by C. M. Murphy
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alma stood on the white tile, stunned. No matter how hard she willed it, the door would not reappear. Her mother had been excited about her date with James. And he'd seen her! It may not have registered fully in his mind, but he definitely peered into her mother's eyes just like he had when he recognized Alma visiting Irene Polk.
"But why?" she asked herself.
"Remember what Tita Win Win told you before," Alma said to herself. "Your mother erased part of her memory to keep James from absorbing that knowledge."
Alma remembered walking with her mother to her death. She knew James was going to kill her. Any timeline in her mother's memory would have been absorbed by James. Even Tita Win said that not all the memory potion had worked. Alma had been able to recover parts of her mother's memory. Had James? Would he be waiting for Alma when she went back into her mother's life? There was no way of knowing how much James knew.
"That's not exactly true," she told herself.
The answer dawned on Alma. That matchbook! When she'd touched that matchbook, she gone into James's mind. She could know what he knew. The crisp white tile of the room morphed into that dark alley. The alleyway was filled with unmarked creepy doors. The brick wall had a rusted door marked "Irene Polk." Alma didn't need to go in there. She worried that the same thing that happened when she'd entered the life of Irene would happen to her now.
"But this isn't actually James's mind," she told herself.
"But then how did he see me in Mom's memory?"
"Your mother is psychic, maybe she knew it and she'd prepared to block you in time. Or maybe he sensed you were there, but didn't fully see you."
The uncertainty of her own answers didn't comfort Alma, but she had no choice but to continue.
Alma walked down the alley. Her feet scraped at the dirty ground. Even though she knew she was safe, the sinister vibe of her surroundings made her to hesitate.
She steeled herself and explored further. She peeked into a broken window and saw a woman in a bridal gown. The woman shook her head as if she could read Alma's thoughts. Alma smiled at the bride, and she waved goodbye in return. The sadness in the bride's eyes tugged at Alma's heart. She knew James had killed her.
Alma continued. She let her instincts guide her to the dark end of the alley. The alley narrowed until it dead-ended into the dirty cement wall. Two names were written in blood on that wall with a messy line in between them. Leo Upton's name was scrawled near the left corner, and Bernadette Fernandez's name on the right.
The timelines intersected for only a brief period from late November 1973 to January 1, 1974. Alma put her hand on the wall near the end of the intersection and found herself swept into a hotel casino on New Year's Eve.
Gold balloons and streamers decked the walls. The ringing slot machines from the casino floor filled Alma's ears. As she walked in the casino the laughter and voices of hotel guests came in waves as the crowds ebbed and flowed throughout the casino. Alma marveled at the mixture of clothes. The wide-collared, loud-colored jackets competed with the wild-patterned carpets and draperies of the hotel. And the women's clothes were straight out of an old television show. Flowing long maxi dresses, one-shoulder sequined numbers, and halter top dresses whisked past Alma.
The festive, party atmosphere made Alma giddy. Then she spotted her mother coming out of the ladies room. She looked so glamorous in a black and silver sleeveless dress with a V-neck.
A very debonair man with full dark hair and a double-breasted suit with a striped tie and white shirt held out his arm for her. Alma followed them as far as The Copa Room. When she crossed the threshold of the showroom, she entered, but it was blank. For a moment, she'd thought this memory had been erased, but when she stepped out of The Copa and back onto the casino floor, the memory roared back to life.
Then she spotted him at a blackjack table at the edge of the casino in a seat facing the doorway to the showroom. Alma approached James with caution even though she knew she was but a ghost floating in her own projection of his memory.
A dark cloud of pain, guilt, jealousy and longing seemed to emanate from him in waves of violet. His energy! She'd been experiencing his dark energy all week. Fear gripped Alma as her mind filled with claustrophobic memories of being suffocated and trapped in a sea of purple.
"No," she told herself. "This is a memory. Don't create danger."
She approached James. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and he was unshaven. He nursed a whiskey as he played blackjack.
Despite the crowded casino, the seat immediately next to him was open and the game only had three other players. Alma couldn't make out their faces or even the face of the dealer. Much of the room had dimmed as well.
The only things with any detail was the area near The Copa Room, James's drink, and each hand of cards.
Wanting to hear his thoughts about her mother, Alma sat in the empty seat and willed James to verbalize his thoughts aloud as he played.
"This one. She's special. Her family is the one," he said, glancing down at his cards, a seven of spades and a two of diamonds. He tapped the felt to indicate to the dealer to give him another card. He got a ten and chose to stay.
"Nice try changing the name and getting adopted. It threw the others off, but not me. It's just a question of when her powers are going to manifest." James won the hand and placed his bet for the next one. His eyes always returned to the showroom and his watch.
"The show gets out at ten thirty," he said. "Eighty-five minutes to go. She picked out another paramortal. That can't be happenstance."
Alma's mind tingled at the thought. She watched the dealer win the hand and scoop all the chips.
James hailed the cigarette girl and bought a pack of Winstons and some matches. "If you see a waitress, send her this way with another whiskey, will you?" he slurred as he paid for the cigarettes and threw a ten-dollar chip on her tray as a tip.
"Right away, sir," she smiled at him, but even her face was blurry.
James placed his bet for the next hand on the table and lit his cigarette. "I'd thought of marrying her, but I think she suspects me now," he said, taking a drag, and Alma's mind remembered the smoking man leaning against the car waiting for her mother.
James set the matchbook on the table. Alma's eyes fixed on it. It was the matchbook she'd found in her father's things. That's what brought her to the alley.
"She's psychic or so the villagers claimed when she was a little girl," James continued as he flipped over blackjack and won the round. "Her mother almost got Livius himself.
"Her Witness has reported no signs of paramortal abilities. Same for the sister. But I can feel something there. Something powerful brewing."
James's thoughts were all over the place. And some of them didn't make sense.
"I can't believe she's seeing this guy. Sure we broke up, and yes I was wrong to see her when I was married, but I killed my wife a full month before Bernie found out.
"I'd planned on waiting to acquire her powers until at least the boy had grown up, but now I have this kid all sad at home, because I killed his empath mother."
Alma's jaw dropped open. How could she have not seen the resemblance in the eyes? She stared into James's eyes and could almost imagine they were Haniel's. Alma shuddered. Haniel wasn't her Witness, he was James's son!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Haniel fought the urge to speed back to Los Angeles. He didn't want to be pulled over with an unregistered weapon in his glovebox.
He grabbed a bottled water from his cup holder and took a swig. His head throbbed. He'd spent the night in Vegas at a hotel drinking and pushing the sights of casinos and The Strip into his mind. If his father had foreseen anything, Haniel hoped his father would attribute it to his story about bringing Alma to Vegas.
He'd planned to arrive in the afternoon, kill his father, and wait until late at night to bury the body in the desert. It surprised Haniel that despite his anxiety over committing patricide, he
possessed an unparalleled excitement for his future. His future, for the first time, was his own.
He could run the shoe repair shop and live a simple life. He'd win over Alma in time. There'd be no rush. She sensed the danger, and that was what had gotten them off track. Without that danger, she'd have more time to see him. Hell, he'd be the hero. Of course, she'd love him! They could travel the world. He had enough money—especially since Alma wasn't at all materialistic.
Haniel opened the window even though he had the air-conditioning running. He wanted to feel the wind in his face. Freedom! This was what it meant to be free.
The 15 Freeway merged into the 210 and into the 134 as Los Angelenos said. Haniel's hands began to sweat, and his heart pounded.
His thoughts turned to his mother. He tried to remember his childhood and how close he had to be to her for her to pick up on his feelings. But he couldn't remember a time when his mother hadn't known what he felt. And he'd never had cause to hide his feelings from her. Haniel wondered how much of that had to do with her actually caring enough about him to want to know how he felt.
Haniel merged onto the 170. In less than ten minutes he'd be at the shop. Adrenaline pounded through his body, making it impossible for him to calm his mind. His father would catch his mood immediately. Haniel decided his best bet was to pretend his excitement for his future was excitement for his father's plan coming to fruition.
As he exited the freeway and maneuvered the last few turns to the shoe repair shop, Haniel's emotions revved into overdrive. Anger at the death of his mom. Relief at the idea of being freed from his father's tyranny. Joy at the thought of his future with Alma. Fear that he would fail. And way down deep, grief for the death of his father.
The grief caught Haniel off guard. Tears threatened as he pulled into the alley behind the shop. He told himself to pull it together, but a wave of guilt rode on the back of his grief. He'd be a murderer just like his father.
Haniel shook his head no. He wasn't like his father. His father had killed so many. He deserved to die.
Alma sat at the blackjack table, stunned about her revelation about Haniel until James grabbed his chips and stood up.
Alma followed him. People streamed out of the Copa Room, and James rushed to stalk Bernie and her date. A woman's laugh pierced through the ruckus of the crowd. James's head snapped in the direction of the sound. Alma followed his gaze and saw her mother with the handsome man in the suit.
The man's arm was draped around her shoulders, and from the looks of it her mother didn't mind. He gave her a quick kiss on the top of the head and then whispered something in her ear. Her mother nodded and laughed again.
Taking her by the arm, the debonair man led her through the crowd to the elevators. James followed the couple and blended with the crowd. Alma didn't have to worry about being caught, so she walked right up to them both.
The man had a familiar air, but Alma couldn't place where she'd known him from. He was charming and confident. It was easy to see how her mother was attracted to him.
"Birdie, you are beautiful," the man said, his voice a charming baritone with a romantic Italian accent.
"Leo, you're just what the doctor ordered," her mother responded.
Leo! Of course. Leo’s name had been on the alley wall, but Alma had forgotten he wouldn’t look like the Leo she knew in her own lifetime. But the way he carried himself was the same.
The elevator doors dinged open. Alma rushed to follow them in the elevator, but James's memory didn't have any knowledge of that elevator. Instead she found herself staring at the lights of the elevator door to see where they'd stopped.
"Of course, he'd have the fucking penthouse," James sneered in his thoughts.
James got into the next elevator, and Alma went with him.
She watched as James marched around the halls of the top floor looking for the couple. He glanced at his watch. Alma knew it was just before ten at night. His memory was hers. She noticed James's watch. It was the watch Haniel had worn on his date. That's how she'd been transported to Irene Polk's death.
James's gaze was fixed on a Do Not Disturb sign.
"She never slept with me," he said still verbalizing his thoughts as Alma had set forth in this memory reconstruction. "We dated for over four months." His drunken voice dripped with bitterness. "But this guy. She's known him since Thanksgiving, and here she is giving it up like a whore."
Alma wanted to smack the man, but it was pointless. He wasn't there.
"She doesn't even have any power that I can see. But neither does the sister. They're all just useless," he continued.
Then he laughed.
"Not useless," he said, his voice excited. "She's doing the one thing she's good for. She's making a baby. The baby."
Waves of bitterness poured off of him.
"Well, Bernie. I'll let you live tonight, but Daddy dies. He'll have served his purpose. But you and the baby, I'll get you both soon. I have time. I'll have eleven more lifetimes when I'm done with Daddy."
Alma's knees weakened. Of course. She was born nine months from this time. Leo was her father. James would kill him in the stairwell and then rush out into the alley later. She'd been there. But how did her lifelong dad fit into all of this?
The strike of James's match caught Alma’s attention. He leaned against the wall and lit his cigarette. He looked just like he had when he'd leaned up against the car. That's when she noticed a tear slip down his face. "Bernie, why couldn't you love me? I know I should have waited. I thought it would take longer to find you. We could have been together."
A pang of pity tapped at Alma's heart, but it paled in comparison to her anger, rage, and sadness. Alma vowed to kill him. She just needed to find the perfect moment.
Alma jumped back into the alley and stared at the wall showing the small intersection of her mother's life with Leo's here in James's timeline.
When she went back into actual time, she'd kill James. But she needed a plan. She needed to know where he'd be, and when she'd have the opportunity to kill him before he detected she was there.
Alma needed a better way to visualize where James's life intersected with anyone else's life in her acquired memories. This dark alley wouldn't suffice. She needed something bigger.
Alma stood on the timeline of her mother again, but this time she added the timelines of everyone's mind she'd jumped into. It surprised her that she had small pieces of Charles Taylor's and Cassidy's memories, but not much.
She asked herself why that might be.
"Maybe it's because you were in their present and didn't travel in their mind to get to a place in time," her inner voice answered.
She made James's timeline a solid red line that stretched down the center of the room about waist high, and then stacked the other timelines at different heights and angles so she could see precisely where each life intersected with the vampire's life.
Her mother's life intersected with James's the most in recent history, but they were in the months just prior to her mother's death. Alma tried to enter those memories, but they were blurred or blacked out by her mom.
Alma turned her attention to Leo Upton's timeline. It stretched farther back than anyone else's. But it only intersected with James on New Year's Eve and the day after when James killed him in the alley. Alma's attention turned to Irene Polk.
Her life intersected with James's for a year in the sixties and then a year before he killed her in 1985. He'd been her estate attorney.
The 1980s were too late to save her mom. So Alma zoomed in on her timeline of the sixties—1967 was the year. Alma vowed to dig through every moment of that year and find the perfect opportunity to kill James.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Haniel steeled himself with his rage, grabbed the loaded gun out of the glove compartment, and headed for the back door.
"James!" he heard his voice call out to his father as he entered the back hallway. He'd used his father's first name in case there were customer
s, but also to distance himself from him.
"Son! You're home!" his father called back. His happy tone and words cut into Haniel's heart. The man rarely acted so excited at Haniel's return.
The little boy inside of him that longed for his father's love surfaced. Haniel told himself it was too late. Scraps of affection given in exchange for being the pawn of an evil man wasn't enough. His father had been corrupted long before Haniel was born. The noble quest for knowledge had been twisted into a hunger for power.
Haniel gripped the gun and willed himself to walk down the hall and enter the living room.
He turned the corner, saw his father just a few yards away, and lifted the gun.
The sound of the gun firing told Haniel he'd pulled the trigger. Haniel marveled at how much louder it sounded than he'd expected. He watched his father's stunned expression. The gun fired again and again. Haniel's ears rang from the explosions.
The gun clicked in his hand. No more bullets. He'd never even told himself to pull the trigger. The ease of the task made Haniel doubt that he'd succeeded. Was he dreaming?
He looked over to where his father had been standing to find his father had crumpled to the floor.
Haniel saw the blood. So much blood. That had to mean his father would die. Dazed, Haniel found himself drawn to the heap of flesh that was his father.
He kneeled down to get a closer look. He could see the rib cage rising and falling. Still breathing. An urge to see his father's face overtook Haniel. He grabbed his father's wrist to turn him over.
An electric shock surged through Haniel's arm. He wanted to pull back and let go, but he couldn't.
He looked down at his father. His eyes were closed, but the corners of his mouth turned up. The man laughed.
Terror pulsed through Haniel's body! He'd gotten too close. Why hadn't he stayed away? His father would drain him until he was nothing.
