by Rylee Swann
He woke of his own accord at twenty to midnight, took a leak, and turned the cold water knob of the shower to full blast. Stepping under the spray, he tensed as the frigid temperature assaulted his body, but he found it invigorating. Fully awake, he toweled off, answered the wake-up call when the phone rang, and quickly dressed. Throwing his few possessions into the overnight bag, he left his room and headed down to the lobby.
He looked forward to what would come next. Scanning the hotel entrance, he spotted his contact at the valet station. As he approached, the Native broke into a grin and waved him over.
“Right on time, man. I knew you would be. C’mon, they’re getting my car.”
Shawn fell into step with him, and together they exited the hotel. With a moment or two to wait for the valet to bring the car around, both backed up to lean against the wall in poses of utter nonchalance.
“What should I call you?” Shawn asked once they were situated.
The Native contact laughed and held out his right hand. “My manners are hit or miss. I’m Wematin, but most people just call me Matt.”
Shawn shook Matt’s hand, noting the strong callused grip. “Brother?”
Releasing the shake, Matt scrunched up his face. “Huh? Oh, right. Brother.” He broke into a broad grin. “Wematin is Algonquin for brother, yeah.”
Shawn offered a small smile in return. “I’m Shawn.”
“Yeah, I know.” He winked and pushed away from the wall. “That’s my car. C’mon.”
A fire-red Pontiac Firebird Trans Am special edition, complete with the firebird outlined in black covering the hood, pulled up to the curb. A muscle car. Apparently, Matt liked fast cars, and he was willing to bet this one was a speedy little beauty. The valet brought it to a stop, engine growling like the car resented the delay in getting out on the road.
Matt tipped the valet and unlocked the passenger side door with the touch of a button.
Once they were in the car, Shawn turned to Matt as he pulled away from the curb. “Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?”
“Sure.” Matt smiled out the windshield and stepped on the accelerator. The car obediently leaped forward.
This elicited a chuckle from Shawn. “Will you answer if I ask?”
Matt laughed as he turned the Trans Am into a smooth left. He seemed to be without a care in the world, and Shawn couldn’t help but find the mood contagious. So far, he liked Matt. He hadn’t spent any time with another Native in a long while, and he welcomed the opportunity. He couldn’t let his guard down, however, and only hoped that Matt wouldn’t become an enemy.
“Sit back and relax, Shawn. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. Ramón is never in Quebec. We’re on our way to the Yukon Territory.”
Shawn’s eyes widened. “That’s far. Across the country.”
Matt laughed again, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Yeah, we’ll be in the car for around three days. But don’t worry. I know all the best bars to stop at along the way.”
Around noon, Matt pulled into the parking lot of a motel and turned off the car’s engine. “I’ve had enough driving for one day. We’ll crash here for a few hours.”
“Alright,” he said, pleased that the motel had a sign announcing there was a pool, and got out of the car along with Matt.
Matt stretched his arms up over his head and arched his back. “Stay with the car. I’ll get us a room.”
Shawn nodded and leaned up against the quarter panel to wait. He hadn’t quite made up his mind about Matt. During the long drive, they’d talked a lot about Native things and even attempted speaking to each other in Algonquin. Shawn had held back his expertise in the language but was impressed with the amount Matt knew.
He’d barely been given time to wonder what Ramón might want from him with the almost constant chatter Matt kept up. He decided not to concern himself with that. There was no way to guess at Ramón’s motives and he’d find out soon enough anyway.
The conversation had been enjoyable, the music loud, and the driving fast. Matt had kept the pedal to the metal most of the way, and the Trans Am devoured the miles—or rather, kilometers, since they were in Canada. Matt didn’t even mind when Shawn flipped through the stations on the radio, tired of the constant disco beat Matt kept choosing.
The Trans-Canada Highway had been mostly devoid of other cars until it grew light, but Matt kept the speed up regardless, slipping in and out of busy lanes that might have put a passenger with less mental fortitude than Shawn into white-knuckled hysterics. As it was, it took Shawn more than a few minutes to trust Matt at the wheel once the sun rose and rush hour ruled the road.
To Shawn’s chagrin, during the twelve or so hours in the cramped car, Matt had never mentioned anything about their final destination. Or about Ramón. Shawn wasn’t surprised. He got the impression that Matt had specific instructions from Ramón, and figured there would be time to carefully grill his contact about what to expect before they arrived.
Ten minutes later, Matt reappeared holding a room key and waved Shawn over. Shawn grabbed his overnight bag, which held a couple of changes of clothes and his fanny pack filled with medicinal herbs, before following Matt.
Inside the modern and tastefully decorated room, Matt stretched and grinned broadly.
“I’m going to sleep like a baby, but you’re in luck. I’ve been told I don’t snore.” He shed his clothes down to his underwear and dove onto one of the two double beds, disappearing up to his chin under the covers. Turning to Shawn, he said, “I’m trusting you not to mess with me while I sleep. If you do, though, I’ll rip your ass to shreds. Got it?”
Shawn laughed at his bravado, but he took the threat seriously. “You’re my ticket to Ramón, so you don’t have to worry about me interrupting your beauty sleep.”
“Damn straight. You think it’s easy keeping up my god-like appearance?” Chuckling, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.
Shawn quickly changed into a pair of denim shorts and a white V-neck tee. “I’m gonna use the pool. I’ll be back before you start complaining you’re hungry.”
He strode to the door as Matt grunted and managed to uncover an arm to wave.
No one else was at the indoor pool when Shawn entered the room. He’d hoped this would be the case when he’d noted only a couple of other cars in the motel parking lot. Even better was the sign on the door that read: No Lifeguard On Duty. Swim At Your Own Risk.
Pulling his tee over his head and tossing it onto a nearby chair, he moved to the edge of the deep end and breathed in the scent of chlorine. He’d been swimming in chlorine-filled pools often of late, and he longed for the scent of salty ocean water. But this was what he had, and he considered himself lucky. Matt could just as easily have chosen a motel that didn’t include a pool as an amenity.
He dove in with barely a ripple and propelled forward, swimming from end to end. To an onlooker, he would be a blur. As the kinks from the long drive flowed out of his body, he slowed his pace, gliding back and forth.
He swam beneath the surface in lazy circles and figure eights as he thought through all the data he’d gleaned regarding his assignment. Unfortunately, there was little to think about, and his restlessness returned. He longed for action, and wondered what else Alec’s clandestine little organization had gotten wrong if they didn’t even know where Ramón really was. Forcing himself to remember that he was doing this for Rayna, he settled his mind, calmed his churning thoughts, and rested for the next couple of hours.
Refreshed and energized, he returned to the room where he’d left Matt to sleep. Matt was cackling with laughter as he entered.
“Man, look at this page I got.” Matt tossed his beeper to Shawn, who caught it one-handed.
“This isn’t a phone number,” he said, squinting at the small display of the message receiving electronic device.
“Dude, turn it upside down,” Matt said through his laughter.
Shawn did, and the numbers and symbols formed crude breasts. Tossin
g the pager back to Matt, Shawn allowed himself a small chuckle, finding Matt’s reaction funnier than the message itself. “That from Ramón?”
Matt choked on his mirth and stared at Shawn for a second before bursting into renewed laughter. “Hell, no, man. Ramón doesn’t do nonsense like this. It’s from a friend trying to keep me from falling asleep at the wheel.”
Shawn grinned as he started packing up to get back on the road. Matt was an enigma. Matt...Wematin...brother. For the most part, Shawn didn’t believe in coincidence, but this certainly came close. Matt reminded him of his own brother, Kyle. As a result, he couldn’t help but like Matt, but he wasn’t foolish enough to let his guard down and not be cautious of him. What part Matt played when it came to Ramón was still a big question mark. Friend? Associate? Relative? All three? Whatever it was, the fact that Matt seemed to be an intermediary for Ramón rang some serious alarm bells.
Shawn needed to find out the truth.
16
Shawn cracked open an eye as the Trans Am slowed to a stop. Looking around, he raised his seat to the upright position, finding himself at a loss for words.
Glancing out the windshield again to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him, he found they hadn’t. All around him was a working, populated Native American village the way one would have looked hundreds of years ago.
Wigwams and longhouses dotted the wide expanse of woodland. Smoke from cookfires rose from the tops of several. A herd of horses ran free in a corralled off grassy area, while Native men strode about in breechcloths and the women tended to chores in leather leggings. All wore fringed moccasins. Dirty-faced boys ran the hardpacked dirt paths between shelters, pretending to kill each other with toy tomahawks and bow and arrows.
Shawn tore his eyes from the view outside the windshield to look at Matt. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to him, which only served to make the churning in Shawn’s stomach worsen the way it had when he’d been shot by an unknown sniper.
Matt barked out loud laughter. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Where the hell are we?” Shawn raised a hand to encompass the village. “What is this?”
“A tourist trap.” Matt waved a greeting to one of the passing men. “But it’s a good place. Good people. I learned Algonquin here, and a lot about my people’s history.”
“Ah.” Shawn’s confusion regarding their whereabouts became clear. He hadn’t inadvertently brought Matt back through time. “So, these people are actors?”
“No, not at all.” Matt got out of the car, and Shawn did the same. “They’re all Indians, just like us. Most are native to this area, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, but there’s a good representation of other woodlands tribes too. C’mon, I’ll introduce you around.”
“Wait. Where are we exactly?” Shawn didn’t like this unsettled feeling, as if he’d made an unplanned drift through time. He needed information to ground him.
Matt raised both hands to take in all the land. “We’re in Dawson City, Yukon. Where the original gold rush happened back in the late 1800s.”
Shawn nodded as things became clearer. “In Rabbit Creek.”
Matt’s eyebrows raised almost comically. “Damn, dude. You sure know your history. It’s called Bonanza Creek now. Anyway, the town continues to thrive with a bunch of hokey touristy attractions like fake river mining for gold, museums, guided tours. You get the picture. But the village is the real deal. Ramón puts a lot of his money into the place behind the scenes to keep it thriving.”
At the mention of Ramón, he cut his eyes back to Matt. “When can I meet him?”
The Native kids whooped and hollered as they ran after each other. Shawn found himself grinning as he watched them play. They jabbered in Algonquin, boasting who would defeat whom and who would become the chief.
“Dude, lighten up.” Matt took the widest of the dirt paths that led to a longhouse. “Enjoy your time here. Ramón will get to you when he gets to you. I’ll introduce you to the elders now, and you can share a pipe with them if they’re so inclined, while I let Ramón know we’re here.”
The young boys circled them as Matt led him to the longhouse. One of the kids took aim and shot an invisible arrow at Matt. He clutched his heart and dramatically staggered forward, much to the delight of the boys, who giggled and screamed until Matt shooed them away.
Shawn smiled at their antics, thoughts of Ramón pushed to the back of his mind as he followed Matt into the longhouse.
The interior was warm and welcoming, much like other longhouses he’d been in. It still felt odd being here in a place that looked so much like the past, but that might be what he liked most about it. A place to be welcomed in 1983. Here, he could get the best of the past while staying in the time period he’d decided to call home.
Matt waited until one of the men sitting around a fire acknowledged him. “Chief Two Shoes, we have a new guest of our village.” He motioned to Shawn. “This is Shawn. He’s come a long distance and is a friend of Ramón’s.”
Two Shoes nodded and beckoned Shawn to take a seat near him at the fire. The elders jostled about to make room for him without complaint. With a respectful nod and wave, Matt took his leave.
Two Shoes had a stoic yet kind face with deep-set sunken eyes surrounded by crow’s feet that branched out onto a weathered, wrinkled face. His long hair, like many of the others at the circle, held little of the original black pigment he’d been born with, and was worn in a single braid down his back.
The elders, dressed like their chief in breechcloths and fringed leather leggings, were as welcoming as Two Shoes, passing the peace pipe and telling stories and anecdotes of their lives. The longer Shawn stayed smoking with them, the more relaxed he became. By the scent wafting in the air, he’d already caught on to the fact that this wily old chief had slipped in more than a pinch of weed with the tobacco. In fact, Shawn had a sneaking suspicion that the pipe being passed contained only marijuana.
He’d have to thank them for sharing their special stash.
As more time passed, he felt he could take his leave without appearing rude. He was eager to track down Matt and find out if he could meet with Ramón. Yet, the lethargy of the marijuana in his system kept him seated in the circle for a little while longer.
Chief Two Shoes waved the ceremonial pipe at him. Embers still burned in the pipe bowl and cast a renewed sweet aroma throughout the circle.
Two Shoes grunted, and all eyes turned to him. “You will stay with us, Shawn. You belong here among our kind. It is good that the Great Spirit brought you here.”
The others murmured their agreement.
Stunned by this invitation to join the tribe, words did not come quickly to Shawn. For as long as he’d lived, this was what he’d searched for—a place of belonging.
Like Scheherazade in the One Thousand and One Nights, Shawn’s mother had regaled him and his brother with the storied history of her people, the Shawnee. Shawn had loved the tales, thought the existence bucolic despite the many wars and infighting. He’d longed for such a home, even though he’d believed his mother had been touched by a fever that would never go away—such a place as she’d described couldn’t be real.
When finally given the opportunity to go off-world, he’d optimistically and foolishly believed that his life would immediately become the dream that had often lulled him to sleep. Earth, a place of acceptance, with people like him who would take him as he was.
What a crock, he soon learned. In so many ways, Earth was worse than Paros. The people here were a strange lot, more so than Shawn had anticipated, despite all his training to understand these aliens.
They also pissed him off. Nothing was as he’d hoped, and he’d become the jaded assassin who just didn’t give a damn.
When Kyle chose to live in the time of their mother’s stories and again fit in where Shawn couldn’t, he still loved his brother as the one and only person he could count on. Shawn found the irony painful. Kyle didn’t look Native with his pal
e skin and yellow hair, but had easily assimilated and been accepted.
Now, with a few words from a stranger, Shawn had found the acceptance he’d always craved. This new onslaught of irony made his stomach twist. He couldn’t stay. He had a job to do, and then would need to get out as fast as possible. There would be bedlam when he killed Ramón, and he wouldn’t be allowed to stay by his own conscience or by the hand of Two Shoes if he grew suspicious.
Yet.
Yet, he thought he might want to do just that.
Stay.
Two Shoes patiently waited for a reply, and Shawn took the easy way out. “Thank you. I, too, am glad that the Great Spirit put me on the path to this place.” He bowed his head in deference to the chief and rose to his feet. “Thank you for accepting me into your circle. It gladdens my heart, but now it is time for me to depart for a while.”
Two Shoes grunted. “May you travel far and wide and return here always.”
The others once again murmured their agreement.
After bowing his head, Shawn departed. He reached the entrance to the longhouse as someone was coming in, and quickly sidestepped. Before him entered a woman around his age, her jet-black hair arranged in a long braid down her back. She had clear blue eyes, unusual for a native. She had to be a half-breed, Shawn thought in old-style terminology. She wore normal street clothing, a form-fitting white shirt and painted-on denim shorts. Her feet were clad in tan moccasins. He noted her attractiveness, but her air of quiet confidence stood out more. She owned the room.
She smiled up at him and planted her hands on her hips. “Well, well, Shawn Paros. There you are. Just the man I’ve been looking for. Were you leaving?”
Taken aback, Shawn only nodded.
“Good, I’ll walk with you.”
She turned on her heel and strode from the longhouse ahead of Shawn, who followed, and led him down a path that went deeper into the settlement.
He admired the sway of her hips, then quickened his pace to walk beside her. “Who are you?”