There was a pause on the other end of the line. “We are aware of your IQ. We know that you will listen to reason.”
Grant held his tongue and listened, his eye fixing on a fountain cherub that seemed to be making eye contact with him.
“As long as she runs, she will be a target,” the other informed Grant. “If she chooses to stop and talk, we will listen. It’s that simple.”
Grant swallowed awkwardly. The voice was getting to him. He was starting to make sense. Immediately, Grant cleared his head and recalled for the first time all the questions he had been asking himself. “Who are you? What organization are you with?” he demanded.
“Who we are isn't as important as what we have the authority to do to anyone who stands between us and the woman you’re traveling with.”
Threat? The hairs on the back of Grant’s neck stood up like red flags announcing a storm warning. Grant started to move through the yard again. “Who is she that you want her so badly? What is her importance to you?”
Momentary silence. “She's not who you think she is.”
“Fine. Who is she?”
“She's a danger to everyone she comes in contact with,” the ominous voice continued. “She is… contagious.”
Grant’s pace increased along with his anxiety. Angels began whipping past him as if taking flight. “You’re saying she has a communicable disease?”
“You could say that. Though the danger she represents is far worse than any bio-hazard.”
“Clearly I'm not as smart as your sources led you to believe. Spell it out for me.”
“Let me give you a comparative analogy,” the other told him. “If space/time were flesh, the woman you’re traveling with would be a cancer eating away at reality.”
Grant abruptly stopped. He briefly stared down at the phone before returning it to his ear.
“That woman is a danger to all of us and we have the authority to dispense with anything or anyone who stands in our way including you and the old couple you’re using as human shields,” the voice said, its pace quickening slightly. “We're aware of your position. You owe Torres a particular sum of money. It may be within our power to make this problem go away. For good.”
There it was: The threat followed by the way out and a carrot to keep the beast on the right path.
He barely succeeded in stifling the chuckle that had threatened to bubble bitterly from of his throat.
The other end of the line remained silent.
Click.
Without his uttering a word in response, they had known his answer.
14
Grant followed the sounds of a brass section into the confined space of the small trailer. He held the door open, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the dingy darkness. Whatever light there remained seemed to have stolen inside from around the peeling foil that had been taped over two small windows. It was like a cave or an animal’s den, and a thought popped into Grant’s head that Sadie must be prone to migraines. He wasn’t sure on what basis he had come by that information.
To his left was a clean, orderly kitchenette that smelled of the remnants of something delicious that had recently been cooked. His eyes instinctively flashed down to the chicken wrapped in the paper towel that he held in his hand.
On his right was an alcove that included a television and a stereo with a turntable where the incongruous sounds of seventies-era Chicago played on an LP. That was where he found Maddy, lying on a couch with her knees raised slightly up in the beginnings of a fetal position.
How she could sleep with the sounds of syncopated brass blasting into her ears was beyond him.
Out of instinct rather than logic, Grant shut the door as quietly as he could and slipped into a ratty green recliner that-- despite his best efforts to the contrary-- squeaked with age anyway.
Surprising enough, that was just enough noise to stir the sleeping form before him.
“I’m up,” came the sudden but dim reply, the voice of someone stirred from a deep sleep. A gasp of a wide-mouthed yawn followed.
“It’s me,” he said, then considered his response of familiarity. He was the closest thing to a familiar face this girl had in the world right now that he could utter a simple greeting like that. Somehow, that fact made him sad. Didn’t she have family? Or friends? Who was this person he had unwillingly joined destinies with?
As if he had spoken the words aloud, she rolled over and gazed at him with a pair of sleepy eyes and a gentle smile.
He leaned forward and laid the paper towel open upon the small stained coffee table before her, exposing the fried breast and thigh--the action, in retrospect, completed without a word of explanation, felt oddly to Grant like a priest presenting an offering.
Making a sound of excitement, Maddy immediately attacked the thigh.
Striding over to the turntable, Grant found the volume and turned it down.
“What, she didn’t have anything harder to sleep to? No Iron Maiden?” he asked, shaking his head in wonder. He returned to his seat to a wounded look on the sleeping girl’s face.
“Hello? It’s ‘Beginnings,’” she simply stated. “From Chicago’s first album.”
“Good to know,” he countered.
“It’s a classic, you uncultured swine,” she continued, her mouth full, gesturing for him to take the chicken breast remaining on the table.
“If you say so,” he replied with a shrug, eying the chicken distastefully. His stomach had turned a cartwheel since the phone call.
“When I’m stressed, the brass massages the tension out of my skull. Something about the harmonics, I guess,” she speculated with eyes drifting to the window where she knew Sadie waited outside. “Sadie told me that I would find something in here to help me relax. I was afraid she meant weed or something, but she knows me better than anyone I can remember in a long, long time. She’s miraculous really.”
Grant a felt momentarily itch of anger toward Sadie and wondered about the source of it.
“I don’t do any drugs by the way,” she added. “Not that I have anything against it. I just don’t like the way it warps my senses. It makes me more paranoid than the average bear, and I don’t need to feel more of that, y’know?”
Attempting to gather his jumbled thoughts, Grant blinked at her in confusion and found himself looking away, his eyes falling on the framed photos on the walls. Some of the pictures looked old enough to be turn of the century. In one, a shriveled old man with riveting dark eyes wore a robe and a turban that reminded Grant of the Professor Marvel character in “The Wizard of Oz.” Apparently, Sadie’s family had been at this gig for a long time.
Grant felt suddenly very young and naïve in this strange place, while oddly enough Maddy seemed right at home--wise beyond her twenty-something years and plugged into something ancient about which he had no perspective. He felt completely out of his element.
“Something happened, didn’t it?” she asked, her voice reaching out to pierce his bubble of self-doubt.
“Your friends called me on Sadie’s phone,” he replied. “They know we're here.”
She rolled slowly into a sitting position, dropping her bare feet to the floor and staring glassily at her shoes—worn tan flats-- as if dreading to put them on again. “Of course they do. They've been following us every step of the way.”
“Then we should probably get going.”
Maddy made no effort to move, her eyes studying him defiantly. “What did you tell them when they asked you to give me up?”
Grant met her eyes and sighed. “Wow,” he could only say, shaking his head.
“I’ve been running a long, long time, Grant,” she said as way of explanation. “I know their M-O.”
Grant settled back in his chair and stared at the pictures again. Coming here was wrong. Putting others in danger was reckless. “He threatened to kill Sadie and her husband if we didn't cooperate.”
“Sadie's too high profile here in this neighborhood. They won't touch he
r. They're just trying to smoke us out, Grant,” Maddy responded sharply. “What else did they say?”
Grant stared down at her shoes, thinking that the poor things looked like cowering dogs. I’ve got to get her something more comfortable, he thought instinctively, and then quickly analyzed the thought. Somewhere along the line, he had decided to stay with her a while longer.
“Something’s changed between us,” she continued. “What did they say that’s making you feel differently about me?”
“They said that you're a danger to yourself and everyone around you,” he admitted.
“Did you buy it? Did you buy their story, Grant?”
“It raised a lot of questions.”
“Which questions?” she asked. When he didn’t answer quickly enough for her, she snapped, “Grant, talk to me.”
“How long have you been running?”
“Two and a half years.”
“Have you ever considered just talking to them? Seeing what they want?” he asked her.
“I know what they want, Grant.”
“How?”
“Because they held me captive for six months.”
Grant stared at her in disbelief. He scooted forward slightly. “Tell me.”
“At first they just wanted to study me. Poke me full of mind-altering drugs. To run tests. They wanted me to tell them things. Things about foreign governments and economies. They wanted me to tell the fortunes of strange men with hard to pronounce names.”
“Can you do that?”
“I already told you. No, I can't. My visions are extremely narrow.”
“So why do they want you?”
“They don't want me. They just don't want anyone else to have me,” she told him. “Did they tell you that they only wanted to talk to me?”
Grant gazed over at her with raised brows, knowing at this point it would be pointless to deny, even if he had wanted to.
“That’s what I thought,” she sniffed, finishing off her chicken thigh and reaching for the breast. “That’s one of their tactics. You gonna eat this?”
Grant shook his head as Maddy began to eat. “They told me crazy stuff about warping reality,” he continued.
Clearing her throat, Maddy set the breast aside and squared herself off melodramatically toward him. “Ok, it’s time I leveled with you, Grant,” she said in an overly serious tone. “I'm a time traveler from another dimension.”
Grant leaned back in his chair heavily and gave her a dull exasperated expression.
“Zero manure,” she snapped with a smirk. “I'm progressing forward in time from a dimension east of this point called Florida. It’s a very humid dimension, filled with a wrinkly blue-haired alien race called The Retired.”
“You’re from Florida then?”
“Born and raised,” she replied.
Grant rocked forward, his face set seriously. “They say you’re contagious.”
Maddy snorted derisively and nodded. “Didn’t you know that we can all warp reality, Grant? Every single one of us. If a single act of kindness can change the arc of an otherwise entirely miserable life, I’d call that a welcome change of reality, wouldn’t you?”
The words of the Blank Men had entered his mind and worked their evil magic, casting doubt on the woman before him. But he knew she was right.
When Grant made eye contact with her again, he found truth and compassion staring back at him.
Maybe Sadie or Horace could lend her some shoes, he thought.
“When you had this vision of yours at the streetcar? Are we together? At the end?” he asked her.
Maddy’s eyes slid away from his like fingers losing their grip and falling down a sheer cliff face. “No. I die alone.”
As she picked up the remnants of her chicken and continued to eat, Grant moved an ottoman closer to the coffee table and sat directly across from her. Eying him self-consciously, she finally set the piece of chicken aside and gave him her full attention.
“Explain something to me,” he asked, leaning toward her. “Why does my taking the lead change how the day is going to end?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, her eyes going distant and foggy. “Something about you, they can’t track… like they can with me. Whatever it is, it seems to be working and I’m not going to question it.”
“Tell me what you see. All of it.”
“I'm in a swamp. There’s an old shack and cypress trees and moss and pelicans. Y’know, like a backwoods bayou.”
Grant nodded and waved for her to proceed.
“I see the Blank Men coming for me. They have guns. I hear two shots. Then everything goes black.”
“Which bayou? Where?”
“My visions don't work that way.”
“Do you know what time of day?”
Maddy closed her eyes as she tried to recall. “Evening,” she said emphatically. “The sun is setting.”
Grant lowered his head and stared down at her shoes again. Something about those poor lifeless things communicated surrender to him in a way that her words never could.
A simmering rage came to a boil within him suddenly. He leapt up and stormed toward the door of the trailer, running his hands through his hair in exasperation before spinning back around to face her. “So, now what? Are we going to wait here for a police escort?”
“Short of walking out the front door, I don’t know,” she answered, looking significantly up at him. “Despite the fact that I don’t know the answer to your question, the fact remains that when you lead, I’m not haunted by the image of that lonely swamp. You have to get us out of here, Grant.”
Sighing heavily, Grant threw his hands up in frustration.
15
Grant rushed down the creaky wooden steps of Sadie’s trailer and rushed past the booth where Sadie was in the process of laying out tarot cards in patterns only significant to her. He stopped and glared back at the trailer. “That is the most..,” he began then trailed off as he started toward the house, but stopped and headed back to Sadie. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that woman is suicidal. She wants me to get us out of here, knowing that those X-Files rejects are sitting just outside waiting for us to show our faces.”
“Have you considered calling the police?” she suggested, removing a cigarette from the pack on the table.
Grant watched longingly. “Considered and rejected. They’ve been threatening everyone we’ve come in contact with and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve killed people along the way.” He gestured to the pack of cigarette. “You mind if I...?”
Sadie handed him the pack with a smirk. “I didn’t peg you for a smoker.”
“I quit back when I stopped gambling,” he explained, putting one in his mouth and accepting the flame from the flashy gem-covered lighter that Sadie held out.
“Gamblin’,” Sadie spat distastefully, her eyes sharpening with understanding. “That’s your demon, is it?”
Grant wordlessly studied her, taking a mighty tug and slowly exhaling. “The hell with her,” he continued, completing ignoring her comment. “I should just leave her here.”
“But you won’t.”
“Shit,” Grant cursed under his breath. He took the chair opposite Sadie, gave a cursory glance at the cards and scoffed.
Transferring her attention to the tarot, Sadie turned over the next card. She nodded in satisfaction and peered up at Grant. “You’re not a man of God, are you?”
“We have a mutual understanding to stay out of each other’s way.”
“What you mean to say is that you and the devil have agreed on the terms of your form of captivity.”
Grant held his breath a moment and peered up at Sadie with an almost wounded expression.
“Yeah, people tend to get a little offended at how straightforward I can be most times.” Sadie chuckled darkly. “So what do you believe in? Hard work? Blood, sweat and tears? Mom, apple pie, and the American Way?”
Grant took a slow drag of the cigare
tte and simply glared at her through the smoke.
“Since you’re havin’ a cigarette on my good nature, I figure at the very least you owe me the illusion of a conversation.”
“I was raised Catholic.”
Sadie flipped two more cards. “Ah, a recoverin’ Catholic, eh. I know your type, Grant. You went to mass every Sunday and paid your tithes, thinkin’ that your reward was in the bank, but when you went to the ATM to make a withdrawal, it wasn’t there. In fact, life just kept getting’ worse and worse for you. So you start askin’ what's the point, right, Grant? Where's God in all of this?”
Grant cast a glare back toward the house.
“Does your God punish? Is that what he's doin’ to you, Grant? Are you doin’ penance for past sins?”
Grant rose from his seat abruptly. “I think I’ll go enjoy this fruit of your good nature somewhere else now.”
Flipping over another card, Sadie said, “I'm a Christian, Grant. Does that surprise you?”
Grant stopped and cocked a thumb back toward the house with a confused look on his face. “So, what's that altar on the mantle all about?
“Our rituals might be different, but we all believe in the same Truth,” Sadie stated, sitting back and taking a long look at him. “For instance, Grant, I believe that everyone in this world either works to advance His plan or resists it.”
Grant stared at the trailer for a few moments. “Y'know, my mother used to tell me that God never closes a door, without opening a window. Well, I've been getting nothing but walls since the day my wife was murdered.”
Sadie stiffened and blinked at Grant, her eyes growing red as she viewed him from a newfound angle. “I’m truly sorry for that, Grant.”
Grant drew in a long hitching breath. “Yeah,” he managed.
Sadie stared down at the corner of a card that lay at the bottom of the main stack, the grinning skull of Death peeking out beneath all the others. “Funny thing about walls, Grant. Some see them as barriers. Others see them as opportunities to gain a greater perspective on the path their lives should take if they could only break the shackles of their own limitations. Their own expectations.”
Remember the Future Page 12
