The Temporal

by CJ Martín

  Sam watched as McGregor walked to the sink, cupped his hands, and splashed his face multiple times. He shook his hands free of any remaining water and wedged his face into a towel, patting it dry.

  “You win. I will just need to get my password from my briefcase under the bed.”

  Sam hoped Suteko had been right... He still couldn’t read McGregor’s thoughts in real-time, but the hatred lacing McGregor’s voice was impossible to miss.

  A moment after disappearing over the side of the bed, McGregor reappeared with a Glock and a sneer.

  “You really thought you could trick me? Huh? Samuel Williams?” McGregor quickly closed the distance. He was now holding the gun inches from Sam’s head. The gun shook, but Sam sat still and said nothing. “I’ll tell the Secret Service some damn Arab group tried to set me up. I’ll give them that recording and tell the world I was blackmailed because I saved the world.” His hands shook more. “I saved the world! I did! Who would they believe? Huh? Me, their savior, or you—a confirmed terrorist!”

  “A savior? You didn’t save Michelle—or Becky.”

  “Shut up!”

  “You were not their savior.” Sam stood firm. The quivering gun was now pointing at Sam’s heart.

  “I,” McGregor said, half-choking on a draw of breath, “I loved Michelle.” He nodded his head multiple times to confirm his words. “I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her several times since then. She is more beautiful now. I helped create that new beauty. I can see her again and again. I just...”

  McGregor was terrified of the angels, but they were beautiful—more beautiful than anything he had seen on earth.

  A lone tear began to bubble from one of McGregor’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry...” McGregor said as he stood back a foot and raised the gun to Sam’s head. He had regained his composure and even some of his strength. “I’m sorry, but I also cannot be your savior.”

  McGregor closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 47

  A hotel clerk behind the desk had been quietly watching the Asian woman sleep in a lobby recliner. He had an hour to go before he could clock out and looking at a pretty face helped the time go by.

  He wondered how old she was. She was young but seemed to have an ageless dignity even as she slept in that comfortable chair. He was both envious of the sleep she was getting and of the man whom she was undoubtedly waiting for.

  He sighed and turned to the paperwork in front of him. He tried doing actual work as often as his eyes would allow—just in case his manager was watching—but his gaze kept returning to the woman.

  She now wore a large smile that startled him. Her eyes were still shut and her position in the chair had not changed. But she wore that gigantic smile...

  ★

  Suteko’s smile had not broken her concentration. But by listening to the echoes, she was sure that the old man was all right. She heard his voice. She heard Sam’s voice echoing too. She was sure both of the voices were from the future. The plan seemed to be working.

  ★

  The clerk continued to watch, intrigued by this mysterious woman and her sudden smile. But just as suddenly, the woman’s face fell dark. Seeing the change, the clerk almost rushed to her aid. Not only were her eyes now wide open, but that amazing smile had turned to a stern, pained expression. She stood up quicker than he could imagine was possible. The woman was fully awake and looked around, panicking. Then… she simply disappeared.

  ★

  Suteko had the sudden realization that something had not gone according to plan. Something awful had just happened. Something was terribly wrong. Sam, don’t do it...

  Click.

  Sam smiled. Even if he hadn’t heard the echoes, he would have trusted Suteko with his life.

  She had entered McGregor’s room while they were in the lobby. There, she both unloaded the gun and set up surveillance cameras at various points in the room. The entire scene had been recorded and streamed live to Agent Simmons at the Federal Bureau of Investigations.

  Cobbs had mentioned Paul Simmons as someone he trusted enough to contact. Cobbs had been killed before he could give them a phone number or address, but information gleaned from Cobbs’ cell phone enabled them to contact Simmons. He had been the last call Cobbs had made and the only name the agent had mentioned.

  ★

  Simmons had not been told who the callers were or even what the situation was about specifically, but out of respect for his fallen friend, Simmons sat in front of a computer connected to a video stream and waited. For what seemed to be hours, all he saw was a series of still images of a darkened room.

  Then, the lights came on and Simmons realized he was viewing various angles of some unknown hotel room.

  Voices. Before he saw the face, Simmons recognized the first voice: Todd McGregor, the one man more than any other whose face and voice were in the news constantly.

  Simmons had been watching alone in his office, but as soon as McGregor appeared, he was on the phone and sharing his screen with several intelligence and security people.

  Click.

  “Did you really think we would let you have a loaded gun?”

  “Y... you,” stammered McGregor. “Curse you—Samuel!”

  “I prefer Sam.”

  Sam closed the distance to his enemy in less than a second. He knocked the gun from a shaking hand and had his own hand around McGregor’s throat. In a flash, the killer’s body was against a wall—a wall that had been ten feet behind him.

  “You killed innocent girls. You are responsible for two more deaths in New Orleans. You are in league with the demon who murdered a friend of mine. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now?”

  McGregor was barely conscious. He was unable to speak or even comprehend the question. His feet dangled, desperately seeking solid ground.

  A streak of rainbow color saturated the room and manifested itself between Sam and McGregor.

  “Don’t do this, Sam.”

  Suteko had one hand on Sam’s cheek and the other on his arm, the arm connected to McGregor’s throat.

  “Sam, look at me. Let the authorities handle this. Let’s clear your name.”

  Sam turned to her and then, after a moment of hesitation, back to McGregor with renewed rage.

  “Sam, clear my name.”

  Her words hit Sam hard. He loosened his grip and let McGregor drop. The killer rolled away, wheezing on the lightly carpeted floor.

  “It’s over, Sam.” Suteko allowed herself a half-hearted smile.

  Sam spent a few seconds catching his breath before his face turned dark.

  “No.” He rushed to the door. “No, it is not over. She’s coming,” Sam said, turning to face Suteko. “Kaileen will be here soon.”

  Suteko’s face paled. “Marcus,” she said, shaking slightly. “Did… Is Marcus all right.”

  Sam took her hands and squeezed. “Yes. I can hear him. He is warning us—loudly. We must get McGregor out of here.”

  Suteko turned toward McGregor who was cowering in a corner. With a sweep of her hands, she scooped the killer into her arms and flew out the door. Sam followed close behind.

  They were in the hall when the red-headed woman stepped out of the elevator. Her motion was so fast, that it was as if she had exited the elevator already running at full speed. She dropped and rolled into their view. As she righted herself, she flicked her wrists outward. Sharp metallic projectiles launched from both opened palms. She swiftly followed behind.

  Sam pushed Suteko and McGregor into a door to their left. The impact bent the metal frame enough for Suteko and McGregor to fall within and away from the incoming projectiles.

  Leaning to his right, Sam was easily able to dodge one of the blades. Another ripped his upper left shoulder, sending blood and cloth into the air.

  Before he could think about the pain, however, the woman was on him, hitting him with the brunt of her hunched-over shoulder. The collision sent Sam flying twenty feet behind and in
to the outer wall, his legs and feet all the while ripping carpet and flooring. During the flight, his fingers scrambled and reached in vain for any hold, any way to slow his backward motion.

  His back hit the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. His ears heard a series of loud creaking and cracking noises that seemed to come from all around him. He realized it was the sound of his flesh and bone hitting sheetrock, wood, and then brick, slowing his movement but not stopping it entirely.

  His fingers finally caught hold of something, halting his motion. One hand held a wooden stud braced by the outer brickwork. His other hand had several fingers deep into wallpaper and drywall.

  He felt the cool outside air against his back; it was soothing to his open wounds but horrifying when he realized the cool air meant he was hanging halfway outside a tall building. He only had a moment to assess his situation—through blurred and dusty eyes, he saw the bloodied arms, hands, and fingers that kept him from falling eleven floors.

  “Oh, Samuel. What I would have given you!”

  As Sam opened his eyes from a blink, he caught sight of Kaileen’s elbow growing large until it slammed into the side of his face.

  “And yet, you spat on me.”

  The pain was becoming unbearable and Sam’s left hand lost its grip. His back felt broken and his legs felt trod over by a Mack truck, but he was still holding on with his right hand. He couldn’t tell if his legs were inside, outside, or buried under the flooring.

  “Your secrets will be mine, and then you will die.”

  He tried to open his already swollen eyes again but couldn’t. He felt another blow send his head back into something hard. He could only imagine that his head had hit the outside of the building as he was falling the eleven floors to his death. Through closed eyes, he saw sparkling stars but little else.

  Her fists planted themselves on either of Sam’s ears. Although painful, it told Sam he had not fallen outside the hotel—not yet. When she squeezed, high-pitched ringing joined the sparkles. Blind and deaf, his only good sense—touch—simply reported intense pain. Then he could feel the woman’s cold hands convene around his throat. It was comforting to his burning throat—a little like the cool balm on a wound or the outside air he could still feel on his exposed back.

  But then she began to squeeze.

  Even the one sense still operative suddenly ceased to function. Sam felt no pain; he felt no burning or coolness. Even the intense ringing faded into silence. The sparkles also were leaving him. Soon, there was nothing, nothing but black.

  “Sam. Sam, can you hear me?”

  It was an echo and as faint as a muffled radio seeping in through a room beyond a wall.

  Opening his eyes, he was surprised to be able to see at all, let alone see the face of the old man looking down at him.

  “Sam, we must go. Can you move?”

  “Move? I’m alive?”

  “Yes, Sam, you are alive. I came in time, but Kaileen escaped.”

  Sam realized it was Marcus speaking.

  “Marcus—I think I can move.”

  “All right. I will carefully lift you. Let me know if there is any pain.”

  Sam grimaced as he felt Marcus feeding his hands and arms under his body. There was pain—much pain, but he knew it could have been a lot worse. He was grateful for the pain. It was a blessing to be able to feel at all.

  “It’s fine,” Sam said. “I can take it.”

  “Good because security will be here soon and I really don’t want to have to explain all this.”

  And then Sam suddenly remembered the woman of his dreams. “Suteko? Suteko! Where...”

  “I’m here Sam. Don’t worry. I’m afraid Kaileen took McGregor, however.” Marcus headed toward the stairs with Sam in his arms. From the corner of his eye, he could see Suteko smile, however faintly. She had a cut below her right eye and she held her left arm as if it was injured.

  Sam closed his eyes and let his mind drift. He barely noticed as Marcus carried him down eleven floors of steps in less than a minute.

  Chapter 48

  ONE WEEK LATER...

  “Sam…”

  It was a whisper, but loud enough to reach him in his dreams. He opened his heavy eyes to a darkened room. It may have been midday, but with the thick carpet drapes in his hotel room, it felt like it was night. The only light seeped in from around and under the mostly closed bathroom door.

  After the encounter with Kaileen, Sam needed more sleep. Sam saw this as a setback, but he was feeling better every day. He seemed to be recovering from more than mere physical injury. Sam slept the entire first day. The next day, he required eight or nine hours. And now, a week later, that voice had interrupted him an hour into his sleep period.

  He waited a few seconds and then, after hearing nothing more, closed his eyes again. His body needed more rest.

  It had been a long week.

  The day after the incident, McGregor’s body was found in his hotel room. He had taken a bullet to his head at close range. The media was reporting it as a suicide and the public had mourned for him as they had President Franklin. But with Kaileen still at large, Sam wasn’t so sure it was that simple even after the suicide note was confirmed to have been written in McGregor’s own hand.

  Sam’s injuries had all but healed within a few hours of fleeing the hotel—the battlefield as Marcus called it. Sam’s accelerated healing had compressed what should have been a few months in the hospital to a few hours in the care of his friends. But the nightmares lingered and his need for sleep increased. If it hadn’t been for Marcus and Suteko...

  Suteko.

  They hadn’t spoken of their future together. Too much was going on and they were all focused on Sam’s recovery. It went far beyond a simple physical recovery. He had experienced the thoughts and intentions of pure evil. Cleansing would take time and effort. Her touch was his medicine, but not a complete cure.

  Relaxing his arms and legs under the sheets, he saw Suteko’s face in his mind and followed her deeper into a dream. It was a kind of waking dream where he felt fully aware of his surroundings and, for the most part, in control of his actions. He was about to relinquish control when his ears heard the voice again.

  “Sam…”

  It was a female voice. Immediately, Suteko in the dream faded and then disappeared completely. He mourned losing her face in the dream—an uncharacteristically good dream—but he soon became aware that it was the real Suteko calling him, waking him.

  His heart beat a little faster at the thought. He wanted to sit down with her over a drink or two and just talk. It seemed like he had known her for years and yet their adventure had started only a few months before in a hot Japanese August. The stress of recovery and the incessant demands of both politicians and law enforcement had made quiet time all but impossible.

  Sam opened his eyes. It was her. She was inches away, sitting on the side of his hotel bed. He had not even felt the movement of the mattress as it gave way to her weight. It was as if she had always been there. Sitting and watching him sleep.

  Suteko.

  A little light from the cracked-open bathroom gave the contours of her dark hair beautiful highlights. He could just make out her facial features, but the soft light was playing tricks on his eyes. He wasn’t sure if she was smiling or grimacing. He was still half-asleep. His mind warred with a body that was demanding more rest.

  “Sam, lay your head on my lap. Allow me to massage you—to touch you.”

  Before he could respond, he felt his head being lifted and then placed on something soft. He closed his eyes as her fingers ran through his hair. Her fingers were cool, almost cold as if she had been handling ice. It was oddly soothing. She continued to massage his shoulders, driving him back deeper into dreamland.

  “Sam, look over there, in the corner.”

  He opened his eyes and was surprised to realize he was now standing. He was even more surprised when he figured out that he was not in DC in his hotel, but inside th
e old man’s apartment in Manhattan. Sam squinted his eyes and looked toward the corner. He saw the globe.

  Suteko took his hand and gently pulled him forward.

  “Come, my love.”

  He followed, although he had no feeling below his waist. He simply could not feel his legs moving, he wasn’t even sure he had legs. But in an instant, he had moved to the globe and was looking at Suteko across from it.

  Suteko placed two fingers on the Atlantic Ocean—Sam noticed her fingernails were long, much longer than he had remembered. In a flash, the fingers swiftly flicked the surface of the globe. Countries, oceans, and colors were all a blur. After a few seconds, her hand fell, stilling the globe’s rotation. Her index finger pointed to India.

  “Tell me, Sam. You can see them. Tell me.”

  Sam understood and began speaking names and places as he saw them. The Temporal. She would move her finger north, south, west, or east and he would begin again.

  But his mind often drifted and his dreams would take him elsewhere. Recent locations and events played heavily in his dreams. In one moment, he was in San Francisco and then, in the next, his mind replayed the bombing in New Orleans. Each time, Suteko’s face appeared and forcibly dragged him back to Marcus’ apartment and that globe. She was insistent that he continue and stay with her there in front of the globe.

  After many minutes, the finger was positioned over the Washington DC area. Sam stumbled.

  “Too many.”

  “What, my love?”

  “I see you, me, the old man, and...”

  Sam blinked and shot up from bed. He was back in the hotel room in DC, sitting up in a sweat-soaked bed. Suteko was on the bed next to him with a curious look on her face. He saw a flash of anger steal across her eyes.

  “And you...”

  “What do you mean, my love?”

  “You—are not Suteko.”

  The woman smiled and placed her right hand on his thigh.