Enigma: The Rise of an Urban Legend

by Ryan Schow

  Her spirit is finally broken.

  We’re both sitting on the floor, but I’m the one who’s a mess. I’m a scratched face, pulled hair, torn clothes. The long red lines she trenched into my face with her fingernails are already closing, though. I fix my hair some, but I don’t really care about that right now.

  “Imagine you have that kind of rage, and you need it out of you,” I say to her. “The man who did this to me, who took Tavares from me, from you, from your parents, he died a horrible death, but it was not enough for me. So the woman who hired him, a State Senator and a wicked, demonic woman, she lost her skin. I peeled it down her body while she watched in the mirror. She died of shock. Then I called your father and gave him the man who hired the Senator and he killed him. Beat him to death with that same rage you feel. That same rage I still feel.”

  “You killed them?”

  “Murder was not enough to satiate my desire for retribution. It will never be enough. That’s why I am the way I am. Why all the pain you heap upon me could never equal the pain I heap upon myself every day.”

  She stands only to collapse on the couch beside me, her ponytail loose, her pretty face makeup free, her eyes puffy from the tears and exertion. There’s nothing either of us can say to undo the things done to us.

  “If you were with my brother, how come I never saw you?”

  “You did,” I tell her, “you just didn’t know it.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Before this, before me, I was Raven de’ Medici. Before that Abby Swann. I was born under a different name than either of those, though.” She was looking at me with unbelieving eyes. “I was originally born Savannah Van Duyn, butt-fugly daughter of Atticus and Margaret Van Duyn.”

  “Founder of SocioSphere,” she says, breathless.

  “Yes.”

  She sits there for a long time, silent, then she curls up on the couch, unwilling to look at me. This is all too much for her. My body feels her descending into tears before my ears register the soft, crushing sounds.

  “These people coming after you,” I say. “They’re powerful. Unrelenting.”

  She sniffles, wipes her eyes.

  “I know.”

  “Are you prepared to run for the rest of your life?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, I have an idea. Well, it’s not my idea, but it is a good one.”

  “Who’s idea is this you’re referring to?”

  “Holland’s,” I say. “Although he doesn’t know it yet. Come with me to the lab.”

  “I want to stay here.”

  “Stay here and you die a sad, lonely life. You end up in a ditch, raped, cut, left beaten and abandoned on the side of road like a soggy bag of trash. If you come with me, I promise I’ll change everything for you. I promise you Holland and I will save your life.”

  “What are you going to do? Change me? Make me another person?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I tell her. “Quite a bit more complicated, in fact.”

  4

  The ex-Nazi prick already started putting Brayden under, which fries me because I didn’t want Brayden going under without him knowing I’m here for him. It seems silly, us having kissed a few minutes ago and all, but I wanted to be with him when he went under.

  “You jerk,” I say, aghast. He smiles at my outburst. “You knew I’d want to see him first.”

  “Brayden is only getting the treatment he’s getting because he has video of me and you and this place. The video he shot when you shot me in the leg and killed my monster.”

  “We’re not stupid kids,” I say.

  “And I am not a stupid man, although I’ve never truly settled with the idea of you having leverage on me.”

  “It’s humbling, I’m sure.”

  Sabrina is looking at us, empty eyed, a shell of her former self against the adrenaline dump laying waste to her body.

  “Humble,” he says. “That’s cute. But no. You see, I’ve turned the tables on young Brayden here. Provided myself with an insurance policy.”

  A sharp intake of breath, the stiffness of muscles tightening for a fight. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Inside the serum I’ve given him is a variant once given to you as a safeguard against you exposing our benefactors.”

  “You injected him with radioactive isotopes?”

  “Worse. I’ve added a small explosive charge that will make its way up to Brayden’s brain where it will sit for the rest of his life. If you try to take it out, he’ll die. And if you kill me, he’ll die. He’ll die because once a month I will reset a timer inside this implant. This means—”

  “If we don’t come after you he lives, and if we do, he dies. It’s your failsafe.”

  “Yes.”

  “He wouldn’t have come after you,” I say, knowing Brayden.

  “But you might.”

  “Perhaps. In a few hundred years. But not now. And not because of him.”

  “See how that works?” he says, proud of himself.

  “When I was Raven, in the future I killed you, but Raven is gone. I will tell you something though. The Operator, that thing I killed on campus, I swallowed its soul as Raven.”

  “So it’s gone. There is no Raven in the future, so there is no Raven to come after.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Sabrina asks.

  She wants to know why we’re talking about the future like we’ve been there.

  Both Holland and I say, “Never mind,” at the same time.

  Turning back to Holland, I say, “He’s still here. He’s inside me and though he’s proven he’s good on a leash, he’s just dying to get free.”

  “And I give a shit why?”

  “Because if I unleash him, if I tell him you’re his, he’s going to do things to you not even you can recover from. Horrible things beyond your imagination. Vile things. What Jack the Ripper did to Mary Kelly, that signature style of murderous insanity, that kind of sadistic butchery, he’ll do that to you and more. And he’ll do it over and over and over again if I let him. So maybe I won’t kill you, but I will end your mind. I mean, can you imagine? Being trapped in a body that won’t die while your broken brain sits imprisoned and rotting for all eternity?”

  “You’re not that cruel.”

  “Do you even know who The Operator is?”

  “You already told me.”

  “What I didn’t tell you is in his time, and I’m sure you know this being a traveler yourself, he could take a body and inhabit it. From a distance. He could do this any time he wanted and what he chose was to be a mass murderer in the White Chapel district of London.”

  “The actual Ripper?”

  “There is nothing like him. And since I can crawl your brain, extract whatever it is you know—any memory you have—this small thing you implanted in Brayden’s head will not protect you from me if I choose to eviscerate you. And I may still put you through it for what you’ve done to him.”

  “What about her?” he says, nodding toward Sabrina who is now sitting in a lab chair not paying attention.

  “She’s my gift to you.”

  He turns and looks over at her, studies her for a moment. Looking not at what is but what could be.

  “The things she’s suffered,” I continue, “the bind she’s in, she has no one, no where to go, no life left to live. She’s been manipulated, raped, beaten, threatened with death and some very powerful Hollywood-type people are after her. Does she remind you of anyone you know? Or knew?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Imagine her with a Russian accent and a block of ice for a heart.”

  Now he gets it. I can see it in his eyes.

  “You have her blood, her DNA. She is the type of girl you saved so long ago. The type of girl you can save again.”

  “You are giving me…Nurse Arabelle?”

  “As much of her as I can,” I say. “Now go tell her what we have in mind for her and leave me with Brayden.”
/>
  Holland leaves with Sabrina, who may soon decide to take the late Arabelle Dietrich’s DNA for a new body. I hope she says yes. I really do.

  Walking to the glass canister holding Brayden, I put my hand to the glass, watch him carefully. Closing my eyes, I feel him in his semi-unconscious state. He’s nearly under. As in gone until he wakes again, changed.

  Using every bit of psychic power I can, I lay the words in his head, place them there like a gift, a promise, something to hang onto.

  “I love you,” I say. I feel his spirit shift, and then the words come back to me. They are a whisper in my mind, his promise, his gift. He loves me, too.

  Then the moment is gone.

  He’s under.

  Before turning around, I feel her. Her spirit is a lion among cats. Ferocious. All powerful.

  “Hello, Alice,” I say, turning to face her.

  Seeing both Alice’s, I startle inside. But not outside. On my exterior, I show no weakness. Not now. Not ever again. Future Alice is holding the hand of young Alice. Traveler Alice is calm, observant, a chaperon to the child version of her. And Young Alice, her pupils are dilated beyond normal, her skin a bit translucent. I feel her gaze like a physical weight, hot and intrusive.

  “Alice, sweetheart, what seems to be your problem?”

  “You.”

  “What have I done now?”

  “You don’t know?” Young Alice asks. I shake my head. Young Alice looks up at Traveler Alice and says, “How is it she doesn’t know?”

  “Before, in the desert, I asked you to help me save you,” Traveler Alice says. “You said no, and when I returned, nearly dead from saving you, my body was run over by a truck. But not before I brought Raven back. Future You. This is like that, but worse.”

  “How is it worse?” I ask.

  “You need to see for yourself, and we’re not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

  I look in her head, then stagger backwards, my face drained of its blood, then say, “You must be kidding me.”

  Traveler Alice lets go of Young Alice’s hand, heads straight for the lab’s refrigeration unit, takes out a pre-prepared needle and serum and says, “Give this to Brayden. He’s going to need it.”

  She hands me the needle; I take it.

  “What’s in this?”

  She says, “Fountain of Youth serum.”

  “You killed our world,” Young Alice says. She reaches out a hand, opens her fingers and reveals two marbles. Two time travel devices. “Fix it.”

  “What about the serum?” I ask Traveler Alice.

  “Make sure he gets it when you get back, if you get back.”

  “Where exactly am I going?” I ask the girls.

  “Ahead,” Young Alice says. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Within minutes, after getting detailed instructions and moving to a place that won’t get wrecked too bad on my exit, I swallow the marble she gives me, enter the coordinates into the dashboard behind my eyes, then zone back in on the two girls who are just one girl on two different timelines. They move away from me.

  Right before I go, Young Alice—this child—she says, “Don’t fuck this up,” and I can’t help but cringe at the things this demon-child sometimes says and does.

  Then I’m gone.

  The Return of the Wolf

  1

  Holland was in the lounge explaining things to Sabrina when a small red light overhead illuminated.

  “What is that?” Sabrina asked.

  “Someone just entered the front door. I better see who’s here.”

  “Are you expecting someone?” she asked, suddenly fearful.

  “Relax, my dear,” he said, smiling at the girl, but seeing only his Arabelle now. How she’ll look when she wakes as someone new. Someone he once adored.

  When Holland arrived to the front reception area, his face broke into a knowing grin. To the old man, a righteous beast of a man once known as “Wolf,” Holland said, “Ah, my long lost friend.”

  Decades had passed since Holland created this man from the body of another man, but he would not forget the face, or the history, despite the passing of so much time.

  “It is you then?” the man asked with a tired, German accent. “Just, different?”

  “Indeed,” he said, unable to take his eyes off the old man’s liver spots, his bulbous nose, the last strands of silver hair. “Different and refreshed.”

  “It is a good look,” he said, studying Holland with eyes starting to fog with cataracts. “I need refreshing, too. I have big plans and I must look and feel my best.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Holland asked.

  “The original me was always the best me,” the man replied, a most serious look in his eye.

  At first, knowing what the man was saying, Holland felt himself pucker, then work very hard to relax under his soon-to-be patient’s pertinent gaze. Slowly, Holland found his head shaking itself. My God, he thought, am I really going to do this?

  Then again, how could he not?

  He couldn’t.

  “Follow me,” Holland finally said, and the old man followed as fast as he could on decrepit knees and joints that seemed to grind bone-on-bone with every step.

  Holland ushered him to a private lab in back, gestured for the old man to have a seat while he retrieved the DNA originals from one of several hidden cold storage cells.

  Holland continued to be amazed by the man’s age. He looked like he was pushing eighty, but the true age of the soul inside this man was far older.

  More like one hundred twenty-eight.

  Sitting in his lab, hobbled and weary, his body forsaking him, was a man who was once young and strong, the voice of a nation. He was once vibrant enough to lead a nation, then lead that nation into an impossible world war he was certain he could win.

  May he lead once more, or be slaughtered trying, Holland thought as he unpacked the DNA samples marked A. Hitler.

  From behind him, Holland felt the other guest before he actually heard him. Holland turned, laid eyes on the handsome young man with steadfast eyes and a familiar quality of arrogance.

  “Who are you?”

  “Aloysius,” the man replied, proud of his name.

  “Do you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing in my lab, Aloysius?”

  “Making sure he survives the transformation,” he said, gesturing to the old man in the chair.

  “And why wouldn’t he?”

  Aloysius grinned, held Holland’s gaze. Finally, he said, “I trust you have everything he needs?”

  Looking over at the DNA sample taken many decades ago, he couldn’t help thinking of this old man when he was younger, more virile. Adolf Hitler barely escaped Europe and the fall of the German empire only to pool his resources together and silently give birth to the Fourth Reich using resources and loyalists a continent away. South America. Holland turned from the Wolf, his eyes landing on the thirty-something man with good looks and practiced authority.

  “I have everything I need for him,” Holland replied. “But from you, there’s one thing I’ll need.”

  “Name it,” he said, confident.

  “Wipe that smug look off your face, or get the hell out of my lab.”

  Aloysius stepped forward, eyed the sample Holland had in hand, read the label, then instantly relaxed and said, “Your lab, your rules. But I must insist we move this along.” Looking at the man who was once Adolf Hitler, Aloysius said, “My father isn’t much for wasting time, and certainly not in this state.”

  “Your father?” Holland asked, disbelief sitting like mud on his face.

  “He’s going to do great things,” Aloysius said in a hypnotic voice that sent shivers crawling down Holland’s spine. “Great and terrible things.”

  END BOOK VIII

  A Word of Thanks from the Author

  Thank you so much for reading ENIGMA, for having the courage (and stomach!) to stay with me this far. Many of my more avid readers say this is not an easy se
ries to read, that it’s an emotional roller coaster and a veritable train ride through hell, but that it’s also addictive and unputdownable, and that they’re in love with the characters and the story. I’m so happy to hear things like this because that’s exactly the kind of series I set out to write!

  So often as an author, we have thousands of raving fans we know nothing about. We have readers who love our work, who are gracious enough and excited enough to recommend our stories to friends, family and relatives, yet we never really know about them because in many ways, we write in isolation hearing feedback only from those people closest to us. Personally, the toughest thing for an author is to not know how their work is received by his/her audience.

  The reason I’m writing this is to highlight just how important to me your reviews are. Reading your thoughts about the books and this series in a review means the world to me! I say this to thank my many readers who have so graciously taken the time to leave a kind review letting me know how my stories impacted you. And for those of you who are intending to review this and my other books, thank you in advance! It’s this small but powerful action that not only brightens my day, but helps spread the word about this series to others like yourself who might enjoy it as well.

  For my loyal fans, I’m getting ready to start book nine. This will be the final chapter in the Swann series novels and (as of this writing) this makes me sad. I’ve loved, loved, loved these characters so much over the years and it will be difficult to say good-bye to them, but rest assured, book nine is sure to be a badass thrill ride with some unbelievably irreverent twists (that I may later have to apologize for…we’ll see!) and an ending that touched even me when I mapped it out.

  Until then…

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