Socket 3 - The Legend of Socket Greeny by Tony Bertauski

to her in
minutes. Maybe I could find home by sunrise. The thought of
sleeping in my office boosted my stride down the slope. I ignored
the thought lurking in my head, the nagging concern that had been
with me ever since I walked out of the water. Something I tried to
reason away because help was finally within reach.
    Why does everything still feel so empty?
     
     
Empty Angel
    Still raining, maybe a bit harder.
    I wasn’t about to let the woman out of my
sight. I left the winding path and took the grassy hill full speed,
leaping over boulders. I lost sight of her as I dipped into the
valley, cresting the hill to once again see the magnificent
view.
    The forest behind me seemed further away than
it should’ve been. I’d only been running a few minutes and it was
hundreds of yards back.
    A subtle breeze, the first I could remember
since arriving, caught my attention. It carried the fragrance of
tea olive blossoms and the salty spray of an ocean. And the scent
of a woman, soft and loving. She was there, I could see her on the
next hill in the orchard, still hundreds of yards away. I hadn’t
gotten any closer.
    Her white gown fluttered while she stopped to
reach into a tree, pulling fruit from a branch and putting it in
her basket. She was glowing, like a beam of moonlight found its way
through the rain to touch only her. I cupped my hands and shouted
again. “HELLO!”
    Still couldn’t hear me.
    I started down the next grassy hill into the
orchard. The trees were taller than I thought. My perspective
seemed off. The trunks were gnarly and the muscled branches held
plump apples the size of softballs. I lost sight of the woman as
she walked over the next hill. But I was gaining on her. I dipped
my head, pushed harder. I reached the next hilltop, expecting to
maybe catch her while she went searching in another tree, maybe
only a few yards away. At the very least she’d be within shouting
distance, but then saw her still hundreds of yards out.
    I stopped, put my hands on my knees. How did
she get that far out?
    My heart pounded. The adrenaline was already
wearing off and I was sweating out precious water that mixed with
the rain dripping down my face, leaving a salty tang on my
lips.
    This isn’t logical. Where am I?
    When I looked up, as if answering my
questions, the view had somehow changed. Had I not noticed it when
I emerged from the forest? Was it just hidden from my vantage
point? Because now, beyond the rolling hills, was a vast black
ocean. The lines of orchard trees followed the undulating hills,
ending short of a massive house built right on the shore,
surrounded by sand dunes and sea oats.
    The woman was gone.
    The sterile forest and the perfect
temperature, short of the rain this is paradise. This exists
nowhere in nature. Nowhere on Earth. I looked at my hands,
turned them over and studied them like the truth was written
somewhere on my skin. I’m not dreaming or virtualmode. I’m here, in
the skin.
    I turned back and saw what I expected. The
trees were gone. Nothing but rising and falling mounds as far as I
could see. This entire environment was transforming, manipulating
me toward the house on the beach. Something changed when it started
to rain, like it let me out of the forest. Once again, I opened my
mind to connect with the environment, searching for something
substantial, something real, but everything felt empty. So
beautiful, but so empty.
    The house already seemed bigger. More
inviting.
    Why does it feel like no matter what
direction I walk, I’ll end up at the house?
    The wicker basket was nestled in the grass at
the base of a tree. I picked one of the fruits out. It was deep
red, almost purple. The skin was soft but not fuzzy. I press my
thumb into it, juice squirting out. Saliva filled into my mouth. It
was clear liquid, not milky.
    I tossed it on the ground. First, I needed to
find the woman. She was in the house.
     
    The house grew as I approached, building onto
itself, forming walls and