Stormwatch #3

Pamela Isley snoozed her alarm for the third time in a row and rolled over, onto the unoccupied space in her bed. She sighed and rubbed it softly, patting it once. Rolling back, she stared at the leaf pattern she’d painted onto the ceiling, despite the protestations of her landlord. She huffed and swung her legs out of the bed and onto the cool floor. Winter was still here, despite her turning the thermostat up for her plants, she felt it cut through her into her bones. Although it was a cool, windy day outside, she felt the wind cut through her through the window.

She rubbed her face once, pushing her crimson hair from her eyes. Slowly, as she woke up, the feelings of anxiety and stress began to flood her. Her vision was tinted with moving shapes and hidden eyes. Her room was covered in plants, as was the entirety of her small apartment. Ferns clung to the windowsills, feet and fronds curling and spilling from both ends of the pots, small fruit trees grew towards the ceiling, fruiting bodies blooming even in the winter, in part to the thermostat, but Pamela never really understood why she had such a good green thumb.

She swore at herself under her breath and looked under the bed and inside her closet. Trying to provide facts and evidence for the logical part of her brain, while her chemical and emotional centers flared violently. Feelings that constricted her breathing into short, sharp breaths. Her lungs filling with air that never seemed to satisfy her craving for it.

She stood in front of the mirror which hung from one of the doors of her closet, reflecting a tired looking woman, with baggy eyes and half-closed lids, against a lush background of green. She smiled, at the first flower of a Daffodil. Her anxiety, welling up again filled her stomach with acid that prevented her from ever feeling comfortable or calm. She sucked in a labored breath, letting it loose again in a semi-controlled fashion before her shaking hands took her loose, crimson hair and tied it into a pony-tail, then looped it into a tight, controlled bun. She sighed again, tired already.

She stared at herself in the mirror, hands shaking at her side, while she made eye contact with her reflection. Another deep, calming breath and she whispered to herself.

“Today is another day. Today you’re going to be better. You’re not going to see things. You’re not going to worry. There is no point to worrying. You’re worth something.”

Pamela bit her lip and pulled at the skin around her thumbnail.

She turned to the mess that was her front room. Her entire apartment was open plan, filled with pots, trays, plants, and cups full of soil, herbs, flowers, trees, shrubs and bushes. Her fireplace, such as it was, a simple opening with an electric fire slammed into it, was surrounded by hardy looking Succulents and Cacti. She smiled and crouched down to touch the Venus flytrap that sat next to her bed with a quiet forefinger.

“One touch to indicate. Two touches to strike,” she said, her tone taking on a quiet ritualistic element

She left her initial touch lingering before she stood up again and headed to the shower. She checked every cupboard, every doorway and every alcove as she made her way to the bathroom. Each check revealed nothing but dust or dirt. She felt as though something was watching her. A greasy vision that slid over her body and made her feel deeply uncomfortable in her own skin.

Boiling water lashed against Pamela’s skin, and she held herself under the water, trying to wash the feeling away that clung to her skin and mind like a hardy weed. Roots digging deeper every day, until she felt that grease in the pit of her stomach, mixing with her own bile and acids. She turned off the water and, emerging from the shower, the steam filled the apartment instantly condensing the windows again. Pamela smiled and ran her finger down one, collecting the liquid on the front of her finger and rubbing it down a broadleaf on her way back to her closet. Naked amongst her plants, she felt safe, if only for a moment. Every time a leaf touched her, she felt a moment of calm. A second of confidence. She pulled her hair down and let it hang down her back. She cooed and spoke softly to her plants, as she slowly dressed, feeling her confidence wain as she clad herself in non-natural fibers. A shirt, some pants, a pair of functional heels, and a jacket. She felt the grip tighten on her stomach and her skin prickle with the cold sweat of dread, as she pulled her hair back into the bun and made her way towards the door.

Pamela started, catching a glimpse of a flat figure out of the corner of her eye. She turned quickly. An impression of a figure.

“Whoever you are,” she said, balling her fists, “This is my home. This is my safe space. Leave!”

Silence filled the apartment, save for the quiet humming of the humidifier. Pamela could have sworn she heard a gasp, but there was nobody there. She was alone.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and let out a long, drawn breath through it.

“Ok, Pam. Ok. Just…get through today. No more crazies.”

She pulled her bag from the pegs by the door and pulled on her winter jacket. Pamela turned to wave her apartment goodbye, in a ritualized fashion. Two steps towards the door, a quarter turn and wave to the entirety of the room to encapsulate all the plants within her living space. Vines draped from the ceiling, Ivy clinging to the internal brickwork and creeping through cracks in the wall and out the window frames. Palm trees, succulents, and bushes dotted the room, leaving only a dirty old sofa and a table topped with pots and soil. Paperwork was strewn across the room and Pamela made a mental note to try and tidy up when she returned home that evening.

She felt as she did every morning, the faint whisper of love or appreciation wash over her before she pulled her door open. She closed her eyes and felt that trembling bass feeling of calm spread up to her stomach from her feet, before it strangled itself in another panic attack, leaving her clinging to the doorframe. She swore, under her breath.

She looked up, feeling a new sensation prickling over her skin. A male figure, at the end of the apartment's corridor. He turned and ran, as he did almost every day. Pamela swore louder.

“I’ll gut you with my heels!” She said, clutching at her handbag.

Pamela slammed her apartment door, sucked in a final breath of air produced by living things and walked down towards the city below, reticent that her lungs would be full of pollution and surrounded, once again, by people. She felt the tiny movements inside her stomach spread, the anxiety taking root into her blood and spreading like cold, white creepers into her body, filling it with frigid, hard tension.

She stepped onto the street, gripping her bag tightly. The sensation of eyes on her slide off her skin, her eyes darting in every direction but directly ahead of her.

“Hey! Watch it,” the man says, throwing his coffee off to the left to spill over the ground instead of over himself. Pamela watches it in slow motion, as a thin, but the reasonably built man turns in anger. He shakes off his hand, some of the coffee flicking onto the floor in front of her feet. Her blood ran cold.

“Richard?” Pamela askes. The man pauses and breaks his grimace into a leering smile.

"Pamela,” he said, his voice oily with emphasis on the wrong syllables, “How nice to see you.”

Pamela felt a shudder crawl down her back, stopping to individually inspect each vertebra before it ended in her coccyx. She fought to control the movement.

“What are you doing here?” She asked. Richard was known to live on the other side of town, as he had often invited Pamela to parties, dinners and any number of other social events. He took her hand tightly in his own and shook it in a familiar manner. Pamela allowed him but offered no response.

“Oh, I…I was visiting a friend over this side of town. Our catch up ran late, so I opted to stay over and come into work from this end of town, you know how it is. Needed some coffee as well.”

He gestured to the brown puddle before them, while he unwrapped a breakfast sandwich, dropping the wrapper to the ground. Pamela eyed him suspiciously.

He took an undignified bite, sauce slapping against the corner of his lips. Wiping it away with his fingers which he eagerly took a second bite.

“Come on, we can travel to work together. Catch up.”

Pamela opened her mouth to refuse, but as they shared a lab on occasion, she offered a terse nod. They began their journey to the subway in silence, Pamela staring ahead and Richard making eager sounds while he worked his way through the remainder of his sandwich. His lips smacking and grease dripping on his already soiled tie.

Despite his obviously pathetic attempts, Pamela viewed Richard as a genuine individual at least. He wasn’t duplicitous, simply deeply out of touch with what was appropriate conversation and behavior around other humans. He didn’t have the capacity to lie or be dishonest.

“How’s work?” he asked, swallowing loudly, as they finally stood on the platform below.

"As ever, it is both interesting and a challenge,” Pamela said. Richard nodded and put his greasy hands behind his head.

“Yeah, I know that. They’ve got me working on those enzymes that break down plastics? Want to know all sorts of weird things. Can they be used on other non-natural objects? I mean, seriously? Do they not realise that everyone on the planet is a natural object, it’s just been processed by people. Right?”

Pamela nodded.

“Right.”

“Right! Well, I’ll be eager to compare my findings to yours, anyway. How’s it going with the…what’s it now?”

The doors to the train slid open and the pair stepped on. A relatively quiet morning, there were only a few other people within the carriage. Pamela sat down slowly, and Richard slid into the seat beside her. Pamela sighed and pulled her bag onto her lap.

“Modification of non-invasive crop species to be planted in contaminated lands, etc. To try and help out those who are suffering.”

Richard snorted and cracked his knuckles.

"Doubt that, Pammy.”

The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, while the train roared down a tunnel.

“Pamela,” she said, standing up as the train slowed for their stop, “It’s Pamela.”

“Pamela,” he said, rolling the word around in his mouth, “I doubt they’d give it to people who’re suffering.”

Richard had an evil little glint in his eyes.

“Nothing is for free, is it? Hmph. You’re the only real non-natural object around these offices, Pamela.”

Pamela turned to look at him, anger in her eyes.

“What’s that, Richard.”

“Compassionate,” he said, stepping off the train before her, “Nobody around here is that.”



“Wake up.”

Caitlyn slapped Maxine in the face, softly. The redhaired woman sat up with a start thrusting a flat palm into Caitlyn’s chest. The woman went flying backwards, hitting the skin wall behind her hard enough to dislodge some of the papers, and photographs Maxine had pinned to it.

“DO NOT…”

Maxine got to her feet, and stumbled to her knees. Her eyes distant and her jaw slack.

“I’m…sorry.”

Caitlyn rolled onto her front and pushed herself up stiffly. She wheezed and coughed into her fist.

“Sleep well?” she drawled.

“I’m not used to having people…I…”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn stretched awkwardly, feeling the bones in her back and hips pop, “Been alone for too long, I guess. Makes you weird.”

“Jesus,” she said, “Jesus. How long was I asleep for?”

“’Bout three hours.”

“Wow. A whole nights sleep,” Maxine said, stretching again, “I must have been tired.”

Caitlyn’s eyebrow arched upwards and she backed off from Maxine for a moment.

“We need to talk, Maxine Baker. Not just about your weird perception of what constitutes a whole nights sleep.”

Maxine stopped and turned to face Caitlyn, the corner of her lip upturned in an irrtated snarl.

“Yeah, you slept, so I went through your little board of insanity,” Caitlyn gestured behind her to the skin wall, covered in pins, wires and lines joining disparate articles and photographs. She also waved her phone in Maxine’s face.

“I also used the power of Google.”

“Maxine…” Caitlyn said, rubbing her forehead, “None of what you have makes any sense. It's hundreds of events that aren't linked. Like, you're referencing tidal charts being variable in the North Sea against Sunderland Corporations Arctic Expedition. Or the fact that you're linked a Sunderland breakthrough in Climate Change Science to Insurance rates in Pueto Rico. None of it makes sense and its written in coded language with hundreds of code words and references to Parilaiments and Colours and...to Seedlings. What is a Seedling?”

Maxine’s mouth became a thin line and she sat stock still.

“What about me?” Caitlyn asked after several minutes of silence.

“You’re from the Clear,” Maxine said, “You’re Clear.”

Caitlyn nodded and gestured for Maxine to continue. Maxine’s mouth closed again, and she looked away from Caitlyn.

“You hear terms, don’t you? You hear them used but you don’t know what it means. You don’t know what a Seedling is, what the Clear is. Maxine…You need help.”

Maxine got to her feet, a feral sway to her walk. The sound of her feet disappearing as the skin shifted to a Cats noise cancelling pads.

“I have help. You’re helping me. When we get Pamela…”

“No, you misunderstand. Psychiatric help, Maxine. Your Dad left you and your family fell apart. That is horrible but…it isn’t unique. There are people who’ve lived through this before. They can help you come to terms with…”

“My Dad DIDN’T LEAVE. HE WAS TAKEN.”

Maxine’s entire chest reverberated and filled the room with noise. A combination of a bear, elephant and whale song rang through Caitlyn knocking her to her knees, hands clamped over her ears.

“HE WAS TAKEN FROM ME BY THEM!” She thrust a finger at the skin wall, a kick of sonic energy from the Pistol Shrimp sent the wall quivering, snapping from the thrust finger, “THEM. THEY TAKE AND TAKE AND TAKE AND LEAVE US WITH NOTHING! NOTHING!” The noise shook the pins loose from the wall, sheathes of paper dislodging themselves from their moorings and scattering on the floor.

Caitlyn lifted a hand up, which bristled with Frost, the temperature of the room falling dramatically. Maxine’s breath condensed in the air and plumes of steam rose from her body. A burst of Frost coated Caitlyn, crackling up her arm and across her body, while the floor on which Maxine stood lit up with ice crystals, like a trailing aurora from Caitlyn’s body.

Maxine stopped, gathering her breath and calming herself forcibly to point to Caitlyn’s arm and huffed through frozen lips.

“That,” she said, “That is the Clear.”

***S***

“Pamela Isley?”

Pamela turned on her heels, the voices owner hidden by the ferns that covered the doorway to her Laboratory. She preferred it that way, occluding the vision of people walking down sterile halls. It gave her a small sense of security while the bile and oil in her stomach wrestled for their position in her throat. She felt sick.

A woman pushed through the fronds, standing in military fatigue trousers and a tight T-Shirt, which had a green triangle running across her shoulders ending in its point between her breasts. She stared at Pamela.

“Do I…know you?” Pamela asked. The woman shook her head and extended a hand.

“Lea Corbin. I work for Ms. Sunderland.”

Pamela cocked her head to one side and narrowed her an eye.

“We all do. This is her company.”

Lea smirked and put her hands behind her back.

“Directly.”

“I am to go with you, I suspect?” Pamela said.

Lea smirked and spread her hands out in a wide gesture through the ferns.

“You seem very familiar,” Pamela said as she allowed the ferns to brush her face, as she exited into the corridor. They whispered over her skin as she breezed through, yielding some sense of peace, while Lea followed behind her, a presence that sent her skin prickling and the roots of her anxiety twisted in her stomach.

“I have one of those faces.”

Pamela nodded and clasped her hands together in worry.

“Do you know what this is about?” Pamela asked.

Lea nodded.

“Are you going to tell me?” Pamela asked again.

Lea smiled and opened the door to a hallway of to the side of the main corridor. At the end of the hallway, stood in front of a secure elevator was a tall blonde woman in a purple business suit. She was reading something on her phone and looked up briefly when the doors opened.

“One moment,” she said, clicking her phone a few times before replacing it in her pocket.

“Doctor Pamela Isley?” she asked, walking down the corridor. Pamela nodded and walked towards the woman who she recognised now as Constance Sunderland, with Corbin to her side.

“Pleasure to meet you. I am a big fan of your work,” Constance said. She gestured back down the corridor to the elevator, “Particularly enjoyed your Thesis actually, regarding hypothesis that plants can indeed feel pain.”

Pamela arched an eyebrow and stole a look at Corbin, who smirked, opening the doors to the elevator.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Sunderland?” Pamela asked. Sunderland smirked and stepped into the elevator.

“Very direct. Always appreciated. I believe you are the target of someone who wishes not just my company direct harm, but also poses a large risk to your personal safety. A young woman whom is deeply mentally disturbed, who believes that we are responsible for the loss of her Father.”

Pamela sucked in a breath. Relief and validation shook through her.

“Has…she been watching me?”

Sunderland nodded once with a grim expression.

Pamela sagged with relief, leaning against the wall of the elevator. Corbin put a hand on Pamela’s shoulder and pulled her upright.

“I’m sorry…It’s just…I have been feeling…”

“As though there is someone watching you? Yes, it was Maxine Baker. Very troubled woman. She is responsible for some damage to my personal property and employees, as well as having kidnapped one of our lab techs. You’re aware of Caitlyn Snow?”

Pamela nodded. A Young woman, reasonably competent but with no ability to handle or understand plant life.

“We’ve met once before. Nice girl.”

Sunderland pursed her lips. Pamela didn't like that expression at all, and something about the standoffish body language of Constance made her feel uneasy.

“Yes,” she said, “Yes, she’s a nice girl. At any rate, Dr Isley, I’d like to extend some protective custody to yourself.”

The doors to the elevator opened, revealing a large section of underground, interconnective rooms. The walls were bleak concrete constructions, with artifical lights and white paint thrown on them with abandon. It was featureless and industrial. Down the corridor stood a large man, who appeared to be made of a gelatinous fluid. He was semi-transparent, save for the constant trail of bubbles rising through his body and popping against the membrane that was his surface. He held up a bleeding man whom was dripping black liquid onto the floor, which left a trail that Pamela stepped over.

“…. Absolute fucking travesty, Glob. They’re letting any old bloody Seedling get away with this shit these days. Not like the 90’s, right, mate?”

The Gelatinous lump gurgled, and the Englishman laughed, as he was dragged around the corner.

“Too fucking right, that!

Pamela shot a look at Sunderland. The business woman maintained an air of professionalism considering the language and loud nature of the exchange.

“What was that?”

Sunderland smiled, although through gritted teeth.

“Pamela, you must understand, the world is changing a great deal. We employ certain people…additional skill sets and life experience. I want this company to represent everything the Earth has to offer, and I need as many different view points as possible to do that. Take your experiment for example…”

“Yes?” Pamela asked, confused by the tone and direction of the conversation. She was feeling leery and faint from the lights and the bright, featureless walls.

“When you deduced that pain receptors in plants may exist, how did that make you feel? Did you consider there are more potential anthropomorphic elements to Plant communities?”

Pamela cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were going to ask me about my on-going research. Not my previous work, which in all honesty, had me almost thrown out of University. I was young and idealistic – I believed, stupidly that plants might have lives akin to our own. Communications, feeling pain, perhaps even a rudimentary consciousness.”

Sunderland nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“Flights of fancy, Ms. Sunderland. Plants are plants. There is no underlying consciousness to them, no anthropomorphic elements. No morphogenetic expansion. They’re just simple, living things. To anthropomorphise Plants, Animals, even elements themselves is not just bad science, it shows a limited understanding of the world.”

Sunderland nodded once more and looked at Corbin.

“Perhaps, yes, but your research intrigued me, Pamela. You have a unique outlook and I’d like to hear more of your thoughts…flights of fancy or not.”

Pamela shifted in her shoes and looked back at the elevator.

“I’d really like to strongly suggest that you stay down here for a few days, Pamela. While the authorities deal with Maxine Baker. She will be brought to justice and you will be made safe again.”

“But my plants…” she said, weakly. Sunderland took hold of her arm, rougher than necessary and began to guide her down a corridor.

“So, you no longer believe your original theories?”

Pamela stood still, feeling that greasy swell of anxiety build again. Eyes on her, all over. From Sunderland, Corbin. She knew she was on Camera. She felt…worse than before, despite the relief of knowing that Maxine Baker was the stalker.

“Ms. Sunderland, they were follies of youth and I no longer subscribe to any of them. I really do wish I could move past it and would prefer not to discuss it further.”

Sunderland inclined her head towards Pamela, and then to Corbin.

“Of course, of course. One last thing…Do you know what a Seedling is?”

Pamela turned sharply, sweat beading on her forehead. She knew that term exceptionally well.

“Yes, it is a juvenile plant.”

Sunderland sighed and let her eyes close.

“Any other meanings?” she continued. Her grip on Pamela’s arm tight, their faces exceptionally close. Sunderland reached out and touched Pamela’s forehead with the back of her hand.

“You feel most warm, you poor thing. I am sorry. You’ve had quite a shock. Please, Lea will show you to your temporary accommodation. You have my personal line in there, and Lea will bring you whatever you desire. If you, however, think of anything else…Please, contact me. I’m very interested in your experience.”

Sunderland gave half a nod to Corbin, who took Pamela’s arm and led her down a long, white corridor. She lifted her hand and examined the back of it, where it had touched Pamela’s forehead. It was beaded with tiny, amber droplets. Dragging her finger across her palm, she touched it to her nose softly and smiled.

“Sap,” she said to herself, “Oh, Dr. Isley. You know FAR more than you’re letting on.”

***S***

Maxine and Caitlyn stood in silence. The alleyway around them was filled with detritus and smelt of mold and damp. Caitlyn said nothing and stared at the back of Maxine's head. Ever since she had manifest her abilities within Maxine's creepy camp, she had felt at a loss for words, and simply followed Maxine back to the Sunderland Corporation offices.

"Pamela is inside there, I know it. I can feel it. There's a way we can get inside."

Caitlyn nodded once and felt overwhelmed. She could feel, just outside of her perception, shapes moving. Huge leviathans shifting in seismic bouts above and below her. Grey entities, the size of buildings slowly, galacially shifting and travelling around her. She looked at Maxine and she felt so small, microscopic compared to the grey things moving within her peripherals, within her.

"How?" Caitlyn asked.

"The Warehouse," Maxine said, "I know how to break into the Warehouse. Then we'll rescue Pamela, and we will find the truth. Find out what they did to Dad. Find out everything."

Maxine's voice went far away, and Caitlyn wondered if they were simply racing to their deaths.

Something shifted underneath her again, something so huge she could barely see the edge of it. Something touched her, ice cold and powerful, like a crashing wave of energy.

[CAITLYN]

"What?" Caitlyn said, turning. The roaring in her ears made her head throb and her eyes sore. "Did you..?"

Maxine turned to face her and closed her eyes, sniffing the air.

"What is it? I can smell Salt Water. Is that you?" she asked. Caitlyn's eyes were wide, she felt spray on the back of her neck, but when she touched her skin it was dry.

"I can...feel something moving around me," Caitlyn said, "Something huge."

Maxine nodded once and took hold of Caitlyn by the shoulders.

"Caitlyn, come back," Maxine said, "I've been where you are. I have seen huge things moving around me. Moving through me and past me. Things you can't even begin to understand. Monsters. The height of two Elephants made from horns and teeth and fur. Creatures made from the parts of others that shouldn't go together. Faces made from Feathers and Fur made from Eyes. Caitlyn. What is it?"

Caitlyn's eyes focused back onto Maxine and she lost the strength in her legs. She fell forwards, grabbing onto Maxine's shoulders.

"They were huge," she said, holding on to Maxine's tightly, "Huge. So big I couldn't...I couldn't see them. They're just so vast. The size of..."

Maxine held Caitlyn tightly, rubbing a hand through her short cropped hair.

"It's OK," Maxine said, "It's OK. It is the world opening up to you. The Clear. It's the Clear."

"But it isnt," Caitlyn said, "Nothing is clear. It's only more confusing. Maxine...What have you done to me? I don't want this."

Maxine huffed out a sigh and pulled her tighter.

"Nobody does, Caitlyn. Nobody does."