by Terry Segan
I stepped into the room and froze. The portrait of Carney posing as Ronald Hauptman hung on the wall again.
Chapter 9
Not wanting to stare into those menacing eyes, I looked away and sat down on the couch. I’d removed that portrait from the wall the day after I failed to convince Amanda to return with me. Yet here it hung back in its original spot. There was only one explanation for it being there. The thought of Carney in my home sent chills through my body.
This threw a new light on the situation. Not wanting to divulge too much, I needed to let Dede know this journey wasn’t without risks.
“Actually,” I started, “that was one of my failures.”
“The woman, the Betrothed as you say, didn't go back a second time?”
“No, she did. It’s just that she didn’t appear in the portrait.” My eyes lost focus for a moment. “I didn't find her in time.”
Dede turned and looked at me. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Trying to pull it together, I realized I couldn’t tell her what really happened. I hated to lie. She deserved the truth, but I remained hopeful she would get the life she wanted.
There was also a healthy dose of selfishness involved. I didn’t want to experience the consequences of falling short of fulfilling our quota. If Carney was an example, it seemed to turn your soul black—though it could be different for each person. “I don’t know what happened to her. She never got the life she hoped for. You need to realize there are risks to all this. It’s up to you to decide if they’re worth it.”
Dede walked to the end of the gallery and sat on the bench in front of the camera. From the concerned expression on her face, I knew she was weighing the odds of whether to walk away or give it her all. There wasn’t any halfway in this business—not for the Betrotheds.
“What do you think happened to her?”
“I couldn’t say.” Lord, how I hated lying.
I sensed she knew that wasn’t entirely accurate. Or was it just my guilt?
“Do you ever know what happens with the women you send back? How it all works out for them? Does the marriage turn sour? Are they stuck?” Her face visually softened as if realizing she was firing off questions in an accusatory manner.
“No,” that much I could be honest about, “not really. Beyond seeing the Betrotheds appear in the portrait after the second journey, I don’t really know. I know the marriage took place when they end up beside their Suitor, but nothing beyond that. Maybe a part of me doesn't want to know. It pains me to think of them winding up in a loveless marriage. I could try looking them up on the internet, but it wouldn’t truly give me a sense of what their life was like.”
“I guess not,” she answered. “That’s where that leap of faith really kicks in, huh?”
“Probably. So, what are your instincts telling you, Dede?”
She sat for a long moment looking at the portraits. Rising, she walked over to Milton’s. Staring at it, she reached her fingers up to his and closed her eyes as she had done yesterday. Placing her hand on the picture, I saw her curl it as if trying to grab hold.
From where I sat on the couch, I saw her face scrunch in concentration. Her eyes popped open.
“Send me back,” she said quietly. “Send me back.”
Getting up, I took her by the hand and led her to the cushioned bench in front of the old-time camera. Grabbing the bills from the table, I handed them to her. She looked confused for a moment.
“This is in case you need money for any reason. Can’t send you back penniless, can I?”
She stuck the bills into a front pocket. As she sat down, she looked up at me. Taking both her hands in mine, I gave them a squeeze, “Good luck.”
Dede nodded and placed her hands in her lap. Sitting up straight, as if she were truly posing for a portrait, she faced the camera. I stepped behind her to confirm the mechanism was at full power and pressed the timing button. It started at thirty and counted down. Immediately, I stepped behind my camera and grabbed the dangling cord with the cushioned button that Dede believed would take her picture and send her back to 1975.
“Breathe, dear,” I finally said.
She looked shocked as she expelled air. I guess she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. Looking at me, she winked. Suddenly, a light flashed from behind her, and the bench was empty.
All I could do now was go about my day. This time tomorrow I would return to my studio to greet Dede as she returned to this decade. I hoped she’d be anxious to go back to Milton and begin her new life. Only time would tell.
Summoning my courage, I walked over to the portrait of Carney, my steps hesitant. I tried to picture him in a different light, as the friend Jimmy had known. Having met the monster he’d become, it was impossible to envision him any other way.
Stepping closer, I grabbed hold of the frame and removed the portrait from the wall. The weight of it threw me off balance, and it dropped. With a muffled thump, it landed on the carpet then crashed against the wall. The frame leaned at an angle. In a fit of rage. I raised my foot and stomped through the picture. The photo crumpled and tore, yet most of the face still looked up at me as if to inflict more torment. His eyes burned into mine.
“Is that any way to treat fine art?” The voice came from the doorway. It was his voice—the one from the answering machine. Except now it was live and echoing through my studio.
I whipped around to face Carney. Wearing beach shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers, he looked like any other inhabitant of the Southern California beach area. But I knew better.
“Tsk, tsk. That portrait was part of your process. Aren’t you concerned about such rash actions?”
Controlling my voice, I asked, “What do you want?”
He studied me a moment. It almost felt dirty the way he scrutinized me up and down. The stench of a musky cologne permeated the room. “I thought I would pop in and say hello.” He nodded toward his portrait. “Obviously, you’re less than pleased with my decorating attempts.”
I tried to remain calm. “What is it you want? With Jimmy? And me? Why are you interfering with innocent lives?”
“Innocent?” His voice escalated. “Innocent? Ask your Collector about being innocent!”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with this. Being alone with him was dangerous. Maybe if I kept him talking, I could figure out an escape.
“Please, Carney, tell me what you want. Why are you doing this?” Reaching down deep to reel in every ounce of control I could muster, my hands curled into fists digging the nails into my palms in frustration. The pain helped keep me sharp. I didn’t want him to fluster me. The question was could I hold on to that?
“Jimmy knows. Ask him.”
“He doesn’t. So, I’m asking you. Why would you interfere with our work? Those women didn’t deserve to die. What we do here is good. Tell me what you really want.”
Carney stared back, his face a stony façade that gave nothing away. “I want Jimmy to pay for taking away my April. I want to destroy everything he holds dear.”
Revenge? Carney wanted revenge? Somehow, he was blaming Jimmy for April’s death. I wished Jimmy had finished telling me about her.
“So, you blame Jimmy. Tell me why?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He needs to admit what he did! Until he does, I will continue to…persuade him.”
Another shiver ran through me. The way he phrased that—persuade him. I knew what that meant. We needed to stop Carney. But how? And at what cost until we figured it out? I began to fear for Dede’s life. He obviously knew I had just sent back another Betrothed.
Suddenly, Carney lifted his hand to his forehead pretending to grab a hat and tip it as he gave a slight bow. “Au revoir for now, my sweet Sami. And tell Jimmy to give my regards to…Daddy. He was most helpful.”
I stood paralyzed as he turned on his heel and left. His footsteps echoed down the hall, and the front door slammed shut. I ran to slide the de
adbolt home and leaned with my back against the door.
Tremors coursed through my body. Wrapping my arms around myself, I stood for several minutes. As soon as I trusted my legs to hold my weight, I secured every window and door in the house.
Questions tumbled around in my head like waves pummeling the shore. From what Carney had said, I knew there was more to April. How did Jimmy’s father tie into all of this? He was a keeper of the slides but had died long before Jimmy and Carney had become Collectors.
Chapter 10
I jumped on the computer to research what I could. Jimmy never told me April’s last name, so that ruled out looking up anything on her. I searched for information on the death of Jimmy’s father, Jason. He was stabbed while working in their shop when Jimmy was a teenager. With cash still in the register, the police chalked it up to a botched robbery.
Either the theft got interrupted, or it wasn’t money the assailant wanted. Unfortunately, the death of a Chinese man in the sixties wasn’t big news—a sad reality of our country in that era. It might have been part of a spree. Two blocks away the body of a young Caucasian man was found stabbed to death in an alley. The police never identified the victim.
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to find anything else but came up empty. When Jimmy arrived that evening, he found me in the office. As he poked his head through the door, I looked up and was sure my expression hid nothing. His forehead creased, and the concern on his face mirrored mine.
“Should I ask how your day went?”
Logging off from the computer, I got up and walked toward him. Snuggling up to him and brushing a quick kiss across his lips, I said, “I sent Dede back on her first journey.”
“Dede? A new Betrothed?”
With everything going on, Jimmy didn’t know about her message on the answering machine. I passed him in the doorway and strode toward the living room. “Yes. I sent her back to meet Milton.”
“Milton?” He wasn’t connecting the dots. We sat down on the couch.
“Milton Freeman, the painter. Dede is into clay and sculpting. They should be a good match.”
“Oh, right. The artist in New Mexico. From the mid-70’s, right?”
“Yes. She returns tomorrow morning around ten o’clock.”
Jimmy threw his arm around me and gave a squeeze. “Good. He was a well-grounded individual. Matching him with a creative-type woman seems fitting. Are you anxious about the meeting?”
“Only for her safety.”
“Honey, we can’t stop. The work we do is good.”
“I know.” I didn’t know how to tell him what happened, so I simply blurted it out. “He was here.”
Pulling away from me, he turned. “Who? Milton?”
“No! Carney. Carney was here. In my house. In my studio!”
Jimmy rake a hand through his hair. “What? Did he hurt you? What did he say?”
“No, he didn’t touch me.”
“Did he see you send Dede back?”
“Yes, I’m sure he did. I don’t think he was here for our Betrothed this time. At least I hope not, for her sake. He hung his picture back on the wall, the one where he posed as Ronald Hauptman. I discovered it right before Dede travelled back.”
“You sent her anyway?” He put a hand on my leg.
“Yes. I told Dede the journey wasn’t without risks. She still chose to go.”
“You didn’t tell her about the others?”
“No.” I leaned into him to gain strength from his warmth. “What would be the point?”
“It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Carney hasn’t interfered with all the matches. So, you didn’t actually see him before her trip?”
“No. He made himself known right after she disappeared.”
Jimmy raked his hand through his hair again. “What did he want?”
“Revenge. He blames you for April’s death. Why would he say that?”
Leaning against the cushion, he closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” Sitting up he opened his eyes and added, “Carney killed her. I don’t think he intended to, but he did. I tried to save her.”
“He believes you’re to blame. And there’s more.” Knowing there was no way to soften this next blow distressed me. I got up and walked to the fireplace. Placing my hands on the rough bricks, the cuts on my palms stung with irritation. I bowed my head.
“Tell me, sweetie.”
“I don’t know what this means.” I turned around. “He said for you to give your regards to…”
“To who?” Alarm registered on his face.
“He said…to give your regards…he said to give your regards to Daddy. He was ‘most helpful.’ That’s exactly what he said.” I walked back over to the couch and sat beside him.
All the color drained from his face. God only knew the thoughts flashing through his mind. I was sure he felt his life as a Collector contributed to his father’s death, despite not taking on his role until years after the murder. Yet his dad had agreed to be a keeper of the slides. Jimmy couldn’t take the blame. Jason chose that role before his son was ever born.
“What else did Carney say to you?”
“That’s all. I’m sorry, sweetie. Do you think he had something to do with your father’s murder?”
He stood, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and walked out of the room. I heard the front door open, then close gently.
Assuming he stopped on the porch, I walked through the dining room, grabbed a bottle of merlot off the wine rack and continued into the kitchen to open it. My mind churned; Carney might have murdered Jimmy’s father. Why else would he have brought it up? Was it a ploy to cause more turmoil?
Retrieving two glasses from the cupboard, I joined Jimmy on the front porch. He sat slumped forward with his head in his hands. When he looked up to take his wine glass, his pallor frightened me. I sat in the chair beside him. The wicker creaked loudly in the silence of the evening. I asked, “What do you know about your father’s death?”
“That he was stabbed. And it wasn’t a robbery like the police claimed.”
Jimmy hadn’t talked about his father’s death beyond the fact that it happened. I never felt the need to push him for details until now. “Why do you say that?”
“My grandfather seemed to know but would never speak of it. Now I wish I’d forced him to tell me.”
“He wasn’t very talkative. He always conveyed politeness, but never any warmth.”
“Something in him died with my father’s passing. If it hadn’t been for having to help my mother raise me, I think he would have crawled into that coffin with his son.”
“I always got the feeling your grandfather knew way more about this whole process than he let on. Did you think so?”
Jimmy sat his glass on the table, stood up and walked to the end of the porch. “Yes. His way was to allow people to figure things out on their own. Once I got involved with the slides, he became even more tight-lipped about the process, as if he feared sharing too much.”
I stared out at the ocean, waiting for him to pull his thoughts together. The more information we pieced together, the more questions we had.
A light breeze, damp from the evening air, tickled my face.
Turning to face me, Jimmy said, “I think Grandfather felt somewhat responsible for Dad’s death. He was the reason my father became involved in this match-making mess.”
“But it was your father’s choice to participate. He had the opportunity to turn it down, just like turning down the role of Collector.”
“I believe Dad became a keeper of the slides to appease Grandfather. I don’t think he wanted anything to do with it. My mother never talked about it, but I could tell she wasn’t happy.”
“I wish we could talk to your Grandfather, maybe get him to tell us more.”
“Sami, don’t even think about it. Going back to talk to him is a bad idea.”
I stood up and walked toward him. “Why?” My determination echoed in my footsteps across the boar
ds. “I could use one of the emergency slides to travel back to a time after your father’s death. He has to know more.”
“Maybe he doesn’t. It wouldn't be right using the slides that way.”
Desperation laced my voice. “It’s not for personal gain. It’s to stop a monster. I can’t sit here and do nothing.” I searched his eyes for a sign of agreement. There wasn’t any.
He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. Burying my face in his chest, I breathed in the scent of his cologne.
Jimmy pondered, “The thing is, I don’t know if Carney could have been directly involved in the murder. I only remember one timeline for my father. If Carney had gone back and been the one to kill him, there would be two timelines. Since we became Collectors at the same time, I would be aware of anything he might have done to change history.”
I pulled my head away from his chest and looked up. “You’re right. He couldn’t have been the murderer. He must be using the incident to hurt you.”
Reaching up, I gently placed my hand on his cheek. “Tell me more about April.”
Chapter 11
“Let’s go back inside,” Jimmy said. “With Carney having been here, I feel exposed sitting on the porch.”
“Okay. I’m still a bit shaken too.”
We grabbed our glasses, and Jimmy picked up the bottle. Inside, we sat side by side on the couch in front of the unlit fireplace. The room still smelled faintly of the wood fire we’d had there last week.
Jimmy asked, “Where did I leave off?”
“You told me how Carney prevented April from meeting Tony and she became his Photographer.”
“Right. Well, within four months Carney and April found a house together. Carney enlightened her on our job as Collectors. She was absolutely entranced with the process and thrilled to become his Photographer.”
With a grin, I recalled Jimmy asking me to be his Photographer. “If he was as persuasive as you were, I can’t imagine her saying no.”