The Temporal

by CJ Martín

  It had been a short announcement, but he stayed for nearly thirty minutes answering questions. He wouldn’t comment further on the announcement and the reporters soon focused their questions on McGregor himself—his history; his personal likes and dislikes; what he thought of his newly found fame.

  As with the last time McGregor stepped into the limelight, the public couldn’t get enough. Many thought it was refreshing to see an open and honest man actually informing the public of what was going on behind the curtain. National and local law enforcement had varying public opinions on McGregor’s press conference, but in private, most of the nation’s law keepers were furious he would leak seemingly everything they knew and many things they did not know.

  Two days after the press conference, the largest Islamic terrorist cell ever discovered was brought down in Arlington, Virginia, and over twenty members were arrested. When pressed by a reporter, the colonel in charge of the operation grudgingly admitted that most of the intel was thanks to McGregor.

  Evidence linking Carl Bhat, the president’s speechwriter, to the cell was overwhelming. In yet another non-sanctioned press conference, McGregor laid out the evidence in damning detail. Papers and computer documents found in Mr. Bhat’s apartment were shown linking him to the Virginian cell. After the raid, evidence of Mr. Bhat’s involvement was also found in several cell hideouts. McGregor presented as the clincher the fact that the assassin’s father was of Indian descent. While one had to go back three generations to find it, Mr. Bhat’s grandfather had been a devout Muslim. After the press conference, even Carl Bhat’s best friends were convinced—at least on national television—that the apparently irreligious Carl must have been a closet radical Muslim.

  McGregor was riding high. Every day, it seemed, Mrs. Phillips’ newspaper and television sets were filled with McGregor mania. The latest was that the sixty-three year old bachelor had received a dozen marriage proposals once the public learned he was unmarried. The day after that article, McGregor’s proposals numbered in the hundreds.

  Mrs. Phillips was herself a huge McGregor fan. It took all of Sam’s self-control to keep from flashing out in anger every time she mentioned her hero’s name.

  Then one day, Sam felt it. The long wait had ended.

  He rushed outside in search of Suteko who had taken a stroll in the woods behind Mrs. Phillips’ house. Sam had learned to attune his mind to his gift; it was as if he had a Temporal and Nephloc radar running constantly in his head. He marched through the woods directly to where he knew Suteko was.

  “Suteko, we should head back.”

  “You know, it is a little unnerving that you always know where I am. Maybe I should require you to wear a GPS bracelet at all times.”

  Sam ignored her comment and said, “The old man—he will be here very soon.”

  “Are you sure it is him?”

  “Oh, yes. His signature is as obvious as a bloodhound two feet away from a skunk!”

  She smiled and the two ran back to the house to await Marcus’ arrival. Suteko had mailed a coded message to a PO Box in New York City giving Marcus their address weeks before.

  After the usual greetings, Marcus’ smile turned stale and he said, “Kaileen is back.” Sam remembered hearing that name; it had been the first word he heard Marcus say back in New York. Sam wasn’t sure who Kaileen was, but by Suteko’s wide eyes and quivering lips, he knew this wasn’t good.

  “What?” asked Suteko. “How is that possible? She was banished. You said you saw her in chains and falling into the fire.”

  “I did, but her presence is loud among the echoes. I can feel her anger… and her power. She has grown in power.”

  “Is this Kaileen a Nephloc?” asked Sam hoping for a concrete answer.

  “Yes and no,” said the old man not entirely satisfying Sam’s inquiry.

  Sam turned to Suteko with a look that begged for an explanation.

  “What he means, Sam, is that she is a leader of the Nephloc, but she was once every bit as human as you and me. She doesn’t act like most Nephloc. Light doesn’t harm her as much, and she doesn’t shy away from people. In other words, unlike the Nephloc creatures she commands, she is strong and isn’t easily frightened away.”

  “Let me guess,” Sam said, “She also doesn’t have their foul odor.”

  Suteko nodded and then her face turned pale. “Marcus… was she the one in the library—the one who changed to appear as me?”

  “I can think of no other with such morphic abilities.” His head bowed; his eyes and eyebrows came together in deep thought.

  Sam now had a name for Cobb’s killer. He felt anger well up inside. He turned to the old man. “She frightens you. Is she too powerful for us?”

  “I am not afraid that she might prevail,” Marcus said and then lifted his head to meet Sam’s gaze. “She won’t ultimately. But she isn’t easily stopped. It is obvious that she is hunting us.”

  “Why?”

  “We alone stand in her way. And I have no doubt that she wishes to turn some of us. If even one of the Temporal is deceived into following her, the damage to humanity could be vast. That is why she wants that list in your head, my boy.”

  “Bring it on. Together, she won’t stand a chance,” Sam said with no little anger in his voice.

  “Do not underestimate her strength and her powers of seduction, young Sam.” The old man had moved into Sam’s personal space, positioning his face inches from Sam’s. “You have too little practice shunning evil. Kaileen is evil perfected.”

  “So, what can we do? Warn others and hide?” Sam asked, backing away from Marcus.

  “No, we take to the offensive! We leave in the morning.”

  “To Washington?”

  “No! To San Francisco.”

  Chapter 38

  WASHINGTON DC

  Two hours and thirty-six minutes after the death of President Franklin, Vice President Hollenbeck was sworn in as President of the United States. He had been quickly escorted to the White House and, later that evening, he gave his first speech from the oval office to the American public.

  After that speech, President Hollenbeck retired to the temporary Executive Residence. He fixed himself a healthy glass of brandy and set it on an antique dresser. Removing his suit coat, he put on a silk robe that was in the bedroom closet and slipped his left hand into its cutaway pocket. Grabbing the glass with his right hand, he smiled while swirling the drink under his nose, enjoying its aroma and his recent promotion.

  “Congratulations, Mr. President.”

  The voice so startled him that he dropped his drink, shattering the glass and spilling the expensive brandy over freshly steamed carpet.

  Backing up against a wall, he shouted, “Who are you?”

  “Do not be alarmed, Mr. President. I am not here to harm you.”

  The woman moved closer, seductively planting one foot in front of the other and allowing her shapely hips to sway slightly as she approached. Keeping her head down but her eyes up and fixed at him, she stopped barely a foot away from the president.

  “On the contrary, I want to help you be remembered as the president you should be.”

  Her hands ran up his chest, slipping over the slick silk until her fingers rested on his shoulders. Hollenbeck didn’t resist, but was also too shocked to speak.

  “You see, I can help you get things done.”

  “Secur…” He wanted to call for the guards that he knew were only a few dozen yards away. But something about her movements disarmed him. She made him comfortable and filled him with desire. “How did you get in here?”

  She leaned over to his right ear and, brushing his earlobe with her lips, she whispered, “Mr. President, I will see to it you have riches and popularity among the citizens of the world. Would you like that?”

  His mouth was open, but he could only manage a nod to the affirmative.

  “Good. I will do that for you. But would you do something for me?”

  Her left hand tou
ched the back of his neck and began its long ascent up his scalp, running her fingers through his salt and pepper hair. Her fingernails tickled his skin, causing his eyes to flutter in ecstasy.

  He nodded again but otherwise stood stock-still, enjoying her touch.

  “Good.”

  Her hands pulled away from him as she backed away a few feet. A second later, he was staring into her eyes. Swirling swarms of black liquid seemed to fill them and then leap to his. She said nothing, but he understood what he must do.

  A blink later, he was alone. The woman was gone. The only proof of her existence lay on the floor—shattered shards of glass and spilt drink.

  A day later and thousands of miles away, Suteko read in Mrs. Phillips’ newspaper that President Hollenbeck had chosen his vice-president. Both Houses of Congress were expected to confirm the selection with an easy majority vote. Mrs. Phillips, upon hearing the news, clapped with joy. It was a quite natural selection, after all. Todd McGregor was, in fact, most responsible for discovering the killers behind the murder of President Franklin.

  Chapter 39

  “Come with me.”

  McGregor knew that voice well. He felt the tingle of excitement build as he turned to watch her open the door and walk out of his hotel room. Her sudden appearances no longer frightened him. She had not shown him her eyes for a long time; he clearly remembered the glory and desire, but he had all but forgotten the horror.

  “Do you remember the promise my colleague made to you back in your apartment so many weeks ago?”

  McGregor nodded, halfway hoping she would remove her glasses.

  “But how could I possibly run against Hollenbeck? It would look most ungrateful. He was the one who asked me to be his Vice President.”

  She smiled and leaned over as if she was about to kiss his nose. Instead, she spoke. “My dear boy, don’t worry about that. Hollenbeck will not run for the office. And he will be more than happy to endorse you.”

  “This is insane.” McGregor stopped. The woman also stopped and turned to hear him say, “It’s true I have become powerful and my fame is far more than I could have ever dreamed of—it is as you predicted. But to be president. It will never work…”

  She smiled broader and then lifted both hands toward her glasses. “I have something to show you,” she said, gently lifting the frame of her glasses from her face.

  “No,” said McGregor, but he did not turn away. He felt a smile erupting. He wanted her eyes. As terrifying as they were, he needed her eyes.

  Tearing the glasses from her face, she yelled, “Come and feast!” Her voice echoed loudly in the distance as all went black.

  When he awoke, he saw the dark figure of the woman addressing a crowd. He could not see beyond her, but by her arm movements and the volume of her voice, she seemed to be addressing a large audience.

  Leaning one hand on a wall that turned out to be damp rock, he managed to sit upright and look around. It was dark behind and to his sides. The only light came from beyond the silhouetted woman in front of him. He could see well enough to know that he was in a small dark and damp cave. He could only assume the opening in front of the woman was to a vast auditorium.

  The woman heard his movements and turned to McGregor.

  “Ah, our hero awakes!”

  McGregor heard massive cheering from what seemed to be thousands of voices. The sounds entered the cave and echoed against the rock walls around him, tearing into his very soul.

  “Come, McGregor. Come reveal yourself to your adoring servants.”

  McGregor shook his head violently to better clear his mind and then stood up. The area he was in was very small. He had to lean forward slightly to avoid hitting his head. The questions of where he was and why he was there quickly disappeared. He saw what the woman was addressing.

  Thousands—if not millions—of dark-hooded creatures were tightly congregated in an expanse that seemed impossibly large and yet it was all an enclosed area. McGregor wondered if they were in some vast, underground cavern. Blotches of a bluish-green light from an unknown substance smeared on the rock walls emanated from various points, spreading an uneven light. It was not bright, but it was enough for eyes adjusted to the dark to view all of the auditorium. Every inch of the ground was occupied by creatures screaming in a frenzy.

  As McGregor shuffled forward, the dark figures immediately let out a singular shout and then fell silent. McGregor feared that the cave would collapse from the enormous sound, but even the walls seemed to be supporting him. The fear quickly turned to awe. He was the object of their adoration—of their worship. As he looked on, their black left arms rose in a simultaneous salute. McGregor just stood there, marveling.

  “They are here for you. Smile. Here are your adoring fans, ready to do your bidding.”

  McGregor smiled, then raised two clenched fists in a show of power. In response, the voices of thousands shouted until the frenzy became a pulsating chant. As the chant gradually came into sync, McGregor became increasingly confident. It soon was clear that they were chanting “McGregor! McGregor!”

  The chant went on for an hour before the woman shouted into McGregor’s ear, “Is this sufficient? Have you feasted enough on their praise for one evening?”

  It seemed the audience would have been content to continue the worship for many hours more, but after McGregor nodded, the woman stepped forward and held up her hands. The crowd went silent almost instantaneously. With the sound of thousands of boots hitting the ground, the creatures followed by kneeling on a knee as one man.

  “My children,” the woman said in a calm, but thoroughly resonating voice, “in a few short weeks, we will own the world, and the list of the Temporal will enable us to destroy the only foe capable of stopping us.”

  Chapter 40

  CALIFORNIAN DESERT

  Sam and Suteko thanked Mrs. Phillips for allowing them to stay and for her home-cooked meals. After paying the bill along with a few twenties as a tip, they made their way to the car Marcus had brought. It was a red convertible. Sam was surprised to see Marcus behind the wheel and actually enjoying the thrill of driving. He was about to make a comment when Suteko did a quick knife-cut finger gesture to her neck. He understood that it would be better to not comment.

  A few hours later, they were back in San Francisco and near Coastway Community College where Todd McGregor had worked.

  “We will begin our search here,” said Marcus without much explanation. Suteko and Sam followed the old man to the entrance gate of the school.

  Sam had been patient, letting Marcus have his way, but questions were becoming increasingly hard to suppress. A murderer was on the loose and this murderer was thought to be a hero by the public. Whatever plan the Nephloc had devised, McGregor had some part to play in it. Sam hated that they were wasting time in California when he knew McGregor, the murderer, was in DC.

  “Marcus. We’ve been here. We searched his apartment, met his neighbor, and learned he is a first class slob. What do you hope to learn now?”

  “Patience, my son. Listen to the echoes. They will show us the way.”

  Sam turned to Suteko, hoping she would lend support to his cause, but she already had her eyes closed and by her breathing pattern, Sam knew she was listening deeply to the echoes. Sam sighed and began calming his mind and controlling his breathing also.

  At first, he only heard the sounds of students, loudspeaker announcements, and other noises of the past commonly heard on any college campus. Then he began to concentrate on McGregor’s name and face—a face he had come to know very well thanks to Mrs. Phillips television and newspaper clippings.

  His mind searched deeper for a match. He couldn’t see as one sees naturally through the eyes, but even still, the echo patterns were almost visual. They could also be sorted and organized. The closer the proximity, the clearer and easier to manipulate they were. His mind moved in space and time to adjust the clarity. Sam was just outside the campus, but he could hear the echoes of a profe
ssor McGregor a quarter of a mile away in a building, down a hall, and in his classroom. He wasn’t sure when he was listening to, but he had a feeling it was fairly recent—maybe only a few months ago.

  Now that he had the location and knew the specific pattern to look for, it was a simple matter of listening forward and backward in time. Surely, something said or done would be helpful—a place, a hobby, a friend’s name.

  Minutes passed and all three of the Temporal continued to listen and sort through the echoes but without finding anything interesting. Then, Sam heard Suteko whisper a single name, “Michelle.”

  Sam began again in earnest, sorting and searching for a match with the names McGregor and Michelle in mind. There were many commonalities. McGregor seemed to have called on her and spoken to her far more than his other students.

  Michelle… Who are you?

  He heard McGregor suggest an after class study session. Sam continued moving ahead in time but couldn’t hear McGregor or Michelle after that point—perhaps that was his last day at school? He listened to the other students after that.

  Sam’s eyes opened wide.

  “Michelle,” he said out loud, waking Suteko and Marcus, “was murdered.”

  Sam looked at Suteko whose eyes were wide with surprise. She had heard the name Michelle and knew she played some part, but this was most unexpected.

  “Yes,” said Marcus who already had his eyes closed again. “Yes, Michelle was murdered.” His lips smacked as if something sticky was on his tongue. “She was murdered by McGregor. Good, boy. Listen to the echoes before that point. There must be some clue. How did he get to her?”

  Sam closed his eyes and was once again there with McGregor inviting Michelle to a study session. He jumped back a few minutes. McGregor was silent, waiting. Waiting for what? Michelle. Michelle was talking to someone—a boyfriend. He will meet her at Alamo Park. Just then, Sam felt something strange go off in McGregor’s head. A thought! He could hear thoughts from the past! Or at least feel thoughts. Alamo. Michelle. At the Alamo, we will be one.