name I didnít even know.
"My name is Lee Crane, by the way."
The name tickled my memory, but I couldnít place it. "Glad to meet you, uh, Commander, right?"
He looked surprised for a second, but then approving. "You werenít kidding about being familiar with the service, were you?"
"Well, I have worked in a few Navy hospitals in my day."
"Oh. How long were you in?"
"Actually, I was civilian, only there for short stints."
"Ah," was his only comment.
"What boat are you assigned to, if I may ask?"
"SSRN Seaview," he replied. She could hear the note of pride.
I knew then why the name had sounded familiar. "Seaview? Captain Crane?"
"Going home for Thanksgiving?" I asked. It appeared that the last of the passengers were boarding and the attendants were preparing for take-off.
Again he nodded. "My mother was going to come out to Santa Barbara, but she changed her mindÖ." His voice trailed off and I was left to wonder what was unsaid. He closed his eyes and settled back into the seat.
The door was sealed and one of the attendants began asking the first class passengers for their drink preferences. "Just water," I told the woman.
"Sir?" the attendant asked Captain Crane.
He shook his head, not even opening his eyes. I motioned for the woman to bring another bottled water. I gazed at my seatmate and again wondered at his condition. The attendant began her preflight safety spiel and I half paid attention. As the plane began taxiing toward the runway, I prepared myself for the takeoff. While I didnít mind flying, this and landing were the two things that made me nervous. Especially when the conditions werenít optimal. Snow had let up, but it was still windy and very cold.
"Weíll be all right," Crane said in a low voice.
My hands were gripping the armrests in a death grip. How the heck he could feel that with his eyes closed. Maybe that was why he was a sub commander. "I know. StillÖ. I guess itís habit for my body to react this way," I replied; glad to see him awake now. There was something about the man that reminded me of James. "At least itís supposed to be clear in Philadelphia."
He nodded. "Iím always tense at the beginning of a mission," he told me. "Until we make the first dive. Then everything is fine."
"A submarineís version of stage fright?"
"I guess so."
"Whatís it like being able to dive deep under the surface?" I asked.
"Itís like being free; like being caressed in the arms of a lover," he said without hesitation. His cheeks flushed. "Uh, sorry, I didnít meanÖ."
"Of course you did, Captain. From talking to other Navy men, I quickly came to the conclusion that career Navy men, those assigned to ships, always feel a special kind of affinity to their vessels. Would the idea that ships are called Ďsheí have something to do with that?"
The plane lifted off from the runway. "I suppose so," he agreed.
I handed him the water. "I took the liberty of getting some for you even though you had said no. You look as though you could use a drink."
"Thanks," he replied. He took several swallows and then pulled the tray down and set the bottle on it. "What is your field? You did say you worked in Navy hospitals."
"Yes. And in a few VA hospitals, too." I paused a moment. "I mainly worked as an RN or a Nurse Practioner, but I was trained in and have done specialized therapy."
Crane looked at me curiously and I figured what he was thinking. Why someone in my specialty moved around so much. I wasnít going to get that intimate with my life details, even if Crane had a sterling reputation. "I like the challenge of new places," was all I would venture. And it was partly true. I did like seeing the country. By this time in my life, though, I would have loved to stay somewhere long enough to empty all the boxes.
"I understand," Crane replied. "I can only guess that was part of the reason I decided I wanted to be in the Navy." He turned and coughed heavily for a moment. It took him a few heartbeats to catch his breath.
"How long have you had that cough?" I asked, concerned.
Crane frowned. "Just part of a cold. Doesnít help my sore ribs any, but Iíll be fine."
I reached over and touched his left hand. Again I saw the kaleidoscope of images. Some were soothing pictures of the sea but others were brief scenes of violence, anxiety and chaos. I was surprised at the scope of what I was seeing.
His eyes widened in surprise and locked onto mine. My fingers gripped his hand and I saw inside him. I saw the scars of healed wounds. My gaze went inward, fastening onto the laboring lungs, the aveoli struggling to gather enough oxygen to pass along to the blood capillaries. I saw the next hour, the next day, the next week. I saw cold and death. Still and rigid muscles that were silent after their arduous struggle. Why hadnít his doctor seen this? Because the captain had avoided follow-up and had allowed himself to believe he just had sore ribs, or he would get more rest after the next mission. Ignore, overcome, will the body into submission.
I felt him pull away, but I held on tightly. "Captain, you need to get to a doctor as soon as we land in Philadelphia." He pulled back again and this time I let him. "You have pneumonia."
"What? Youíre kidding me, right?"
I shook my head. "No, you have pneumonia," I repeated, wanting to impress him with the gravity of his physical condition. "And itís well developed."
He scowled and turned away from me, looking out the window. There was little to see with the clouds. "I thought you said you were a nurse," he muttered, still gazing out the window.
I saw his expression mirrored in the plexi-glass. It showed irritation, bordering on outright anger. There was that distrust again, disbelief and a desire for an explanation that was certainly beyond curiosity. I didnít doubt that any new rates under his command would quail at such an expression. "I am an RN. I have a lot of experience," I began, using the old clichťd explanations. He had turned to look directly at me, but the expression was the same. The expression didnít cow me like it might some of his subordinates. He deserved the truth. "Captain," I began again, my voice low. "I know you have experienced enough strange phenomena in your career to not be totally taken aback by my . . . by the means of my diagnosis." I hoped he wouldnít blow off my explanation like so many had over the years.
"What do you mean?" he hissed. He began coughing again and turned aside until it subsided. His breath wheezed. It wasnít apparent unless you were close. Or had seenÖ.
"I have a giftÖ. I guess you could call it that. Sometimes I think of it as a curse. Itís like I can see inside people and see what is wrong with them."
He looked dubious.
"For instance, I was able to tell you had been shot several times." I pointed to a place on his left shoulder, abdomen and side. "You have suffered more than one concussion, radiation poisoning and some form of mutating illnessÖ."
"Okay," he broke in before I could continue. He glanced around, checking to see if there was anyone eavesdropping.
I followed his gaze. Everyone seemed preoccupied with his or her own problems. That was okay with me. Some people acted as though I was some kind of witch or freak when they became aware of my Ďability.í The attendants were beginning to make their rounds to give out the prepackaged meals. What Crane said next totally threw me off.
"Which government is paying you?" His eyes were dark with suspicion. He took a deep breath without thinking and began another coughing spell. Despite his obvious physical distress, Crane gained his composure quickly.
"Iím an American citizen," I said before it dawned on me what he meant. He thinks Iím some kind of spy. I didnít know paranoia came with the territory of being a shipís captain. Then I remembered the snippets I had seen and also remembered what I had heard about Nelsonís remarkable machine. "Captain, I assure you that I am only interested in your health, not any secrets you may know. I am exactly what I said I am."
His eyes were still affixed on mine, as though trying to see inside me.
"Captain Crane, my ability is mainly in the medical realm. I see peopleís ailments. At least most of the time." I took a deep breath. "And most of the time itís not believed or welcomed." I looked away from him, disappointed. "Back three hundred years ago, I would have been burned as a witch." There was a pause you could drive a truck through. I hoped it was because he was reassessing his conclusion.
"So you are saying you can really see whatís wrong inside me? And this isnít sore ribs and a cold?"
Before I could say anything, the attendant was asking if we wanted a submarine sandwich or a chefís salad. If the situation hadnít been so serious, Iíd have laughed at the unintended pun of the menu choice. Crane shook his head. I ordered the sub. If I didnít eat it all before we got to Philadelphia, it would be a good pre-dinner snack. The young woman moved on.
If anything, Crane looked more flushed. To my relief, his eyes had lost their hardness. I shook my head. "No, Captain. Itís not sore ribs and a cold."
As though punctuating my comment, he coughed again, harder. When he had regained control, he was almost gasping for air.
I waited until he could speak normally again. "And this gift is why you change jobs so much?" he asked. "No formality. Call me Lee."
I shrugged. How could I explain my feelings about "the witch doctor" looks, the instances when disbelief led to death? How could I explain such things to someone who was used to quick obedience and straightforward decision-making? I looked over and saw that he was leaning back, eyes closed again. Again I put my hand on his wrist. He didnít pull back from the contact. For some reason, that was a comfort to me.
I closed my eyes and again saw a scene of death, but it wasnít from advanced pneumonia. It was death that blossomed across his chestóbut from the outside. I saw faces, some shocked, others sad or angry, but I couldnít figure out where it was. Somehow, though, it seemed soon. On the airplane? A hijacker? I tried to pull more from what I was seeing, but I couldnít. I opened my eyes and found Lee gazing at me, partly concerned, partly amused, and totally weary.
"More bad news?" he asked. His mouth was set in a wry smile, but his eyes showed curiosity.
"The pneumonia is serious enough. You need to see a doctor when you get to Philadelphia. You really do, Lee."
He nodded, staring out the window again. "Yeah, I guess so."
So how could I say I had seen him dying from an undetermined wound in an unknown place? I had never seen any kind of Ďvisioní like that. Never any kind of violent scenario. "Be careful when we land," I finally said.
"You did see something," he said. "What was it?"
"Are you asking me seriously? Do you believe me?"
"I am asking you seriously. I have seen too much not to. You wouldnít believe some of my experiences," he replied. "And besides, I feel like Iíd have to feel better to die, so I canít doubt your diagnosis."
I laughed, but it was hollow. "Me? The woman who can see a personís inner ailments?"
"Touchť." He didnít say anything else and didnít ask me anything else.
"It was too vague to know exactly what I saw. Iíve never seen anything like this before. Everything is related to illnessesówhatís going on inside a personís body." I hesitated and he didnít push. "At some time in the near future you will be in grave danger . . . from someone who wants to . . . kill you." Of that I was sure.
Another coughing spell and when he had finished he laid his head against the window with his eyes closed. After several minutes he spoke, "Iíll be careful."
Neither of us said anything for a while. "Have you always had this ability?" he asked.
His voice was very mellow, even with the hoarseness caused by his recent unrelenting coughing. It put me at ease. Even though I was old enough to be his mother, I found it to be a sexy voice. Actually, if the truth be told, there was more than his voice that was attractive. I felt my cheeks redden. "I could always tell when an animal was suffering, but it wasnít until I went to college that I began seeing things specifically. I usually donít see peripheral events very clearly. The focus is on the illness or injury." I remembered med school and suppressed a smile. "I really didnít need to do any dissecting in biology classes. I could see what was inside already."
Lee laid his hand on mine. It was warm and I forced my mind to concentrate on that rather than letting my focus dwell on his illness.
"Despite the drawbacks, yes, you have a wonderful gift, Elana."
"There have been a few who have felt that way, Lee, but precious few. Thank you for believing me."
"Have you thought about being a doctor?" he asked.
I ogled him. Yes, I had thought about it, had even taken some of the classes, but the skepticism had been worse. And there had been the family. In those days it was practically impossible to go to college and raise a child alone. I explained that to him and ended with, "And Iím too old now."
"Canít imagine that stopping a determined lady," he said. "Youíre old enough to tell your skeptics where to go if they say anything."
I had never thought of that. I laughed at the picture of telling some arrogant professor off. "Maybe Iíll look into it. With my son grown, I would certainly have time to study."
"I think you should. This gift shouldnít be hidden," he admonished.
A warm feeling came over me. Maybe I could do that; at least begin going in that direction. To be appreciated for what I had as well as for my experience. "You canít imagine at a relief it is to hear someone say that to me. I was thinking for a while you were going to be like so many others."
"Sorry about my paranoia and doubt earlier. Iím grouchy when Iím sick." He leaned back and closed his eyes again, although he continued the conversation. "There are excellent schools in or around Santa Barbara and you could always apply to work at the NIMR medical facility."
Nelsonís Institute? I stared at him in astonishment. "Youíre serious?"
"Indeed I am. Admiral Nelson looks and thinks well outside the box."
We talked for a short while longer and then Crane dozed off for a nap. His shortness of breath and the coughing didnít let him rest for long. I worried about his deepening illness. It seemed to be progressing rapidly. "Someone picking you up at the airport?"
He shook his head. "Rental car." He told me where his mother lived.
"My son isnít too far from Bentonville. Why donít we go together? Weíll drive you to the hospital."
"Youíre determined, arenít you?"
"All right, if for no other reason than to have more of your company."
"A deal," I replied, relieved. I had worried that he might back out of his promise to seek medical attention. The seat belt light came on and pre-landing instructions were given. We were soon on the ground. When the plane reached the gate, I jumped up and opened the overhead bin. I pulled out Leeís briefcase and handed it to him. I pulled my backpack down and moved into the aisle so he would have room to stand up. Lee thanked me and slowly stood up.
"Maybe weíd better wait until everyone leaves and then you can take your time," I suggested, moving into the vacant seat in front of where we had been sitting.
"Holidays. Everyoneís in a bit of a hurry," he concurred.
As people filed by, I asked, "You said your mother lived near Philadelphia. Is she unwell to not be able to meet you?" When he didnít say anything, I wondered if I had overstepped my bounds. "Iím sorry. I shouldnít have pried."
"No, itís just that, I, uh, Iím worried. I think there might be something wrong. She was supposed to fly out to California and when I had my mishap, she quickly suggested that we wait until Christmas. That was all right with me, but then she quit calling after having called almost every day to see how I was." He paused a moment, catching his breath. "Something didnít feel right. I decided to come out now."
"Even though you werenít entirely healed," I added.
He looked sharply at me and picked up his briefcase. He had another coughing spell. Before this one was over, he was leaning over the seat in front, gasping. An attendant watched us, her expression one of concern.
"Damn," he forced out after several minutes. He was holding his right side.
"So your mother doesnít know youíre coming," I said.
"I called before I bought my ticket but never got a response. That just validated my concern. Thatís why the rental."
"Iíll take you to a hospital."
"No, youíre here to see your grandkids," Lee protested. "I can take a cab."
"Lee, theyíll understand a little more delay. Weíve already endured more than six hours," I reminded him.
He had a lovely smile, I thought. I could only imagine what it was like when he was well. "Besides, I really should let my son and daughter-in-law know that I still have some life in this old body."
He straightened up as much as the overhead would let him and favored me with a sardonic look.
"No one has told you how handsome you are?" I teased. "Take my arm, handsome prince and letís go to the ball."
He said nothing, but did as I ordered, linking his arm in mine and taking his briefcase with his free hand. "You should meet Admiral Nelson," he said as they walked out of the airplane and onto the concourse. "And you arenít old!" We took our time walking to the terminal. "And you are sure your family wonít mind."
"Knowing my luck, Jerry will be late and weíll have to sit on our luggage for an hour." I looked up into the pale face and amended that. "If theyíre late, weíll get a taxi and I can call them from the hospital."
"Thatís too much trouble," he protested.
"No, Captain. I am a specialized nurse with an extra means of discernment. I will not allow you to get any worse."
"Thank you." The look on his face was one of resignation combined with gratitude.
We reached the end of the seemingly endless concourse. There werenít many people in the waiting area, most having already met loved ones or left to get their luggage. As I figured, Jerry wasnít there. But then he had to try to get here through rush hour traffic and with the delay of my flight out of ChicagoÖ. Still, it seemed a bit too quiet for me.
"Did you have any bags?" I asked.
"Same here." I looked around for one of those electric courtesy carts but was unable to locate one. Half the time they were making you move over in crowded places where there was little enough room to move; now there was nothing. I may have been clairvoyant, but Crane was a mind reader.
"I can walk," he told me softly.
We did, his arm still linked in mine, a little slower than I would have gone on my own and probably a lot slower than my companion would have on a good day. We made it almost to the end of the concourse before I saw one of those carts. The driver looked a little dubious at first, but one look at my companion was enough to change his mind. "Lee, if my son isnít here by the time we get our bags, Iíll call them and then Iíll get the rental car." I let him get on the cart first and then settled beside him.
"Iím really sorry about the inconvenienceÖ."
I cut him off. "Nonsense, youíve had an injury, which probably initialized the pneumonia, which has exacerbated the ribs. A vicious cycle that should be reversed in a hospital."
"What a helluva way to spend a holiday," he grumbled.
We made it to the baggage area in fairly quick order. It was obvious where all the people were. It was pandemonium. Of course it usually is. Thatís when all hell broke loose. A scream then another one and I saw a man rush toward us, a pistol just showing from an overlong jacket cuff. It was like a parody of an old grade C detective flick. It was the face of my vision.
I almost froze in my panic, but Lee grabbed my arm and tried to pull me aside. It was too late. A hundred other people were trying to get out of the way, too. Most ran to one side or the other, avoiding the man the screaming people had pointed out. A few ran in front of him, toward us. I was pulled from Leeís side. That left the gunman with a clear shot. Lee didnít try to run away, he was running toward the madman.
My previous vision coalesced into possible disaster and I couldnít let it happen. I shoved a panicked man aside, slid past a woman and was at Leeís side. I heard the pop of a gunshot. I pushed him, felt a horrid burning in my chest, felt the lava-like fire spread. The ground met me. Darkness embraced me. The voices receded although the pops continued; one, two, then silence.
I could hear a steady beeping, rhythmic whooshing of air. It blurred and then came back again. Receding and coming back. Finally the rhythms included voices. I recognized Jerryís and Melanieís. They softened and then became stronger. Soft and loud; soft and loud. I tried to open my eyes but it was too hard.
I heard Melanie. She was talking to someone. I recognized the other voice. Lee! She was talking to Lee Crane. Thank God, he was alive. I was finally able to pry my eyes open. The first face I saw was that of my daughter-in-law.
"Oh, Mom," she said, her voice expressing more emotions than I could catalog in my drugged up state.
My throat was sore so I just smiled and touched her hand. Even that was an effort.
"You had us worried."
I nodded. She talked about how wonderful it was that I was going to be all right, etc. It was good to hear her voice.
The next time I awoke, I felt good enough to respond and for a little while, I did. When I realized I was about to drift off to sleep, I asked, "How is Captain Crane." They looked at me like I was crazy. I was asleep before they said anything.
I awoke again to a painful ache that infringed on my sleep, but I was more aware of my surroundings. I wasnít in ICU anymore, thank goodness. And Lee Crane was standing by my bed, his right arm in a sling. He was also in civilian clothes.
"About time you came back to life," he said with a soft smile.
"I was worried about you."
Crane laughed, but it was interrupted by a coughing spell. It didnít sound as bad as on the plane. "Youíre a fine one to talk," he said.
Jerry and Melanie werenít around. "What happened to your arm?" I asked.
He shrugged and grimaced. "Last shot went through my upper arm. Missed the bone, thankfully. I more than made up for it, though. I flattened him. Broke his arm in the fall. Of course, he was at the bottom of a dog pile."
It was hazy around the edges, but I could picture the scene.
"Why did you take that bullet, Elana?"
I hadnít intended to, but I couldnít let Lee Crane die, either. "Lee, I saw some of what you and your crew had done on that submarine. I at least saw enough to know that you couldnít die now." I yawned. It was hard to stay awake. "Itís hard to explain, but you are important; your work for Admiral Nelson is important."
"Not enough to let someone die in my stead," he retorted.
"Yes, you are!" I replied heatedly. I felt the pain in my chest rise and I forced myself to be calm. "Not just you personally, but your submarine, crew, and . . . Admiral Nelson."
His features softened. "I am grateful for what you did, Elana. I can never repay you."
"Just take care of yourself, Lee. Thatís all."
"You have saved me twice."
"So it was pneumonia?"
He nodded. "But you already knew that. Iíve been under heavy duty antibiotics these past five days."
"Yes, I get to go home today."
"And your mother?"
"Sheís fine. My messages were intercepted after her suggestions about Christmas. It was all a setup. The guys who hired that assassin knew I would come out eventually. They just waited until I got my reservations."
It was getting harder and harder to stay awake.
"Iíll visit you," he said.
I noticed Melanie slipping into the room. "Iíd like that, Lee." I was drifting off again. I mentally cursed my weakness.
"You remind me of my mother," he said as I lost my battle. How sweet, was my last thought. He said something else, but I couldnít make it out.
Lee was as good as his word. He came for the next several days. After my discharge, he continued to visit me at my sonís place. I was surprised when he brought his CMO. Dr. Jamison was sweet, but I got the impression of someone who could be as hard as nails when he needed to be. Lee must have said something to convince him of my gift. The conversation was like a breath of fresh air after years of skepticism.
I was even more surprised when Admiral Nelson showed up. What a charming man! He was fascinated with my ability, asking me question after question.
My last surprise came when I received an employment offer from NIMR. Now I was ecstatic! My ability was now fully validated. I remember Lee saying something before he headed back to Santa Barbara. Good deeds come back around to the giver. Thank you, Lee Crane!
I wrote this story last spring/summer (2009), when I heard that NBC was canceling Medium. That was also about the time I learned that there is a real Allison DuBois, so I didnít really want to do a crossover.
I have reworked and edited this several times, even after I learned that the program was going to be carried on another network. I had always wanted to do this from the OCís point of view but decided almost 3/4ths through it to make it first person. So please feel free to let me know if I have made gafs in the pov or in any other way.
|Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea Contents Page|