Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  “No. I almost did it last time. I was actually back there for a few seconds. That’s why we need Steve’s blood. It will give us the power we need.”

  “For what?”

  “To save her.” Marie reached into her pocket for a vial of pills. Becky figured they were anti-psychotics or something, but Marie said, “These antibiotics can save her. They can cure her fever.”

  “So you needed Steve’s blood to go back in time and give antibiotics to a little girl who’s already dead?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t understand. No one does. Not even Emma.”

  “Well it is pretty unbelievable.”

  “You’ll see. You’ll see when we do it.”

  “Marie, stop this. The police are going to put you in jail. Is that what you want?”

  “No, but it’s important. I have to save her.”

  “But you said she’s already dead.”

  “Yes, in the present she’s dead. I can save her in the past. Don’t you see?”

  “No, I don’t see. All I see is you’re throwing your life away based on some stupid delusion. Time travel isn’t possible. Everyone knows that.”

  “It is possible—for me at least.”

  “Right, with your eye.”

  “Yes. You know how it felt when I looked at you, don’t you? You felt like you were a little girl again, back in your mother’s house.”

  “So what? You hypnotized me, that’s all.”

  “It’s not hypnotism. It’s real!”

  “How are we getting along?” the old man asked from upstairs. He appeared at the doorway to the vault dressed in a black robe. “I see your friend has awakened. I think it would be best to tie her hands.”

  “I guess,” Marie said, her voice smaller, like a child’s. The old man tossed a length of rope to her. She used this to tie Becky’s hands together. Becky tested the knots, but they were secure.

  “Get her legs as well. We don’t want her to escape. Not in our moment of triumph.”

  “OK,” Marie mumbled.

  “Marie, don’t do this. It’s madness. Don’t you see that?” She kicked the rope out of Marie’s hands.

  “Don’t struggle,” Marie said. She brushed back her hair to reveal her pale eye. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Becky went limp and allowed Marie to finish tying her. She could only watch from the floor as the old man began to plant candles at the points of the pentagram. The scent of lilac wafted over to Becky.

  She laughed at this display. “That’s how you’re going back in time? Scented candles? Emma and I have some at home if you want to borrow them.”

  “I see Marie has been a bit talkative,” the old man said. “No matter, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. This time we will succeed.”

  “Or it could kill her. It could kill all of us. Is that what you want, Marie?”

  “I don’t care if it means I can save her.”

  “She really means that much to you?”

  “She’s my friend. My best friend.”

  “I’m your friend, Marie. What about me?”

  “You’re not my friend.” Marie turned to her, face red, though this time not out of embarrassment. “You think I’m a naïve idiot, but I know. I’m not stupid.”

  “I’ve never thought you were stupid, Marie.”

  “No, you’re just scared of me like everyone else. But Veronica isn’t. Veronica loves me.”

  “Marie—” the rest was muffled by a piece of tape the old man put over Becky’s mouth.

  “I think that’s enough out of her,” he said. “Time to finalize our preparations.”

  The old man and Marie knelt down to light the candles. The lilac scent became stronger. Once the candles were lit, Marie put on a black robe like the old man’s. She used an elastic band to tie back her hair, which revealed her weird eye. Then she flipped up the hood.

  The old man raised his hood as well. Becky could only see the man’s mustache thanks to the shadow created by the hood. “I’d suggest you close your eyes, my dear. It’s going to get very bright in here.”

  Marie sat down in the chair. She folded her hands in her lap, the rest of her body rigid, as if she were listening intently to something. Becky couldn’t hear anything. Nor could she see anything, except the pentagram on the floor. The old man stood next to Marie, his body as rigid as hers. Becky waited for them to chant like in the movies. This certainly wasn’t how Mrs. Chiostro and her sister worked magic. For them it was effortless; they just thought what they wanted to do or mumbled a few “magic” words and it happened.

  Even as Becky thought this, she saw the pentagram begin to sparkle. The sparkling became stronger, until the entire pentagram glowed with golden light. “That’s it, my dear. You’re almost there,” the old man said.

  A pillar of bright green light shot up from the center of the pentagram to envelop Marie. Becky could only close her eyes to avoid being blinded. About a minute later she began to smell something other than the lavender candles, something musty.

  Becky opened her eyes to see she was no longer in a vault. Instead, she was in a dank basement, the floor made of dirt and the walls of stone. Becky managed to slide her fingers enough to touch the floor. The dirt was cold and a little moist—and definitely real.

  “You’ve done it, Marie! We are here!” the old man shouted.

  The pillar of green light faded as Marie stepped out of the pentagram. She ran a hand along one wall of the cellar. Her normally pale face reddened and a smile actually tugged at her lips. “We’re here,” she whispered.

  “Now go, my dear. Go save your friend. I will look after our guest.”

  “You won’t hurt her, will you?”

  “Of course not,” he said, but Becky didn’t believe him. It would be easy enough for him to kill her and leave her body to rot here in the past. Becky tried to plead with Marie with her eyes, but Marie only ran for the stairs.

  ***

  Emma planted herself between the goons and the door to the foreman’s office. “You want in there, you have to get through me,” she said.

  “Fine with me,” one of them said. He raised his machine gun and fired. Her armor deflected the bullets into the wall and ceiling. Undeterred by this, he charged towards her, the weapon raised like a club.

  She ducked beneath his clumsy attack to punch him in the midsection. He flew back a few feet to land on his back and gasp for air. “Who’s next?” she asked.

  They decided to use their superior numbers. Four of them came at her from different directions. She again ducked and swept one’s feet from under him. She whirled around in time to grab a fist meant for her face. She yanked the arm back hard enough for it to snap. The man screamed in pain and dropped to his knees.

  The other two didn’t last much longer. Usually when she fought against normal people she pulled her punches a bit so as not to do too much damage. This time, as she thought of Mom and Dad’s killers in the next room, she used the full strength of the armor. She shattered one man’s left femur with a punch. She kicked another hard enough that he coughed up blood.

  She got to her feet and took the Sword of Justice from its sheath. “Any of you want to try your luck?”

  From downstairs, Estima’s sister shouted, “Where are you going?” This was accompanied by a squeal of tires as Don Vendetta retreated. Emma wanted to go after her, but she had bigger matters to attend to at the moment.

  To cover their retreat, the goons who remained threw themselves at her. She was more careful with the Sword of Justice, so she wouldn’t kill anyone. She did cut the hamstrings of one man; it would be months before he walked normally again. She spun around then to slash another man across the right bicep. He screamed until she silenced him with a punch to the stomach.

  One tried to grab her cape to pull it over her head like in a hockey fight. She tossed the Sword of Justice into the air and guided the blade with her mind to stab him in the shoulder. That prompted him to let go of the cape. She let the sword
stay there while she attended to the other two goons.

  Once she’d taken care of them, she pulled the Sword of Justice free. She wiped it clean on the man’s shirt before she sheathed it. There was one last person to take care of then.

  Estima’s sister hadn’t run. She squatted behind an old conveyor belt and sobbed. “Don’t kill me,” she said. “Please don’t kill me.”

  “I’m not going to kill you. I’m not like your brother.”

  “No, Victor never killed anyone. He wouldn’t.”

  Emma grabbed her by the front of the shirt and hefted her into the air. “Yes, because he’s such a good man. A real saint.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I understand perfectly. He murdered my parents. Him and his partner. Thirteen years ago they were fleeing from a robbery. They hit my father’s car and killed him. Then for good measure they killed my mother when she tried to run. They would have killed me if they’d had more time.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “It is true! They confessed to one of their cellmates in prison.”

  “You’re going to believe someone in prison? Are you mad?”

  “Fine, let’s go find out. Maybe he’ll be more truthful with you.”

  She dragged Estima’s sister up the stairs; she smiled beneath her visor every time the woman groaned. She deserved it. She had come here to betray her own brother, after all.

  French and Estima were still in the foreman’s office. Perhaps they knew how futile it would be to run. Emma threw Estima’s sister to the floor at her brother’s feet. “Elena? What are you doing here?”

  “She came here to sell you out. She’s the one who told Don Vendetta where you were. Didn’t you?”

  “I’m sorry Victor.”

  “How could you? My own sister—”

  “I needed the money! You think I want Margarita to live in that shitty apartment the rest of her life? You think I want her growing up in that neighborhood?” Elena Estima sat up and hugged herself. “So when I heard how much she was willing to pay, I told her. I’m sorry, Victor, but you would have done the same.”

  “Elena—”

  “Enough,” Emma said. She squatted down next to Estima’s sister. “I want you to tell me about that night thirteen years ago. If you answer truthfully, then I won’t have to hurt her.”

  “I told you, I don’t know anything about that!” Estima said. He held out his hands to her in supplication. “Please don’t hurt my sister. She’s a good girl.”

  Behind Emma, French snorted. “A good girl? The bitch sold us out, man!”

  “You would’ve sold out your sister for the kind of dough the don offered,” Estima said.

  “Well now she ain’t getting shit and this psycho is going to kill all three of us.”

  Emma turned to him. “Then tell me what I want to know.”

  “OK, fine. You win—”

  Before French could say anything else, a flash of green light blinded Emma. She let out a scream—

  Part 2

  Chapter 10

  Emma’s scream ended as the white light turned to darkness. She blinked a few times to clear bright green and purple blobs from her vision. As she did, she realized she sat on something soft. She felt around with her hands and determined she no longer wore the red armor. When she brushed back a thick comforter, she knew she’d ended up on a bed.

  Her vision adjusted to the darkness enough so she could see she was in a bedroom of some sort. A hospital room maybe. She groped around until she found a lamp next to the bed. She closed her eyes to avoid being blinded a second time and then flicked the switch.

  When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see much of anything except a blur of pink. What had happened to her eyes? She groped around until one hand found a pair of wire-framed glasses. As she put them on, the room came into focus, but there was something wrong: this wasn’t the bedroom of her apartment. She did recognize the pink walls, the rows of bookshelves, and the Periodic Table tacked on the wall; this was her childhood bedroom back in Parkdale. She looked down at herself to verify she was not a child.

  Even stranger than that she was in this bedroom was that the bedroom had all of its furniture. She and Becky had cleaned out her old room before Emma went to Berkeley. They’d given away the bed while the books and shelves had gone up to the attic until they moved them to their new apartment. What was going on here?

  There came a tap on the door. “Emma? Are you all right?” a woman’s voice called.

  “No,” Emma whispered. She dropped the sheet and then sprang from the bed. She threw open the door and then gasped.

  It was her mother. She looked almost the way Emma remembered, except some gray had snuck into her dark red curls and lines creased her forehead and around her eyes and mouth. That mouth frowned with concern. “What’s wrong, baby? Did you have a bad dream?”

  “Mom!” She couldn’t hold back any longer. She threw her arms around her mother to crush her in a hug.

  Her mother patted her back and then said, “Emma, what’s going on?”

  “I’m just so happy to see you,” Emma said. Tears came to her eyes.

  “I’m happy to see you too, but we said goodnight only a few hours ago.”

  “We did?”

  Her mother pushed her back to arm’s length and then got on her toes so she could see into Emma’s eyes. As if Emma were still a small child, her mother put a hand to her forehead. “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with you. Maybe I should call Dr. Bouvier—”

  “No! I’m fine, Mom. Really.” Emma forced herself to smile. “You’re right, it was just a bad dream.”

  Her mother patted her arm. “It’s all right, baby. You’re just nervous. So was I before I married your father. I couldn’t sleep well for weeks.”

  This set off another series of warning bells in Emma’s head. “Um, right. I’m a little nervous. I think I’ll get some warm milk or something.”

  “No no, you go back to bed and I’ll bring it to you.”

  “You don’t need to do that—”

  “It’s no trouble at all. Not for my little girl.” Mom led her back to bed and tucked Emma in. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “OK.”

  Emma waited until her mother had closed the door to slip out of the bed again. She went to the vanity and then gasped again. Her face was mostly the same—the same longish nose, thin lips, and blue eyes—but her hair was cut shorter and curled like her mother’s. Her skin was darker with an orange tinge to it, probably from a spray tan since like most natural redheads she burned quickly in the sun. The silky blue nightgown she wore wasn’t one she remembered; hers were all rougher flannel or cotton. What had happened to her?

  As she turned away from the mirror, she finally noticed the silver ring on her finger. A diamond glinted at her in the dim light. From what Mom had said, this must be her engagement ring.

  Then she saw a garment bag on the wall. She peeled the zipper back a little, enough to see white fabric inside. She pulled back the zipper some more and gasped again. It was a wedding dress. There could be little doubt that it was her wedding dress. But who was her fiancé? And why was her mother still alive? None of this made any sense.

  “It is a beautiful dress,” Mom said from behind her. Emma spun around and saw her mother with a glass of milk. “That Mrs. Chiostro certainly worked wonders. I never thought I’d get to see my little girl in my wedding gown.”

  “Mrs. Chiostro did this?”

  “Well yes, of course. We went there together this afternoon, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” Emma took the milk from her mother’s hand. She downed the entire glass in one gulp. The milk at least tasted like milk, which was the first thing since she’d woke up that didn’t seem strange to her. She handed the empty glass back to her mother. “I think I’ll go back to bed now.”

  “All right, baby.” Mom gave her a hug this time, though briefer and not as hard as Emma’s. “Sweet dreams.
”

  “Right.”

  Emma climbed back into bed and let Mom pull the covers over her again. Her mother leaned down to kiss Emma’s forehead and then took Emma’s glasses to put on the nightstand. She turned out the lamp. After Mom had gone, Emma rolled onto her side and stared at the lamp next to the bed. The lamp had the shape of a cat in a ballerina costume. While tacky, it was one of her mother’s most cherished possessions, a gift from her mother. Emma knew all this because Mom had been distraught when Emma broke the lamp about fourteen years ago. Had they gotten another one? No, that couldn’t be; this lamp had been extremely rare back then. Maybe they had fixed it?

  She pondered that the rest of the night, but didn’t have any answers. As the room began to lighten with morning sunshine, Emma heard another tap on the door. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. She kept them closed until someone shook her shoulder. “Time to get up, baby,” Mom whispered. “We have a big day ahead.”

  “OK,” Emma said. She sat up slowly. She was still in her old bedroom and her mother was still here. Emma ran a hand through her curly hair. It hadn’t been a dream. Or if it was, she was still dreaming. She shivered at that thought.

  Mom patted her on the shoulder. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

  “Oh, great.”

  Her mother led her out to the kitchen. The house was the same as she remembered from her childhood, though the appliances were more modern. There was even a plasma television in the living room. So it was still the present, but somehow her parents were alive and Emma was engaged.

  She barely stifled another gasp when she saw her father at the kitchen table. As he always had in her childhood, he had the newspaper spread out on the table so he could read the business section while he ate. Like Mom, he looked the same only older. In his case he’d lost most of his hair, the remainder of which had turned gray. Besides wrinkles, his jowls drooped and his belly pressed tighter against his shirt than she remembered.

  Still, she couldn’t stop herself as she ran up to him as she had to her mother. “Daddy!” she shrieked the way she had when she was a little girl. She wrapped both arms around him and then kissed him on the cheek.