Eternal Heat

Chapter 1 Jillian Graves always wakes at eleven in the morning, nestled in her bayside condo, with twilight curtains to block the morning sun at both its source and the reflection off of the water. She wakes up naturally, like her body is in sync with nature. Besides the fact she hosts a vastly popular, syndicated radio talk show late at night, she wakes at this same time every day, without an alarm. Often, she will contemplate the self-indulgence of device-enhanced m**********n. Regardless, she will still be half-asleep while engaging her coffee maker to coax eye-opening libation from it, first thing every morning. This morning is auspiciously different. She instinctively knows something really big has changed in her world and sets about getting to the bottom of it. Bolting to sit upright in her bed, she quickly draws her smart phone from the bedside table. Sliding a finger across its face, she stares at it with her blue eyes in disbelief at the twelve forty-five display and wrangles out from under the covers to her feet, heading to the kitchen. Once there, she checks the time on her coffeemaker against that of the microwave. They show the same quarter of one. But the light coming in her kitchen window, which overlooks her expansive patio, is right in line for eleven o’clock, her usual waking time. Forgetting all about coffee this morning, she heads out to her typical second stop upon waking, the luxurious piazza with European- inspired furnishings. All is in place, undisturbed but again the shadows are all wrong for the time posted by her kitchen appliances and her phone. In fact, the angles of light and dark are exactly the way they would be had she not overslept. The wave of panic that shoots through her body makes her gasp out loud and she intuitively covers her mouth with one hand. Immediate implications are paralyzing. She wrestles with the physical evidence before her. Surely the sun could not have stopped moving and she is just remembering the shadows erroneously. Of course, it has to be an error in judgment because if it were true then the entire world would be on the cusp of an extinction event. Subsequently, she knows this thinking is wrong. Her natural instincts tell her the aberration is real and time is short. Smart phone still in her hand, she sets to calling the most rational man she knows, and speaks into it, “Call Dad.” “’lo,” the comforting voice on the other end sings out after four rings. “Daddy, something’s terribly wrong!” Jillian tries to keep her composure, but it was her dad on the phone and she is frightened. “I know it is, pumpkin. You’re living and working in the city. Done cast off your country roots, you might say,” he speaks then mumbles an affirmation to himself, always hopeful of her return home but does not miss his little girl’s tone. “But seriously, are you okay?” “No, Dad. The sun, it’s all wrong.” She swallows, trying gallantly not to panic. “What do you mean the sun is all wrong?” Knowing of his daughter’s innate sense of nature, he gives credence to her alarm and to her words without question. “It’s pushing one o’clock but the shadows on my patio look like eleven in the morning. And I’m just now waking up. I always wake at eleven, you know this.” “You mean the shadows on that great big, honking porch?” He attempts levity. “Yes, that great big honking porch you like so well,” she catches her breath and runs her fingers through her long, blonde hair similar to a lion’s mane. “Daddy, is anything strange happening on the ranch?” Silence, then the man of forty-eight years clears his throat, “A-hmm. Now that you mention it, the horses are out of sorts today. Every last one of them, even Blaze the mule, came in from the fields and are in their stalls. That, and the dog’s kind of extra clingy today, but Bascom is always under foot.” From his venue on the tractor, which he had turned off when his phone vibrated, he turns sideways in his seat to take a look back in the direction of the barn although it’s out of sight, adding, “The horses weren’t asleep the last time I checked on ‘em. Just acting odd is all.” She had been listening attentively, but now redirects the discussion, “Daddy, I know, go look at the sundial I gave you last Father’s Day, the one outside Mamma’s garden. And say hello from me to Bascom.” Without objection, he trots over to his ATV parked nearby, scrubs the ears of the maple syrup colored Labrador Retriever nearly asleep in the passenger seat and hollers, “Jillian says hello, boy. Hold on.” He turns the key that was left, as always, in the ignition, guns a little gas through the motor then wheels toward the main house. The noted sundial is in the back yard, near the entrance to Katy’s garden. Inside a minute, he is on the ground and walks up to the seven-foot-high Gothic sculpture. Drawing near, but mindful to not let his shadow fall on the ground level dial, he observes where the shadow from the high, vertical needle strikes the scale. XI. The sun is still at eleven am. Waves of practical explanations and possible courses of action sweep over him like a zephyr. “You there, Pumpkin?” “Yes, Daddy. What does it say?” she exclaims, a victim of building anxiety over the past minute. “It says eleven o’clock! How is this possible? It’s almost one, like you said.” He checks his watch. Ideas begin to race through his mind and he doubts his own spoken words. Eventually, Jillian breaks the flustered quiet by speaking in vacant thoughts, “I best be getting on in to work. There’ll be lots to do.” “Do us both a favor, Jillian,” he rarely uses her given name. “Don’t let things get too crazy in San Francisco before you hightail it back home. I feel like things are going to get bad, real bad, with people panicking and all. You always have a place here at home. We’ll take good care of each other.” She did not object to his invitation, so surreal this time because she feels it, too. A gnawing, free-falling sensation growing in the pit of her stomach, telling her that things are about to go to hell in a handbasket real soon. Suddenly, she is so taken by fear that she doubts her instinct to immediately go in early to the radio station or whether to go in at all. But she is not going to tell her father this because she likes to be seen as strong in his eyes. Since her mother’s death, due to cancer, she had been so strong and had stayed with her dad for a month after the funeral. That was three years ago and she still fights the heart strings that pull her back home to help out. But now it is different. Now she wants to go home. “Daddy, I think I’m going to accept your offer, come out to the farm for a few days, at least until this thing blows over.” Though spoken, she has little faith that this phenomenon will end so easily. Her sensitivities are screaming in alarm. “That’s great! But what about your job at the station?” She didn’t have to think it through as that contingency had been covered, informing him, “It was already worked out before this. Vince had said I could work remotely if I ever need to, so...” “You make it sound like I’ll be seeing you later today,” he remains excited. “I just have to go to the station and pick up some equipment. As luck has it, I filled my gas tank yesterday. I should be there by the close of business, that’s five for you country folk.” She knows her daddy is smiling on the other end as city dwellers versus country folk is their favorite go-to for family jokes. “It’s going to be great seeing you. You be careful now, hear?” “I will. Daddy, I love you!” She swipes the phone off and thinks for a precious moment. The thought of going home coalesces all her random emotions and gives her purpose. She knows that, in the very least, she can make it that far. “Call Vince,” she says to her smart phone and heads inside, so strangely aware that the sun has not moved in the sky for two hours. She locks the sliding glass doors for the first time in years and heads to the bedroom. She pulls a pre-packed overnight bag from the bottom of her closet, then deals with a large suitcase, the kind with coaster wheels for tooling around airports and such. “There won’t be any use for wheels where I’m going,” she says aloud to keep her thoughts well centered while packing the suitcase. “Jillian?” “Vince, yeah, it’s me,” she says then places the phone on the edge of the dresser after enabling the speaker app. “Remember when we talked about me working remotely, from my father’s ranch?” “Yeah, it’s kind of sudden, though. Say, you’re not due in for four hours. Why do I get the impression you’re on the way?” “Because you need to quit dwelling on me and find a girl who’ll date you, is why.” “At least give me five minutes alone in the closet, hmm?” “Not even, but how about I’ll tell you I’m naked right now?” she says in a huff from changing her clothes while packing her other clothes and shoes into the large suitcase. “Just have my laptop packed up and don’t forget the WiFi dongle this time. I’ll be getting that and the sound bag, then adios!” “There’s something you’re not telling me, Jillian. Is your dad alright?” “Yeah, Dad’s fine. I’ll explain it to you in a few minutes. I’m already on my way out the door. And you missed your chance, I’m fully dressed again! But you should have seen me. I’m drop dead gorgeous in the buff.” Swipes off. She secures an energy drink from the fridge before heading out, slips it into the over-sized pocket of her khaki shorts, and also locks the deadbolt not really knowing why. If things truly get out of hand then locks won’t stop crazed people. Managing her overnight bag and the luggage into the rear of her Cadillac Escalade, she pulls the energy drink out of her pocket, slips her lithe form into the driver’s seat, runs fingers through her silky blonde, back-length hair. Realizing as she looks into the rear view mirror that she had fallen asleep without cleansing her face and has a little of the makeup she’d wore yesterday. No time. A few quick, cleansing breaths to even out her nerves, she ignites the powerful eight-cylinder engine then it’s off to the radio station. No worries. It’s only five blocks away. Upon pulling in to park, she begins to work the GPS buttons as it had been displaying an ‘acquiring satellites’ notification her entire little trip. She pauses a moment to think about geocentric orbits. Realizing all such satellites must have kept speeding along in their trajectories, she shakes her head concerning all the modern facets of life now affected by the event. Nationwide satellite communications, a lot of television broadcasting, civilian and military GPS, On Star and stock market trading just to name a few, but especially GPS because so many services are linked to it. Cell phones could be okay but it would be her dad or Emma, the KSSX station engineer, who might know for sure. Before she can even think about leaving, there is someone she has to see. Despite the phenomena of the sun dangling in the balance, perhaps this occasion can be used to enact a little plan she has been cooking up for some time. She is hanging over Emma Stone’s cubicle wall and looking down upon the lady’s cleavage. She functions as the radio station chief engineer, a fancy title with a modest amount of communications technology. Emma came to KSSX radio after an exhaustive search for a job after college and radio proved to be her saving grace amidst an ocean of student loans. While here for the past eight years, she’d performed her day job then enjoyed the night life of San Francisco. Nothing new as that girl and modesty are apparently worlds apart. Yet undetected, Jillian pulls a pushpin out of the wall on her side and attempts a slam dunk into that deep triangle formed by her blouse and two nice boobs.