Photographs in Time

by Terry Segan

  Did Carney accidentally drop the license here? Or did he leave it intentionally? Why would he leave clues? Unless, it was an attempt to throw us off balance. I tucked the card into my back pocket and decided not to mention it to Jimmy just yet. Something nagged at me, and I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe this was one more thing we needed to ask Mr. Chang. Perhaps he would know the young man.

  Chapter 21

  With renewed determination, I entered the house ready to take the next step. I found Jimmy washing up his lunch plate and glass, as if it were a day like any other. His composure unnerved me. He reminded me of calm waters amidst a storm.

  “Ready to take a blast through time?” I asked him.

  “Almost,” he said, finishing his task. He set the wet dishes in the rack, dried his hands, and hung the towel back on the hook near the sink. Finally, he turned. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  As he walked past me toward the kitchen door, he grasped my hand. Stopping at the hall closet, he grabbed his blue windbreaker and slipped it on. Walking into the studio I looked around for my jacket. I was sure I’d left it draped across the bench.

  “What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked.

  “I thought I left my jacket in here.”

  “The denim one?”

  “Yes, over there,” I pointed to the bench.

  “I think I saw it hanging over your chair in the kitchen.” He squeezed my hand, then let go. “Better grab it. That part of the coast can be chilly.”

  “Okay, I’ll only be a moment.”

  Going back down the hallway, I entered the kitchen. My jacket was nowhere in sight. I was sure I’d left it in the studio. Suddenly, I realized Jimmy’s plan.

  Turning on my heels, I ran back the way I’d come. As I hurried through the doorway, I caught him just in time.

  Jimmy looked at me with sadness in his eyes. He knew I felt betrayed. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just couldn’t take the risk. Please understa…”. With a flash from behind him, he disappeared.

  “Dammit!” I yelled across the empty studio. He made such a big deal of my promising not to go alone, it never crossed my mind to doubt him. That was probably intentional.

  I felt torn between anger and disappointment.

  He knew I’d be upset. What was he thinking? Why did he do it? I knew thoughts of April were fresh in his mind. The fear he felt about my surviving the journey must have worried him more than dealing with me upon his return. It would be an agonizing twenty-four hours.

  I felt helpless, robbed of the opportunity to get the answers we wanted from Mr. Chang. Would Jimmy remember everything we needed to discuss? At this point it was out of my hands.

  Walking over to the couch against the wall, I threw myself down onto the cushions and expelled a breath in exasperation. Teetering on the edge of anger and acceptance, I remembered the license in my back pocket.

  I looked again at the ID of Paolo Fortuno. Surely, I could dig up something on the internet about him. At least it would keep me occupied. Whether Carney left it intentionally or accidentally on my porch, it could be beneficial to discover this young man’s identity and his connection.

  Sitting in front of my laptop in the office, I typed in the man’s name. Five matches came up. Two of them were teenagers at this point in time, so they would be too young. One was born in 1932. Again, not the right age. The final two were born in 1957 and 1978. None of them matched the birth year of 1941.

  Years aren’t always relative in my business. I decided to see if either of the last two had pictures. Bingo! The photo of the man born in 1957 was a bit grainy, but still recognizable as the Paolo on the driver’s license from 1967. Out of curiosity, I pulled up one of the man born in 1978. No surprise. It matched.

  I compared those of the other three. The one from 1932, a plain black and white picture, was clearly not the right guy. The two teenagers were, as I suspected, not him.

  Going back to the two matches, I tried to find current information. It turned out the Paolo born in 1978 lived nearby in Laguna Beach. Wondering if there was anything on the man born in 1957, I pulled up my browsing history to find it again.

  As I was about to select the correct one, my eye wandered down to the searches of the other day. On the list was the information I tried to find on the death of Jimmy’s father. Anger and regret at missing out on questioning Mr. Chang washed over me again. His refusal to answer any of Jimmy’s questions at the time, made him seem guilty of withholding information.

  Moving on to find the Paolo I was searching for, it struck me where I’d seen his face before. I looked through my list of newspaper articles and pulled up the one with a picture of Jimmy’s father. It also showed a picture of the unidentified victim found stabbed in an alleyway a few blocks from the shop.

  I enlarged the picture and compared it to the driver’s license—an exact match, identical down to the shirt and gold cross necklace. Paolo Fortuno must have been a Collector. It could explain why he would’ve travelled back in time. The driver’s license was obviously a fake that had been created the same time as his journey.

  I looked down at the address in Laguna Beach I’d written on a note pad. Now the question remained, when did he travel back? Could he still be alive now? Only one way to find out.

  Standing abruptly, my chair rolled back and slammed into the wall. The noise made me jump. This moment of fear caused me to reconsider what I was about to do. While it seemed the best course of action, what would I find at the house in Laguna? What if he was a Collector turned evil like Carney? Then again, he may have been another one of Carney’s victims.

  My mind replayed our conversation on the porch yesterday. Carney all but admitted to murdering the Italian man, but also stated the young man had gotten what he deserved. I had to risk it. While Jimmy was doing what he could to extract information from his grandfather, I needed to explore every possible avenue.

  Grabbing my purse and car keys from the kitchen counter, I ran out the door to the garage. Backing down the driveway, my foot hit the brakes and the tires squealed on the pavement. Shifting my car into park, I hesitated. Maybe I should wait for Jimmy to return and we could do this together. This was a complete unknown that could end badly.

  No, we couldn’t afford to waste any more time. I slipped my car back into reverse and continued down the driveway to the street. Having punched the address into the GPS in my phone, I turned the car south.

  Traffic already filled the roads for the late afternoon rush hour. Freeways in Los Angeles were notorious for being several lanes of cars crawling along at a glacial pace. It took over ninety minutes to reach Paolo’s neighborhood.

  Following the directions spouted by my phone, I found myself traveling down neatly hedged streets of large estates, probably built on old money by the looks of the stately residences.

  I arrived at a gated driveway with a large Tudor style house set back from the road. I rolled down the car window and pressed a large button at the bottom of the keypad mounted on a post.

  Several moments passed with no response. Pressing the button again, I silently prayed there would be someone home.

  “What do you want?” boomed a voice from the speaker.

  Not knowing how the person answering would take this request, I bolstered my voice with confidence. “I’m here to see Paolo Fortuno.”

  Receiving no answer, I wondered if the transmitter was broken. My hand reached out to press the call button again. Before making contact, the sound of creaking iron filled the silence. The gates slowly swung open. It seemed I was being invited in. What else would be included with my entrance ticket?

  Chapter 22

  The expanse of the Tudor-style mansion intimidated me as I pulled up. The timber and brick exterior belonged somewhere in the British countryside, rather than a Southern California community. As I rolled to a stop on the tiled driveway, I saw no sign of life. Getting out of my SUV, I walked up the front steps.

  Before I could knock, the door opened. A tall, dis
tinguished looking gentleman with a neatly manicured goatee and mustache filled the frame. With his thinning gray hair trimmed close on the sides, a guess would put him in his late seventies. It was a familiar face.

  The man demanded, “What do you want?”

  The hostility in his tone tongue-tied me for a few seconds, then I spoke in a calm voice, “I would like to speak to Paolo Fortuno. Is he home?”

  Glaring at me, he responded in clear English, despite his Italian accent, “I am Paolo Fortuno.”

  Speech eluded me as I stared in confusion.

  “It appears I am not whom you expected.”

  “Well…no.” My mind raced. “It’s just, well, you seem older than…”

  “Ah. You must be looking for my son, Paolo, Jr.”

  Of course, I should have realized. Thinking back to my internet search, the man in front of me could be the Paolo born in 1932, but that would make him closer to 90 years old. Not out of the question if he was part of the process and had travelled several times. “Yes, is he here?”

  He searched my face as if evaluating me before asking, “What do you want with my son?”

  I couldn’t tell him the truth. Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure what I would ask Paolo, Jr, until I had a better grasp of his involvement with Carney. “Forgive me, but it’s a personal matter. You understand, don’t you?”

  “No, I do not. It is obvious you have never met him. Why are you here?”

  Paolo, Sr., shifted uncomfortably as if irritated. If the situation wasn’t defused quickly, I would get no information at all.

  Rather than giving him a direct answer, I tried another tactic. “When was the last time you saw your son, sir?”

  “You are not with the authorities, are you?” It seemed more of a statement than a question.

  “No.”

  “Then I ask again, why you are here?” His face began to redden.

  Trying to gain his trust, I withdrew the driver’s license from my purse. Hesitating a moment, I handed it to the old man. “Because of this.”

  Despite his agitation, his long fingers gently took the card. As Paolo studied it, his eyes watered. Brushing the moisture away with the back of his hand, in a softened voice he said, “Perhaps you should come in.”

  As he stepped back from the doorway, I went inside. The entryway of the house exuded elegance with its soft shades of rose and gray woven throughout the wallpaper and accent pieces.

  “Please, this way.” Paolo gestured toward a sitting room off to the right.

  I perched on the edge of a sage colored couch under the front window. He sat opposite me in a matching love seat. From a dish of potpourri on the end table, lavender scented the air.

  “I haven’t seen Junior in two years. He never returned from his last journey.” His jaw tensed.

  Since the old man was bringing me into his confidence, with no pretense of not knowing about the process, I asked the question burning at the front of my brain. “So, he was a Collector?”

  “Yes. And it is obvious you are somehow involved. Are you of the French or British family?”

  I learned more in that one question than I’d expected from this conversation. “I’m only a Photographer. Forgive me, I know your name, but didn’t introduce myself. I’m Sami. My Collector is Jimmy Chang.” If I was to get anywhere fast, I needed to speak plainly and share what I knew. Just maybe, Paolo would do the same.

  “Ahh, Chang’s grandson.” He looked pensive for a moment then returned his focus to me. “How did you get this driver’s license?”

  How could I tell this man his son was killed? Not sure how much to reveal right now, I tried to get a little more information before answering. “Allow me a moment first. Was your son’s last journey to interview a Suitor?”

  “No, his interviews were complete. He had not found his Photographer. His instructions were to retrieve her from an earlier decade, but she was not there.”

  “Can you tell me how he knew that?”

  “His box included an extra slide and a biography of his Photographer, a young woman. The slide would be used to bring her forward in time.”

  It surprised me his Photographer would come from a prior decade. That meant he would have to go back himself and bring her to the future with him. This added a new twist. It also assured me Jimmy’s fears were unfounded. If Paolo was expected to bring his Photographer with him, it would have been safe for Jimmy and me to travel back together.

  “What do you mean? She wasn’t at the designated location?”

  “Correct. His instructions were to locate her in San Francisco in the year 1976. Despite being engaged to another man the marriage would not happen. After meeting Paolo, she would agree to travel forward in time to work with him.”

  The similarity was too great. I already knew who his Photographer should have been. I asked the question anyway. “What was her name?”

  “It was April. April Finch.”

  Speechless, I tilted my head back. My hands covered my closed eyes as I processed what he’d just told me. A whiff of lavender calmed me.

  Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked back at Paolo. “So why was he going back to San Francisco in 1966?”

  The old man slumped forward. “He was misusing the slides.”

  “How?”

  “I told him he should not travel back for personal gain. If this was how life played out and his time as a Collector ended without a Photographer, it meant the process should end. Being young and foolish, he would not listen.”

  “What did he do, Mr. Fortuno?”

  “Please, call me Paolo.”

  “All right, Paolo.”

  He stared up at the ceiling as his hands balled into fists in his lap.

  “He insisted on setting things right, so he could retrieve his Photographer. I am sure that man was the cause of all this!”

  “What man?”

  “Carney. My son had invited him to the house before he realized Carney was the one who stole his Photographer. And, we believe he took our Family Slide.”

  So, as I’d suspected, Carney had been involved with the younger Paolo. Maybe there was a reason I missed out on this second trip to speak with Jimmy’s grandfather. I stumbled on another source that may be able to help us.

  “What exactly is a Family Slide?”

  “I am not sure I should be telling you this, but now, what does it matter? Our lineage is done. The Family Slides have been entrusted to the Four Families for generations—one for each family. They have been passed on to a child or grandchild when they were old enough to be involved. Sometimes, not until they were in their thirties or forties, depending on the elder’s involvement in the process.”

  As I waited for him to continue, I knew I was obligated to tell him what I think happened to Paolo, Jr. He deserved closure.

  He templed his fingers. “As I said, there were four of them.” That much I knew from Francois. “The slide allows the traveler to set any date, time and place he wants, as well as how long he wishes to stay. It can also be reused.”

  A major difference from the special slides that only allowed a single 24-hour journey to a date and place of the users choosing. These slides opened a whole new realm of travel, because they could be used as often as needed. Obviously, Carney had gotten hold of one but not his family’s; Francois had still been using it, up until yesterday.

  “What makes you think Carney stole yours?”

  “Too many coincidences to not be true. You don’t need details. I know it happened.”

  I shifted on the couch and crossed my legs. “So why did your son go to 1966?”

  “To get the Chang’s Family Slide. He travelled back with a one-time use slide he secured from his distributor. This was already a misuse of the process. He begged Chang to let him use their family slide. The old man refused so, he went back again, using a second emergency slide. He wanted to ask Jason Chang, your Collector’s father, to lend him the device.”

  “Why didn’t he just do that
to begin with?”

  “It was my doing. I suggested going to the elder Chang would be more appropriate.” His voice cracked. “I was wrong.

  “History showed Jason Chang was the victim of a murder during a robbery. My son thought if he went back and asked Jason for the slide and the man refused, he would return later that day to avert the crime. He believed Jason would be grateful enough to allow him use of the Family Slide. Only he never returned.”

  I sighed with sadness for his son’s doomed quest. “Didn’t you think he might have gotten trapped in that decade? Maybe got the timing wrong and returned too close to a time he’d gone to before?”

  “No. That is not possible,” he said, his voice back under control. “He was of the blood lines from one of the Four Families.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We cannot be trapped back in time by repeating a location.”

  Another nugget of information that took me completely by surprise. I wondered if Jimmy knew this. With a Family Slide and his heritage, Carney was virtually unstoppable.

  I asked, “So why wouldn’t Paolo have returned?”

  “The only way he would not, is if he was dead. Since he departed from his studio here in the house, there is no other explanation.” The old man sat up straight with tears rolling down his cheeks. Retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at his eyes. “You have not told me how you came into possession of his identification.”

  He deserved answers too. “I found it on my porch. I believe it was left there…by Carney.”

  “So, you know this man? Is he a friend?”

  “No. He murdered three of my Betrotheds.” There was no avoiding it now. “And I believe he murdered your son. I'm so sorry, Paolo.”

  Chapter 23

  Paolo remained seated. He made no effort to wipe away the tears. “How do you know?”

  “Carney hinted at it. Whether he’s the murderer or not, your son died back in 1966—the same day Mr. Chang’s son was murdered.”