“Preston, trust me. You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy. I will be back in this office taking on some other death-defying mission in a couple of weeks from now, okay?”
“All right, Ms. Maxwell. I look forward to seeing you in those couple of weeks from now.”
“It’s a date.”
Preston rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I’m already married.” He flashed his ring and a smile, knowing that I was only joking.
“Any other important information I should know before I get going?”
“Elizabeth will get you dressed per usual, and you’ll start your night off waiting for a woman named Alice Withrow,” Markian replied. “This is an alias to her real name, which is Josephine Miller. She is going to be at this club and on the lookout for someone in a red dress, which will just so happen to be you. She doesn’t seem to be dangerous herself and is more than likely just a pawn in all this. She is looking for someone to help her find her lover who went missing over a month previously. We have it on good authority that her girl got involved somehow in The Hope of Tomorrow. Everything else you need to know is in the files and autopsy report.”
I nod, becoming acutely aware that this may be the last time I see the council members. I know that thinking this way isn’t helpful, but knowing and forcing myself to stay positive are two separate beasts entirely. “I guess that’s it then.”
Giavoni gave me another huge bear hug, which now made much more sense to me.
I hugged her back just as tightly, hoping that I would return to a hug just as nice. “I’ll see you later, Gia.”
Pax nodded. “If it were any other detective, I’d be worried, but I know you’ll be fine.”
I smiled. Pax was normally right, so their statement, true or not, made me felt a bit better.
“See you all in a couple of weeks. You better have another case ready for me by then.”
Markian smiled. “I promise we will.”
I looked at the file and the page containing the number of written death threats sent to me again. Twenty-seven death threats have been sent to me over the course of the past six years. Twenty-six people before this letter had decided to send a formal threat, and none of them had made good on it yet. Here’s hoping number twenty-seven wouldn’t make good on it either.
I grabbed the files and made my way out of the conference room and to the dressing room. The room was more like an extravagant walk-in closet, really. All the walls were lined with dresses from different time eras and for all different occasions. Most of them were handmade, too, designed by Elizabeth McPherson.
“Liz? You in?”
“Mhm!” A head popped out from behind a mannequin.
“Lori! Heard you were in a little bit of trouble, huh?”
“Yeah, someone wrote me a love letter in the blood of someone else that works here ... well, she used to work here.”
“Who was it?”
“Someone named Katie Renning.”
“I can’t say I remember that name ... She must have been new.”
It was odd for Elizabeth not to know someone considering her job was to make period-appropriate clothing for everyone. Even if someone was new, she’d have to know that person’s size to make an outfit. I couldn’t help but feel that it was significant that she didn’t remember the agent. I put this bit of information in my back pocket. Although it could have just been human error, I wanted to look more into Katie Renning—even if the autopsy photos made me want to vomit.
“Guess so,” I said.
“Oh, I have your dress ready. I think you are gonna like it. You’re gonna get to play the part of a genuine flapper ... or at least look it.”
She was right; the dress was perfect, complete with a feather headband, sequins, and tassels that I knew would look amazing with a spin. I began to change immediately, excited to wear my new outfit. “Do I gotta rouge my knees?”
“Of course! You know the drill ... period clothing and makeup, Ms. Maxwell.”
“Ms. Maxwell? Ugh, you are starting to sound like Preston. Ms. Maxwell is my mother; Lori will work just fine.”
She laughed and said, “Of course. I have perhaps been spending too much time with the council.”
“You do some mighty cute makeup, though. I am not much of a makeup girl, but you make me look and feel like a whole new woman.”
I sat down in the stylist chair in front of me and watched her work her magic. Fortunately, my own hair was similar to that of a flapper, so no wig or haircut was needed. The 1920s could actually be a pretty fun era all things considered. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was a turning point that held loads of changes on the horizon, and visiting for a short time was pretty pleasant.
After Elizabeth was done with my makeup, I took the twirl I had been excited for. The tassels floated to my sides. Looking into the mirror, I thought I looked like a girl straight out of a film noir movie. The bright red of my lips complimented my bright red dress. I was positive my client would be able to easily tell me apart from anyone else in the room.
“Thank you so much! It looks perfect, as always.”
“Well, you ready?”
“As ready as I will ever be.”
“Let us get you in the time capsule then.”
The time capsule was a play on the term. Time capsules were originally boxes meant to be buried to give the people of the future a glimpse of the past. The council’s time capsules were meant to give people a real glimpse of the past by sending them there.
I nodded my head in agreement and made my way to the machine.
The operator smiled, already knowing who I was without looking at my company ID. “January 9 of 1925, correct?”
I quickly flipped through the files again. I tried to ignore the autopsy photos, but I did look at the report. What killed her was, unsurprisingly, several blows to the head. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the report. I sighed and set the folder down. I wouldn’t need to take it with me to remember the death threat sent to me.
“Ready?”
I climbed into the capsule, hearing the machine slowly start up, and nodded. “Ready.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, and I wake up in a bar unfamiliar to me. I had been to the twenties several times before, but apparently not to this part of town.
“Are you corked already, hun?”
“No, just a little dizzy from dancing.”
“Why don’t you take a seat?” the stranger asked, and I complied.
I looked up at the girl helping me out. “Hey, do you perchance know a dame by the name of Alice Withrow?”
“Oh, she is actually downstairs. Would you like me to get her?”
“If that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
She nodded and turned on her heels.
I looked around, wondering if anyone in the bar could be watching me—and if anyone was part of the organization that wished to bash my head in. I wasn’t drunk, but to get me through the night, I would need some strong bootleg liquor.
I got up from my chair and stood at the bar. “What do you got?”
The bartender looked up and stared at my face for a hard second. “I haven’t seen you around here before. You look like you could use something strong, doll.”
“I am new. Just moved into town a few weeks ago.”
He flashed a smile. “How about a welcome to St. Louis drink for you then? On the house, of course.”
“That doesn’t sound like a sound business practice, but I never turn down a free drink.”
“I try to give myself a budget for spiffy gals such as yourself. Besides, I hope with a little hospitality, I will see you in this place again soon.”
I chuckle, knowing I will never see this bartender again. “We will see.”
He passed me a drink, and I downed it much faster than the bartender had expected me to. “Easy there. French 75 is a pretty strong drink.”
I smiled. “I am a pretty strong gal.”
I felt a small tap on my
shoulder and turned around to see a girl so beautiful she almost made me choke.
“Uh, hello,” she said. “Are you Lorianne?”
“Are you Alice Withrow?” I asked, blinking hard.
“That’s what they call me. Actually, I was wondering, Ms. Lorianne, if we could go somewhere a little more private to talk?”
“Of course!” I said, a bit more enthusiastically than I meant to sound.
She didn’t seem to notice. “Great, let’s go.”
Alice, or rather, Joesphine, grabbed my hand and began leading me downstairs. I wondered how she got caught up with someone in some weird time gang, then I realized that I was being unfair to this stranger I had just met. I know that sometimes really good people end up making bad decisions.
As she was dragging me downstairs, I felt her stop. I looked at her, a little worried, but then I suddenly realized that she didn’t just stop. Everything had stopped. The air grew stale, and I yanked my hand away from hers. I looked at the clock, and the time immediately caught my eye. Midnight.
I ran upstairs to an even more startling scene. The whole bar was frozen. Patrons had glasses stuck to their faces, and all were still, except one. The bartender. I felt my legs almost immediately go numb. How could I have been so stupid?
“Hey, doll, you feeling okay?” he asked with a sickening smile.
“What did you put in my drink?”
“A cocktail, of course. A little sodium pentothal, a little anesthetic ... enough to make you apt to tell us the truth and keep us safe.”
“Who is us?”
“Did you not receive our letter? We are The Hope of Tomorrow, of course.”
He knew that his cocktail was starting to take effect on me, so he hopped over the bar and came over to me.
I knew that I shouldn’t waste my energy running, and that, if I waited it out, the effects would wear off. It would take a couple of hours, but if I could just keep talking and let them believe that we could cut a deal, then maybe I could contact Giavoni to get me out of here.
The bartender grabbed my arm and led me behind the bar. “Come on, sweetheart. Despite what we’ve been leading you to believe, killing you is only our last resort.”
“So, what is drugging me? Your guys’ idea of a plan A?”
“Funny one, huh?”
“More like the annoying one who likes to think she is funnier than she actually is.”
The bartender was a tall, skinny man. His demeanor didn’t seem like that of a sociopath, but when did a sociopath ever actually seem like a sociopath? I guess that is what I get for taking a free drink.
“How many people are in this ‘Hope of Tomorrow’ cult?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ll be asking the questions here.”
I sighed, feeling myself growing remarkably tired. “Go ahead then.”
“What sort of thing is your council capable of?”
The secret of a truth serum was not to lie, but to tell only half-truths. “Arguing is sure one of their strong suits.”
“I can tell you what I know,” said a voice from the back.
The girl who walked out in front of me wasn’t dressed to fit the twenties.
I looked at her, confused by her statement. “Are you a friend of the council?” I gave a dry laugh.
“More like ... keep your friends close and your enemies closer. That is why I invited you to come today, after all. I am hoping that I can change your status.”
“From foe to friend?”
“Do you know how many people you could save? Your organization is using you. For what? Small changes? Saving artifacts? The Hope of Tomorrow aims to rewrite history. You could be a part of something amazing. Aren’t you tired of watching the same mistakes happen over and over again in history?”
“I am not too keen on joining an organization that kills people. You sound like the bad guys to me.”
“We only kill people who deserve it or will deserve it.”
“What about our agent?”
“You don’t remember me? Agent Katie Renning, at your service.”
I sighed, feeling my head start to ache. “But ... I saw the photos.”
“The photos of a serial killer who poisoned hundreds of men.”
I looked at my capturers in somewhat of a new light. “I’m listening.”
The Epicenter of Existence
Lincoln Reed
One
THE LEAGUE OF GUARDIANS summoned Dr. Wade Remington on a Thursday and erased him on a Friday. They redacted his being, his digital thumbprint, and all records pertaining to the memory of Remington, an expert in ancient texts, Mesopotamian archaeology, demonology, hunting, and barbecue brisket. He’d never existed.
It was protocol, the League had said. This way, nobody would miss him.
The timing was unfortunate, especially since he’d scheduled a prime rib roast for that Saturday afternoon. The university president, distinguished faculty, and several colleagues had been invited, though none had RSVPd, which now made sense. It was impossible to attend the party of a man whose years of research, teaching, scholarship, and livelihood had been deleted from the record books of reality.
Dr. Remington, and all that made him unique in his world, had been expunged.
THE PROFESSOR SPREAD his arms, dressed for archaeological adventure, and coughed as a child might when taking his first breath. Skin prickled. Yes, this was real. Toes wiggled in combat boots. Nostrils spread. Heart pounded. Palms dampened. His eyes adjusted to the room, which was dark, tepid, and murky.
His stomach wrenched. Throat tightened. Teeth ached. Butterflies fluttered within his gut. The professor, in his mid-forties, sensed a growing unease in his chest. Was this the onslaught of a heart attack? Could “summoned” persons die after they’d been declared non-living? He wheezed.
Easy, Wade. You’re not dead yet. Dr. Remington reached for a pack of cigarettes but found his chest strap empty. He’d been pickpocketed. He searched for a stash of Nicorette gum. That, too, was gone.
“Those cigs will kill you,” the ex-wife had said. “Turn your teeth yellow.”
Too late. He was already whacked, on paper at least. Death didn’t care about one’s teeth. Even white-toothed bimbos perished. Everyone did ... some earlier than others. Dr. Remington cracked his knuckles and checked his watch. It, too, had been confiscated.
“For man does not know his time,” he mumbled, quoting Ecclesiastes.
Following his “assignment of correction” meeting with the League of Guardians, the professor was briefed regarding his task by a squad of military officers and medical staff. Even the afterlife required paperwork.
“You should be honored, Doc,” said the colonel. “One last step for man ...”
“One everlasting leap for Mother Earth,” a medical technician said, smiling.
Dr. Remington blinked. It was a strange thing to see a person smile at the thought of his own extinction.
Next, several military personnel, dressed in black, stepped from the shadows, bequeathing him a satchel and a scoped Winchester. All the supplies he’d requested were included in the large haversack. He didn’t require much.
Don’t worry, they said, the time transfer would hurt, but just a little, like being zapped by a dog collar. Charming.
“Ration your ammunition. You’ll need only two shots. Aim for the head,” said a tall, hazmat-suited woman. She sprayed him with a chemical substance that smelled like bug spray. “Also, don’t get eaten.”
The professor huffed, smirking underneath a matted beard. He could’ve chosen anything to do with his remaining days. Instead, he’d volunteered for a time trek. Now that it was happening, he wondered if it had been the right decision. Why not choose retirement on a populated Floridian beach? Bingo nights, senior discounts, a setting sun just beyond the breaking waves ...
Dr. Remington shuddered at the thought. That life was a nightmare—a mediocre, squandered existence. Dr. Remington was not one to waste his time ... in any dimension.
He checked his rifle’s quality, assuring himself that the scope was true, and the barrel was properly cleaned. The weapon had once been an instrument of death to every elk and moose within a day’s hike of his grandfather’s cabin. What would the elder think of its use now?
The professor frowned at the thought. If he succeeded, none of that would matter. His grandfather wouldn’t have existed at all ... and neither would he.
Dr. Remington adjusted his satchel and camouflaged shirt. Sentimental reflections wouldn’t help him. Like a child climbing the ladder toward the high dive at a local pool, it was best not to dwell on what his quest demanded. Other men his age would’ve mourned their personal loss of life, the frittered opportunities he’d opted to ignore.
Dr. Remington wasn’t most men. His pulse raced with anticipation. Countless interdimensional possibilities and spliced threads of reality rested within the control of the League of Guardians. They were manipulators of space and destiny. Formed with the express intent of correcting the past to ensure a better future, they were key holders to realms of infinite possibilities—and they’d selected him, Wade Remington, Ph.D. This was the chance of a lifetime, something no sane scholar and activist would pass up.
“Sure you don’t want to come along?” He adjusted the rifle strap, speaking to the hazmat-covered woman. “See the end of humanity?”
She shook her head, tapping his shoulder. “One-way ticket. Good luck, comrade!”
With that, the woman and her hazmat-suited counterparts stepped away. A massive clang reverberated in the room, and a whoosh of wind slapped his face. A portal glowed beneath Dr. Remington’s feet. Gooseflesh riddled his arms. The air chilled. Blue lightning flashed. The world in his line of sight spun with increasing speed. A luminous orb formed around his body. Dr. Remington lurched, queasy ... Zap.
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