Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

  “You have to understand there a billion things happening at once for Chris. Like I said, he can’t be everywhere. Besides, he doesn’t get in the way of the world. He lets life carry on as it would normally. No interference.”

  “Except for giving my mom Alzheimer’s, right?”

  Mario’s grin vanished into pursed lips.

  “You made an agreement. Don’t try to make us feel bad about what that agreement led to. You were warned it would be painful, and you haven’t even experienced the truly painful part yet.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “I can tell you to stay cautious everywhere you go. The Road Runners are out in full force and will stop at nothing to get every glowing person they can find.”

  Martin had forgotten about the subtle, golden glow that radiated from the skin of those who had been blessed with time travel. He studied Mario’s arm and saw it immediately.

  “No matter what era you decide to travel to, or even what part of the world you go to, for that matter, it’s imperative that you remain alert for the Road Runners. They have grown considerably with their brainwashing of innocent time travelers.”

  Martin remembered watching them burn down the liquor store in 1996 and murdering his acquaintance, Calvin Yoshiki. He didn’t need an explanation on why they should be avoided.

  “And how can I tell if someone is a Road Runner?” Martin asked.

  “You can’t. That’s the problem. They’ll approach you to strike up a bond, because hey, you’re both time travelers, and why shouldn’t you be friends? If you fall into that trap, it’s already too late. They’ll poison your mind.”

  “Why do they do this?”

  “They want to rule the world. I think they’re just evil people trying to stop others from doing good during their travels. Your friend, Calvin, did nothing wrong. You met him—he was doing research to try to make his present time a better place. And they came and wiped him off the map. It’s best for you to simply not get close to any other time travelers should you meet them. They are spread all throughout time: past, present, and future, as well as all around the globe.”

  “You guys ask me to avoid people, but sometimes I need information and I never know where to find you.”

  “You know enough now, my friend. Just stay out of the way of the Road Runners. Go do what you need to do and keep a low profile. The more exposed you are to the public, the easier they’ll find you.”

  “How can I find you?” Martin asked.

  Mario’s grin returned. “We’ll find you, Martin. We’re all over the place, and we’ll know when you’re truly in need.”

  Martin nodded and extended a hand. “Thank you for all your honesty.”

  Maybe these people aren’t as bad as I thought.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Briar,” Mario said as he returned the handshake. His flesh was cold and clammy. “We’ll see you around.”

  Mario turned and walked with his same confident pace back toward the neighborhood, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived.

  Martin watched the sun glowing orange above the blue mountains. He had never felt so small in the world.

  61

  Chapter 6

  On Wednesday, Martin returned to the courthouse for the prosecution’s decision. Things could progress quickly depending on what occurred today, and he needed to be the first to know.

  The gallery was filled with more people than the initial hearing on Monday, likely due to the press coverage received in the two days since. The silence deafened the room when Lela entered, shortly followed by Judge Garcia.

  The orange jumpsuit looked good on her. It had been hard at first to see his former wife in such a predicament, but she had asked for it. Everything would have been handled much differently had she come clean on that fateful night. It was the cover up that irked him into having such vengeful thoughts and wishes. She would have gotten away with it had Martin never met Chris. Maybe there was some good that came out of this situation that otherwise grew more regrettable every day.

  “How will the prosecution proceed?” Judge Garcia asked in his intimidating voice.

  The district attorney stood and brushed off his suit. “Your Honor, the state would like to drop the charge of murder, and press a charge of manslaughter against Lela Briar.”

  Lela’s defense attorney nodded as if he expected the decision.

  “And does the defense have a plea to this charge?” Judge Garcia asked.

  The defense attorney stood. “Your Honor, we plead guilty to the charges of manslaughter.”

  “Very well. Court will be in recess until this afternoon when we will convene for a formal sentencing. Please note this will strictly be handled by the court. There will be no testimony or jury required since the plea is guilty, so no need for the attorneys to prepare any statements.”

  The judge banged the gavel and chatter immediately erupted like a busy high school cafeteria. Martin stayed in his seat and wouldn’t leave until he knew Lela’s fate.

  * * *

  They kicked everyone out of the courtroom for the four-hour break, so Martin had called Sonya to inform her of the news. She wouldn’t let her new cell phone go more than two minutes without checking it, even though he was the only one who had its number.

  Martin had lunch in the court’s cafeteria, sure to keep his head down to avoid harassment from any reporters who might be in the crowd, before court resumed and he settled into his seat in the back row.

  “Will the defendant please rise?” Judge Garcia boomed.

  Lela stood in slow motion, bracing herself. Martin saw her hands shaking from across the room and knew the rest of her body trembled beneath the baggy jumpsuit. Lela wouldn’t last in prison, where there were no manicures and pedicures available. She had a feisty personality but lacked the toughness to survive against women who would be twice as strong as her.

  Will you be having such angry thoughts if she actually gets killed in prison? Martin asked himself. Even prisoners didn’t take kindly to inmates who had harmed children, leaving a high probability that Lela would, in fact, face some dark days ahead.

  “Ms. Briar—” Martin shuddered as he heard the judge address Lela by her married name, which she clung onto after all of this. “After reviewing previous rulings, I’ve decided to impose the maximum sentence of six years in prison. In addition, you will be forced to pay a fine of $500,000 and have four years of probation upon your release. If I could add more years I would, but the law doesn’t allow me to do so. No one who kills a child should be allowed to see the light of day. Our bailiff will assist you with some clerical matters before you begin your sentence. Now please leave my courtroom.”

  The judge rose from his bench with a snarl and exited to his chambers. He must have been having a rough week, or he genuinely hated Lela, which was fine with Martin. He smiled to himself in the back row and stood to exit.

  “Mr. Briar! Martin!” a woman’s voice shouted as soon as he stepped out of the courtroom into the main hallway. It was a reporter, one he recognized from TV on one of the local news stations. “Mr. Briar, may I have a word?”

  Almost made it out, he thought as the short woman ran to him with a microphone in hand.

  “Alright,” he said flatly.

  “Thank you, Mr. Briar. I’m Dani Fisher with Channel Nine.” She stuck the microphone in his face, and he remembered her as the field reporter for the evening broadcast. She seemed to always be trotting around town, her skinny frame and short hair always in someone’s business. Seeing her up close reminded Martin of a raccoon the way she stared at him with such desperation above her tiny nose. “Mr. Briar, what did you think of the sentencing?”

  “I would’ve liked to see a longer sentence. I thought the DA was going to pursue second-degree murder no matter what. Apparently he has more important things to tend to.”

  Martin had learned the art of giving short responses after being interviewed numerous times in the days following Izzy’s rec
overy from the lake.

  “Are you happy to see your ex-wife go to prison?”

  “I’m happy to see justice delivered, but still wish it could be longer.”

  “Will you move back into your old home now that she’ll be in prison?”

  “Absolutely not. That home is where my daughter was killed. I have no interest in going there for any reason.”

  “Will you visit your ex-wife in prison?”

  What kind of stupid questions are these?

  “Of course not. I’ve made my peace with her already and have nothing further to say.”

  “What’s next for you?”

  “I’m going to live my life in peace and try to put all of this behind me.”

  More reporters gathered around with microphones and recorders held out to catch a statement from the defendant’s ex-husband. He felt like a celebrity with the bright camera lights blinding him.

  “Are you going to stay in Larkwood?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I’m currently in the market for a new home.”

  “Who was the woman you were holding hands with at the funeral?”

  “My—” Martin caught himself before saying girlfriend. The press would have a field day if they knew he took a new woman to sit with him at his daughter’s funeral while Lela sat in a jail cell. “She was a relative. No more questions, please.”

  Cameras snapped and reporters barked various questions in what sounded like group mumble. He had no interest discussing his personal life with any of these people and perhaps had already said too much. The fact that they had seen Sonya disturbed him, and knowing that they had been hiding at the funeral—whether from a distance or blending in with the crowd, he’d never know—disgusted him. He pushed his way through the mob like a running back trying to plow through a defensive wall as they all shouted one last desperate attempt. Martin kept his head down and darted toward the exit.

  His cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said.

  “Marty, I just saw you on the TV, wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. These reporters are like bloodhounds. Hopefully that was the last time I ever have to deal with them.”

  “You looked good on there. Are you happy with how it turned out?”

  “It’s the best we could have asked for given the situation. I wish the DA would have put up more of a fight for the murder charges instead of jumping for the plea.”

  “It’s probably for the best. This way it doesn’t have to be dragged out for a trial and everyone can get back to their lives, especially you. Did I ever mention that I never liked Lela? Always thought there was something off about her.”

  Martin chuckled, the tension starting to leave his face. “Yes, Mom, you’ve mentioned it hundreds of times since we got divorced.”

  “Okay, good, just wanted to make sure you knew.”

  Martin wrapped up the call with his mom and wanted to leave this whole situation behind. It was ugly business, being reminded about Izzy’s murder on a daily basis. Perhaps his mom was right about there not being a full trial. That would only lead to hearing testimony and details about the day that ruined his life. All he wanted was to pretend it had never happened.

  62

  Chapter 7

  “I want two things done within the next couple of weeks,” Martin said to Sonya when he arrived home from the courthouse. “We need to have a new house picked and ready to move into, and a concrete plan for what we’re going to do in the past. And when we’re done with our business in 1919, I need a vacation, and one that doesn’t involve following people around. I need a beach and an unlimited supply of frozen drinks.”

  Sonya had not removed herself from the laptop aside from eating and bathing.

  “Well, do you wanna help me do research then?” she asked. “I’ve been on this computer all day and can’t find anything on my grandfather.”

  “You need a break from the research. How about we look at houses for a little bit? Help clear your mind. Daydream about our future home. Then jump back into your research with a clear mind.”

  Sonya nodded and kept clicking the mouse.

  “I don’t know anything about real estate in 2018. All of these prices look outrageous to me, but I also don’t know if it’s normal.”

  “It’s normal. Houses don’t cost $100,000 like they used to. Those same houses are probably selling for $300,000 today. Remember, we have a lot of money now. We won’t be outbid.”

  “I know, but a million dollars for a house is absolutely wild.”

  “Then wild it is. I don’t really care at this point. I just want the house that I’m going to live in for the rest of my life.”

  “Martin, some big mansion isn’t going to magically change your life.”

  “I know that, but I need a change. I’m literally getting a second chance at life and a fresh start. I want to build a life with you. Is that not what you came here for?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Well then, find some houses where we can do that. I’m not expecting a mansion, but I don’t want another apartment, either.”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ll look at houses.”

  Martin wanted to tell her about the press, but decided to leave her out of the drama. They were all obnoxious maggots, as far as he was concerned, and he didn’t want to frighten her by revealing that they had seen her at the funeral. She had enough on her plate.

  * * *

  Sonya had arranged three house tours and one open house visit the following day. She had apparently thrown her reservations to the wind as the houses were in wealthy areas like Cherry Creek, Washington Park, and even one in their old stomping ground in Littleton.

  How ironic if we end up the Klebold family’s neighbors, Martin thought, the idea actually giving him goosebumps instead of a laugh.

  Each house was beautiful by its own right. The one in Cherry Creek faced the Rocky Mountains straight on and had the most up-to-date appliances and interior. It was truly the house of a filthy rich person. The house in Washington Park was historic, probably built in the early 1900’s, but had its own natural beauty that no modern home could compete with. And lastly, the home in Littleton and soon-to-be winner of Martin and Sonya’s brief house hunting adventure, was the biggest of the three, yet the lowest priced. The tri-level home had seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, walk-in closets, and a finished basement that opened to a beautiful backyard complete with a basketball court and swimming pool.

  Martin watched her as they walked through the house, her eyes growing bigger with each new room and section of the house they explored. He wanted a home they could live in until Father Time took them from the world, and they found it, but thinking about the future made Martin’s stomach churn in guilt.

  You have to tell her, he thought. She has to know that she won’t stop aging like you. If you go back to the 20’s and live there for even a year, that’s one more year she’ll be older while you remain frozen at 54.

  Martin shook the thoughts out of his head, living in the moment instead of dwelling on the future.

  “I think we should live here,” Martin said when they finished the tour. “I think we should buy this house right now.”

  Sonya couldn’t keep the wide grin off her face and jumped toward Martin, into his embrace. “I never imagined living in a place like this. It’s magical. There’s so much room for all of us.”

  The house provided plenty of distractions to keep Marilyn’s mind occupied as she clung to every last memory that tried to flee her ailing mind.

  “It’s perfect,” Martin said. He called his realtor and asked for the paperwork to be drawn up for an offer of $1.2 million.

  * * *

  Not even Martin had realized how quickly the real estate process now moved. The offer was sent and accepted within an hour, and they already had a move-in date set for two weeks after inspections and other tasks were complete. His realtor assured him this was the norm, seein
g as he hadn’t purchased real estate since his and Lela’s house almost thirty years ago when it took months to complete the process.

  Martin only needed two days to pack up his tiny apartment. Sonya had tried to make it a sentimental event—he had lived there for eight years—but all he could really remember were the late nights drinking on the patio, drinking on the couch, drinking in the kitchen, and even drinking in his bed. The apartment walls had witnessed Martin at rock bottom, and he wanted to take none of those memories with him into his new home.

  His mother’s house required a lot more assistance. She had lived there over forty years, and the process was indeed sentimental as they helped pack up memories that had lasted a lifetime.

  Cleaning out his mother’s closet, Martin found a dusty, worn-down shoe box filled with decades-old family pictures. Seeing portraits of him and his brother playing in the backyard made his stomach churn.

  This is all because of you, he thought, the images of Daniel slithering into his house where Lela waited to take him to bed playing in his mind. Martin had never taken the time to reflect on this specific incident, considering what happened a few minutes afterward, but the sight of his brother filled his soul with a hot rage.

  “Thank God you’re out of our lives,” Martin said, staring at the portrait of him and his brother at age eleven and nine, their thigh-high shorts showing all the leg scrapes and bruises that accompanied childhood. He packed the box away and continued digging through the closet where he came across a chest that housed all sorts of mementos from his late father: handwritten letters, post cards, and random gifts from the various places he had visited.

  Martin lacked memories of his father. His old man had worked in both the military and later as a traveling salesman for one of the most successful nutritional companies in the country.