Remember the Future

by Delafosse, Bryant

  Grant hesitated briefly before removing the keys from his pocket and pushing the passenger door open for Maddy.

  “Really, Frederickson? Grand Theft Auto? You sure you want to do this?” Rudy called out to Grant, raising his arms dramatically as he stepped back to the pumps. “Up until now, this was just business. You really want to make this personal?”

  “What part of murder is impersonal?” Maddy asked, standing in the open doorway of the passenger side. “Put your arms down, you knucklehead! The cameras can’t see around that monster truck.”

  Rudy glowered at Maddy and slowly lowered his arms, attempting to find the pockets of his jacket out of instinct and missing. “Y’know, the boss is going to get real sore when he can’t reach me on the cell phone that’s in the pocket of that jacket.”

  “That would be something to discuss with the boss,” she replied, lowering the window and sliding inside. “While you’re at it, you might want to ask him what secrets he’s been keeping from you, Rudy Pedroza.”

  Maddy dropped the keys to the ground between them.

  The Mercedes pulled away from the pumps, leaving Rudy standing alone and staring down at the keys to the Toyota. He spared a look at his retreating Mercedes in utter confusion.

  15

  Continuing down the feeder road, Grant glanced over at Maddy. “Are you going to level with me now?”

  “I’ve been completely honest with you from the first minute.”

  “You said you’re not a felon,” Grant said with a nod. “Why did you ask those two men if they’ve read your file? What file?”

  Maddy studied Grant then turned away from him to look out her window.

  “See, I knew it,” Grant exclaimed, pounding his fist on the steering wheel.

  “I’m a lot of things, Grant, but I’m not a criminal,” she snapped, then glanced ahead of them and pointed. “We should get on the beltway south and head towards Interstate 10.”

  Grant ignored her and continued down the feeder road, increasing his speed slightly. “I’m waiting for some sort of reasonable explanation for everything that just happened.”

  Maddy studied Grant. “You would think I’m crazy.”

  “Lady,” Grant said with exasperation. “I already do.”

  Maddy stomped the floorboard. “I know Rudy’s type. He’s a man of action. Not a man of thought, like you.”

  “You don’t know me,” Grant growled.

  “I know this. Without me, you would be dead or in the backseat of that hoodlum’s car.”

  “Hoodlum?” Grant murmured under his breath, impressed at the anachronism. How old was this girl anyway, he wondered?

  “I’m the one who separated him from his gun and I have him second-guessing himself right now. Also, he’s on edge because he’s trying to quit smoking.”

  Grant raised his brows in interest. “And how do you know that?”

  Maddy kicked the empty cigarette boxes at her feet and pointed to the plastic box of nicotine gum in the dashboard console.

  “And you know for a fact that this hoodlum had a gun?”

  “What?” Maddy exclaimed in exasperation. “Are you serious?”

  She suddenly glanced around in agitation. Turning in her seat and climbing up onto her knees, Maddy craned her neck over the seat. Finally, she straddled the center console and pressing in close, reached around onto the floorboard of the backseat, her behind waving beside Grant. Glancing over, he gripped the wheel more tightly.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Maddy yanked Rudy’s jacket up and returned to her seat. She retrieved a gun from one of the pockets and displayed it to Grant. “See!”

  Grant leaned away from her, swerving slightly out of his lane. “Whoa! Easy!”

  “What did I tell you? Bad guy. Bad,” she exclaimed, looking out over the road behind them. “What do you think this is for? Shooting cottonmouths in the back yard? This was for you, Grant.”

  Grant leaned in toward the wheel, grip increasing, his face reddening slightly.

  Maddy watched Grant with a slight smirk. “Are you angry?”

  “I’m glad I stole his goddamn car,” he remarked stiffly.

  Maddy nodded in satisfaction. Catching a glimpse of red within the black interior of the jacket, she laid it on her lap and turned it open. There, sewed in red thread into the black lining of the jacket, were the words “R. Pedroza.”

  “Pedroza,” she whispered to herself in sudden understanding, then turned her attention back to the weapon in her hand. “We have to get rid of these guns as soon as possible. Are we going over any bodies of water?”

  Grant massaged the bridge of his nose, while he consulted a map in his head. “No, nothing. Dumpster?” he managed lifelessly.

  “That’ll do,” Maddy responded.

  He pulled off the road and took the car behind a strip of shops, finding the inevitable set of dumpsters and pulling the passenger side window as close as he could to an open container on the end.

  Grant watched Maddy as she tossed Rudy’s gun into the dumpster. “You knew him. You knew his name,” Grant said. “And the thing is, I’ve been going over the conversation at the coffee shop, and I’m positive I never told you my name.”

  Maddy unzipped the satchel at her feet and retrieved the police officer’s gun. “Maybe it was Rudy then,” Maddy replied, tossing the second gun in the dumpster after the first.

  “He’s never used my first name. Ever.” Grant peered down at the satchel on the floor and saw money. Twenties and fifties and hundreds, stuffed in and around clothes and shoes and a make-up bag. Grant straightened in his seat, his face paling.

  Maddy rolled up her window but continued staring out into the dumpster. “There’s a reason why those men have a file on me.”

  Grant nodded, turning away from the wheel and giving his full attention to her. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  As promised, here comes the crazy, Maddy thought. Be smart now. Soft peddle it.

  Maddy turned back to Grant, folding her hands pensively in her lap. “I've got this ability that makes me valuable and dangerous at the same time.”

  Grant nodded more fervently. “Go on.”

  “A certain skill-set,” she continued, staring him straight in the eye. “Call it an insight into probabilities.”

  Grant furrowed his brow, his mind spinning around like a roulette wheel until he narrowed in on an explanation like the dropping of a ball into a pocket. “So, wait. These men are after you because of some kind of special gambling technique? Like a system? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” His eyes flickered to the satchel lying securely on the floor beneath her feet.

  She cocked her head at him and searched his face. “No, not exactly,” she started to say, then waved distractedly at the dumpster where they sat parked. “Look can we please start moving away from the guns. I’m getting a little jumpy and that makes it hard for me to concentrate.”

  Nodding, Grant pulled away from the dumpster and headed back toward the feeder road. As an afterthought, he reached into his jacket and sheepishly handed the bottled water to Maddy. “Almost forgot.”

  Maddy took the water and stared at it, appearing close to tears.

  Grant glanced furtively at her then down at the bottle in her hands. “Is this the wrong brand or something?”

  Maddy gave a little laugh then took several gulps from the bottle. “It’s always like this when I’m coming down off an adrenaline rush.” She held out a hand, shivering uncontrollably. “Look at me. I’m falling apart,” she began to sob quietly and turned away to look out her window.

  Grant drove in silence for a few minutes.

  He arrived at the transition to the Highway 69 intersection and spontaneously decided to get on. There was no method or plan. He was winging it now. Going on sheer instinct.

  Maddy stared at Grant with wide eyes.

  “What?” Grant asked, noticing her attention.

  “You—You’re..?” Maddy started to say,
then simply shook her head. “I didn’t know you were going to do that just now.”

  “No,” Grant replied with a sigh. “Neither did I.”

  Through her puffy, tear-stained face, Maddy studied Grant with an intensity reserved for museum pieces.

  Feeling vaguely awkward, Grant glanced over at her.

  Giving him a gracious smile, she blotted her eyes on her sleeve and relaxed back into her seat, feeling more secure in the moment than she could remember feeling in a very long while.

  She had no idea where she was headed right now.

  Which meant, neither did the Blank Men.

  16

  As they approached downtown Houston, Maddy watched the tall buildings and let her mind drift into neutral. She gently grasped at the loose threads of potentiality, glimpsing all the alternatives like road signs passing outside.

  The feeling of not knowing was glorious--of luxuriating in all the possibilities, instead of calculating the path of least potential danger.

  She glanced over at Grant when she was sure he wasn’t watching and observed his profile. His stately, larger than average nose. His rugged jutting chin.

  Stop what you’re doing, right now, she chastised herself, and returned her attention to the city flying by outside. Can’t afford attachments like that.

  Attachments equal confusion. Confusion equals dead.

  “I still can’t figure it,” Grant finally stated, fracturing the silence between them.

  Maddy lifted her chin inquisitively, a peaceful smile on her tired face. She had almost fallen asleep a moment ago, that’s how relaxed she had become in this warm, protective space.

  “You knew what they would say,” Grant said, the confusion slowing the pace of his words. “Did you know him? Is that how you knew he would say what he did?”

  “Who?”

  “The cashier at the gas station?” Grant replied. “He said exactly what you’d said to me before I went in the store. How..? I mean, how could any mathematical system come up with something so specific as that?” Grant peered at Maddy, staring at her with a look of utter helplessness.

  Please help me out of this gaping hole of logic that I’ve tripped and fallen into, his look seemed to say. Because every time I try and get a grip, I keep slipping back down again.

  Maddy gave him a conflicted look and considered telling him the truth, something she had not shared with anyone in years with good reason. Instead, her stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence and giving her an excuse to avoid addressing the question a while longer.

  “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” she asked him.

  Grant’s eyes briefly went out of focus, then sharpened again to read the road signs ahead of them. “Yeah, it’s just off the highway here. A place I’ve eaten once,” he responded. “Nice and public. I can drop you there if you’d like.”

  Maddy felt a hole rip open deep within her and spray ice-cold fear into her guts.

  No, you can’t let him go, she screamed at herself. Right now, he’s the only thing standing between you and the Blank Men. He’s your ace in the hole.

  She thought suddenly about the hundred-dollar tip Grant had given her and the portion of the conversation she had heard between him and Rudy and understood a small part of what was going on here.

  “You never expected to walk out of the airport tonight, did you?” she asked him.

  Grant continued driving without a response. “It’s just up here,” he muttered under his breath. To Maddy, the voice sounded tired and so very sad.

  Maddy knew then that he needed her as much as she needed him. Without her presence tonight, he would have given himself up and let the dogs drag him under. She could never let this man give himself up on her watch. That would just be wrong, she decided.

  Grant pulled the Mercedes into a truck station parking lot, rolling past a line of semis parked in a row. Grabbing Rudy’s jacket off the floor, he shut the engine off, climbed out and headed for the entrance to a restaurant called the The Space City Depot.

  Maddy hung back and stood beside the open passenger door with her satchel at her side. “You left the keys in the ignition,” she informed him.

  “Yeah, I figure this is as good a place as any to leave it,” he said, holding the door open and waiting as an older couple passed outside, the gentleman giving him a smile and a nod.

  Maddy rushed over to him. “I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  “Well, it’s stolen,” he explained. “Otherwise, I’d give it to you.”

  Grant dug the cell phone out of the pocket the Argentinean leather jacket then crammed it halfway into a nearby trash can. Turning his back on Maddy, he continued inside the restaurant.

  Pausing at the entrance, Maddy looked up and noticed for the first time a long-haired man with an overgrown beard sitting on a bench in a thin grey Houston Astros t-shirt, a bulging backpack sitting on the ground at his feet. She gave a quick whistle to get his attention and pointed at the jacket in the trash can just before she stepped into the restaurant.

  Maddy joined Grant at a booth near the entrance where he sat focused on Rudy’s phone. He located the call log on the phone and flipped through the list of numbers and their corresponding names until he found one saved number listed only as “A.T.” He sighed and set the phone aside as a waitress stepped up to them.

  “Hello, my name is Thalia and I’ll be your server tonight,” a young waitress with multi-colored hair and a nose stud told them as she handed them menus.

  Grant accepted his menu then after a cursory glance, set it face down on the table in front of him. “Thalia, what would you recommend for someone who’s been violently threatened and may not live to see the morning?”

  Without the barest of hesitations, the waitress answered: “Our Space-shot special. A stack of buttermilk pancakes, two eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and biscuits all covered in country gravy.”

  “Sold,” Grant snapped, holding his menu out to her with a satisfied smile. “Maddy?”

  Appearing slightly confused, Maddy replied, “Cakes and coffee would be great, Grant.”

  Thalia smiled and hustled away.

  “I overheard you and Rudy in the airport coffee shop,” Maddy stated. “So what I don't understand is why you didn't take his advice and just..”

  “Run?” he asked, his expression grimly determined. “I won’t do that. I’ve never lived my life that way.”

  Maddy searched Grant's face. “Do you think you deserve what's going to happen to you?”

  He glanced down at the phone on the table and gave a belabored sigh.

  “You don't seem like the suicidal type, Grant.”

  “Look, I'm not one of those types who avoid responsibility. That’s why our society's in the shape it is. The jails are filled to capacity with them. They suck up our tax dollars and run out on their children.”

  “Yes, the world’s in terrible shape, but can we talk about you for a moment?” Maddy asked, watching as he picked up the cell phone and began glancing through the address book. “Are you really planning on giving yourself up to these people?”

  “I really don’t think that's any of your business,” Grant snapped.

  “It is when you're threatening my life.”

  Grant looked up from the phone in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

  Thalia appeared again and set two cups of coffee between them.

  Both Maddy and Grant thanked her in the same rushed tone.

  Giving them a polite smile, she took the hint and scurried away.

  An edge entering his voice, Grant said, “I thought we were going to talk about you.” He scooted forward in his seat conspiratorially and shuffled the phone aside.

  Leaning across the table toward him—almost close enough to kiss--Maddy inhaled the coffee's aroma, closing her eyes with a pleasant smile drifting across her lips.

  Grant blinked at her uncomfortably and leaned back in his booth. He glanced across the restaurant at an older gentleman in a Peterb
ilt cap, quietly sipping coffee and reading a newspaper over his dinner. He sighed heavily and stared at the man with sadness entering his eyes.

  “Grant, for the last two days, I've been trying to cope with the fact that I am dying.”

  Grant stared at her in shocked confusion. “You’re dying?”

  “That is, I will be dead,” she sputtered. “Uh, actually, will have died.”

  “I'd say that I'm not following you, but that implies there was a time this evening when I actually did.”

  Glancing around suspiciously, Maddy leaned forward and Grant followed suit, down to the quick look over his own shoulder, feeling foolish but also unable to suppress the inclination.

  “Two days ago, my memories of the future went blank,” Maddy whispered to Grant. “Do you have any idea what that's like for someone who's been precognicient since the age of thirteen?”

  Grant studied her face then broke into a smile. “You’re screwing with me,” he responded, leaning back to look around the restaurant for their waitress.

  Ignoring his reaction, Maddy continued in her same tone of voice. “For you, it would be the equivalent of going blind and deaf at the same time. There was no future to see. At least for me, there wasn't.”

  Grant sighed heavily and draped his arm across the top of the booth seat.

  “Then I wandered into your airport on my own, without any pre-knowledge of what I would find, and I saw… you. I recalled my first memory in seventy-two hours. That was significant.”

  Again Grant looked across the restaurant at the old man in the Peterbilt cap.

  “I saw myself getting a job in that coffee shop. So I took it on a lark. Figured that way, I might run into you again. And when I did, I had another memory.”

  Despite himself, Grant found himself listening to this crazy woman he was sharing a table with.

  “I saw your shitty white Toyota with a jazz festival sticker on its bumper and when it was you who slid behind the wheel, I knew you were the reason I was having memories again.”

  Grant takes an awkwardly sip from his coffee mug.

  “Then, just moments ago, when you said that thing about dropping me off here, it happened again.”