The Mysterious Case of the Goddess Jeans - Part I

CHAPTER 1

He stares and stares and stares at her, until he is aware of what he is doing and quickly looks away. But not for long. Like a moth to a candle flame, his eyes are dragged back to rest on her face. It is an interesting face, not particularly beautiful or even pretty, but for some unknown reason he cannot take his eyes off this slim girl sitting across the aisle from him in the subway coach.

"Is it her eyes?" he wonders. Well, they are almond shaped, dark, luminous, fringed by long lashes curving upwards. But nothing extraordinary. Perfect oval face framed by soft wavy brown hair, a chiselled nose, and well-shaped lips, over a firm but sensitive chin. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, of medium height and delicate build. She is dressed in a full sleeve pink and white check shirt, which sets off her creamy complexion, tucked into a pair of well-fitting blue jeans. Sparkling on the waistband of her jeans is a large, obviously fake, diamond stud. Unaware of his gaze, she is absorbed completely in the book she is holding in her slim pretty hands.

"What is it about her?!?" He scratches his head mentally for the fifth time in as many minutes. The train lurches as it approaches a station, and she shifts her position a bit.

"Wait! What….?" He rubs his eyes in disbelief. "What the heck… ??" he mutters under his breath. "I must be dreaming!" He gives his right forearm a hefty pinch with his left forefinger and thumb and at once realises that he isn't.

Reflected dimly on the slightly darkened glass pane of the window right behind her head, sprouting just below her shoulder blades, are a pair of wings. WINGS!! He can see the snow-white feathers shimmering in the glass emitting a soft ethereal golden glow. In the next instant, just like that, they are gone! By an extraordinary effort of will he checks the startled yelp that almost slips out.

She has put the book down on the seat beside her and is lost in thought, with inward looking eyes, her face slightly averted, still oblivious to the dazed expression of the young man opposite her.

To hide his confusion, he starts fiddling with his smartphone. He pulls up his phone browser and enters a search string "can humans have wings" and is once again astounded by the number of results the engine spits out. Two billion????? "You gotta be kiddin' me!" he whispers, amazed at the quantity of trash that masquerades as information on the Internet.

Suddenly he is aware that the train has stopped at a station. The doors of the coach have slid open. There is a bustle of people getting off, the girl among them. She has stepped out of the coach onto the platform and is walking away. He looks at the seat she has vacated and notices her book lying on it. In a trice he picks it up, and a single leap carries him through the opening, just a fraction of a second before the doors slide shut. Once on the platform, he looks around quickly and spots her walking at a steady pace towards the escalator about thirty feet ahead of him.

"Excuse me...Ma'am…please...hi… sorry to bother you ... you left your book in the train...!!" He finds himself panting a little.

"Oh my god! Thank you so much! How kind of you," she lifts her dark almond eyes and smiles up at him as they step on to the escalator together.

He looks down at her and suddenly, for a moment, the entire space around them – the escalator, the landing, the busy station, the constant stream of people flowing in and out, the rows of ticket counters, everything in fact – flickers and wavers. Just like the ripples on the surface of a still lake when a pebble is dropped into it. His head spins for a second and he grips the handrail next to him tightly. And then almost at once, it is gone.

"Serves me right for skipping breakfast!" he chides himself silently. "M___ is gonna give me hell if I pass out halfway through the 11:00AM briefing session!" M___ is his boss and the editor-in-chief of the newsroom at The New K___ Tribune, an up-and-coming English daily that has created waves recently by its spectacular exposé of a major public service recruitment scam in the city, sending several gubernatorial heads rolling.

She slips the book into her handbag, but not before he notices that it is a Penguin paperback edition of 'Paradise Lost'. They step off the escalator and walk out through the turnstiles towards the exit.

"You like Milton?" he says in a desperate attempt to prolong the conversation. The mystery of the wings is clawing at his insides. He knows he is running late for work, but he simply cannot stop himself. "My favourite too. What a coincidence…!"

As soon as he says that she stops in her tracks and wheels around to face him. And in that moment, his jaw drops. There they are again – the wings – reflected in the shining chrome and steel panel behind her, feathers stirring as if in a breeze, and letting off a soft golden glow.

"You can see them, can't you?" a shadow of apprehension crosses her face. Her eyes hooded, she stares at him with an unfathomable expression that sends chills down his spine. "My wings?"

"Y-Yes! I mean… NO! I mean… I don't know what I see…!!" he stutters, fumbling for words, which is strange. This rarely happens to him. He prides himself as a smart, confident go-getter – articulate, with all the trappings of a cub reporter of great promise. It's got him thus far in the journalistic circles of the city, right?

All the while she is scanning his face, as if trying to gauge whether she can trust him. Finally, she nods imperceptibly, as if coming to a decision.

"Listen," she says, cutting him short. "I don't know you from Adam, and you don't know me. But I need to talk to you... Hell! I need to talk to someone. You're the only one who… Say, do you have half an hour? There's a coffee shop just around the corner…" she says all this in a single breath and then suddenly stops, as if realising her forwardness. He doesn't quite get what the urgency is all about but finds it impossible to ignore.

"Yes, I know the place you're talking about. Let's go. My name's V____. I am a journalist with The New K_____ Tribune," he sticks out his hand, with an engaging smile.

"I am S____. I teach high school Physics at S___ J___ School. Nice to meet you," she takes it in a firm grip. Something in her touch makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. His journalistic nose twitches at a familiar scent – this may yet be the scoop of the century. And he knows M____ has boundless faith in this superpower of his.

                                                                                                                           Continued….