The Blue Bottle (Part 10)

Rosie is still confused about her trip to Havanna, what is a cigar worth, and Lorenzo disguising himself as a breeze.

Harry Hogg
5 min readOct 19, 2022

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt. 8 Pt 9

“It is the lot of ‘man’ to strive no matter how content he is.”–Spock

Photo by Scott Van Hoy on Unsplash

“Rosie…wake up,” Marks says, gently resting his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, com’on, lazy bones, your brother is home.”

Rosie stirs, not awake, dreaming she hears her brother calling her. “How long are you going to sleep, Rosie…. wakey, wakey….”

Rosie opens her eyes to the bright light. Did she not draw the curtains? She’s thinking, her eyes trying to adjust. “There you are, I thought you were never going to wake.”

“Mark?” she says, eyes screwed up. “Mark! Oh Mark, when did you get home?” And she sits up to put her arms around his shoulders. “Mark, I’ve missed you so much. Thank God. You look wonderful, oh God, let me touch you.” She hugs Mark as tight as she possibly can.

“Hey Sis, it’s all good. You’re going to kill me with this hug.”

“I don’t care, just deal with it. How long are you home?”

“Hell, I just got home, and you already want to know when I’m leaving.”

“No, I never want you to go away, Mark. I love you,” she weeps, “let me look at you,” she says, touching him all over. “No injuries, right, got all your limbs?”

“Sis, why don’t you get up. I’ll make us some breakfast.”

“I can’t let you go, Mark. Give me a minute.”

When Mark gets into the kitchen, he pushes the kettle under the tap and goes to the fridge.

“Where’s the bacon? Sis.” He shouts, but the shower is running, and she doesn’t hear him.

Mark grabs some eggs, pulls out the milk, and takes bread out of the bread bin, which he sets down on the kitchen counter, and goes to the freezer section. “Ah, there it is,” Mark pulls out some streaky bacon. Streaky because Sis likes her bacon crisp, so crisp it has to be eaten with her fingers.

Ten minutes later, red hair falling like intertwined snakes, Rosie arrives in the kitchen still in her bathrobe. “Oh my God, Mark, it smells wonderful. I’ve gotten so lazy; I’m never up in time for breakfast.”

“Nor would I be, working the hours you do. How’s it going.”

“The job, it’s okay, pays the rent, but I do have something to tell you, something unbelievable.”

“You think? I bet I can tell you something more unbelievable. Sit down, Sis, the eggs are done, be careful with the bacon, don’t drop it, it will break the plate.”

Rosie, of course, has a good idea about Mark’s secret but wants to hear it from him.

“Mark, you’ve remembered how I like my bacon; you’re such a dear.”

“Why would I forget, Sis. Okay, so tell me all your news.”

Rosie reaches for the butter, which she spreads liberally on her toast. “You first, Mark. I’ve waited so long. Are your friends okay, Peter and Simon, isn’t it?”

“They are fine, we are all home together. I’m done, Rosie, my time is served. I’m home for good.”

Rosie leaps out of her chair. “Mark…oh Mark, I’m so glad. I worried all the time, every day, every hour, and when your calls were late, I thought the worst, I couldn’t help it. Then I would think, we are identical twins, I would know if something happened to you. Remember when you broke your leg, falling off your bike? I knew you were hurt, I don’t know how, and when your relationship didn’t work out, I felt that pain, Mark, your heartbreak.”

“You’ve always said so, Sis. Since we were kids.”

“It’s true, I cannot explain it. Do you not feel it? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“Not to the extent you do. I feel I should, but…”

“Mark, it doesn’t matter. It only matters that I do.”

“Pass the ketchup, Sis? I did have a very strange experience, I mean, more than weird, and at first, I thought it was a dream. Anyway, I just received notification from my platoon commander that I’m up for a medal, for bravery.”

“Really…Mark! I’m so proud of you.”

“No, Rosie, listen to me, I cannot except it. I didn’t save anyone. Peter and Simon both insist that I saved them, said I lifted them to safety. after they were both wounded. They were dead, I’m certain, Rosie. I was wounded, here, look,” Mark says, lifting his shirt, showing a terrible scar on his chest.

“Oh, my God, Mark. That scar is right over your chest,” Rosie says, reaching a hand to touch the scar.

“I should be dead, Rosie. But what happened next, well, it’s inexplicable. I was lying in the dirt, bleeding out. From nowhere this medic drops down beside me, telling me to hold something over my wound. I told him that my friends were laying not far away and needed help. He told me nothing could be done for them. They were dead, in a better place he said.”

“How do you explain it, Mark?”

“I’m not a believer, Sis. I cannot explain it, but a miracle” It just isn’t an option for me.”

“Did the medic have a name, Mark.”

‘Yes, he said his name was….”

“Frank!” Rosie chipped in.

“How the hell, yes, but how could you know. I’ve never spoken to a soul about it, Sis. You cannot convince me that being my identical twin is that telepathic.”

Rosie picks up the teapot and pours her brother another cup of tea. “No, not telepathy, Mark. Something far stranger.

Over the next hour, Rosie describes meeting a friend.

‘Wait…wait, Sis. I can hardly follow you. Vortex, time travel, and a guy called Frank.”

“Only at the moment, Mark. I think he’s been many people on his travels.”

“Of course, Doctor Who, is one of them, I’m sure.”

“Mark, I listened to your story, please listen to mine.”

“Sorry, Sis. But honestly, this chap travels through time? I feel like I’m listening to something out of Roswell.” Mark says.

“Why haven’t you told anyone about your experience?”

“Touché, Sis.”

“Do you believe we’ve all lived previous lives?” Rosie asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Could you imagine living in a previous time and not able to remember anything about it?”

“Well, how would I know if I don’t remember?”

“Exactly, so if a time traveler meets you and tells you that you have been someone else in history, could you believe it?”

“I don’t know what we’ve got caught up in, Rosie, but best we keep it to ourselves.”

Rosie has an idea, “Listen, come to the pub tonight, okay. Frank comes in, maybe you’ll recognize him?”

Mark agrees, not out of enthusiasm but curiosity. “Nothing to lose, Sis. Trust me, I have forgotten the guy’s face.”

Part 11

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Harry Hogg

Ex Greenpeace, writing since a teenager. Will be writing ‘Lori Tales’ exclusively for JK Talla Publishing in the Spring of 2025