Free Gabriel’s Watch - Book One: The Scrapman Trilogy by Noah Fregger Page A

or so above her, feeling the smoothness of her skin, if only in my mind, passing the slope of her right shoulder and continuing down her arm.
    It was there that I saw the dark marking poking out from beneath her t-shirt, the mark that spanned the outside of her bicep. It was a mark given to her by those that had created her, although its true meaning had continued to remain a mystery. Being a collaboration of circles, lines, and half-moons, the tattoo looked a lot like any crop-circle design that the media would have posted, at least back when that sort of thing topped the news.
    The design was quite beautiful in all its premeditated eccentricity, but ominous in its lack of translation or direction. I’d initially not known exactly how to feel about it, but because of it simply being a part of Alice, I soon found I’d grown to love it.
    And Alice, perhaps becoming sick of my curiosity, had come to me early one morning with her final decision as to what that marking meant. With her hand politely covering a mouthful of raccoon meat, she had shared with me a single word, “Hope.”
    And I found it beyond perfect.
    As I admired Alice without her knowledge, beneath the hindrance of excessive illumination, she almost appeared to be entirely human. The aspects of Alice that made her slightly different from me were suddenly softened; her rubicund complexion appearing only as a deep tan, and complemented by the darkness of her hair, had transformed her into some exotic island goddess in slumber.
    It reminded me of my early days in the military and the forty-eight hours I’d spent in Singapore, respectfully requesting to have those two days free from the ship. I’d ended up spellbound by one of the country’s beautiful natives. Looking at Alice, I found myself back in that hotel room in Singapore, back when the world had made sense and back when everything seemed so magical in its unwavering and unquestionable endlessness.
    A good friend of mine once said that we all have to go a little insane sometimes, even if only for a night, just because that seems to be the best way to protect our sanity (as odd as that sounds). I never really knew what that meant until I started to give into that fantasy, loosening just a few of reality’s painful screws, and allowing that radical whimsy a little room to breathe.
    And there, for perhaps only the wink of a moment, I found a sliver—a mere glimpse—of peace somewhere within myself. But the euphoric remembrance was ultimately broken by Dinah, who had lifted herself up from the pleasant nest she’d created to hiss at the six-foot robot standing over me. I looked up, pressed my index finger to my lips, and quickly returned to my room.
    I arose a bit later that morning and gathered what I could before I left. I found Zeke by the monitors, pointing to a raccoon in a trap. “You’ve caught an animal,” it boasted.
    “Yeah, they’re really not as clever as they look.”
    The sky was in a milky haze as I emerged from the cavern. I noticed the clouds had compacted overnight, churning and rustling together until they formed a single bulky and bulbous overhead mass, as I went first to stand atop a large freight door. It was thick and sturdy and flattened to the earth’s surface like the last remaining relic of some forgotten factory. Its metal rippled in solid three inch waves—its undulating texture beneath me. Although it had once been drenched in a gleaming coat of safety yellow, patches of rust had long since seeped into its edges, crept along its angles, and graced it with the brittle appearance of an autumn leaf.
    I gave the door a hard stomp, instantly disappointed by the hollowness that echoed within. Anyone with half a brain and a heavy boot would know there was a generous void under that door.
    The thing was anchored down to a rack and pinion, and capable of a motorized back and forth motion. Acting as a horizontal garage door, the pit below housed both my Kawasaki and my (rarely