“Do I still get to come along?”
Martin nodded as the waitress returned with their food. “Yes. That works the same way. As long you’re touching me, you’ll come along for the ride.”
Tell her now, before it’s too late.
Martin could still hear Chris telling him that Sonya continued to age regardless of how much time they spent in the past, compared to him, who wouldn’t age until he returned to his present time in 2018. She went through time as a form of property, apparently having her own set of rules.
“You should know something,” he said.
She looked up to him curiously as she took a bite of her sandwich.
“I love you.”
She chewed with a smile, mumbling that she loved him back. He couldn’t tell her, not with the obvious look of joy on her face. She already had enough on her plate with trying to figure out life in 2018, and he couldn’t justify adding more to her well-hidden stress levels.
“So tell me,” he said. “If you could go to any era in time, where would you go?”
Sonya stared to the table and took a sip of her drink.
“Honestly, I would go back to the 20’s.”
“What’s in the 20’s?”
“My grandfather,” she replied coldly. “He’s always been a mystery in my family, but it’s my family’s fault. They shunned him. I don’t know why.”
“Really? Your grandmother never mentioned anything?”
Sonya shook her head. “Nope. She was the one who started the rule about never speaking his name. I don’t even know my grandfather’s name. That’s how bad it is.”
“What do you know?”
She shrugged. “I’ve heard that he was an English spy, captured and persecuted by the United States. I’ve heard he was an outlaw on the run, robbing banks for the Irish mob. I’ve also heard he went crazy and was admitted into the asylum. I have no idea which of them is true, but I’d love to find out.”
“How would we go about finding him if we don’t know his name or what he looks like?”
“My grandma has a storage unit. It was filled with all of her things when she passed. I’m convinced there has to be a trace of my grandpa in there.”
Martin nodded. “Well, if you can get strong research together on how we can go about finding him, I’ll go with you to the 20’s.”
“Really?” Sonya slapped her hand on the table, rattling the silverware and glasses in unison.
“Well, jeez, if you’re that excited, how can I say no?”
“Martin, this is huge. I’ll start researching tomorrow. You have no idea what this means to me.” Sonya stood and crossed the table to give Martin a kiss.
“The Roaring Twenties,” he said. “Do you know how far our money will stretch in that era? Twelve million is like a billion dollars in those days. We can live like actual gods.”
“Martin, we’re not taking all of that money. Are you trying to get us killed? We can’t just show up out of nowhere as a random rich couple.”
“We can tell everyone we come from oil in Texas and wanted to escape to a more laid-back city like Denver.”
“No, that’s not happening. That was a time of not just the mafia, but also bandits running rampant. You could shoot someone in the middle of the street and get away with it because there wasn’t the technology to track down a murderer like there is today. If we show up with all that money we’ll be robbed and murdered within two months. Word gets around fast, especially about new people in town.”
“Okay, okay. You’re scared of the gangsters and cowboys. Fine, we don’t bring the money, just enough to get by on. But I need you to have a complete plan. I went back to 1996 without a clue what I was doing, and it was absolutely painful at moments trying to figure things out on the fly.”
“I can do that.” Sonya couldn’t contain the overflowing joy brimming in her voice.
They ate their lunch, making plans to buy Sonya a cell phone as soon as they finished. And lingerie.
59
Chapter 4
Martin stood outside the Adams County Courthouse on Monday, angst and excitement brewing. The weekend passed in a blur as he and Sonya spent Saturday and Sunday looking at houses with a realtor.
Today, however, wasn’t about him, Sonya, nor their future home. It was about justice. Lela Briar had her scheduled arraignment. The news had touched on her story throughout the week, with one legal analyst suggesting her team of attorneys to plead guilty to save the taxpayers time and money. She had already confessed, and there was no use in trying to fight it with an insanity plea. The entire city knew she had done it, and insanity would be impossible to prove twenty-two years after the fact.
Despite the dozens of opinions swirling around, no one had any insight as to what would actually happen. The final piece of Martin’s closure was to see Lela locked behind bars for the rest of her life. The cherry on top, he thought, reminiscing on the night he had witnessed his wife toss their deceased daughter into the lake like a fish.
Rumors spread that Lela had made a request to attend Izzy’s funeral, but the judge promptly shut it down. True or not, it was an idea that disgusted Martin. A murderer who went to the funeral of their victim was a new level of twisted.
Martin entered the courtroom and hid in the back row of the gallery. He had spoken to her for the last time at her kitchen table when she confessed to ruining their lives. How she lived with such a dark secret for more than two decades was beyond his comprehension. Maybe she was psychotic, after all.
“All rise for the Honorable Ernesto Garcia!” the bailiff shouted from the corner of the room. A tall, lanky man of brown complexion appeared from the secret door behind the judge’s bench.
“Thank you, you may be seated,” he said in a booming voice that could strike fear into the bravest men. “Please bring in the defendant.”
A side door swung open to reveal Lela, her orange jumpsuit baggy over her thin body, handcuffs snug around her wrists. Her hair was tied into a messy bun, something she had always done when in a hurry. Black bags hung below her eyes.
A police officer led Lela across the courtroom to her position at the defense table where two attorneys nodded to her.
“Will the defendant please stand.”
Martin watched as the judge spoke in a tone that tolerated no bullshit.
Lela rose from her seat and kept her head down as the judge prepared a stack of papers.
“Lela Briar, the state of Colorado hereby charges you with murder in the second degree of Isabel Briar. Do you have a plea offer today?”
Lela broke into hysterical sobbing. Martin believed she hadn’t meant to kill Izzy. It was an innocent affair that turned for the worse when she was called out by their daughter. Maybe she hadn’t done so well over these last twenty-two years after all.
Lela’s attorney, an older man in a basic suit, stood beside her, handed her a tissue and spoke on the defendant’s behalf.
“Your Honor, we plead not guilty to the charges,” he said. Groans and murmurs waved through the gallery as Martin sat frozen and attentive.
“Are you planning to enter an insanity defense?” the judge asked, scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper.
“No, Your Honor,” the attorney replied while Lela continued to wipe at her face. “We are willing to plead guilty to a charge of manslaughter.”
The district attorney who sat across the aisle from Lela and her team jumped out of his chair. “We will need a couple of days to discuss, your Honor.” He was a large man with muscles that filled in his suit, certainly not a man you’d want to cross on a bad day.
The judge nodded while keeping his focus on the notes he was writing.
“We will reconvene on Wednesday,” Judge Garcia said. “If the state would like to revise its charges to manslaughter, this will need to be decided by then. There will be no extensions. Court is dismissed.”
The judge banged his gavel and disappeared.
Martin stayed to watch Lela, t
he one-time love of his life. She had finally stopped crying, but kept her head down, nodding as her attorney leaned over and whispered to her.
Martin had brushed up on Colorado law and knew the plea for manslaughter was nothing but a desperate attempt at a shorter sentence—six years maximum compared to twelve years for second-degree murder. Lela would unfortunately have no path to life in prison or the death penalty, as those were punishments strictly applied to first-degree murder. The district attorney had assured he’d pursue the harshest punishment available.
Lela was taken out of the courtroom by the same police officer who helped her in. Martin left, hoping she’d get the maximum twelve years.
* * *
When Martin returned home, Sonya sat at the kitchen table with a laptop open and papers spread messily across the table. He had shown her how to use the modern computer and the new (to her) search engine called Google.
“What are you up to?” he asked, knowing damn well what she was looking for.
“I found him,” she said. “I actually found him.”
“How?”
“I came across a website that lets you track down your family tree. All it asked was for certain information on at least two prior relatives. I was able to give three: my mom, dad, and my grandmother. Then it shows the info it has. All it gave me was a name and a date of birth, but I’ve been trying to dig more with it.”
“What was his name?”
“Charles Heston. It was confirmed through the marriage certificate from when he married my grandma in 1912. I just can’t find much else. No death certificate, no mention of him being an outlaw, mental patient, or any of the other wild stories I’ve been told.”
“Is it possible that all of the stories are false?”
Sonya nodded slowly. “It is. My mom claimed my grandmother never told her anything about my grandpa. Most of the stories I overheard were between my mom and her cousins speculating when I was little. Even the storage bin full of documents might just be another myth.”
Martin slung his arms over her shoulders, embracing her warmth. “Look, I know how badly you want to find out the truth about your grandfather, but you’ve got to understand it may not be easy, even with the Internet.”
“I know that. I’ve kept my expectations low and tried to not get overexcited when I found his name. But that’s more than I’ve ever known about him. I just know somewhere—or someone—has the answers.”
“You know, in all this time we’ve been together, you’ve never once mentioned your family, aside from the fact that your mother died when you were young. What do you know about your dad?”
Sonya closed the laptop and stood from the chair to meet Martin at eye level. “I think of myself as a pretty open book, but when it comes to my family history, I’d rather not talk about it. My father was a bad man, and I’ll leave it at that. I loved everyone else in my family very much, except for him.”
“And there’s no one that would still be alive today? Or even back in 1996?”
“I’m sure I have some distant cousins somewhere, but everyone else passed on. After my mom died, my dad obviously raised me. Let’s just say I moved out of the house on my sixteenth birthday because I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that by yourself.” Martin pulled her in, wanting to provide the comfort she deserved. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it. Just say the word.”
They stood in silence for a moment before Sonya spoke. “I want to meet my grandfather. Even if I don’t tell him who I am. I want to meet him and know who he really was.”
“We can do that.”
“And I don’t want you to ever bring my dad up again. I’ll talk about him when the time feels right, if there is such thing.”
“Of course. I certainly understand that feeling.”
Sonya hesitated as if she wanted to say something, so Martin nodded to her to continue.
A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “One last thing,” she said. “Please don’t make me see that old man ever again. I’ve had nightmares about him killing my mom and laughing in my face. I need him out of my head.”
Martin tensed up at the mention of Chris, but calmly said, “Don’t worry. We’ll never see him again.”
60
Chapter 5
“First you give my mom Alzheimer’s, and now you’re fucking with Sonya’s mind.” Martin spoke to himself as he sped through town for a return visit to the Wealth of Time. “You’re gonna tell me everything I need to know, then I’m gonna choke the life out of you.”
He laughed nervously as he passed the church, only two blocks away from the antique store that was tearing apart his life. The memories sent chills down his back as he recalled his brief encounter with the priest at the burned down church in 1996.
He turned into the Wealth of Time’s parking lot and felt the world fall silent as the blood froze in his veins.
The building was gone. Not gone like the church, which had been a pile of rubble, but gone like it had never existed. It wasn’t a matter of Chris closing down shop and moving out, leaving a vacant building. There was no building, just an open field as if there had never been anything constructed on this specific plot of land. Tall grass sprouted from cracks in the random patches of concrete.
“What the fuck?!” Martin screamed, driving further into the deserted lot. “You motherfucker!”
A figure appeared to be walking toward the empty lot from the surrounding neighborhood. It could have been someone out for an afternoon stroll, but Martin sensed the person was headed straight for him, even from a quarter of a mile away. He put the car in park and waited.
He’s definitely coming here, Martin thought as the figure drew closer, and was able to make out that it was a man. He took confident steps like he was on a mission and had no time to waste. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and puffed on a cigarette.
Martin stepped out of his car, compelled to encounter the man.
“Mr. Briar?” the man shouted, now fifty yards away. Martin could make out black wavy hair that was slicked back with lots of grease.
“Who wants to know?” Martin asked, now regretting leaving the comfort of his car.
The man popped the cigarette between his teeth and grinned as he took the final steps to reach Martin.
“Mr. Briar, my name is Mario Webster. Chris told me you’d be here today, sorry I’m late.”
What the hell is going on?
“You’re probably wondering where the store went. Chris likes to move it shortly after giving someone new the Juice.”
“Who are you?”
Mario grinned again and flicked the cigarette away after a final puff.
“I suppose you could call me a travelling secretary of sorts. Chris isn’t able to be in multiple places at once, even though it seems like he always is.” Mario chuckled at himself.
Martin debated trusting this random stranger, as who else would know exactly where Martin would be?
“Why are you here?” Martin asked.
“Well, Chris knew you needed to speak with him, but he’s unavailable. I guess you could say I’m filling in for him.”
“Do you know things?”
Mario smirked. “I know everything.”
“Good, because I came here for answers. Everything has been fucked up since I got back.”
“Well, that was part of your agreement, was it not?” Mario asked mockingly. “For something bad to happen in exchange of the Juice. Chris feasts on emotional pain, and that’s what he’s getting from you.”
“How can he get it if he can’t even show his face?”
“He has his ways.”
Within a matter of seconds, Mario morphed from a friendly person into a face Martin wanted to punch. How dare this man come to Martin and spew nonsense.
“I just need answers before I even consider taking a sip of that Juice.”
“That’s funny, because we know you’ve already made up your mind. Going
back to the Roaring Twenties? One of my favorite times.”
Martin dismissed the comment. Chris had always shown the capability to know what he was thinking and didn’t want to get into it with this new messenger.
“So what is it you want to know? I’m not as secretive as Chris, I promise. He gets his kicks watching people figure things out on their own.”
“When I take my girlfriend with me, what happens to her in the current world?”
Mario’s grin returned, as if he expected the question.
“Well, she’s already left her current world, so she disappeared.”
“Can we go back to 1996? What would happen?”
“You can go to any time you want. When you take a person through time as an object, they completely vanish. Their body travels through time, leaving no trace in their past. You know the missing person reports, right? Grown men and women who go randomly missing and we wonder how on Earth someone with a family and friends can just vanish. This is how.”
“But no one knows she’s here besides my mom.”
“Well then, you have nothing to worry about. You can come and go as you please with her, since she’s essentially unaccounted for in 2018.”
Martin stared Mario in the eyes and noticed that they looked black. Yet, behind that grin, he sensed a secret.
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
“You’re good, Mr. Briar,” Mario said, chuckling. “Very good indeed. Chris was right about you being a perfect fit.”
“A fit for what?”
“For the Juice. You see, we don’t just give this stuff to any random Joe off the street. People are carefully scouted and observed for years. We chose you because you have a hunger to make things right. Even in your darkest days, Chris saw the light in you, knew you’d be the perfect candidate to do big things.”
“Then why does he travel to the future to watch wars like it’s a spectator sport?”
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 33
