[June 19th] [Perry Mason] Lux Aeterna, 19

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Lux Aeterna, scene 19
Day/Theme: June 19th - Strands of pearl
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Captain Caldwell, Della Street, Perry Mason, Elizabeth (OC)
Rating: K+/PG

Takes place probably early into the rebellion. My fic The Spectral Stalker, a sequel to The Misguided Missile episode, is heavily referenced. I got the urge to write for Caldwell again.

For some reason, the prompt made me think of the song Drops of Jupiter. I started playing it while writing the rest of this piece.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Della was surprised when she entered the fancy restaurant and noticed a familiar face at one of the corner booths. Out of curiosity as well as a genuine desire to say Hello, she wandered over.

“Hello, Captain. I wasn’t expecting to see you in town.”

United States Air Force Captain Michael Caldwell, formerly among the deceased, looked up from his menu. He smiled at the sight of Perry Mason’s secretary in her black evening gown and white pearls. It was a pleasant combination.

“I’m waiting on a friend. I was expecting to see you, Miss Street, but I thought it would be in Mr. Mason’s office, not here.” He gestured at the other side of the booth. “You’re welcome to sit down if you want.”

Della slid into the booth. “Mr. Mason said he’d be here as soon as he got out of a special meeting in the judge’s chambers,” she said. “He told me to go on ahead and order.” But she did not know if she dared. It could be a long while yet before Perry made his grand appearance.

Caldwell nodded. “. . . It’s strange to come to a place like this and see the world going on as it always has, considering what’s happened to it.” His tone had darkened and he frowned at the crowds of people. “It’s as if they don’t even care.”

“I suppose some of them don’t,” Della sighed. Remembering his previous words, she asked, “Oh, did you want to see Mr. Mason about something?”

“Yes,” Caldwell said, “but it’s not conversation for a public gathering.”

Della wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened to the world. Perhaps he was here to offer his services to the rebellion. She was sure he would be interested, at any rate.

“. . . Perry said that you’re working at Vandenberg now,” she said, deciding it best to change the subject.

“That’s right.”

“Is it working out well?”

“Quite well. Better than I’d thought it might.”

“And the . . . uh . . . chip isn’t causing any problems?” Della felt a bit uncomfortable to ask, especially since she and the Captain were not close by any stretch of the imagination. But they had interacted during the mystery that had revealed his scientifically-engineered resurrection, so she hoped that it was not out of sorts to inquire.

“No, it isn’t. I passed all the tests with flying colors.”

Della smiled and nodded. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said in all sincerity.

“So was I.”

Caldwell lapsed into silence. He had feared, even believed, that he would have problems with the mind-control chip reactivating if he was in contact with heavy-duty electronic equipment. After everything he had gone through in the last seventeen years—being reprimanded and reassigned after the disastrous misunderstanding in Bosnia, feeling bitter towards Jerry Reynolds and trying to expose him as a fraud, being murdered, being brought back to life by a mad scientist and her neurosurgeon accomplice, and being mind-controlled to try to kill Jerry—it had seemed too incredible, too impossible, that life could finally go right for him again. The chip could not even be removed after its deactivation, due to its close proximity to his brain. He would have to live with it until he died and stayed dead.

But there had not been any negative reactions between the chip and any of the high-tech equipment at Vandenberg at all. He had never particularly liked working in the Inspector General’s office, so he had been grateful for the opportunity to take a new and different job. And he and Jerry had renewed their friendship. It was not unpleasant to work near him.

“There’s Mr. Mason now,” he noted, seeing the famed lawyer coming through the entrance doors.

Della perked up. “I’d better let him know I’m here,” she said. As she got out of the booth she asked, “Do you want me to bring him over, Captain? You could arrange a time to meet.”

“Thank you, Miss Street. I’ll just come with you now, if you don’t mind.” Caldwell stood, setting aside the menu.

Perry had already seen them and was coming over. They met halfway. “Well,” he said. “Captain Caldwell! This is a pleasant surprise.” He reached to shake the other man’s hand. “What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

Caldwell gripped his hand firmly. “Your secretary asked me the same question, Mr. Mason. The truth is that I need to speak with you about a private matter. Is there a time we could plan to talk before long?”

“Why, yes,” Perry acknowledged. “I should be free after dinner.”

“It’ll be getting on by then,” Caldwell pointed out.

Della smiled. “You should know Perry by now, Captain. For him the day would still be young.”

“That’s true,” Caldwell mused. “Well, should we say about nine, then?”

“Nine should be fine,” Perry said. “We’ll see you then, Captain.”

The two bade him goodbye and departed. Caldwell observed them before returning to his booth. Meeting them here had been quite accidental, but very fortuitous.

He was indeed interested in the rumors he had heard of Perry leading one of the city’s rebel groups. The Air Force, like the police, had become divided into those willing to serve Florence and those still intent on fighting for their country—not to mention the world. Thankfully, there were hardly any bad apples. They, and the other branches of the military, rebelled most openly.

And Florence knew it. She had been assembling an army of her own, comprised of who knew what. Meanwhile, her castle was impenetrable. Caldwell had located it in the canyons and had taken pictures. He had also discovered the bizarre and invisible force field surrounding it. His plane had very nearly crashed when he had plowed into it by accident.

He intended to deliver copies of the pictures he had taken to Perry’s rebels, and for them to pass the photographs on to the others. Ordinarily he would thoroughly discourage civilians becoming involved in a mess like this, but this was a case unlike any other. Under the circumstances, he felt it was important for everyone to do what they could to fight against Florence’s regime. The less people did, the more naïve or indifferent supporters Florence might collect.

“Captain Caldwell?”

He looked up with a start. The woman he had been waiting for was walking up to him at last. Her red hair bounced against her shoulders and her long strands of pearls swayed against her deep blue velvet dress as she smiled and slid into the booth. It had been years since they had seen each other, but she had not changed.

He set aside the menu. “Elizabeth,” he greeted, smiling. “We don’t have to be so formal with each other, do we?”

She shook her head. “Mike.” She clasped her hands on the table. “You’re looking well.”

He chuckled. “Considering the state I was in several years ago, almost anything would look better than that.” He sobered, his gaze traveling questioningly over the young woman. Something seemed . . . different about her. Sad, almost. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

She sighed. “I’m still upset about Florence. And Vivalene, too.”

He frowned. “It’s uncanny, how much you look like them. Particularly Vivalene.”

She nodded. “Well, we are triplets.”

“They never talk about you, from what I understand.”

A shrug. “Vivalene used to impersonate me sometimes. She doesn’t do that much anymore.” She tilted her head. “And now you said on the phone that you had some idea of me maybe impersonating Vivalene to give Flo a start?”

“It’d work, wouldn’t it?” he returned. “She thinks Vivalene is lying comatose in the prison hospital.”

“Which Vivalene is.” Elizabeth pondered for a moment. “So the idea would be that I would serve as a distraction while the castle was being stormed.”

“That’s right. If Florence’s attention turned to something else, something shocking, we might be able to successfully launch our attack. Of course, I would personally see to it that you would be carefully guarded,” he quickly added.

“I wouldn’t be in any danger.”

He frowned. “Florence didn’t have any qualms about manipulating Vivalene into that coma, from what I understand. You would be in danger with a witch like that.”

She smiled, sadly again. “No . . . I wouldn’t be.”

Something about her attitude troubled him. She did not appear to be naïve or overly trusting of her sister. It was more of a . . . quiet acknowledgement of some other, secret fact.

“Elizabeth, you don’t have to do it,” he said now.

“I’ll do it,” she responded instantly. “I want to help get this world back to normal. And to bring Florence to her knees, if at all possible. Heaven knows she needs it.”

“Alright,” he said, but now he was hesitant about going through with it at all. “I’ll be in touch.”

She stood and walked around the table. “I’ll come to you,” she replied. Bending down, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. It felt strange, almost gossamer, to the touch. As she straightened, he stared up at her.

“Elizabeth, what . . .”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. Goodbye, Mike.” With that she turned, walking up the corridor.

He got up, about to call her back. But his voice caught in his throat. She had vanished. There was nowhere for her to go, yet she was gone.

He ran down the path she had taken and through the outside doors. The night was cool, but void of any red-haired woman. For a long moment he stood, looking up one way and down the other, his heart beating faster.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered in disbelief.
****
The landlady did not know what he was babbling about when he drove to her apartment and asked for her. She had not been there all day. In fact, she had not been back for years. It would be impossible for her to come back from where she had gone. She had drowned years before, up in San Francisco.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” the woman said, bewildered. “If you were her friend, I can’t imagine why no one called to tell you.”

He shook his head, dazed. “That would have been impossible.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”

He started to walk to the door, not answering. As he opened it to step out, he glanced over his shoulder. “There wasn’t a telephone where I was.” He replaced his hat and walked onto the porch. “. . . But it would have been possible for her to come back.”

“What nonsense is this?” the landlady gasped.

“The dead walk among us.” He shut the door and started down the walk.

Elizabeth was right—she would not be in any danger from Florence. Florence could never hurt her now.

And she would not even have to impersonate Vivalene to give Florence a start.