**A very fictional tale**
As usual, Isabella took great care negotiating the portal leap. She was all too aware that despite her “abilities,” gravity did not play favorites.
First, she gave herself as much runway as possible as she attempted her routine leap off the edge of Portugal’s Hotel des Congrèe rooftop, across the nine hundred meters gap to the stone mansion that once was a World War II secret training school for code-breakers (also known as the crypt).
Nestled between two ultra-modern seventeen-story apartment buildings, the crypt‘s three-story ancient stone walls stood proudly.
Then, racing beyond lightspeed, Isabella launched herself into the portal between reality and the abyss at the edge of darkness. There, every color of the light spectrum became visible to her. In that place, Isabella traveled on a floating infinity mirror that channeled an innumerable company of rainbows encamped around her on all sides keeping her feet from the edge of the invisible darkness of the eternal abyss.
As spectacular as the veil between the known reality and the abyss seemed it was no place for a human to remain for too long. Each time Isabella used this angelic gift of “travel” she knew she had only nine seconds (that is, the time it takes for a thought to register as an emotion), and no more.
Lunging her six-foot (1.85m) frame off the hotel rooftop Isabella jumped through space arriving on the mansion’s rooftop, landing comfortably on all fours.
Isabella strolled to the bronze door of the mansion rooftop (the crypt) and slapped her palm on the access panel.
Leaning her face closer to the door’s voice and retina authentication panel Isabel whispered her assigned code:
“Volta do mar.”
The clang of the well-oiled 17th-century lock on the mansion rooftop door slid the five-ton door ajar a mere seven centimeters. That was all the space that Isabella needed to engulf her body inside her own shadow and “fly” through the door opening.
The effect of the human form engulfing its own shadow was like a swath of silk fabric in the breeze suddenly bathed in light…which to the untrained eye, could appear as…an angel’s wing.
As she stepped over the crypt‘s ancient threshold, Isabella heard an unfamiliar voice…
“Hey, Peter are you comin’ over for tonight’s Man U. game on the tele? It’s my turn to pick up the fish and chips from The Duke of York.”
After a short pause, Isabella heard the voice again…
“What was that?… Bloody hell, it’s none of ye business where me calling from, you wanker. It’s your turn to bring the beers. Cheers, old friend. See you in a bit.”
Isabella listened wincing with embarrassment at the sound of paper rustling. Then came the sounds of a toilet flush. Followed by the distinctive sound of a zipper. Shortly thereafter, the stall door a few doors away from Isabella’s position swung on its hinges creaking as footsteps shuffled out of earshot.
More environmental sounds leaped to Isabella’s ears. Several male voices mingled with squeaking taps apparently opening and closing. Loud short blasts from automatic hand dryers punctuated the indistinct chatter and shuffling feet.
“No, no, no, no!” Isabella whispered to herself.
Gingerly, Isabella stood motionless. She took in her surroundings moving only her eye muscles. To her dismay, she discovered she was standing on a toilet seat inside a washroom stall!
The washroom stall’s walls were royal navy blue fiberglass-reinforced polyester (FRP). The door was slightly ajar. Isabella crept, tiptoeing off the toilet seat, and reached for the latch. She locked the stall’s door as softly as she could, with her still inside. Breathing softly, she quickly gathered her thoughts.
Feverishly, Isabella reasoned that, from the sounds and the cellphone conversation she had just overhead, obviously, she was not inside the crypt nor, in Trindade, Portugal anymore…!
Then she heard several more muffled voices and squeaking taps. She decided to make a break for it…
Isabella strolled out of the stall like she owned the place. She sauntered and swaggered up to the wash basin in between two men.
“Hello, Gentlemen!” said Isabella, beaming a smile.
Undaunted, Isabella leisurely peered into the over-the-sink mirror. She suddenly realized that parts of her face were covered in soot. In addition, her cameo pink Dior pantsuit was traumatized and riddled with rips and tears, courtesy of shrapnel from her earlier encounter with Zox, Seth, and Kloros.
Without reply, the two gentlemen’s faces turned several shades of red. They suddenly turned all their attention to their hands, and vigorously increased their hand-washing speed.
She washed her face and hands carefully.
Then Isabella strutted casually towards the Gents’ washroom’s main Exit as the two men on either side of her at the sink rushed to open the door for her.
Concealing her bewilderment, Isabella stepped out into a bustling crowd at… King’s Cross London Tube (Train) Station!
Unbeknownst to Isabella, the very thing she had been seeking had been seeking her…the onyx Templar stone had summoned her to its real time location.
****To Be Continued Next Sunday****