Damario searched the old hiding places. If he found another bottle underneath the sink, she wanted to get caught. Liquor stored in washed-out cleanser containers equaled trouble. He searched the pantry, refrigerator, cabinets, laundry room and trash and found nothing but his empty scotch bottle rinsed clean in the recycling bin. As he journeyed up the stairs, Damario improvised his story. If he told her about time travel and alternate realities, it could push her over the proverbial cliff.
“Robbie?” From the doorway, she appeared an absolute wreck. On the edge of their bed in a white cloth bathrobe, Robinne hung her head down to her chest. A white bucket sat between her legs. A bird’s nest of uncombed hair exploded from her head and her chocolate skin glistened with beads of sweat.
“Hey stranger,” she weakly responded. Talking increased the pounding and spinning.
He tiptoed closer. “Need water?”
“No,” she said, steadily breathing. “Got some.”
He eased onto the mattress, so it did not bounce. “So. . .”
“No steps, alright? Sponsor’s been called.”
He thought back to the irony of the 100-year-old Christmas gift from Madison. So that he could keep it, he lied and told Robinne that Justin Rochester from forensics pulled him in Secret Santa. Rochester sampled alcohol almost as often as he picked up one-night stands. Another secret he and Shenk shared played a part in this. “I should’ve gone with my first mind and given it back.”
Robinne licked her dry lips. “I called Madison last night.”
Damario’s heartbeat quickened. Did she call her drunk? What did Madison tell her? He said nothing. The scotch lie was the least of his worries.
Robinne lifted her red eyes and looked at her husband. “I told her our take on things. You’re transferring. You need a different partner. She was a woman about it.”
Our take? “About what?” His voice rocketed in pitch.
“Her feelings for you.”
His body stiffened with panic. “I didn’t sleep with her. . .ever.”
“She said you’re best friends. You’d never transfer. Not even if I begged you.”
That much was probably true, but Damario gave his wife room to further explain. “We’re in the middle of a big case, Robbie, a game changer.”
Robinne tenderly scratched her head. “That’ll always happen. Something has to die, Damario. If I start drinking again. . .the doctors said it’ll be me.”
Damario remembered the grim diagnosis after her C-section to deliver Gabriel. Years of indulgence in foreign substances stressed her body to the brink of organ failure. “We can get through this, Robbie. Just give me a week. One week.”
“No,” she forced out. “I need a divorce.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Harper’s insides leapt with joy when Micah called that morning. He’s alive! Happy to be wrong, she packed him a change of clothes, deodorant, a blade and shaving cream, toothbrush and a travel-size of toothpaste. She immediately alerted a still-sleeping Quinne to the development. “Quinne, Micah is alive. Get up and get dressed.”
“Huh? Yeah.” Her head stayed underneath the heavy 800-thread count quilt.
“What do you want for breakfast? Order anything you want.”
“Huevos rancheros,” Quinne blurted, finally pulling the cover down. “Anything?”
Harper shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Just tell the service droid and be downstairs in 15 minutes. It’ll take us awhile to get across town.”
As she descended the winding staircase, Harper thought that Quinne may take her time. Each guest room connected to an in-suite bathroom and the deluxe showerheads sprayed streams from multiple directions. The shiatsu setting would massage the sore leg muscles Quinne pulled during her run yesterday.
“Good morning, Missus James,” said the female droid. “What will you have?”
“Eight-ounce Blue Mountain, black with sugar. Two slices of light toast, buttered; two poached eggs and a turkey sausage link.”
“As you wish.”
Harper trailed the droid into the kitchen, where the breakfast nook bathed in natural morning sunlight. She chose to sit in her customary chair across from Micah’s, which faced the holovision. No need to see depressing news reports. Micah’s safe.
Minutes later, when breakfast had finished cooking, Harper spent extra time saying grace. “Thank you for saving my husband,” she prayed. “Thank you for keeping him safe. Thank you for our life together. Thank you for how You’ve blessed us. Thank you for this food, and may You be blessed in our eating and drinking. Give peace to the Kirkwood and Mitchell families in their time of mourning. In Jesus name, I pray. Amen.”
Harper started eating, and she had finished about half of her plate when Quinne entered the kitchen, unloaded her duffle bag from her shoulder, and sat in Micah’s chair. Bare-faced and wearing a black rock t-shirt and tight jeans, Quinne looked young enough to pass as a preteen.
“Good morning, Quinne.”
“Good morning.” She stretched out her arms and folded them down when the droid approached with a plate of food. “Huevos rancheros, a four-ounce Kobe steak, and hash browns. Coffee with cream and sugar and freshly-squeezed orange juice.”
Quinne blushed at her order and now felt compelled to eat it all in a hurry. Being at the James’ house certainly beat life with her paranoid ex-boyfriend.
“Kobe beef? We have an ambitious one here.”
“Sorry. You said anything.”
Harper giggled. “It’s fine. Everybody does that the first time. Did you rest well?”
The quip put Quinne at ease. “Best in years.”
“Good. Eat up. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Madison tried to distance herself from the insanity surrounding her partner, but found herself sucked into it. Though they had solved one case by finding Micah James, two more cases – the Kirkwood/Mitchell double murder and the Noor death/ transference – unraveled. Damario put on the God’s eye, passed out for 45 minutes, and had recently awakened. Now, he looked at her, as if something about her had changed.
“To understand what I’m about to tell you both, you have to accept two things.” Micah leaned forward on the chair’s cushion. “One: time travel is possible.”
Scientists had been trying. “Alright,” Damario relented. “What’s the other?”
“Two: five people were sent back in time and you were one of them. I’m not one of them, which is why I know the world, as we know it, never existed as it is right now.”
Madison interrupted. “What happened to change it?”
“Doctor Chu worked on a hypothesis called the Sixth Equation. He theorized that the traveler had a one-way ticket back in time. Whatever he changed about his world, he would live through it in an alternate quantum reality – a world of his own creation.”
Damario wrung his hands. “So, Chu’s responsible for all of this?”
“No. His theory lacked method. There’s something else you should know.”
Madison’s doorbell rang. She kept her Ordnance at her side and held her finger to her lips. She carefully approached the front of the apartment and eyed the peephole. Quinne and a jittery Harper waited on the other side. Madison opened the front door, and Harper almost knocked her down while running to her husband. Though Micah smelled terribly, she jumped into his lap and smothered him with kisses.
“I can’t believe it,” she said between smooches. “You’re alive! Where have you been? Why didn’t you come home?”
“It’s a long story, Harp, but I’m here.” He pushed back a little. “Officer Shenk, if you don’t mind, I’d like to. . .”
“Come with me; I’ll get you a towel and a washcloth.” Micah accepted the bag of clothes and toiletries from his wife and followed Madison to the guest bathroom.
Harper watched Micah go and wanted to join him, just to be in his presence again. She brightly smiled at Damario, who she credited with the reunion. “Thank you, Officer Coley, for whatever you did t
o get him back. I can’t ever repay you.”
Damario’s countenance fell. “I didn’t do anything, Harper.”
“But you did. You pushed through, even when it looked like he might not ever come back, and there were no clues to where he’d gone. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him, Officer. So, you see, I’m in your debt and owe you gratitude.”
“Excuse me.” Damario walked over to Madison. “I need to go home and talk to Robbie, catch a shower, and get some breakfast.”
Harper’s eyes widened. “Seriously, now? You can’t wait an hour?”
“I gotta clear my head, Maddie. All this is too much.”
She sighed. “Go outside then. Get some air. Call the station and check in, then hit up Robinne, patch things up, and come back inside. I’ll order food.”
“Alright,” he relented. Madison watched him go until he reached the elevator tubes. Damario casually saluted her before dropping out of sight.
After securing the door, Madison returned to the living room. A laughing Harper pushed Quinne’s shoulder.
“Your husband – he smells like old meatloaf and hot trash.”
“You see,” she cackled. “He’ll come out a new man.”
Madison skirted the two and sat next to the God’s eye. She handled the glasses with care and set them on her lap. I wonder if I can see through them? While the two joked, she put them on her face. A flurry of images flashed before her eyes.
“Stop!” Micah shouted. Groomed and dressed in a maroon sweater, black dress slacks and loafers, he reclaimed the God’s eye from Madison, who blinked a few times to allow her eyes time to adjust to the light.
“Easy, honey.” Harper watched Madison’s face for signs of trouble. “It looks like she’s okay. Besides, she wasn’t asleep for long. Are you alright, Officer Shenk?”
“Y-yes. I’m fine.”
“This isn’t a toy, Officer Shenk. It’s DNA-specific technology!” Micah shook the glasses. “It’s only coded for seven people. You could’ve been seriously hurt, or killed.”
“Take it easy, man,” Quinne interjected. “She ain’t worse for wear.”
Micah reared around, ready to launch into Quinne, but stopped short. “Sorry. . .I just didn’t know if Doctor Chu programmed a trap into the code. Did you see anything?”
She definitively shook her head and averted her eyes. “Nothing but a bunch of images I didn’t understand. Tell them what you started telling us, Micah.”
He explained the absolutes they had to accept: the Sixth Equation and the alternate lives they now led. Harper volunteered to be the next to go. Micah reluctantly handed her the God’s eye, settled down on the couch next to her, and held her hand.
Damario fought the temptation to start Madison’s police transport and drive straight home. Rather, he dialed the home number and waited. Robinne’s voice interrupted the automated voicemail message. “Hello,” she slurred.
“Robbie? Are you alright?”
“Fine. Tired. What’s up?”
The long pauses between words put him on guard. “You never called your sponsor and got into the Oban again?”
“Mmm. . .not much gets past you, Detective.”
Apparently, his wife’s bend toward addictive substances extended to both realities. She skipped anesthesia during childbirth, shunned caffeine, and barely took aspirin because of it.
“Come home,” she implored from beneath a frazzled mess of scattered hair. “Take care of me.”
Understanding time travel posed a problem to the sober, much less than the inebriated. “Wish I could, but I can’t right now. I’m on the job. I’ll be home later.”
Robinne edged her body to the end of the mattress and belched. “Enjoy it?”
“I didn’t sleep with Madison, Robbie.”
“Might as well.”
Frustrated, Damario breathed deeply and counted down from five. “You have the kids?”
“Mom and Dad’s.” Robinne retched and threw up into whatever receptacle she stationed underneath her head. Before she did so a second time, Damario disconnected the line.
He couldn’t tell her what he had seen. Back in college, I received my internship offer, accepted it, and went east. We broke up. I became a successful executive at G.R. Cooper and married Madison. You’d be a strung out drug addict. Madison would’ve cheated on me with Justin and I lose an arm and an eye in a crash.
He imagined a coherent Robinne dismissing the explanation as an insult to her intelligence. An affair, switch of sexual orientation, or a drug-running operation would be an easier sell. She’d accuse him of making up an excuse to skirt around the truth.
I really married Madison? Since they met at the academy, they carried an underlying attraction for one another. But enough for marriage? He doubted it. A lack of substance to build a foundation beneath the chemistry explained why he divorced her; that, and the fact she cheated on him multiple times. This Madison possessed a healthy libido of which she had a tendency to share too much about, but she did not crave it. Why did that marriage fail? Why did this marriage fail?
After a quick check-in phone call to the precinct captain, Damario left the transport in the parking lot and walked back into the building. By the time he exited the elevator tubes and Madison let him in, he assumed they all had used the God’s eye. Harper cried uncontrollably and Micah consoled her. Quinne had been crying, but stifled any more tears by blinking and swiping tissue underneath her nose. Madison appeared affected by the somber scene – sympathy and not empathy. Damario would never tell her that they had been married in another timeline.
No one compared notes, but merely processed their alternate lives. Harper leaned on Micah’s shoulder for strength. This life is something. We dodged a lot of pain by choosing it. But you don’t play God without consequences.
Quinne sniffled. They got the American Dream. E’erythin’ you could possibly want and, if they ain’t got it, they can buy it. That’s power. Can’t believe I lost Troy and our baby, and here I am. Can’t hardly stand him.
Harper swooned when her husband touched her face. I’d trade all the money we have for the one thing I can’t have. Girls, women get pregnant every day accidentally on purpose. No matter what I do, my child is stuck in that world and my money in this one. A child from my body, and from his. Our son.
Damario stared at Madison, whose eyes gazed back with quiet tenderness. We were married. Robinne got addicted to drugs, and I lost my arm and eye. You cheated on me with Justin. Why? Could we have made it work? Did I give up too soon?
Madison looked away, unable to sustain the connection. It’s me. Something’s wrong with me – not Robinne, not Damario, but me.
“Why’d you show me this, man? Huh? My current life ain’t screwed up enough without somebody tellin’ me how screwed up it was somewhere else?” Quinne visibly trembled and cursed. “Who did this to me? And what we gonna do ‘bout it?”
“Do you have a computer, Detective?”
Madison retrieved it from her bookshelf. “Who doesn’t?”
“Everyone, one-by-one, tell me what you saw. We’ll compare notes.”
The trio told the less personal aspects of their stories. Micah scribed them on a stand-alone holographic display, and interpolated images from the God’s eye. All of them had memories of the round room. Through the interface with the police department’s facial recognition software, Micah discovered the identity of the woman that all of them mentioned; a far younger version of Kareza Noor. She strongly resembled the woman Damario kissed, Quinne’s public defender advocate, the CEO of the Genesis Institute where Harper worked, and the guest host on the forum talk show he’d seen
“Kareza Noor is the key?” Harper’s brow furrowed. “But she’s dead.”
“No,” said Damario. “Not necessarily.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Aboard Air Force One en route to the west coast, Nandor Adharma celebrated by drinking a flute of 1907 Heidsieck. Little about the human experience
pleased him besides culinary pleasures. He relished the tenderness of a medium rare prime rib cut wading in a cesspool of au jus and blood. Prior to his indoctrination into mortal culture, he brutally killed to see it. After all, the former manner dictated animal sacrifice. Following the completion of the old order, however, such offerings were deemed unnecessary – and the blood of his replacement did nothing to satisfy that appetite.
Sitting adjacent to Adharma, Ramsey Mateo, the newly-elected President of the United States, anticipated a return to his home state for a few days. There, he and Adharma would broker Palestinian and Israeli peace talks over a centuries-old problem: the restoration of Israel’s Biblical borders. Adharma convinced the two to momentarily stand down, long enough to join him and Mateo on neutral ground away from the White House. In two days, the conference would take place at Camp Bradley, a presidential retreat near the White Mountain range. Adharma promised him that a peace treaty of no shorter than seven years would “revolutionize the world, as you know it.”
Mateo powered down his projection computer and tapped his fingers against the arm rest. Adharma sipped his champagne and hummed an upbeat tune. The president cleared his throat and the head of state still ignored him. “Nandor?”
“What?”
“Preach about goodwill and the advantages of foreign policy, if you want, but the Palestinians will never go for this.”
“We’ve been over this, Ramsey. They can’t afford to keep killing each other; isn’t that why your government cut off aid? Swift, decisive action brings definitive, measurable results. Flip-flopping gets you nowhere.”
The foreigner made sense. America’s conversion to marks and its reluctance to aid Israel brought the countries to the table in the first place. The terms were simple; declare a seven-year armistice, during which both countries must switch to the mark and restore Israel to its pre-partition boundaries.
The Anarchists Page 20
