Force

by A.R. Rivera

Much Easier Than it Looks

  Since the day I was involved in that bus accident the one thing I have wanted more than anything was to sit down and talk to my father about all the crazy shit I’ve gone through.

  “But I never got the chance. Daemon took that away from me.” I admit, feeling a little sheepish as I bare my soul before two veritable strangers who are absolutely familiar.

  “He took a lot of things away from a lot of people.” Gerry, my alternate father, agrees as his fingers steeple over his plate that now holds only bread crumbs and a crumpled napkin.

  I continue telling of my journey in World Two. What I did, where I went, how I interacted with Daemon. How I am still mystified as to why he would help me win that fight only to try and kill me after.

  “He needed you to get back to your home world where he knew he could find another version of your father.”

  “You think I led him there? I didn’t have the stones. How could I manipulate something that I didn’t even know existed?”

  He nods his head and grips his chin with one hand, contemplating. “How do you travel from one plane to another?”

  I can’t bring myself to finish the turkey sandwich Abi made and drop it onto my plate, nearly scoffing. “The same way you did, the same way your son does; with the Threestone.”

  “When you open a gateway, are you prepared for what you’ll find on the other side?”

  Shrugging, I answer, “As much as I can be.”

  “And how do you know that you’re prepared?”

  “Because I’m thinking of my destination.” As I hear myself say the words, it’s like someone’s lit a match inside my head. A tiny flame flickers with understanding.

  “And when you were with Daemon in that first accident, what were you thinking about?”

  “That I didn’t want to die like my little sister.”

  Gerry’s eyes gloss over at the mention of her and that is enough to tell me that she’s dead in this dimension, too. “And where did you end up?” He asks, and clears his throat.

  “In a plane where the year was the same as the year she died.”

  He nods, hammering his point home. “Exactly. I bet you were thinking of your dad when Daemon took you home, weren’t you?”

  My answer is a strangled positive.

  “So you’ve known without ever having to be told that the stones will take you wherever you want to go.”

  “I guess.” Another strangled affirmative.

  “His dying had nothing to do with you. But you need to understand that the Threestone are absolutely loyal to the Bearer. And Daemon had his own a set of stones. It was his will that they take you where you wanted to go.”

  All I can do is nod, recalling that bastard saying, “think of your Dad.”

  “At the same time,” Gerry continues, “they’re also held in subjection by other, more powerful sets. So whoever holds the strongest set holds all the power, and Daemon is one greedy son of a bitch.”

  Scrubbing my hands down my face, I look at the man across the table from me and find myself repeating a question that Eli once posed. “But why? Why would God, or the Universe, allow it? What is the purpose of this power floating around for anyone to find?” It can’t be as simple as Daemons greed and my need for revenge.

  Gerry’s face floods with irritation. “Didn’t your father explain anything about your legacy?”

  For some reason, I find this funny—hilarious, actually—because my dad made a point to leave me in the dark. “Confusion was my father’s weapon of choice and he fought to the very end.”

  Gerry groans, running his fingers through what’s left of his hair.

  Well, join the club.

  “Let me get this straight: your father, my alternate, left you nothing but a clueless scientist with a map to the Threestone and never told you what they do or where they came from?”

  “He said I was to protect them with my life, and that’s about it.”

  Abi stalks over from the kitchen with a carafe of coffee and three mugs. She huffs out, “I’m sorry, but that’s just stupid,” and plops the mugs onto the small round dining table.

  “I’d say ‘irresponsible.’” Gerry shakes his head. “Why would he do that? Knowledge is the first line of defense. He’s left you defenseless.”

  Hearing him use the same phrase as my father pricks a warm feeling in my chest. However, his admonishment of the man makes my temper flare. “He had his reasons. And considering who he had to work with,” I point at myself. “He did the best he could.”

  It was no secret what the old man thought of me and my choices. I was a constant disappointment and not even the saintly reverence of the dead can make me forget that.

  “I was immature and he couldn’t trust me,” I explain. “You know, I’m not even sure how much he knew about the stones. Maybe he didn’t have any mystical wisdom to share.”

  Gerry’s angry face ripples into a grimace. He leans forward, reminding me how much I do not miss my father’s volcanic temperament. But unlike my father, when Gerry speaks he doesn’t raise his voice.

  Very controlled, he states, “If your father ever possessed the Threestone, then he knew all about them.”

  Abi, who’s been listening, clears her throat. When we both look to her, she folds a hand under her chin and tilts her head, looking at Gerry. I recognize this coaxing and know she’s about to ask him for something.

  “Maybe you should tell him.” She emphasizes should, as if it’s a reference to an earlier conversation; probably the secretive one on the front porch.

  Gerry shakes his head as I wonder aloud.

  “Tell me what?”

  Abi keeps staring and Gerry reaffirms his answer. “No.”

  I know I’m being ignored when I repeat my question and neither one averts their gaze from the other.

  “Why not?” Abi inquires of her father-in-law. “I thought you said we could help him.”

  “Giving people what they want isn’t helpful—neither is giving them what they need.” Gerry draws a long breath as Abi continues.

  “You and your riddles. What does that even mean?”

  “It means I might not be doing him any favors by giving away hard-won information. Maybe he’d fare better by finding out for himself. If that’s the case, then it means I need to trust the choices of my alternate.”

  Abi’s pencil brows draw together. Her hair swings as she looks between my confused face, and my alternate father’s stony expression. “Then why…? Gah! I don’t understand you Springer men one bit. You say you’re going to help but you don’t do anything.”

  “Abi,” Gerry says her name softly and she stops. “He knew his boy. He made his choice not to burden his son with his past and even though I don’t agree, I must respect that choice.”

  “Okay,” I say, feeling more confused, but still relaxing because this alternate father seems to understand something I’m only just beginning to realize. “He didn’t want me to repeat his mistakes.”

  My father wanted to keep me from making his same choices. So he kept them from me. Knowing me as he did, he must have known that I would have too much time to think about them, and possibly resent him and the repercussions.

  “But that doesn’t mean we can’t offer guidance, though,” Gerry adds. “Does it?”

  Abi’s features darken. The corners of her pink-glossed lips curve up into a smile.