"I don't. The police wanted to protect them because they were minors. Jack did write down their descriptions, though."
"Do you have the journal?" Dean asked.
"I kept it so no one would read it and think he was a rapist." Mr. Lambert froze. He leaned back in his chair with his head in his hands. After a few moments, he let out a sigh. "I don't suppose you could forget that, could you? Damn it. Please, Detective, Jack couldn't do the things he says he did. He wouldn't hurt Ellie. He loved her. He would stay up all night when she had nightmares. Her father would catch the two of them doing her hair and makeup together. Sometimes the two of them would spend entire afternoons baking brownies and watching chick flicks. Jack would even let her paint his toenails for practice. They were inseparable, even after what happened. Ellie never once blamed him."
There had to be more to it, something he wasn't saying. "Are you so defensive about Jack because you don't want him to face charges for raping Ellie Dawson? Did he and Nikolas kidnap her to keep her quiet?"
"I didn't say anything of the sort. I don't know what happened. Listen, Jack has always been into acting. Maybe this was his foray into writing fiction. A play or something."
"Even you don't believe that, Mr. Lambert."
Allen rose from his chair, sending the legs scraping loudly across the ivory tiles. "I think it's time for you to leave."
"Before I do, I'll be taking that journal off your hands."
"No."
Dean looked up from his notepad. "I have a search warrant that allows me to take anything from this residence that I want. Give me the journal, Mr. Lambert."
"I knew you were lying. You didn't come here to help."
"I did. I still want to help. I'm just not sure how to do that at this point. You seem like a nice man. I don't want to have to get pushy with you, but my work depends on knowing the truth, all of it. Sometimes it's gritty and not the easiest thing to swallow, but I deal with it. I can't help your boys without that journal."
"I feel like I'm sending him to be slaughtered." Allen opened the freezer part of the refrigerator and began digging through the frost-encrusted boxes. He took out a collapsed cardboard box of waffles inside a gallon-sized zipper bag. He tossed it onto the table. "It's in there. I'm so sorry, Jack."
Dean unwrapped the wet plastic from the yellow cardboard and reached inside. He slid out the leather journal that was embossed with Jack's name at the bottom. He sipped his coffee before leaning back in his chair and opening the journal. He flipped through the pristine pages that had been filled with neat, concise handwriting that almost looked like it could have been typed. One entry stood out from the rest. The paper was rough and creased, the ink was smeared with water or tears, and the writing was erratic, shaky. As Dean read through the frantic scribblings of a distressed child, he covered his mouth and choked back tears. A chill raced down his spine.
When he reached the end, Dean was in need of a strong drink.
Allen took his seat at the table once again. "It's a bit graphic."
"It's intensely graphic. Jack had quite the vivid memory. Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Go ahead. I'll have one too, if you don't mind."
Dean took out two cigarettes and lit them, handing one to Allen. While he smoked, he looked over the journal entry until he could no longer stomach the details. He pushed it away from him. "I had quit smoking until this case. I was two years without a cigarette until last night. Mr. Lambert, I can tell you one thing with all certainty. Jackson Carter is not a rapist."
"But he confessed in that book."
"These aren't the words of a criminal or a monster. They're the cries of a victim, begging for help. I don't know what happened to Jack, but he obviously places the blame on himself. People who commit violent and personal crimes like this usually try to hide them or they end up telling one or two close friends. They often feel detached from it and cold. Many times, they feel like they weren't in the wrong. They blame the victim before they blame themselves. This is a child trying to make sense of a traumatic, violent attack that I, for one, am stunned that either of them escaped."
"Like survivor's guilt?"
"Possibly. I'm not saying he's squeaky clean in this, but there's definitely more to the story. As a detective, I wouldn't feel comfortable bringing any kind of charges against him."
Allen laced his fingers together on the table. "Thank you."
"This makes me more eager to find the boys, but for different reasons. I'm worried they may be in trouble. Don't worry, Mr. Lambert. I will find them and bring them home. You have my word. Now, please tell me where they might be."
Allen mumbled under his breath before sitting up straight and looking him in the eyes. "I'm not trying to be sneaky or a liar. I'll tell you where they are, but you're not going to believe me. You'll think I'm a loony man losing his mind. You'll think I'm crazy."
"Try me. Nothing you could say would faze me."
"You say that, but you'd be surprised."
"Where are the boys, Mr. Lambert?" Dean asked.
"Venice."
"Venice, Italy?"
Allen nodded his head, dragging his finger around the sticky rim of his coffee mug. "In the year 1503."
"Excuse me?"
"Niki and Jack are in Renaissance Venice during Carnival. Over five hundred years ago."
Dean set his pen down. "You're talking about things that are impossible. You're insinuating things of science fiction novels, of fantasy magic, video games. You're not actually saying they're time travelers, are you?"
"You said it, not me."
He studied the teacher's face for any sign of joking or deception. Nothing stuck out. Even having a background in acting, Mr. Lambert should have been easy to read. He did not appear senile. Was it some kind of lie? Surely a man of Lambert's intellect could come up with something more believable. "Oh my God. You are."
"Told you that you wouldn't believe me. It sounds ridiculous, I know."
Dean needed more time, much more time with the teacher to get to the bottom of this case. "Mr. Lambert, can I get another cup of coffee? I'll order some lunch for us from the diner down the street so we can stay here and discuss things. I want to know all about it. Every detail."
"Hold on. You believe me?"
"I'm not sure, but there's only one way to know. I want to know. Tell me everything you know. Make me believe you. We can start with the-" The vibration interrupted his sentence. "One minute. Let me take this call."
"Sure thing. I don't have anywhere to be."
Dean stepped outside before answering the call from the office. "What now, Olivia? I'm busy discussing things with Mr. Lambert."
"What are you discussing?"
"Believe it or not, time travel." Dean chuckled. Even the thought of taking it seriously was comical. "I'm serious."
"Time travel? You're talking about fiction at a time like this? You are needed at the office immediately."
"Why? What's going on?"
"Do you live in the stone age?" Olivia's voice quivered. "Don't you have news alerts on your phone? It's the president. Air Force One . . ."
"Olivia, talk to me. What about Air Force One?"
"President Fleur is missing. I don't know everything yet, but it's all over the news. Air Force One was hijacked over Kansas. They found wreckage in a field, but no remains of anyone. They're missing. They're all gone."
He drew a short gasp. "Dear God. I'll be there immediately. Move the lobby television into my office and get Annette on the phone."
"Her husband was just killed, Dean."
"We don't know that. If there are no remains, then the president could be alive. I need to speak to Mrs. Fleur." Dean ended the call with a shaking finger before opening the door to the house and calling inside. "Mr. Lambert, I'm afraid we will have to continue this at a later date."
"Are you all right? Did something happen?"
"My good friend, he . . . uh, he might be dead. Just turn on your TV to the news. You
'll see it. I have to go."
Chapter 7
Tart wine bit at Jack's tongue in contrast with the sweetness of the almond cookies from a bakery down the street. He relaxed on a blanket they had spread out on a grassy area beside the canals so he and Opal could watch the gondolas gliding across the water. The afternoon light glittered gold on the surface, bathing the rows of red brick buildings in its warm embrace. A few brown finches darted through the air while pigeons gathered on the plaza stones to peck at bread crumbs.
It had been a long morning of restless sleep without Niki. Sure, they had their squabbles and arguments over petty things like haircuts, what to watch on television, or Jack refusing to do Niki's research papers for him. But not once had Niki actually abandoned him or been truly angry. For all of Jack's life, having Niki around had been a constant. Now that he was gone in a fit of raging anger, Jack was at a loss.
Dressed in a plain brown skirt and corseted top, Opal could have been a native Venetian and Jack would have been none the wiser. She took a bite out of another cookie and tucked her bangs behind her ear. "This is nice. You're such a sweet guy. I'm surprised you're not taken."
"It's not that simple."
"Oh, wait. Are you coming out to me? Oh, Jack! I'm so supportive. You can be loud and proud of who you are. My younger brother came out to me when I found him kissing a neighbor boy in our tree house. Congratulations on embracing that side of you!"
Jack stared at her, confused at first. When he thought back through what she said and put it together, he shook his head fervently. "Oh. Oh, no. Opal, I'm not gay."
"But you and Niki-"
"We're friends. And believe me, Niki is definitely straight. I've seen too much of him in action to think anything else. Do I really seem that way?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "You're nice."
"Not all nice men are gay. I'm sorry that you've been hurt before, but you need to know that there are good guys out there. I'm not one of them, though. You should keep your distance."
"Is this because of whatever happened between you and Ellie?"
Jack lowered his head. "Yes. Mr. Allen and Mr. Dawson were the only father figures I had. I never got to meet my father. If I did meet him, I was just a baby, so I wouldn't remember. But both of those men showed me what it meant to be a decent man. When I harmed Ellie, I was the opposite of everything I wanted to be. I love women. I'm attracted to women of all kinds, but I shouldn't be around them."
"I have a really hard time believing you."
"I'm not gay, Opal."
"Not about that." She rubbed his arm. "I believe you there. It's just . . . you're not the kind of person who could hurt someone."
"You don't know anything about me. We just met."
"I mentioned Ryan before, right? He was the first Chronomancer I served. Ryan believed in the old ways of thinking, regarding the relationship between Iskaydrians and Avelayans. I had a list of things I couldn't do when I was around him. I could only wear what he told me to wear. I had to keep my hair in a braid. I couldn't speak unless he asked me a question or gave me permission. I cooked for him. I cleaned. I did his grocery shopping and cut his hair. If I did anything wrong, he brought out his belt."
"That's horrible."
Opal sighed. "Yeah. So, you're not a bad person, Jack. I know what bad people look like. I know what they sound like and smell like. You're not like Ryan."
"That doesn't mean I'm an innocent angel."
"I wish you would talk to me and tell me what happened so I can help you and make up my mind about you for myself."
"It's something that I hope I can take to the grave." Jack picked at the blades of dead grass that stuck to his boots. "There's only one person who knows the truth, and I will make it up to her one way or another. I didn't deserve her and I will never deserve anyone."
"If you feel so guilty and want to be punished, then why haven't you gone to a police station and turned yourself in? Why not confess to whatever you did to her?"
"Because that won't fix anything. Me rotting behind bars won't help Ellie recover or get her forgiveness. If I'm in prison, I can't keep her safe from something happening again."
Footsteps crunched against the brown grass. "You got any more wine?"
Jack froze when he heard the gruff voice of his angry friend.
Niki seized the bottle and finished it off. "I'm hungry. Got anything other than cookies?"
Opal smiled. "You're back."
"Yeah. Well, I woke up in a brothel, on the floor, at the bottom of a set of stairs, bleeding from my arm. I don't know what happened, but I quickly remembered that I was stuck here without a Chronomancer to take me back home. So, help me get home, rapist."
"Don't you dare." Opal released the grip she had on the sleeve of Jack's white shirt. "He doesn't deserve this treatment from you. You ran off last night when he needed you most. You're an angry, selfish boy. Jack, you want to know what a real man is? It's definitely not this one."
"Back off, woman." Niki hissed at her. "This is between me and the rapist. Stand up, rapist. You wanna fight? We'll fight. I'll put you in your place."
Jack was in no mood for that. He stood and held out his hand in peace. "Niki, please. I don't want to fight. If you would just listen to me for a moment-"
Niki lashed out, catching Jack's head with his fist. He lunged forward to grab Jack's tunic in his hands then pummeled him. Four times, the Chronomancer yelped with the powerful punches to his stomach and ribs. Once Niki had enough, he shoved Jack to the ground.
Clutching his bruised stomach, Jack remained on his knees. He breathed through the pain with hissing gasps between his clenched teeth. He looked up at his Time Knight. "Why?"
"I have no love for anyone who hurts a woman."
The kick from Niki sent Jack sprawling in the grass. He held his arms around his head to protect himself while Opal stood in front of him with her arms outstretched.
"I won't let you kill him. You've done enough." She glanced over to where a small crowd had formed to watch the commotion. "You're making a scene. Let's go back to my room where we can talk through this without getting the guards involved. Niki, you don't want to go to prison here. It's much worse than a modern one."
"Fine. Get up, rapist. What's wrong? Does that hurt?"
Jack groaned as he stood with Opal's help. The deep flowing pain made him feel as if he was going to vomit, but he could barely draw a full breath. His right ear was ringing from the hit to his face and the teeth on that side ached. He hoped they weren't cracked.
"Let me help you, Jack. We can talk about things like civilized human beings. That means you too, Niki. I won't hesitate to enforce peace."
"No." Jack squirmed out of her grip and fixed his shirt, despite every move shooting pain through his abdomen. He had no desire to put on a happy face and pretend that everything was fine. "Leave me alone. I need some time to myself. I'm hurting and confused. Go without me."
Niki shouted at him, drawing more of a crowd. "Just get over yourself, already. Take me home then come back for Opal if you can. I don't care. I'm done playing the role of your best friend when I hate everything about you. You're weak, you cry all the time, you're whiny and pathetic. Being a sick criminal takes the cake. You really are a twisted piece of work. You go around pretending to be a righteous white knight when you're more evil than any of us on the inside. That shiny armor won't help you now. I know the truth, the real Jackson Carter."
Opal called out to him as he started off alone into the city. "Jack, come back. Don't go."
"Let him go. Maybe that inquisitor will find him and finish the job this time."
Jack clutched his aching stomach while he meandered through the crowds of peasants perusing goods in the market. They were normal people, going through their lives with families, friends, and everyday jobs. He would never be like them. Not now. Maybe he could have been before the mark. He could have been a normal person living a regular life of peace where the main concerns were payin
g bills and saving for some vacation when things became too stressful. However, now he was different. He lost Ellie, he lost Mr. Dawson, and now he had lost Niki. His life was falling apart, but for an unknown reason, Jack was oddly at ease.
Maybe the beating he took jostled something loose in his brain. Maybe the nauseating pain radiating through his abdomen took his attention away from the sea of terrible thoughts. Whatever it was, Jack was smiling. He was crying and clenching his fists at his sides, but he smiled. His sobbing turned into laughter. Jack headed into the piazzetta, laughing like a madman through the agony. Everyone hated him. They wanted to either kill him, lock him away, or enslave him. Yet here he was, spinning in circles in the middle of Renaissance Venice, feeling freer than he had in years.
He could throw it all away. He could go into hiding, warping from era to era, continent to continent to avoid the Syndicate and the Inquisition, relying on himself, not needing anyone else. It sounded like heaven . . . until he thought of the one thing that made his life worth living. Ellie. Without her, Jack was nothing. He had invested every part of his heart into caring for her. Living a life without his soul was not living at all.
With a sigh, Jack leaned against one of the archways of the Doge's Palace. He dried his eyes. The cool breeze calmed him enough so he could once again think rationally. As much as he hated Niki in that moment, Jack knew running away was not the answer. Too many people needed him. Ellie was out there somewhere, waiting to be rescued. It was Jack's number one duty to save her.
A hand slapped down on his shoulder from behind the column, the fingers digging bruises into his skin.
"Niki, please, don't." Jack grunted when he was spun around and dragged behind the archway. "Niki!"
"I'm not Niki."
Jack squirmed against the column when his arms were pinned under him by a burly red-haired man in a purple ruffled shirt and leather pants. The cold steel eyes pierced into him from above high cheekbones that were crossed with intersecting scars.
The man placed his hand over Jack's mouth. He leaned down to whisper to him. "Shh, shh, shh. Quiet now. Don't struggle. You are going to remain quiet and come with me. If you scream or fight me, Elizabeth Dawson will die. Do you understand?"
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