The War Gate

by Chris Stevenson

  “I’ve got them,” said Avalon, reaching for a cupboard.

  Avy assumed Tom was seated at the dining room table. After a moment, she heard him announce something topical having to do with politics. He had to be reading the newspaper. The casual chat continued between the three. Soon the oven door creaked open, followed by the clatter of dinnerware. The reflections on the can disappeared. The next voice was that of her mother proclaiming that one of the candles wouldn’t light. Forks scraped on china. The first interesting topic of conversation concerned the recent construction of a new Japanese electronics plant headed by Cyberflow—the reason for the celebration.

  An hour passed before the plates were pushed back. Compliments about the cuisine rang out from the men. Drake offered to clear the table, insisting that Avalon remain seated. He announced that the time for a toast had arrived. Avy picked up Drake’s reflection when he entered the kitchen, stacked the dinner plates, then opened the refrigerator to retrieve the champagne. He called out, telling the others not to move since he had a surprise for them.

  It happened fast. Drake produced something from his pocket that he added to one of the glasses. The motion confirmed what Avy already knew. One of the drinks would be spiked—her mother’s.

  When Drake returned to the table, he made an elaborate presentation of the first toast. More toasts followed. An hour of business-related talk passed before they had consumed both bottles.

  Avy felt her legs going numb, having had to stand in one position without making a sound. She massaged her legs, waiting for what she knew would happen next. A short time later, her mother’s speech grew think, almost slurred. She complained of a “fatigue headache.” The drug-laced champagne had done its work. The socializing lasted for another ten minutes before Tom excused himself, explaining that he would see his wife to bed. He told Drake he could stick around if he wanted. Avy heard two bodies plodding up the carpeted staircase to the second-story bedroom, where Avalon was reportedly found that night. What Avy expected to happen next, did not—the front door opened, then closed. A moment later, a car in the driveway started.

  Avy trotted to the living room window, peeked through a slit in the curtain. Drake pulled up to the security gate, activated the button, then drove off into the night. On his way out, he had turned the porch light off.

  That was not supposed to happen. Unless he had to pick something up then come back? She waited at the window for any sign of the returning black Mercedes. It was a long wait. Forty-five minutes later, it drove back through the gate and parked in front of the house. The outline of a small figure dressed in a dark jogging suit and wearing a woolen cap emerged from the vehicle. Avy held her breath while she tried to identify the person. She stiffened in shock when she saw who it was.

  Elizabeth Labrador.

  Lizzy crept across the driveway toward the front porch. In a state of panic, Avy leapt from the window and ran to the pantry just as the front door opened. In quick succession, the living room light went out, followed by the dining room light. Soft footsteps entered the kitchen. A drawer slid open, a utensil pinged. Lizzy flicked the kitchen light off when she left.

  Avy made silent steps across the kitchen floor, waited a beat, then watched the shadowy figure pad up the staircase. Avy followed in a low crouch, making sure to keep her distance from the other woman who might turn around at any moment.

  Trying to keep the outrage from boiling to the surface seemed impossible. To think that she had been wrong all along about the true culprit threatened to addle her senses. For some incomprehensible reason, the woman whom she had called “mom” for eighteen years had taken her husband’s place to perform the deed. The reason for it was so elusive that, at first, Avy refused to believe it. Yet she watched Lizzy make a trip to the hallway bathroom, then exit with a washcloth to stand in front of the master bedroom door.

  What was amazing was how fit her mother looked, even with most of her features covered up. Lizzy had always portrayed a docile, even meek exterior. When in reality she had been a chameleon, very capable of cold-blooded murder. She’d also had the perfect alibi—she’d been home, nowhere near Tom’s property. The real actress in the Labrador household had been the matriarch, Elizabeth Labrador.

  Avy resisted the overwhelming urge to jump the woman right then, but something told her that Lizzy might win in a physical confrontation. The woman looked pumped up like a wild animal, ready to tangle with anyone. Avy remembered what Janus had told her to do—observe and memorize the events, which meant watching this horrendous play unfold. It was necessary to dissect each inflection, every movement. Although she could not believe any merciful God could ask her to do such a thing, she knew she had to see this to the end.

  Using great stealth, Lizzy stepped into the bedroom. When Avy crept up to the doorframe, she found Lizzy already standing at the side of the large queen-sized bed. The couple lay sprawled on their backs, illuminated by a dim table lamp. Avy kept just a slice of her face exposed, with the rest of her body well behind the wall. She watched with trepidation, her heart thrumming in her chest. The temptation to look away was overpowering—to tear her eyes from the scene that was certain to come.

  Lizzy cocked the knife overhead, then struck hard. Tom’s eyes flicked open, his body convulsing with the shock. His mouth twisted once. One of his hands went up in a reflexive spasm for a moment, clawed at the air, then fell to his side. Tom died in an instant, his eyes wide open, mouth agape. The bed had rocked once. Avalon slept on in the drug-induced coma.

  Avy caught a sob in her throat, forced it down. She began to tremble with violent shudders. A few seconds passed before she realized she had bitten through her lip, drawing blood. She had never witnessed anything so terrible in all her life. It was all she could do to keep from crying out in pain—crying out for Tom.

  Lizzy rolled the body to the edge of the bed, then slid it to the floor. She used vicious overhand strokes to plunge the knife into the upper part of the body. She hissed with each downward swing. One violent downward thrust knocked the wool cap from her head, but she continued making savage strokes, the knife catching in her hair. Senseless overkill. But it was designed to appear like an act of murderous passion.

  During one swift backstroke, a gleaming object flew up into the air from Lizzy’s wrist. It landed on top of the ceiling fan casing. The woman, so engrossed in the butchering frenzy, hadn’t noticed she had lost something from her person.

  After seventeen stab wounds, Lizzy was finished. She used the washcloth to mop the blood from the body, then moved to the opposite side of the bed. She flipped the washcloth several times, splattering Avalon’s face then her nightgown. Using the cloth as a blotter, she smudged the drugged woman’s neck, shoulders, and legs with blood. After wiping the knife, Lizzy pressed it into the other’s limp hand, making sure the prints transferred.

  Certain that Lizzy would be exiting, Avy hurried down the hallway and into a spare bedroom. When she heard thumping sounds, Avy chanced a look around the corner. The top of Tom’s head disappeared down the staircase, striking each step, evidence of the body being pulled. Avy followed, watching the horrid event unfold. Once outside, Lizzy lifted the body into the trunk space of the Chevy Suburban. Having taken the keys from Avalon’s purse on the dining room table, Lizzy started the vehicle, then drove off the property.

  Avy watched the taillights disappear from the front window. She used her sleeve to cuff the tears from her face. The scene she had just witnessed would sear her memory like a branding iron. She wondered how anyone could be expected to live a normal, well-adjusted life after seeing such a thing. This had to be what war was like. Death, heaped upon mountains of heartache—it was the absolute worst that life had to offer.

  Avy staggered upstairs in a daze, averting her eyes from blood-smeared carpet. When she reached the side of her mother’s bed, she watched her for a long time, the slow rhythmic rise of her breasts. Her mother looked so beautiful, so serene, but so blissful and unaware of how her
life would change in the coming hours. She wanted to kiss her mother’s sweet face. To hold her in her arms, but she knew that it might be tampering somehow, contaminating the scene. Her imprint was not allowed in this timeframe.

  Avy picked up a pocket mirror from her mother’s dresser, then stepped up on a chair. She held the mirror over the top of the ceiling fan, angling it for the proper vision. Amazed, she saw a gold bracelet sitting on top of the case. Tiny inscriptions could be seen on the piece, even through the blood spatter. There was also a shock of torn red hair caught in the clamshell links. Lizzy’s hair.

  This was it. This was the evidence.

  She reached for it, then stayed her hand. The evidence could not be fresh. This had happened over three decades ago. The DNA traces would have to be that old. She stepped off the stool, wiped her prints from the mirror, then replaced it where she had found it.

  When she returned to the living room, she sat on the couch. She propped the curtain open. It would be sometime later before Lizzy returned, tossed the keys on the bed, and swapped out vehicles. Then she would drive home, leaving no trace that she had ever been on the property. Except one. Before the break of dawn, Avalon Labrador would be arrested on suspicion of homicide and taken into custody. The innocent woman, still suffering from the effects of the drug, would have no idea what had happened. The perfect crime had been committed, or so it seemed. End of story.

  Avy had seen enough, having learned everything she needed. There was no reason to stay in the house another minute, let alone for the time it would take Lizzy to finish the task. She paid a visit to her mother one last time, blowing her a kiss, telling her how much she loved her. She walked out into the hallway, consulted her notes, then stepped through the first door she came to.

  She had no trouble traveling in the reverse timeline. She seethed with anger now. She seemed to fly with unchecked speed through the Gates, eating up the years. At one point, the blurry image of a small girl appeared at her side. The girl looked at Avy with sad, frightened eyes. After a few moments, the girl veered off the timeline to disappear through another string of Gates. Avy wondered what horror the child had witnessed—the nature of her mission. Without doubt, Janus had commissioned the small girl to use the Gates. Just another wrong that had to be set right, Avy thought. She expected to see other persons in the Gate strings. Most of those travelers had to be tortured souls. Avy was living proof of that.

  ###

  It took her six harried jumps to find her way back to her own time-place. She attributed the miscalculations to her emotional state, which stemmed from witnessing a horrendous murder. She ended up on a small street in downtown Raleigh. She made her way to the first available public telephone. She called Cyberflow and asked to be connected to Drake Labrador. After several transfers, Drake’s secretary, Linda Wu, answered the phone.

  Avy had no intention of speaking to Drake Labrador. Her target audience was Lind Wu.

  Chapter 23

  “Hello, this is Maria Ramirez of Sunshine Maids,” said Avy in her best Spanish accent. “We are offering the grand spectacle of a complete housecleaning visit for this limited one-time trial offer. No house too large or messy for us. Satisfaction guaranteed or we will pay you for a re-cleaning.” There was a long pause. Gum snapped.

  “When does this offer expire?” asked Linda Wu.

  “Tomorrow, Senora. We are dispatching the last of our teams.”

  “This better not be a whack job.”

  “Sunshine Maids has the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. We guarantee our—”

  “Chill out for a minute.”

  There came a long wait before the secretary came back on the line. “How can we trust your credentials? How do we get a key to you? This is a business. We’re working nine-to-fives here.”

  “We have a referral list for inspection. You can leave the key hidden on the premises. We will lock up, then replace the key. Total security. To be honest with you, Senora, we love the windows.”

  “Yeah, well, all right. We’ve got three houses for you. I’ll drop the keys off at noon tomorrow. But you had better deliver what you promise. Just so you get it straight, we want all of the windows done. The big vacant house has a broken-ass security gate—you can just slide it open. Hold the line for the addresses.”

  “We are happy to please.” Avy listened to Linda’s address first, followed by Drake’s personal residence, ending with the Remington Avenue house. She wrote all of the addresses down with precise care for her records, including a notation on where to find the keys.

  Avy ended the conversation with, “Tomorrow is the big day. Super clean package for you!” She hung up the phone. They went for it. She knew Drake had the Remington house up for sale, so he fell right into the free cleaning offer. Linda Wu added her home just to take advantage. Avy wrote down the time of the call, place, and person contacted. Under that, she wrote Sunshine Maids Housecleaning—verbal agreement.

  ###

  Leaving nothing to chance, Avy took a cab ride out to the Remington house, just to make sure the evidence was still there. It was no surprise when she found the bracelet untouched and exactly where she had seen it last. The house had never sold due to Drake’s exorbitant asking price. The fact that a murder had been committed in it had also never endeared it to potential buyers. No cleaner had ever thought to inspect the top of the ceiling fan. She was home free.

  Arriving back in the city, she found a cheap motel room to settle in for the night. From here on out everything had to go like clockwork. The first meeting she would have in the morning would be with Detective Bulmer. She needed all the help she could get to pull this off. No mistakes, no loopholes, or legal issues. It had to be by the book to make the charges stick. Fate would take care of the rest.

  ###

  She paid the cabdriver with an age-correct ten dollar bill when they arrived at the Remington Avenue house. The old cabby had been watching her through the rearview mirror for the last two miles. He looked at the bill, then at her again. He started to say something, then shook his head. By sheer coincidence, she’d taken the ride with the same man who had ferried her to this exact spot three decades ago. He mumbled something before driving off.

  Avy met two people standing next to a white van at the broken security gate. Her heart leapt for joy when she noticed the badges pinned to their belts. They wasted no time introducing themselves.

  “Donovan Post, crime scene investigation,” said the slender, bespectacled man.

  “I’m Joyce Hart, crime scene investigation,” said the pert blond. “You must be Avy Labrador.”

  “Yes, I am, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She shook their hands. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. Detective Bulmer told me there weren’t any guarantees about securing a warrant. It took me three hours to tell him the whole story.”

  Joyce smiled. “You’re lucky it was Bulmer, who doesn’t go after a probable cause warrant for just anybody or for any reason. It doesn’t hurt that the judge’s son is engaged to Bulmer’s daughter. Still, you must be one special case to get priority treatment.”

  “I’m not special, just lucky he listened to me. He also knows me from another investigation, and warned me that I might have opened up a can of worms and to be prepared to explain myself all over again to a lot more people.”

  Donovan nodded. “Well, that’s why we’re here—to see if you have something that’s viable, as far as evidence. Drake Labrador was served this morning, so there’s a good possibility he could show up to inventory any property seizure—that’s his constitutional right, just so you know. You’re at no risk, since we’ll have a uniformed officer on the premises.”

  “That’s good to know,” said Avy, relieved. “I’m sure I’m in good hands.”

  A police cruiser pulled up flush with the gate. The officer inside waved to them. Joyce Hart pulled the gate back manually, allowing the car to pass through.

  “We’ll bring the van in,” said Joyce to Avy. “Would you
like a lift in?”

  “I’ll just walk and meet you at the front door.”

  Avy walked down the driveway. Though she hadn’t paid attention to it before, the front yard lay stripped bare, the grass scorched brown from dehydration. Gone were the flower-laden window boxes. Even the giant raspberry bush had withered into a pile of broken sticks.

  Donovan was already taking pictures of the house, including the address numerals, when Avy arrived at the front door, which was open. A uniformed officer who introduced himself as Dale and stood at the doorway, told Avy to lead them to the area that held the evidence. The investigators followed behind, carrying two large plastic cases.

  Arriving in the master bedroom, Avy stepped to the middle of the room and pointed up to the ceiling fan. “It’s up on top of the fan case. I used a chair to reach it.”

  Donovan retrieved a stepladder from the van and set it up. Mounting the ladder, Joyce took several photos of the bracelet from different angles before she picked it up with a pair of tweezers. Once down, she allowed Avy and Donovan to look at it. It was caked with a black substance, along with small bits of dried matter. Strands of faded, reddish hair still clung to it. Something else caught Avy’s eye. Barely discernible, the engraved inscription on the tiny placard read, To My Wonderful Wife Elizabeth—Love—Drake. Avy allowed herself a sadistic smile while she watched Joyce place the bracelet carefully in a plastic bag, then mark it with a felt pen.

  A personalized piece of jewelry found on the premises containing trace evidence that led right to Elizabeth Labrador just happened to be the major part of the slam-dunk she needed. The irony of it was that Avy’s wrist bore a bracelet similar in style. It was Lizzy’s gift to her on her eighteenth birthday. To My Beautiful Daughter Avy—Love—Mom. Elizabeth, the woman she’d called mother for eighteen years, wore another identical bracelet—a replacement for the one she had lost.