Bridget loved those typical days. She enjoyed knowing everything was well, nothing was amiss in her life. No one she cared about seemed in pain, nothing went wrong, nothing was overwhelming. She enjoyed going to sleep after those days, knowing that she survived yet another day as a teenager and would be able to try it all again the next morning. She loved the simplicity of it. She loved the normalcy.
Yet, at the same time, a typical day was only typical in the eye of the beholder. Deep down, Bridget knew that what she viewed as a typical day was far different than that of others.
“Bridget, for the last time, get your butt down here!”
Her mother, Stacy Smith; just getting into the swing of middle age, she was always on the move. She attended a huge amount of fundraisers, activities, clubs and volunteer jobs around their small Michigan town called Orca. Bridget could remember, when she was still playing soccer, having to put up with her mother as her coach. Mrs. Smith was known to almost every child in Bridget’s class. She was the kind of mom some kids dreamed of having. To Bridget, she was just mom, who demanded general perfection and punctuality.
"Coming!” Bridget roared back, sitting up violently in her bed.
She stopped momentarily, as if realizing something unsettling. Although her mother always greeted her as a wake-up call, Bridget relied on her alarm--her special alarm--to wake her up every morning. This morning, it had not greeted her. The bedside clock read seven in the morning. Actually, six fifty-nine. She was one minute early. A lazy grin appeared on her face. "No wonder."
It was no wonder. She gently tossed aside the blankets and stretched as she simultaneously swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was, unfortunately, not a morning person unlike her brother Charlie. It took her a lot of effort to get fully functional in the morning. This morning, her mind was unusually wide--awake, however. She stood and walked over to her drawers to get changed.
“Good morning,” she said absentmindedly , pulling a drawer open and fishing out a turquoise top.
For anyone besides Bridget herself, the disembodied voice that seemed to reply to her comment would have made them jump right out of their skins. “Good morning.”
The voice was flat. The tone made it impossible to tell anything about it, save that it was a male. There was also a cold undertone that was almost unnoticeable. To anyone besides Bridget, they would have shivered at the freezing voice, a cruel glint hidden within it.
“I admit, you got me good. When mom started calling and you didn’t, I figured you had grown legs and finally walked on outta here,” Bridget said. There was a smile on her face as she held up the shirt to her chest.
The voice snorted in disdain. “It was your mother made the error. I would have been on time with my announcement. If you learned to keep time adequately yourself, you would not need either of us to wake you every morning,” it sneered.
Bridget did not seem insulted at its tone. “Not all of us have internal clocks that are accurate down to the nanosecond. Besides, I could always set my alarm clock like a totally normal person would,” she countered. She frowned at her choice in the shirt. “Whadda you think?”
“What do I think about what?”
“My shirt. Should I wear this one or the pink one?” She held up the edge of another shirt, a pink sleeveless.
“I do not know nor do I care about your physical appearance, Bridget.”
“You’re useless,” Bridget muttered. She sighed and began to pull off her current top, resigned to the blue blouse. “Cover your eyes.”
Her tone was teasing. The voice did not laugh and its silence seemed to hint at its annoyance. Bridget changed quickly, knowing her mother would start yelling soon. As she pulled on her socks, she looked at the black and silver box on the overhanging bookshelf.
It was a beat up old thing; its sides might have been painted black a decade ago, but it was faded and worn now. Anyone with even minimal computer knowledge would know that the box had been part of some sort of machine. Dials, buttons, broken lights—it looked like something out of a futuristic setting, even if it was a tad dusty. On its sides and back, wires stuck out oddly. There was a single black cord that ran from the base of the box down to an outlet. It did not seem to fit the box at all.
“Okay, I have a feeling Old Strathmore is going to pull a quiz on us today,” Bridget announced, looking away from the box. “Hit me.”
“I have no limbs to strike you with,” the voice replied coolly.
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Quiz me, dummy!” she chided.
“If f multiplied by x equals x multiplied by x minus one multiplied by x minus four, what are the possible values of x, where f multiplied by x is lesser than zero?”
A sour silence passed over the room. Bridget glowered at the box. “You are an evil, evil person, Karr,” she grumbled.
“You should be able to compute a problem of that degree by now,” Karr replied mercilessly.
“Yeah, if I had some paper and a pencil!”
“BRIDGET!” screeched her mother.
Bridget whirled around towards the door. “I’M COMING!” She snapped her neck up at the box and scowled. “We’re not up to Trig yet, Karr. That’s next semester.”
“Understood.” If she knew any better, she swore she heard a smirk in his voice. “What is two plus two?”
“Four!” she shouted back, thoroughly insulted. She heard her mother shout something unfriendly from downstairs and sighed. “Ugh, whatever! Thanks for the help.” She ended on a sarcastic note.
“You’re welcome,” replied Karr, his wicked voice surprisingly smug.
Rolling her eyes, Bridget muttered unfriendly things and gathered up her school bag that hung at her desk’s side. She looked herself over once more in the full mirror on her closet’s door.
“I’ll see you at three,” she said, glancing up at the box out of instinct.
The voice said nothing. Bridget could not help but smile.
“Stay outta trouble,” she added teasingly. Karr said nothing again in his usual way. Bridget shook her head and left the room.
&&&&
There was nothing more beautiful than the California skyline in the morning. Cloud cover did not seem to exist in this paradise. The beaches were already packed at ten, but if one knew where to look, there were quiet areas alongside the water where one could enjoy peace, serenity and solitude.
“This is the life,” commented one of those lucky few that sat on the deserted edge of sandy beach. Sunglasses perched over his eyes, the man leaned back into his reclining chair, content.
A few yards away, the beach abruptly ended and became a parking lot. The black asphalt was covered in sand, but it was safe enough to park cars there. There was only one vehicle there, however. A black TransAm gleamed innocently in the sunlight.
The man in the chair glanced backwards at the car, undoubtedly his own. He grinned lazily. “Hey, buddy, why don’t you come on out here? It’s boring up there.”
“I am perfectly fine up here, Michael,” replied a calm, intelligent voice. It originated from the car itself.
“What, afraid of getting sand on your tires?”
“No, I’d just rather not sit in the middle of all that radiating heat,” the car replied dryly.
Michael sat up slightly, eyeing the car with scrutiny. “Are you afraid of skin cancer?”
“I cannot contract that, Michael, but you know you can.”
Grinning, Michael Knight shook his head. “Learn to relax, Kitt,” he said, turning back around in his chair. “We’re on vacation!”
Indeed. For the first time that year, Michael Knight had finally gotten Kitt to turn off his radio and drive down to the beach with the intent of staying for a week—a whole week of sitting around, doing nothing, not saving the day and just relaxing. Michael had not looked into employee benefits when he joined FLAG (mostly because he didn’t have the chance to) all those years ago but he managed to get Devon to agree with him: he and Kitt deserved time off. They received two weeks of vacation time each year and Michael planned on using each day to the fullest.
“That may be,” countered Kitt. “But I still don’t know why you insist on just laying around. What if Devon or Bonnie need us for something?”
“Then they can call our hotel like normal people,” countered Michael. He shifted the sunglasses, settling into the chair. “Buddy, relax. We’ve been doing this for almost nine years now. You know I make Devon give us two weeks every year. You didn’t complain last time.”
“Last time included us staying in that cabin in the mountains with open radio contact,” corrected Kitt. “It was much safer and less wasted.”
“Yeah, but then we got that urgent call,” Michael replied, sarcastic. “And had to give up those two weeks to save four mountain climbers.”
Kitt sighed, which was an amusing thing for a car to do. “It was an urgent call. It’s exactly why I feel we should leave the contact line open. Just in case.”
“Oh, come on, Kitt. After working all year long, can’t you agree a little time off is good?”
“You make it sound like we’re working around the clock,” Kitt said. There was an audible frown in his voice. “There are many times we can relax at home, without having to waste four to five hours at a time on a deserted stretch of sand.”
“But the view is nice,” Michael countered, gesturing at the ocean in front of them.
Kitt did not reply. Michael laughed, knowing his partner was annoyed.
“I’m kidding, buddy,” he sighed, sitting up. He stretched slowly. “Okay. We can leave the line open. But don’t expect me to answer.”
“Thank you, Michael,” the car replied, lightly sarcastic. His whole form seemed to shift as he sighed again. “I do admit, it is nice to be able to relax.”
“Now you get it!” Michael cried, laughing. He set his sunglasses back on his face and grinned. “Days like these are rare and gr—”
A soft dinging sound suddenly interrupted him and seemed completely out of place in the scenery. Michael sat up slowly, turning around in his seat to stare blankly at Kitt. The said TransAm sat in innocent silence as the unpleasant dinging continued.
“Is that the phone line?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Kitt replied calmly.
The outraged look on Michael’s face made the AI chuckle at his friend’s expense. Michael groaned and sank low in his beach chair.
"How?” he moaned. “How did they know to call now?”
Kitt chuckled again and said, “I don’t know, Michael. In any case, it’s Bonnie.”
“That didn’t improve my mood,” Michael muttered darkly.
If he had eyes, Kitt would have rolled them at his driver. Instead, he silenced the obnoxious ringing by answering the phone.
“Yes, Bonnie?”
The familiar voice of Dr. Bonnie Barstow filled the air, as Kitt had put the call on speaker for Michael’s sake. “Hello, Kitt,” she said cheerfully. “I was beginning to think there had been some trouble!”
“Why would there be any trouble?” Kitt asked.
“I’ve been trying to call you guys for the last half hour and you weren’t picking up.”
Michael snorted and muttered something sarcastic. Kitt knew that his friend valued his vacation time dearly and continued to handle the speaking.
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, not really,” Bonnie replied. She paused. “Devon wants to talk with Michael and you.”
“We’re busy!” Michael shouted from his spot.
“What for, Bonnie?” Kitt cut in.
Bonnie sighed. “I have no idea. He mumbled something about the Board, but didn’t say much else. I suppose it’s nothing that urgent if he hasn’t made a big fuss about it.” She sounded tired.
“Tell him we’ll call later,” Michael interjected.
“Alright,” Bonnie replied. She tsked. “I should have known not to call, huh? Not on your special days.”
“Yeah,” replied Michael dryly.
Bonnie sighed. “How have you managed to stand him this long, Kitt?” she asked the car.
Kitt chuckled. “I managed.”
“Hey!” cried Michael, insulted.
“In any case,” Bonnie began.“I’ll leave you two to your vacation. Lord knows you deserve it. Just get back to Devon sometime soon, okay?”
“I’ll make sure we do in the next few days. Stay well, Bonnie.”
“You too, Kitt. Bye, Michael.”
“Goodbye,” Michael muttered.
Kitt would have shaken his head in exasperation as the call ended.
“If she thinks I’m going to drop my plans for work, she better think again,” Michael muttered, settling back into his chair.
“I thought you said we didn’t have any plans.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean!”
“What exactly are we going to do, then?” Kitt asked.
“We, my friend, are going to enjoy this beautiful weather and make ever minute here count,” replied his driver. “Whatever Devon has to tell us can wait a few hours until we head back to the hotel, right?”
“Hopefully,” the car mumbled darkly.
“To summer and relaxation, then,” Michael said as he grinned and held up his beer. “Cheers!”
Kitt made a condescending sound and muttered, “Joy.”