Transcendence t-1

by C. J. Omololu

  Mom signs. “Take your phone,” she says, looking at me. “I left at least five messages last night.”

  “Nicole?” she says, her voice rising. “You do have your phone, don’t you?”

  I feel around in my pockets, but it’s not there. “Yeah. Somewhere.” I grab my bag and look through it, but I don’t see it there either. “I had it last night,” I say, as she stares at me. “I sent you a text, remember? I must have left it at Rayne’s.”

  “Nicole Ryan, if you left your phone on the bus again, we’re not replacing it.”

  “I didn’t leave it on the bus,” I say. “I told you, I had it last night.”

  “Well, use Kat’s phone if you’re going to be long.” She walks back into the kitchen, mumbling to herself.

  The sun is peeking out from behind the fog as we walk around the corner to where Kat parked her car. The unexpected warmth is nice and I lift my face to it, feeling a tiny bit better for the first time today.

  “So what’s going on with you and Griffon?” Kat asks as we approach the car. “Is it so bad?”

  I hesitate. Telling Rayne what’s going on is one thing. Telling Kat is something else. “Yeah,” I say. “It actually is.”

  “Listen,” she continues, unlocking the car doors. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but maybe you should give him another chance.” She plucks a parking ticket from under the wipers, reaches across my seat, and stuffs it into the glove compartment with over a dozen others.

  I fasten my seat belt and stare through the windshield. “He basically lied to me from the minute we met.”

  “About what?” Kat says, starting the engine.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Fine,” Kat says with a sigh. “Don’t tell me. All I know is, it seems like he really likes you. And I don’t want you to screw up a good thing.”

  “I know,” I say. I have to keep pulling my mind away from how rough and sad he looked just now. I run my finger over the silver chain. This necklace is a constant reminder of how he betrayed me in both lifetimes.

  “I don’t know,” Kat says, merging into traffic. “I think a necklace like that would inspire a lot of forgiveness on my part.”

  After a few minutes of silence, we pull into the tiny employee lot in the back of the store. As I open the door, I tuck the pendant into my shirt, feeling more secure with it hidden from view.

  We walk in through the back, past covered racks of clothes and boxes stacked to the ceiling.

  Francesca smiles at us as she wraps up a purchase for a customer. As soon as the woman leaves, she walks over to us. “Katherine, so nice to see you on your day off,” Francesca says. She smiles at me. “And you brought your sister back to see us.”

  They air kiss each other on both cheeks. “Is Drew around?” Kat asks. “I have something he’s going to want to see.”

  “He’s in the office,” Francesca says, turning to watch another customer come in the front door. She waves her hand in our direction. “Go on up.”

  We walk upstairs to a loft area, and Kat knocks on a closed door. I can hear the low mumble of someone talking on the phone.

  “Hey!” Drew says, pulling the door open. He motions us in the tiny room. “I’ve got to go,” he says into the phone. “I’ll ring you back later.” He snaps the phone shut and smiles at us. It’s hard not to miss Kat’s reaction as he turns his attention to us. If she were any giddier she’d float up to the ceiling, and I wonder if this whole rushing-to-see-Drew thing is really about the pendant or just an excuse to see him again. “What can I do for you lovely ladies?”

  “Listen,” Kat says, laying a finger on Drew’s forearm, a totally unnecessary gesture that I’m sure we all notice. “You need to see the pendant that Cole just got.” She bumps me with her elbow. “From a guy.”

  Drew looks at me expectantly. “Oh? A guy?” He raises his eyebrows in a way that’s both amused and vaguely condescending. He’s probably a little older than Francesca—maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, and the fact that he sees me as just a kid is obvious from his tone.

  I glance at Kat, hoping she’ll drop it. “It’s no big deal.”

  “No, but it’s really cool,” Kat says. “I think it’s an antique, and we thought you might be able to tell us something about it. Maybe you could use it as a model for a new line. Something Egyptian and gothic.” She turns to me. “Drew’s stuff sells out almost the minute we get a new piece in.”

  Drew smiles at her, acknowledging the compliment. “I’d love to see it. I’m always looking for new inspiration.”

  They’re both looking at me expectantly, so I sigh and reach for the chain, wishing she’d never seen it in the first place. As I pull the ankh out of my shirt, Drew gasps, and all the blood seems to drain from his face. He reaches for it, and as his fingers brush my skin, I feel the same unmistakable vibrations I’d learned to detect with the others, a flash of overwhelming emotions.

  Drew is Akhet.

  I search his face, trying to find a connection, but as he regains his composure, it’s as if a heavy curtain comes down and the vibrations go from sharp and pronounced to dull and faint.

  “Allison,” he murmurs. Slowly he brings his eyes up to meet mine, their clear blue color marked with pain and questions, but somehow familiar. I hold his gaze as jolts of electricity race up my spine. Drew knew Allison. There’s no question that somehow we were connected five hundred years ago.

  “It’s Cole,” Kat says, looking from me to Drew, a questioning look on her face.

  “I’m sorry?” Drew says, as if he’s just remembering she’s in the room.

  “Her name is Cole. You called her Allison.”

  Drew clears his throat. “Yes. Sorry. Cole.” He turns back to me. “This pendant. It’s … it’s fantastic,” Drew says, running his fingers lightly over the ruby. “Where did you say you got this?” His voice is no more than a whisper.

  “It was a gift,” I say clearly, feeling more in control. I glance over at Kat, who’s just staring at the two of us, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.

  “I would love to see this again,” Drew says, letting the cross drop back to my chest. “To do some sketches. Perhaps take some measurements.”

  “Maybe,” I say, knowing I’m not going to just hand it over.

  “That would be wonderful,” Drew says. Briefly, he lets his hand drop to my arm, and I get a quick but immediate sense of loss and longing—emotions I’m sure he’s letting me see. He seems to shudder, coming back to the present, pulling himself away from any memories he’s experiencing. His phone vibrates on the desk, and he glances at it and then back to me.

  “You should get that,” Kat says, her voice cold and distant.

  “Right,” he says. “I, um, probably should.”

  Kat pulls me away from the office and down the hall. “What the hell was that all about?” she demands.

  “What was what?” I ask as innocently as I can.

  “That whole thing!” she says quietly. “The two of you were staring at each other like you were in a trance.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He just liked the necklace,” I say, hoping that’s enough to get her to drop the subject. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Look,” she says, glancing toward the office door and ignoring the question. “I know when something’s going on. Drew and Francesca are practically engaged, and if you so much as think of coming between them, you’re insane.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” I say, following her down the stairs. “You were the one who dragged me all the way over here.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she whispers to me. “Bye, Francesca!” she calls as we walk through the shop, her voice light and happy. Kat glares at me as Francesca waves back. I’m so not looking forward to the ride home.

  Drew catches up with us as we head out the back door. “Thanks again for showing me the pendant,” he says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card for me. “Here’s my
number if you need to get hold of me. Call me anytime. That necklace is truly one of a kind. I haven’t seen one like that in a long time.” His eyes hold mine so steady that I can’t look away. “A very long time.”

  Twenty~Four

  Veronique stands at the bottom of the Pacific Coast Club steps, linking her arm through mine like we’re old friends.

  “Why here?” I ask, looking up at the dimly lit windows. When I called Veronique from home, she suggested we meet here, saying it wouldn’t be very busy on a Sunday. Now I’m not sure it’s such a great idea.

  “Where better to put this whole episode behind us than the place where we last saw each other? What we need is a new start.” Veronique looks at me with a smile so wide she seems almost uncharacteristically giddy. “Definitely, a new start.”

  The big brick building seems more menacing now that I know what happened here. My stomach is in knots, and I tie my jacket tighter against the cold spring wind. I put my right hand into the pocket to make sure the newspaper printouts are still there and feel something crumbly at the very bottom. I haven’t worn this jacket since Friday on the beach with Griffon. A lump forms in my throat, and I know what the pieces are before I pull out the broken sand dollar. Like everything associated with him the past few days, this has been destroyed, too.

  I start up the front steps, but Veronique stops me.

  “Not that way,” she says, walking quickly around the right side of the building. “We have to go in the back way. Last time, when it was someone’s home, things were different, but women have to go through the back now. Sexist bastards.”

  I remember the “members only” greeting I got the last time I was there. “Are you a member?”

  Veronique glances over her shoulder and laughs. “No.” She slows so that I can catch up with her. “I can’t be. Not being a man and all. But it does help to know people who are.”

  We reach the back door and ring the bell. After a few tense seconds, it’s opened by a bored-looking man in a uniform. “Welcome,” he says and stands back to let us through.

  “Thank you,” Veronique says briskly as she pushes past him into the back hallway.

  I stand for a second, taking in the ornate ceiling and wood trim that seems to cover every surface. The place even smells old, and the combined scent of hair tonic and cigar smoke that has worked its way into the building over the past hundred years triggers a pang of familiarity in my chest. I haven’t seen this part of the building in my memories, but part of me deep inside remembers being here.

  “Come on, this way,” Veronique says, and turns down a back hallway. For someone who isn’t a member of the club, she sure seems to know her way around. Somewhere in the distance I can hear soft piano music and the disjointed mumble of several male voices deep in conversation.

  “Is there a meeting room or something?” I glance down at the doors that line the hallway and wonder if one of them is where I’d overheard Signore Luisotti seal Alessandra’s fate that long-ago night.

  “There are, but that’s so boring,” Veronique says, pulling open a heavy wooden door and gesturing grandly. “We’re going to the roof.”

  I stop at the entrance to the stairwell, thinking about what happened the last time I was on the roof of this building. “I don’t think so,” I say

  Veronique stops and turns back to me. “Why not?”

  “Heights aren’t really my friend.”

  “All the more reason you should go. You can’t let one incident rule all of your lifetimes.”

  I hesitate. “Can’t I just show you the articles I found down here?”

  Veronique’s face droops, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was pouting. “You said that you want to start our relationship over again. The roof is the perfect place to start over.” Without waiting for a reply, Veronique disappears through the door, and facing the choice between being left out here alone and following, I take a deep breath and follow her. I want to get this settled once and for all. It’s only three flights up, and we walk in silence; the only sounds are our footsteps on the old, wooden stair treads. I try to calm the fear that’s rising in my heart by reminding myself that, amid all of the bad things that have happened lately, Veronique has been doing everything she can to help me. I have to believe that, because at this point, I have no other choice.

  At the top of the last flight of stairs is another wooden door, much less fancy than the one at the bottom. Veronique twists the knob and pushes the heavy door with her shoulder until it gives, opening onto the gray, overcast sky.

  I stand in the doorway, not needing to look over the edge to know how high up we are. My breath begins to come in short bursts as I look around. Where the inside of the building is full of heavy, ornate decorations, the roof is almost bare, with just a few chimneys and a couple of skylights dotting the huge, flat space. In the middle there’s a big open square with light shining up from below and a waist-high stone railing surrounding the roof on all sides.

  “Seriously,” I say, “can’t we do all of this on the ground floor?” I cling to the doorway with my right hand, not trusting myself to inch any farther onto the roof. “There’s got to be an empty meeting room down there somewhere.”

  “Oh, come on. This is perfect,” Veronique says, throwing her arms to the side as if embracing the San Francisco skyline. “It’s private, so we can talk without thinking that someone’s going to overhear us. You’re not afraid, are you?” She turns back to me. “You don’t trust me. You think I’m out to get you just like Griffon said.” She pauses. “He really messed you up, didn’t he?” I don’t want Veronique to think that Griffon still has any power over me.

  “It’s not that. It’s just the last time I was up here, things didn’t go well.”

  Veronique drops her arms and looks over at me. “Exactly why you should come away from the doorway and check it out. Only by facing what happened to us in the past can we participate in our future.” She grins. “Okay, I read that in a fortune cookie, but still, it applies.” She holds out her hand, and after a few seconds I take it, allowing her to pull me out of the doorway and onto the roof. I feel nothing from her touch. She seems almost hyper, but it’s as if her essence has shut down. She tilts her head toward the railing on the other side of the roof. “Do you remember anything else about that night?”

  “Not really. But I don’t have to.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the papers Rayne and I printed out at the library. “This is what I want to show you. I can prove that it wasn’t an accident, and it wasn’t me who killed you.”

  Veronique twirls away from the pages in my hand. “I don’t want to read anything right now,” she says.

  I watch her sway to some private music only she can hear. None of this is going the way I planned. Veronique seems so different than the other night, and I feel a creeping fear about my choice to trust her. She spins back around quickly. “Read them to me.”

  “Um, okay,” I say. I read the article about the trial slowly as Veronique sways from foot to foot, her back to me the entire time.

  When I’m done, she turns to face me. “So you’re trying to tell me that you didn’t push Alessandra off the roof? That it was Signore Barone?”

  “Exactly,” I say, wondering why she’s started referring to herself in the third person. “I didn’t do it, and the courts of San Francisco agreed.”

  Veronique stares at me. “That’s crazy,” she says, a lock of hair falling in her eyes. “Why would Signore Barone kill his own daughter?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, turning back to the pages in my hand, panic starting to build. This is not the way it’s supposed to go. Veronique was supposed to see the newspaper and realize it was all a big mistake and be grateful to me that I’d finally shown her the truth—that I didn’t hurt her. I try again. “But it says second-degree murder, so that must mean that he didn’t try to do it. That it was an accident.”

  For a second, I see understanding in her eyes and I think I’ve done it,
but then she waves her hand dismissively in my direction. “Anyone can fake an old newspaper.”

  “But look at this one,” I say, the desperation obvious in my voice. It feels like I’m losing control of the situation. “Here’s an article about Paolo.”

  Veronique stops moving at the mention of his name. “What about Paolo?”

  I hold it out to her. “About his suicide,” I say. “How he killed himself because he couldn’t stand being without you.”

  She takes the paper and quickly reads the article, her eyes twitching as she digests the information. “How did you get this?”

  “It’s from a newspaper, a few days after you died.”

  Tears shine in her eyes as the news that Paolo took his own life registers. She’s about to say something else when the stairwell door opens and Griffon stumbles onto the roof, followed by Giacomo.

  “Griffon!” I look from him to Veronique, who doesn’t look surprised at all. Despite everything that’s happened, despite the danger I know he can cause, despite the lies I know he’s told. I still find my heart pounding at the sight of him. But I force myself back to reality. “What are you doing here?”

  Griffon pulls his arm free from Giacomo’s grip. “You texted,” he says, not looking directly at me. “You said to meet you in front of the building at five.” He glares at Veronique.

  “I didn’t text you,” I say, feelings of betrayal starting to overwhelm me. “I lost my phone on Friday.”

  “Well,” Veronique says, waving a small, blue metallic object at me, “lost is a bit of an exaggeration. You really should keep better track of your things.”

  “You texted me?” Griffon looks at her questioningly. “On Cole’s phone?”

  “I didn’t really think you’d agree to come if it was from me,” she replies, walking to the edge of the roof and dropping my phone over the side, watching as it hits the ground after a few seconds’ delay.

  Griffon takes a few steps toward Veronique, but Giacomo blocks his way. He’s got ten years and probably forty pounds on Griffon, so there’s not much he can do. Griffon squares his shoulders and turns away from me. “So, what’s this all about? Kind of dramatic dragging us all up here to the roof, don’t you think?”