“Oh, Jonas, thank goodness you’re here,” Luanne said as she turned to find him watching. She looked at Annette. “Oh, hello.”
“Luanne, this is Annette. Annette, this is Luanne,” Jonas cordially made introductions even though he knew that Annette was aware of Luanne’s transgendered, bowling-alley worker origins.
Luanne asked Jonas, “Would you mind giving me a hand with these lights? If I can get the physical kinks out, I’ll go through bulb by bulb and find the ones that are causing the rest to go dark.” She turned her attention to the totes and then the tree. “Not to mention that I can’t find a single ornament, not one! I know I had a collection of them around here somewhere but it seems to have grown legs . . .”
“Luanne,” Jonas took the mass of jumbled lights into his own hands. “Christmas isn’t for a few months yet. There’s no use stressing over the lights, or the ornaments, at this point in time. You look exhausted. Why don’t you rest in your room? I’ll work on each strand until they’re exactly where they need to be.”
Exhausted confusion crossed over Luanne’s face as she surrendered her work. Luanne disappeared into a doorway to the downstairs bedroom that had once belonged to Jonas in his youth leaving him and Annette in the common-room.
With the ball of Christmas lights still in hand, Jonas stepped closer to Annette and frowned. The room’s lit kerosene lamp accentuated his stern facial features as he stared with his emotionless eyes.
“You want to give her the Christmas ornament, don’t you?” Jonas gave a chortle and said “Fine. If you’re so inclined to give her the ornament, I’m not going to stop you.” He stepped aside to let Annette pass.
For a moment, Annette had a look of distrust and didn’t move.
“What is that piece of junk anyway?” Jonas sneered. “It’s not worth two cents to the person who dreamed it.”
“It’s a symbol alluding to the connection between her and her children,” Annette explained. “If you had taken the time to review your granddaughter’s storyline, you would’ve noticed the importance of the Christmas ornaments in her life. There’s nothing greater than the bond between a loving parent and their child. Though I didn’t rotate her peg clockwise, I would imagine that’s what this ornament was supposed to teach her.”
“The bond between a loving parent and their child,” Jonas said in a whisper. “Excellent point, Annette.” He took a breath and said to her in a friendly voice, “You know I wonder, before you give Luanne her Christmas ornament, if you might want to finish the tour? There’s one guest whom you haven’t met.”
Annette’s eyes squinted questioningly. “Where are you keeping Adam?”
“Adam?” Jonas turned his head quizzically to the side, “Oh, that dupe fiancé of yours?” He grimaced. “He escaped through my Lite-Brite board. I tried to keep a tight leash on him as my apprentice. He whacked Doris over the head with the study’s lamp. Some man you’ve got there, Annette. A real lady-killer.”
“Adam . . . Adam was the apprentice?” Annette gave a confused stare. “You told Icarus that it was Mr. Cauliflower.”
“If I told Icarus that Adam was the apprentice, you wouldn’t have come running. They escaped together to the church through Broccoli’s clockwise-turned blue-colored peg. You remember that peg, don’t you? You rotated it and inspired him as a boy to repair The Hobbit. I used the asphodel door to visit Management’s library. I found Broccoli’s, and your previous clients’ peg, in the system. I stole them and brought them here. When I turned Broccoli’s peg clockwise I was able to visit the department to review the newest colored pegs when you and Broccoli weren’t looking. That’s how I was able to access Phillip’s peg. And Luanne’s. And my father’s. It was also how Adam escaped from the house. It took him to Broccoli’s future. It took him to the church where, I suppose, he is currently. With Adam having escaped to your arms, I had to take steps. Before he and Icarus disappeared into the folding and unfolding, I threatened Icarus for Lucas’ safety and gave him orders.” Jonas gave a slight smile. “To tell you that the apprentice was Broccoli. I knew it would make you doubt him and cause you to inevitably travel here. It’s sort of a game he and I have played since boyhood. Seeing him suffer is like sucking fresh air for me.”
“So Adam isn’t in the house?”
“He isn’t here in the house.”
“Who’s my favorite client you’re holding captive?”
He tossed the ball of Christmas ornaments to one of the totes and motioned for Annette to follow him to the room opposite of Luanne’s: the bedroom that belonged to his bookish step-brother.
The personal library that Nathaniel kept in his bedroom had sprouted in the same mildew-type infestation. A man was sitting on the edge of the bed that faced the far wall so that the identity of the occupant remained elusive. Jonas watched from the open doorway as Annette quietly approached the person and stopped far enough away so as not to startle him. From Jonas’ vantage point, the man held in his hands a gardening book which had been opened to reveal the page on asphodel flowers.
“Hello?” Annette asked the figure.
The man turned around and, seeing Annette, jumped from the bed hugging her warmly.
“Daddy?” Annette’s eyes widened as her father from her life as Annette Slocum greeted her with affection.
This was the same influential man from Annette’s previous life who had encouraged imaginative thinking; her father who had taken her to her first violin concert when she had been eight years old and said as the lights had dimmed in the auditorium: “Allow the violin to paint a portrait in your head, then tell me all about what you imagined when we go out for ice cream.” This was the same father who had once preached to Annette that, “The next time they pick on you, speak as a main character in a book would speak, with strength and confidence. Annette, reasoning is better than fist-fights and, in ten years, everything will have changed. As you grow older, think to yourself how you want to be remembered.” This was the very same man who had bought Annette her first car after graduation, a weathered 1979 VW Beetle, so that she could explore the world. It was the same inspiring man who, moments before Annette had married Lyle in 1999, as the bridesmaids, flower girl, five-year-old ring bearer, congregation and Lyle had all been awaiting her arrival, had said to his immobile antisocial daughter: “Don’t let your marriage to Lyle define you. He’s a good man, yes, and he’ll make you very happy, no doubt about it. He’ll be able to support your family. Annette, if you ever listened to your old man about anything,” her father had taken a breath, smiled. “Don’t forget to find things in your future that inspire you.”
“Annette . . . ?” her father told her at present, choked with tears. “I thought you were on your honeymoon in Vegas with Lyle. What are you doing here?”
It was true, Jonas had managed to reconnect Annette with her father by way of interrupting an important timeline. But the reunion he had formulated, though heartfelt, also carried with it a price.
“Annette . . .” Jonas said, clearing his throat. “A word?”
Annette looked at her father and smiled. He smiled back. She squeezed his hand and, turning to Jonas, sported her scowl. Seconds later, she and Jonas were in the common room. Jonas closed the door, distinguishing a barrier between Annette and her father.
“As you know, during your Vegas honeymoon with Lyle in 1999, your father encountered heart issues which brought him to the hospital. He died from complications in a last-minute late-night surgery bringing about his untimely death. I’ve brought him back for you before all that as a welcome gift.”
“That’s generous,” Annette wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
“I have to wonder, though. Did your father have any issues with his heart prior to that night?” Jonas wanted to know.
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“You’re absolutely certain?” Jonas asked. When Annette nodded, Jonas nodded. “Have you ever heard of potassium chloride?” The gratifying look of a chilling defeat on Annette
’s face brought Jonas’ heart to race. “It’s what’s commonly used during a prison inmate lethal injection. The individual is placed under an immediate anesthetic followed by a calming paralytic agent. Then, the potassium chloride is injected which slows the heart rate causing an imbalance in the electrolytes. It results in ventricular contractions . . . therefore inducing a heart attack.
“We come to the point in our conversation where a decision needs to be made, Annette. You can give the Christmas ornament to Luanne. You can save your victims, if you desire. If you do, however, I’ll be sure to inject your father with the potassium chloride. And don’t think you’ll get away with inserting him into his cream-colored pink-polkadotted timeline where I wouldn’t get my hands on him. I know where I can find him at any time and, when I do, I’ll kill him.
“Imagine though, if he lived. Think of how many people would have been inspired by him! Imagine how many lives your mother would have touched had she not been consumed by suicidal depression from your father’s death? I’m offering you a second chance with them. A second chance to make things right.”
Annette was visibly shaken.
Jonas slinked around her and said smoothly, “Before you go around talking about what a brute I am, I want you to remember that I’m following in your footsteps.”
“I’ve never threatened the life of your parents,” Annette argued.
“I see it differently,” Jonas countered. “It was a cold, snowy morning during January in 1979 when you and Broccoli stood in the middle of a highway road. My father and mother were driving through the blizzard in their Mercedes. I had just been born, you see. Only a few days old when you and Broccoli caused a devastating accident. An accident, interestingly enough, which caused my mother to die because you had to play the perfect muse! I wonder if Broccoli and I would have even met if my mother hadn’t been killed in that accident. My dad and I wouldn’t have been introduced to Justine. We wouldn’t have moved to another state. You and I would’ve never met under that apple. So it comes full circle, Annette. It’s your fault.”
He put an arm around Annette, crushing her. “All you have to do is to go with me and stop the car accident from happening. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Stop it yourself,” Annette spat while trying to pry herself from Jonas’ snare.
“Oh, if I could, I would. I’ve tried, Annette. Out of the colored pegs my dad’s is the one I can’t rotate. Almost as if it doesn’t want to be rotated . . .”
“That should be a clue you shouldn’t be messing with it.”
“Inaccessible no matter what I do!” Jonas went on, ignoring Annette’s words. “But you, Annette, are the one who owned the peg when it was assigned. Part of me believes that Broccoli hoodwinked it so that it couldn’t be rotated by anyone else . . .”
Annette sighed. “I see where you’re going with this.”
“If you stop the accident from happening, your father will go free.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?” Annette wanted to know. “If we spare your mother, you won’t meet Nathaniel and therefore won’t end up being who you are. Your work in stealing Luanne, Phillip, Lyle and the others would be for nothing. We’d be encountering another paradox.”
He shook his head. “That’s not how I see it.” His grip around Annette’s arms tightened. “Once that change happens, everything else will fall into place. The Dandelion Sisters have promised me that, in my new timeline, I’ll be in charge. A sovereign leader in an alternate world where everything is to my liking! You see, Annette? I’m not trying to discourage you from giving Luanne her Christmas ornament. You should consider weighing your choices appropriately.
“In my new world, we’ll be happy. I’ll have my mom. You’ll have your father and everything else will disappear like it never happened. Think of it. You can make different choices. You already know where to find Adam Mansfield in that Muse’s Corner bookstore of his. If you play our cards right you can have that pie shop.”
There was more that Jonas had to say in regards to the mysterious door and the toolbox, but he kept this information to himself.
Jonas was surprised at how quickly Annette measured, and accepted, his proposal with four straightforward words: “Alright, I’ll do it.” Jonas expected Annette to fight with the same dynamism that she had employed when stealing her obituary from him during her Ninth Generation term. This was no longer about procuring a wrinkled clipping from a local newspaper. There were higher stakes for everyone involved leading Jonas to question if Annette had accepted defeat on purpose.
Jonas positioned a spare Lite-Brite from the study’s closet. As Jonas had hoped, Annette was able to rotate Thomas’ peg counter-clockwise. Together they watched as Thomas’ youth and his love for Kathleen unfolded. It recited Thomas’ visit to the Dandelion Sisters and developed, passage by passage, eventually delving into the details of Jonas’ birth. At last, the blizzard appeared and time slowed. From a distance, past the wall of falling flakes, Jonas and Annette watched as the past versions of Nathaniel and the red-headed detective Redmond stood in the snow-wrapped landscape. Jonas could hear the past version of detective Redmond’s voice as she called “Hello!” followed by an additional comment: “Hello, out there in the snow!”
The past version of detective Redmond waved at them.
“We’re the people standing in the snow,” Annette said to Jonas. “I remember that from the inspiration. I remember waving to two dark strangers thinking that they were my clients. But we’re those strangers.”
“How does it feel, Annette?” Jonas stepped forward as the current Annette Slocum shivered in the black cocktail dress. “Knowing that we’re looking at a past version of ourselves and that, at any moment, we’ll both have the lives we’ve wanted . . . deserved?”
When his question went unanswered, Jonas spun to find that he was alone in the snow. He looked to his left, then to his right. He squinted his eyes while attempting to cut a ribbon of vision through the blizzard. Though Annette had left him, Jonas was mildly satisfied that he wasn’t expelled from this event by her absence. Perhaps all that he really needed was Annette to rotate the peg and he didn’t need her to stay! He turned to the accident as the cars approached on the icy road. Even if Annette wasn’t going to be there to help him, Jonas felt confident that, as he had been able to control the lives of the other victims, this particular instance would bow to his will. He clinched his fists and stomped through the snow wincing at the iced lashes of the whipping sleet. A warming thought akin to the fires in the fall of Rome burned on his mind: once he changed this timeline, the Dandelion Sisters would have no use for Annette. She would be irretrievably dispensable.
*
Nathaniel entered his childhood room where three filled syringes were laid on his nightstand. They had been numbered as to suggest a particular injection’s order. There was also an open medical kit that included a clean towel, sterile adhesive bandages, gauze pads, alcohol wipes and latex gloves.
He and Adam stood over Annette’s sleeping father studying his face. It reminded Nathaniel of the lifeless faces of Justine and Thomas in their caskets.
“Listen, Nate,” Adam told Nathaniel. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell her that I was Jonas’ apprentice.”
“What would you suggest that I tell her?” Nathaniel wanted to know.
There came a knock at the bedroom door. He and Adam scrambled to various shadow-draped corners of the room. Nathaniel watched from behind a bookcase as Annette stepped into the room and approached her father’s bed, kneeling. Nathaniel and Adam shared a look of recognition. From Nathaniel’s perspective, Annette’s eyes darted to the three syringes on the nightstand. He could see tears on her cheeks as she leaned in close.
“Daddy?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
For a split second, her father didn’t stir. His eyes opened and he smiled at his daughter.
“Daddy, I don’t know what to do.”
“Annette . . .” her fat
her smiled. “I was listening at the door to what Jonas was saying.”
“I want to make you proud,” Annette whispered.
“Oh Annette . . .” he said, “You’ve made me proud! I’ve heard the things that Jonas said about you when he thought I wasn’t listening. How you inspired these people and how you might, one day, come to save them. I’ve heard him whispering to his apprentice about how you had been a Ninth Generation muse in the afterlife. He talked of the future and who you had grown to be. He discussed the lives you changed in the years after you married Lyle. You’re an important muse, my darling. Think of what you’ve learned and encountered. Think of the lives you’ve changed for the better. I don’t want to see any of that go to waste. You can’t give in to his demands. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices in our own lives so that others may flourish.”
“No . . .” Annette shook her head. There were tears in her eyes.
He looked at his daughter and smiled. “You and I both know what has to be done.” He handed the syringes to her. Annette groaned and shook her head. “I’d rather you be in charge of administering the injections than Jonas.”
“No.” Annette looked into his eyes. “There has to be something else we can do.”
“Jonas has stolen these people from their timelines. From the bright futures that God has preordained. They have to be returned, honey. And I refuse to live if it means that even one individual goes uninspired.” He reached out and touched Annette on her cheek. “I remember you, Annette. I remember that you were my muse on my wedding day with your mother. You shined so brightly those many years ago and I would hate to see anyone, even yourself, take that light.” Annette reached for her father’s cupped hands with her own. “Do what needs to be done. And tell your mother I love her, won’t you?”
Asphodel: The Second Volume of the Muse Chronicles Page 35
