“And did you go to see this man?”
“Ye-yes. I did.” Jane’s voice becomes tremulous. A tear fell down her face. “We live in a small town outside of Duluth. The address wasn’t hard to find. I rode my bike to a small warehouse on Main Street. It looked boarded up and abandoned, but when I stopped in the parking lot, the man came out of the building to greet me. Inside there were a few more people, and this… machine in the center of the room.”
“What kind of machine?” Aleisha asks.
“It had two large poles, like goal posts in football, but not as tall, and all these wires were coming off the base. The man said what they were doing was top secret and that I couldn’t tell anyone, but that, if I wanted, I could see how it worked.”
“Did you ever stop to wonder why he would bring you there? Why he would tell you these things that were top secret?”
“No. I was excited and something about it felt right. Not the man, I didn’t like him from the beginning. But something about what he said felt familiar, like a half-remembered dream.”
“What happened next?”
“They turned on the machine. There were three or four other people there. Three men and one woman, I think. When it came on, I felt this strange sensation, like the room was filled with static electricity. There was a noise like a loud wind and then this dark hole appeared in the air between the poles. I asked him what was on the other side and he said it was Paris in 1955.”
She’s sobbing now. Trying, but failing to hold back the tears. Her chest heaves with each word. “What girl wouldn’t want to see Paris? He said I could take a look and then come right back, and that if I liked, he would come with me. I said yes, and I—I went through the—the tunnel, and then I was there. It was real. I was in Paris.”
“Jane, are you okay? We can stop if you need to.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Okay then, let’s keep going. What happened after you arrived in Paris?”
“The others came after us. They brought the machine through with them, which freaked me out a little, but also made me feel better. The—the hole we came through didn’t go away, even after they took down the machine and brought it with them. It sort of… faded.
“They brought me to this old apartment building and locked me in a small room. They put on these disguises to look like homeless people. I found out the real name of the man in charge; they called him Phaedrus.
“He wasn’t who he said he was?” Aleisha asks, more a statement than a question.
Jane nods before continuing. “One night, they brought me outside to watch as a building across the street burned to the ground. There's a woman coming out of the building. It’s—it’s me.”
“It’s you?” Aleisha asks.
Jane nods, continuing: “The next day they all left. They were gone for hours. Once they get back, one of them is missing and Phaedrus is badly injured. They move me to a truck and we drive for hours through the night. They stop and all of them except Phaedrus leave. I’ve realized now they’re from the future—I mean, even further than my future. I’m not sure how far, but they have this device they use to read people’s minds or even control their body. Phaedrus used it to take over this older man’s body when his became too injured.”
“He controlled the man’s body?”
“No, he—he left his behind and went in another. Like rewriting a computer’s hard drive. At least, that’s what Vic told me.”
“Who’s Vic?” Aleisha asks.
“He used to work with me—the other me. But that comes later.”
“Okay, let’s keep going.”
“Phaedrus took me up a mountain. I overheard them talking about things when we were in the trunk. I don’t think they knew I could hear them—I was in the back and they were in the front of the cab. But there was this hole in the wall and if I got real close, I could hear what they were saying.”
“What did you learn?” Aleisha asks.
“I learned that I was from the future. Not my future, but later. From their time. Someone had brought be back in time and left me there, like Moses in a basket. They had looked for me before, in different times, but whatever they wanted with me, it hadn’t worked. They were using me to get to this older version of me who also could travel through time, but not in the same way they did it. She used the tunnels they left behind.”
“What did they want with her?” Aleisha asks.
“She knows something. I don’t know what it is. I don’t think even she knows what it is.”
“Did you see her again? This older you?”
“Yes. We stopped at the top of this mountain. I think we were in the Alps. They left me locked up in the back of the truck. But it was a canvas-backed truck. I was able to loosen the ties and get out. I thought I was going to die, though, it was cold, and I wasn’t dressed for it. That’s when I saw her. She was also wondering through the snow. There was a storm, and it seemed to get worse the closer we got to each other. My captors, who had been chasing her, caught up with her then and recaptured me as well. They took us to this pass. I knew it was over, then. Whatever they were planning, they were going to succeed at it.
“What were they trying to do?”
“The Order—”
“I’m sorry, the what?”
“That’s what they called themselves. The Order of the Perpetual Dawn. They had set up one of their tunnels at the top of this hill. Phaedrus, he took her through it. They were gone for a while, and then they came back. That’s when the shooting started.”
“Who was shooting?”
“Oh, that’s right. This is where Vic comes in.”
“And who is Vic?”
“Oh Vic… he’s with the, uh… what are they called? The ISD. But I don’t remember what it stands for.”
“The ISD?”
“I’m saying this all out of order. These people from the future, the Order, they leave all these tunnels behind. The ISD discovered them and they try to control them. Vic, he’s been with them since the beginning. He scared me when I first met him. He’s got this scar on his face…”
I sit forward. A man with a scar on his face. I think of the man who drove by apartment the night before. Could that have been the same man?
“… He was with her in Paris. They had gotten separated, but he had managed to catch up and find us. I saw her, the other me, hide behind a truck with him. I was afraid. So I ran for her. That’s when I saw it.”
“Saw what?” Aleisha asks.
“She had one of those things that reads minds. She grabbed me and put it to my head. Vic was trying to stop her, but—she gave me her memories. All of them. That’s why I have trouble remembering. It’s like her memories are battling with my own. Then Vic grabbed me and as he did something happened. There was this big flash of light like we were being struck by lightning. Then we were gone.”
“We?”
“Me and Vic. We ended up in Brazil in 1968. That was almost six years ago. He told me later that what happened was what they call a Recursion Event. It’s how the Universe deals with contradictions. If you get too close to another version of yourself, you can be thrown through time. He said this particular Recursion Event was a big one. The biggest he had ever seen. He said it caused the Algerian War, started the Muslim Spring, stopped us from going to the moon and stopped Kennedy from being assassinated. I caused all of those things.”
Jane begins to thrash in the water. There’s a rush of movement as someone, Quincy probably, wrenches open the hatch.
The image disappears, throwing the room into darkness. The only sound is the clacking of the film as it runs through the reel.
My hand is sore. I look down, noticing that my knuckles are white from the strength of my grip on the armrest.
I turn to Vance. “How the hell did you guys find this girl?”
“The fliers,” Vance says.
Aleisha turns in her chair to face me. “She was homeless, living on skid row. The first time I talked to
her she was incredibly confused and couldn’t even remember what year it was. I’m convinced that, for you, we could make progress much more quickly.”
“Why?” I ask, standing, feeling flushed and confused. “Why do you care about any of this? So there’s some government conspiracy and groups of time travelers at war with each other. What does that have to do with me?”
The door opens. Jane enters the room with Quincy a step behind her.
Jane stops a few feet away from me. “I think this has happened before. All of it. In fact, I’m convinced that it has. But this time, something is different. The other me, she gave me a gift. She gave me her memories.” Jane walks toward me as she speaks, stopping when she is only a foot away. “The ISD has these stations all over the world, and one of those stations is right here in Los Angeles. Phaedrus, the man who kidnapped me, who ruined my life, is going to be at that station this weekend. Sunday, to be exact.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I remember it,” Jane says, with an odd smile. “I remember it because she remembers it.”
I glance at Vance. He’s standing near Aleisha and Quincy, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes steady and unblinking.
My god, she’s got them all duped.
“I’ve been trying to find that station,” Jane continues, “but I haven’t been able to.” She takes another step forward, now standing uncomfortably close. “I think you can help me find it.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask.
“Because the stations are always built around the tunnels, and you found a tunnel in Los Angeles. Somewhere in here,” she taps my forehead, “is the location of the ISD’s LA Station.”
I feel myself grow cold. “And if you’re right, what then?”
Jane stares at me, her hazel eyes managing to look as cold as a winter night.
“I find him and I kill him.”
A oil-black sky pisses rain down on me as I run from my car to the phone booth down the street from my bungalow. The atmospheric warnings were on today and I feel suddenly paranoid that polluted rain is laced with acid that will burn through my clothes and melt my skin. I had driven home after watching the film of Jane’s insane therapy session and hadn’t even noticed the rain. It’s dark now and the thought of sleeping in my car has me desperate. I deposit my money and dial my own number.
Jim picks up on the sixth ring. “Hello?”
“Don’t do this, Jim.”
“You’re a shitty roommate, Ellis. And a worse friend.”
“I’ll go see my dad tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll get you your rent money.”
There’s silence for a moment.
“You know what? I don’t even care about the money, it’s you that’s the problem.”
There’s a click and then all I hear is hum of the dial tone and the pattering rain on the phone booth.
I hang up and dash through the rain back to my car. The beach is completely devoid of people due to the god-awful weather. I climb inside and slam the door shut, doing my best to wipe the rain off of me. The reality of my situation had slowly settled in after the fourth jack and coke. No apartment, no safety net, and no script. Turning in a rewrite on Friday is the only chance I have. But the script is ruined, and there's no way I can rewrite it from scratch in the next two days.
I lean my head against the window and pull my jacket over me like a blanket, watching the rain fall down the glass in streams and eddies. Down the street, I see the lights on in the bungalow. I wonder if Jim is thinking about me. I wonder if he’s awash in guilt for kicking out his roommate of nearly six years.
If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t want to live with me either.
Crack!
My eyes fling open and I am jerked from sleep.
Crack! Spiderwebs form across the glass of the driver’s side window. A tire iron swings toward the glass. Crack! My legs flail out, striking the underside of the dash. I sit up, scrambling backward to the passenger’s seat. Crack! The window shatters inward and I am sprayed with a shower of glass. A gloved hand reaches in and unlocks the car. The door swings open and hands grab my legs, pulling me forward.
I am ejected from the car and flung onto the sidewalk. A man dressed blue jeans and wearing a dark sweatshirt, gloves, and a knit hat casually brushes the remaining glass from the car’s window and kicks it under the car, then turns back to me.
His scar stands out like a red beacon in the moonlight.
I scramble backward on my hands and knees. The man grabs my ankle, yanking me back.
“Not so fast,” the man growls. He flips me over onto my back.
“What do you want?” I splutter.
A heavy booted foot comes down on my chest. A scarred face stares down at me. The man who drove by last night. It is a calm, uncaring face. “Stay away from Molly,” he says.
“Mo-Molly? I don’t even know a Molly.”
“You were with her last night in the parking lot of Camton University.”
“You mean Jane?”
The big man’s eyes flicker. “Yes, I mean Jane.”
“What do you care about Jane? I barely know her.”
The boot presses down harder on my chest and he casually tosses the tire iron from one hand to the next. “It doesn’t matter, just stay away.”
I try to play it cool. “If you’re some ex-boyfriend, you should know I’m not a threat. Seriously. I’m a big, flaming queer.”
He hesitates. “You’re not James?”
“James Gardner?” I take his silence as affirmation. "What do you want with him, anyway? He doesn’t even know Jane.”
“Who are you?” He asks.
“I’m Ellis. I’m Jim’s roommate. Or I was until he kicked me out. Look—you’ve clearly got the wrong guy.”
The big man leans into me, grinding the tire iron against my scalp.
“I don’t have the wrong guy. You were with Jane, and now it’s going to stop.
“Agh!—I swear to God, I don’t know anything about her!”
“You better not.” He whispers. “Because if I see you with her again, I will be back. And next time I won’t be so friendly.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want, I swear.”
“No, you weren’t listening. You don’t know her, Ellis Claymore. She doesn’t exist. You’ve never met her and you will never see her again. If she calls, hang up. If she comes here, don’t answer the door. She is dead to you. Understood?”
“Ye—yes.”
“Good, because if I see you with her again, then it won’t be your car window I break next time.” He twists the tire iron painfully into my skull. “Understand?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah, I understand.”
The tension against my head disappears. I wait for a moment, listening. I open my eyes, but the man is gone.
February 14
Palm trees sway over the brick and ivy wall of Artie Longdale’s home. A cool breeze filters in through my shattered driver’s side window. My back is a ball of pain from spending the night in my car, and my forehead still throbs from where my attacker from last night pressed the tire iron into my skull.
I park at the end of the driveway and open the door. Glass falls from the window, clinking on the ground, and crunches under my shoes as I step out.
Longdale’s car isn’t here. He must be spending the night at Connie’s. Vance’s motorcycle is parked along the side of the garage..
I take another glance over my shoulder to ensure I haven’t been followed, then follow the path around the property to the back. Artie Longdale is, to put it lightly, Los Angeles royalty. His father is a lawyer for some incredibly successful actors, and they had let their son have the run of their pool-house since he was in high school. Vance has been living with Longdale in his pool house for the past year, ever since starting grad school.
I bang on the door to small pool house. Vance opens it, sleep still smeared heavily across his face.
“We need to talk,�
� I say.
I slip inside, shutting the door behind me.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
“Someone’s been following me.
Vance ushers me in, checking the driveway behind me before shutting the door.
“Did they follow you here?”
“No,” I say.
Vance continues around the house, pulling curtains shut. “How long?”
“I don’t know. A day or two. I wasn’t going to bother you about it because I was pretty sure it was just a couple of mafia goons hired by the director I’m working for.”
“Mafia goons?” Vance asks.
“Forget about the Mafia goons, Vance. I can handle them. But there was this other guy. I thought he was Bob Carr’s fixer, but then he came and talked to me last night.”
“Last night? What did he say?”
Vance stalks past me toward the kitchen and peeks out through the kitchen window before pulling the curtains shut.
He opens a cupboard and pulls out a can of Folgers. “Want some coffee.”
I stop, finally noticing the room. The inside is a mess. There is dirty laundry strewn everywhere and stacks of dirty dishes, still with half an unfinished meal on them, piled on the coffee table. Longdale is normally tidy; a neat-freak, even. But I’ve never seen his pool house looking like this. The smell of sweat and stale food assault me and I, unconsciously, raise my hand to my nose. “Vance, this place is a wreck.
“I’ve been preoccupied.”
“Is Longdale here?”
“He’s been staying in the main house since his parents went on that never-ending trip to Europe.”
He checks the can of Folgers, then tosses it back on the counter. “Never mind about the coffee. What did this guy say to you?”
I shake my head and turn back to Vance. “He knows Jane.”
Vance looks up at me. “What did you just say?”
“He knows Jane.”
“What does he want with her?”
“I’m not sure, but he told me to stay away from her. This guy was scary. Definitely army. A spy, maybe. I don’t know, or—shit, Vance, he’s gotta be one of them.”
Dispersion: Book Two of the Recursion Event Saga Page 7
