by CJ Martín
Chapter 15
SAN FRANCISCO
The Californian sun was checked by a deep layer of cloud cover and a dull drizzle. The two men wearing suits and trench-coats took to the second flight of stairs as if they lived there. Mrs. Felds, McGregor’s neighbor, noticed that both of the strangers wore large rimmed fedoras and pitch-black sunglasses. With dress gloves on, it was hard to see any skin.
The two dark men were chatting between themselves and away from Mrs. Felds. As they passed by, one of them fiddled with his keys as if he was too preoccupied to acknowledge her existence.
She turned her nose. One or both of the strangers gave off a strange smell. It wasn’t particularly offensive, but it was strange—like a mixture of cheap cologne with a touch of skunk.
She had been out watering her plants; she often watered her plants when she heard people coming up the stairs. The metal stairs shook violently against the side of the old building when so much as the weight of a cat took to the second floor. With her apartment being the first after the stairs, it was an infallible early warning system.
She was especially interested in people that appeared as if they were going to visit McGregor next door. Mrs. Felds knew better. McGregor had no friends, and therefore every visitor would be potential gossip fodder. A bill collector, a jealous husband, a bounty hunter—the possibilities were deliciously endless.
The two men continued toward McGregor’s door with their faces turned toward each other and away from her. She worked her neck hard, trying to get a look at what kind of face would visit her jerk of a neighbor. With the trench-coat collars up and what appeared to be a deliberate attempt to ignore her, she saw nothing.
While neglecting her flower pots, she managed to get her slippers wet from spilling the watering can. She cursed and began shaking one of her slippers off her foot as the two men knocked on McGregor’s door. They continued ignoring her while they waited, enjoying the dank scenery in a direction away from her.
★
The nosy neighbor entered her apartment as McGregor answered his door.
McGregor looked terrible. It was nine Saturday morning, but by the bags under his sunken eyes, McGregor must have been working on the assumption it was still late Friday night. His bathrobe was tattered, but functional. Beyond McGregor was a dark, cavernous living space. Windows were either blinded or taped. Not a light was on and no stray sunbeam could penetrate the back of the apartment. The blast of daylight from the opened door caused McGregor to squint as he tried to make out who the two men standing in his doorframe were.
The aroma of cheap vodka poured from his mouth as he spoke.
“What do you want?”
“Good morning. We were wondering if we might have a few minutes of your time.”
The two men stood smiling. McGregor snarled as he lifted his hand to his brow trying to dam the unwelcome flood of light.
“I’m busy,” he said and began to shut the door. A leather boot and glove prevented the door from closing entirely. Strong fingers wrapped around the slightly warped wooden door and pushed McGregor back into his cave.
Moments later, the door was closed with three men inside. One of the intruders walked about, hands clasped around the small of his back, searching for something. The other man partially lifted the blinds at a window, allowing some light in and then engaged McGregor.
“It won’t take a moment. And I believe it is to your advantage to listen to us.”
McGregor stood dazed, uncertain what just happened. “I’ll call the police...” His voice was slurred and sounded uncertain.
“I don’t think you want to do that, now do you?”
“I mean it. You can’t just break into a man’s home like this.”
“If you want to call the police, I will not prevent you. However, I am certain the police will be more interested in finding you than protecting your rights.”
“Look, I am simply a professor at a local community college. You may have read about my activities when I was a teenager, but I can assure you, I’m much more docile...”
“We know about your recent nocturnal activities,” the man said removing his sunglasses revealing a dark eye that seemed to go deeper than space should allow.
McGregor stunted a laugh. “What? Look I’m just a...”
“The police will soon know it is you, too. It is just a matter of time before they come knocking. You were sloppy with the first one, my dear boy.”
McGregor’s jaw dropped and his head gave an involuntary shake.
“We can help. Join us and we can make all this go away.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“We are… an association interested in investing in the future.”
“Why me?”
“You are a true believer,” said the other man from within McGregor’s bedroom.
“You don’t have any family to speak of—you have a brother in Kansas, but you haven’t spoken to him in years,” continued the other man in front of McGregor.
“How do you know that?”
“You should be proud, professor; we simply did our homework.”
McGregor grabbed a bottle off a counter and sat down on the kitchen stool, slumped over and resigned. He had emptied the vodka from it the night before, but he felt like he needed to hold on to something.
“There are very few guarantees in life, Mr. McGregor. But I’m here to offer you one of them,” the man said with what seemed to be a smile. “If you were to join our… association, obey our will, we would be in the position to offer you power beyond all imagination. A seat of power few in history have held. Nebuchadnezzar, the Pharaohs of Egypt, Hitler—didn’t know this kind of power.”
“I think you have the wrong person.” McGregor momentarily put the empty bottle to his lips and swiveled his body toward the kitchen table.
“No, we have been watching you and feel confident in our decision. Join us and you will have the power to fulfill all your desires—even the ones unfairly taken from you recently.”
“Power?” McGregor’s stupor faded momentarily. “What power?”
“Power to actualize your dreams. Power to make the world a better place for you and all other peace loving individuals. Do our bidding and I assure you, wealth inequality will be a matter of historical curiosity. You will be the harbinger of the new future. A future where all who live will adore you.”
“Look. I may be drunk, but I’m sober enough to know this is a joke.”
“I assure you,” the tall man said while removing his hat, “this is not a joke.”
McGregor was bewitched by the man’s eyes. Without his glasses and his hat, the eyes seemed to glow and grow into tiny suns brightening McGregor’s darkness. He saw angels dancing, leaping from the man’s eyes to his and then back again.
For a moment, McGregor thought he saw the girls he had murdered appear in front of him. Then he was sure. They were the beautiful angels. He watched as they smiled and mouthed McGregor’s name. They wanted him. It was a sweetness McGregor had never known before, addictive and desirable, growing in potency.
In a moment it was all gone: the angels, the sweetness, the tiny suns. The tall man had returned his sunglasses to his eyes and fitted his hat squarely on his head. McGregor set the bottle on the table and stood.
“Give me more of that.”
“But of course. All in good time. However, if I am to give something to you, it is only fair for you to give me something in return.”
“Anything.” McGregor’s voice was insistent, fully compliant.
“What would you be willing to do to affect the world change I referred to earlier?”
“Anything.”
“Even kill people?”
“Have I not already done that for the good of nature?”
“Even kill a lot of people?”
McGregor was silent.
“You will kill a lot of people, but those who are left will adore you.”
“How is that possible?”<
br />
“Leave that to us. We have arranged for everything except what you must do. Will you be able to leave today?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course. You could surrender to the police or... die.”
“What about my job?”
“In a few weeks, the reasons for your disappearance will be evident to your boss and colleagues. They will even adore you for it.”
“And this power, what exactly is it?”
“After an unfortunate incident involving the current resident of the highest office, you will become the next President of the United States.”
Chapter 16
NEW ORLEANS
It was mid-afternoon when Suteko and Sam landed. They had to wait while the giant 777 taxied to the terminal area. The seatbelt light came on and faded; as if on command, everyone in the plane stood and stretched.
“You didn’t sleep much. I don’t think I noticed you napping at all.” Sam worried that her jet lag might be bad.
“Actually...” She said, keeping her voice to a whisper, “I don’t sleep anymore. Well, not much anyway. I can get by with a couple of five minute cat-naps a day.”
Sam was certainly not yet blessed with that gift. He felt like he could sleep for days. He closed his eyes and indulged himself a bit while standing and waiting for the line to move. She continued to tell him that she also had experienced increased fatigue at the beginning. Sam was glad to hear that what he was experiencing was “normal.”
“Sam,” she said in a barely audible voice, “if for some reason I get delayed, you must go to this address.” She slipped him a business card, hiding it under her palm as if its contents were top secret. Sam glanced at the card. Above the contact information was “R.J. Accountants.” There were no phone or fax numbers printed. There was only an address with the apartment number 201 on it.
“This is a Manhattan address?”
“Yes. Promise me you will go. If you see me taken somewhere, you must go.”
“Nothing’s going to happen, but even if it did, shouldn’t I stay around New Orleans?” he said with a look of concern betraying his confident words.
“No. We have friends there. You will need their help. The old man will help. Just show him this card. He’ll know. Ask for the old man. He sought me out after my mother died and taught me how to listen to the echoes. He can do the same for you.”
Happy to be moving in the line out of the airplane, Sam smiled at Suteko before realizing she was frowning. Her face was dejected, paralyzed even. Becoming aware of his stare, she snapped out of her worries and mirrored his smile.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “What’s the worst thing? You get deported and I follow you on the next flight.”
“No,” she said in a voice a little too loud and much too stern. She smiled at the couple in the aisle behind them before turning back to Sam. “If I... have to take a vacation, you must take care of business. Just remember to relax and listen to the echoes. Seek out the old man; he will teach you how to hear the echoes better. I have never felt destiny tug this hard.”
Suteko bowed slightly to the Japanese stewardess and exited the plane into the walkway, Sam following.
They maintained silence until the walkway opened into a much larger room. In front of them was a line for U.S. citizens and one for foreign nationals.
Sam pulled Suteko to the side away from the rush to line up.
“Back there you said ‘destiny.’ I didn’t think you believed in destiny.”
“Obviously, we each have choices to make. However, there are things that must take place. English has a wonderful, yet underused word: ought. I can walk away if I want to, but I know it is my—our duty to stay. We ought to do what is right.”
“Suteko, I...”
She interrupted his words with a soft touch on his cheek. For a moment, Sam lost all sense of being. Her touch removed every ounce of pain and fear that had begun to creep down his spine at the thought of their potential separation.
“Let’s go,” Suteko said. “You go first.”
Sam looked to his left—a long line snaked around several corners for foreigners. To his right was a single file line with twenty other Americans at most. Sam turned to Suteko to give a parting thought when she pulled out her blue American passport and gave him a gentle nudge to the right.
“How...” He stopped mid-sentence realizing it was better not to ask.
The power of her healing touch mere seconds ago was fading as they both entered the American line. Sam grew nervous, but tried to calm down to listen to the echoes from the future. Perhaps he could hear if she was going to run into trouble.
The line was quickly emptying and he wished it would slow. Their time together was so precious, and despite his best efforts to keep his thoughts optimistic, he feared they would soon part.
“Maybe you should go first,” Sam said, attempting to be the gentleman but in a voice more akin to a scared little boy.
“No. If something happens to me, you must make it out of here. It is best to pretend you don’t know me. I promise I’ll explain everything once we are through.”
The two silently took a step forward as the American directly in front of them was allowed entry onto American soil. Sighing, Sam bent down to tie his shoelace. His shoe had a knack for coming undone at just the right time.
“Next.”
Sam yanked his shoelace tight and approached the man, presenting his passport and airline ticket.
The official, saying nothing, flipped through its pages while glancing at a computer screen. Seconds later, Sam returned his stamped passport to his pocket and was through customs.
Suteko stood before the silent official. Sam sunk into a corner again playing with his shoelace, this time pretending. Glancing up, he tried to gauge the official’s expression. It was different than when he had gone through. The customs officer took long gazes at Suteko and then typed something on his computer.
This was taking too long.
Moments later two security guards approached Suteko. Both held their right hand to their pistol but did not draw. Sam watched from a distance and could not hear distinctly what the guards were saying. One grabbed her by the arm and the other cleared a path heading to a back door.
Sam was frantic. She turned to him and mouthed one word: “Go!”
Sam made some effort to pull his eyes away from the image of Suteko being forcibly pulled away from him. Nothing, however, could break his eye contact. Nothing until the guard holding her arm followed her gaze and mouth movements to Sam in the corner. She had quickly looked away from Sam, but it was too late.
The guard slapped his partner and pointed directly at Sam whose face screamed accomplice.
Sam stood up and, with a brisk walk, exited the room. In an instant, he had melted into the crowd of a busy airport.
Chapter 17
Sam was lost. Suteko had been his anchor and now she was gone. Since she came into his life, he had not given a single thought to any grand plan much less the next moment.
Her words came flooding back.
Seek out the old man.
Reaching for that precious business card, Sam rushed to the nearest airline ticket booth. The next flight to LaGuardia was in twenty-five minutes. Luckily, there were a few seats left in first class.
A credit card charge and fifteen minutes later, he was seated in a lush window seat next to a rather large woman who would most certainly not be comfortable in coach.
The large woman was busily reading a little Reader’s Digest magazine with a cute puppy on the cover. Sam, not wanting to violate their unspoken mutual isolation pact, turned toward the window. He felt sweat beading on his forehead. He must stink something awful, he thought as he closed his eyes and began to replay the events of the past few minutes.
Memories of Suteko mouthing “Go!” dominated his thoughts. The feeling of utter despair that he had felt returned, sending his mood into a downward spiral.
Slowly,
the terror of that moment morphed into the more pleasant memories of the Suteko in his reoccurring dream. There was no question. Suteko was the woman of his dreams. She had always been the woman in those dreams.
Sticking his hands into his pockets, Sam was startled when his right hand fell upon a bundle of twenties paper-clipped to a piece of paper. Unfolding the paper, he saw that it simply read, “Go to the old man. I am fine.”
Sam wondered when Suteko had given him the money and this message. Had she known she would be detained? Had she heard it from the Echoes? Would he ever see her again?
Landing in LaGuardia Airport, Sam asked the information desk for the best way to get to the address on the business card. She told him a shuttle bus would be there momentarily to pick up passengers for Grand Central Terminal. From there, a taxi could take him to his destination in fifteen minutes.
He thanked her, bought the ticket, and waited outside. A few minutes later, a large vehicle with “LaGuardia Shuttle Bus” written on the side appeared. He hopped on and, finding a back seat, sunk low.
The trip was uneventful. He remembered the last time he was here. He had flown into JFK then. His wife spilled her peanuts all over the aisle. Sam smiled. It was funny how being around Suteko made thoughts of his ex-wife seem less painful, comical even.
Arriving at Grand Central, Sam found an eager taxi driver waiting at the bus terminal. Ten minutes of light traffic later, a row of tenements appeared. The driver pointed at one of them and said that was where his destination should be.
As the taxi sped off, Sam appraised the old building in front of him. An old building for an old man. He wondered why someone so respected by Suteko would choose to live there.
The building had clearly been high-end once but time had done its damage. The brickwork was finely constructed, but the ceiling of the entrance was stained from what looked like smoke. What wood there was around the edging looked decayed or damaged by termites.
