“That sounded disturbingly specific,” said Shane.
I almost didn’t hear him. There was a different voice in my head whispering, “You can fix this.”
I shook it off. “It’s the déjà vu kicking in. I’m sure we have to act now. We need to try to reproduce what Shane remembers from that night, since I haven’t relived those events again—at least not this time around. If I can somehow manage to go back to that night I’ll try to hold on to this script and the notes. Oh hell, that assumes they go back with me? I am so confused. Well, anyway, if I can carry them into whatever portal opens hopefully I can read them before all hell breaks loose.”
“I’ll have to rent a motorcycle if we’re going to reproduce April ninth.” Shane grinned. “It’s been a while, but I have to admit, I’m ready for the chance to take a ride.” He shook his head. “But the rest of this sounds damned dicey. I don’t want to lose you if you do go sailing through time again. I wish there was a way for me to discover all this in the past before you die and now I’m not making any sense.”
“She’ll be fine and no it doesn’t make sense but we all understood you,” Addie said. Typically, like accepting my ghost persona, she seemed to have no difficulty buying the whole reliving time theory. “Now, then. Holly? What were you wearing? Do you have something similar?”
I laughed. “Similar? Can we say the exact outfit? I was wearing it the night I came stumbling into the apartment. I’m wearing it now.”
Addie replied, “Perfect. What about your bag and your boots? And where’s the peace symbol?”
“Around my neck.” I thought for a moment. “This may sound bizarre, which isn’t saying much since we’re talking about time travel and causality loops or whatever—but maybe this particular pendant acts as some kind of catalyst? It seems I was wearing it during one or more of my strongest flashbacks.”
Addie said, “It must mean something or you wouldn’t have written it down in the future to take to the past. Or is that in the past to warn about the future? Keep it on. You need to use any trinkets or potions you can find which will help send you back.”
“Hang on a sec,” came from Shane. “I’ll admit this probably isn’t terribly important in the grand scheme of trying to stop a killer and relive a life but it’s driving me nuts. Why are you invisible? I mean you can eat and drink and sleep but can’t be seen and the whole touch thing is, well, odd. Any brilliant ideas?”
“No clue,” I answered. “I’m still in shock believing I might not be dead.”
Addie coughed twice. “Pardon me, friends and relations, but I have a theory regarding invisibility. Of course, my theory Holly is a ghost turned out to be a crock, but wanna hear a far more wacky idea?”
“Go for it,” Shane urged.
“Okay. Well, time is another dimension, right? What if Holly isn’t fully in 2016 each time she comes back? Perhaps she’s sort of out of phase with everything around her by a microsecond? Or is that just way too bizarre?”
I smiled. “It is, but so is looping through time. Okay, gang. It’s time to get Plan C working.”
Shane was already browsing to find a shop where he could rent a motorcycle this late in the evening.
Everything we’d discussed was pure conjecture. Supposition and theory and fantasy, yet, in an odd way, it was also logical. I was positive I’d gone through this scene or something similar before. It was the only way those two notes at the bottom of the script could have been written. The last time around, whether that time had been one, two, or a dozen repetitions ago, I must have figured out I needed to stay on the motorcycle, with the wooden peace symbol hanging loose in order to fix things.
It suddenly hit me that if I did make it back and remained in 1973, I wouldn’t remember having met Addie in this time period. The thought hurt almost as much as the idea of losing my courage trying to get back and simply staying here as the girl between worlds.
I blinked back tears. “Shane? Do you have the copied pages for the script? If they travel with me I’m hoping I can read my notes when I’m there. With luck I’ll see them before we get chased to the bridge again.”
Shane retrieved the last page from Addie. He reached out to where he assumed I was and handed me the script.
“Thanks. So, I gather we’re good to go?”
“I’ve got a bike ready for pick-up on West Fifty-Seventh.”
“Great. Hey, one other stop, too. Let’s pick up a small recording device.”
“And just what are ya plannin’, lass?”
“Well, if you’re up for it, let’s invite Larry Olson to the theatre tonight. Tell the jerk we have some interesting photos and a very old tape in hand.”
“How are we to get him to show? He’s bound to know it’s a trap.”
“No idea.”
Shane’s tone hardened. “I’ll just tell the blighter I’m tired of being hunted and I’d like to discuss an exchange. My life for the tapes.”
“Pretty nervy, Halloran.”
“Yeah. But so is he. I’m damned sure Olson won’t stick by the bargain but then, I won’t be the one inside, will I?”
“Exactly. I’ll do the Invisible Girl routine again. Do my damndest to rattle him enough to confess and get it on tape. At least then you’d have something tangible to give to the police in case the trip back doesn’t work.”
“This could be dangerous. If you’re not actually dead, Holly, what happens if he takes a few shots and hits you?”
“I’ll be up on the catwalk. And he’s not expecting me. He expects you. At this point, we have to take some kind of risk.”
“Do you have his number?”
“I have Angela’s. I’m sure she’ll relay any and all messages to her twin, especially if they come from Shane Halloran.”
“I may hide with you inside the theatre, luv. This promises to be an experience I won’t want to miss.”
I gave him the number then asked, “Would you…would you mind calling her from outside?”
Shane was nothing if not perceptive. “No problem.” He gave Addie a hug and headed to the front door.
I gently took Addie’s hands in mine.
“This is nuts, isn’t it?” I said.
“Yes. Damn! Holly, I’ve missed you so for so many years. And then you show up, and it sounds funny to say, but this has been such a fantastic week.”
“Same here.” My voice felt stuck in my throat. “If this works, we won’t remember this. It’s so confusing. I just hope next time I see you you’ll be able to see me.”
“So I could end up reliving my life, too?”
For a moment the terror I’d felt scanning the pages came back. “I have no idea. Oh God, Addie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even consider a different scenario for you. Is it right to try and go back? Am I being selfish?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes. To going back. Not to being selfish. This is right for you and Shane and also for everyone who’s dealt with this bastard. You’ll be getting justice for Rob, and for everyone else. You might be able to save Crimson’s life. Holly, I have to believe the reason you didn’t die the first time around was to correct all the wrong things set into motion the moment you tumbled off that bridge. So, do it. Don’t look back today and regret. Go and fix it.” She tried to laugh to cover what was clearly a strong sentiment. “Shee-it!, Wouldn’t this beat all for my next column for Guys and Dolls in the City?”
“It would indeed.” I hugged her as best I could. “Addie, no matter what, thank you for taking me in and helping me discover who I was. Who I am. I love you.”
Addie and I both began to cry, until she stepped back and waved me away. “Enough. You need to go. And no matter what happens, if you remember anything, remember this—you’re like my daughter. You always have been. And you always will be. In any time.”
Chapter Thirty
Shane paid for th
e motorcycle while I stood by his side, smiling at the expression on the rental agent’s face, clearly amused watching a man in his seventies plunk down cash for a honkin’ nice bike at a ridiculously late hour of night.
“Got a little midnight street racing to do?” he asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Shane smiled and took the keys. I’d bet money Shane Halloran could beat a twenty-year-old street racer on one of these when he was well into his nineties.
Once Shane had wheeled the bike out of the lot, I hopped on and wrapped my hands around his waist. Shane started the engine and we rode in silence from West 57th to the Elysium Theatre.
As strange as it sounds I wanted the ride to go on forever. I was enjoying the breeze lifting my hair and the excitement of the speed in the open air as we headed downtown. Although I did wish I had a helmet. The idea that I could die for real now worried me more than I cared to admit.
It was quiet around the Elysium Theatre. A few minutes before midnight, the stores were closed. The Greek diner appeared to be ushering its remaining customers out the door. Shane parked the bike in front of the computer store where he’d stood a few nights ago, right after the protest.
I was very much in the present, but a vague memory from forty-three years ago suddenly became as strong as though I were about to relive it.
“Shane. There was a street vendor here in front of what’s now the computer store, wasn’t there? I seem to recall this was a hot spot for folks selling souvenir stuff, watches, bags, jewelry, that sort of thing, but most of them had usually packed up and were gone before midnight.”
“You’re right. In fact, I bought the wooden peace symbol for you from her…” His voice grew rough. “That night.”
“We’re going to make it right, Shane. Look, I don’t want you coming inside the theatre with me. It’s too dangerous. Olson’s minions could be with him. Plus, you’re not in some alternate dimension or portal thingy where you can’t be seen.”
Shane laughed. “Sorry. You’re talking like you just noticed you were out of bread for a sandwich. Very matter of fact and—normal. It’s kind of freaky.”
“Hey, if I stop to figure out logistics and physics and science of this whole idea of time travel and loops, I’ll go nuts. I’ll also lose my focus and for the next thirty minutes or so I need to get into character as a ghost.”
“I wish you were as good an actress as you are a writer.”
“Oh, gee, thanks, Halloran. Hey, I promise I’ll give a performance of a lifetime.” I inhaled. “Ready? You go hide down the stairwell of the computer store. We’ll pray the spirit of that old street vendor will bring us luck.”
The back door to the Elysium Theatre was either unlocked or was so old the lock had broken years ago. I slipped inside, and then headed up to the catwalk ladder, thankful it was made of steel and not wood. At least I didn’t have to worry about falling to my death due to dry rot. I climbed up to the catwalk and found a spot near the ladder where I could nest, yet be close enough to haul butt if the bullets began to fly.
I pulled out the envelope with a copy of the photograph taken in the veterans’ hospital, already scanned and printed from the computer, laid it beside me, then pulled Addie’s old tape player out of my shoulder bag, silently sending kudos to the creators of cassette tapes who’d done such an amazing job back in the sixties. We’d listened to the recording earlier, and the sound quality was clear and crisp and didn’t waver at all. Between the photo, the tape, and hearing a “dead” girl hurling accusations, Larry Olson needed to be so rattled he’d spill and confess all.
He was early. I’d barely settled in when I heard the sounds of angry voices in the theatre house. Larry and his sister. Dear sweet Angela. Terrific.
Larry didn’t waste a second. “Halloran! Are you here?”
I kept silent, waiting to see where Larry would go next. Would he set up some kind of trap for Shane? Hide behind a seat and take aim when the target arrived?
To no one’s surprise, Larry pulled a gun out of a messenger bag. Angela showed no concern at all about her sibling preparing to assassinate another human being. I shuddered.
I had no desire to sit on a catwalk for the next hour. I wanted this little game to end. It was obvious Larry had no intention of allowing Shane to live.
Plan C was to try to elicit some kind of confession from Captain Olson and get it to the cops before Larry caught on to the real game.
Shane and I had made copies of the tape and the photo in case this didn’t work. By now, Addie should be safely in for the night at some midtown hotel, along with the script and copies. She had instructions to mail everything to the police tomorrow morning if she didn’t hear from us. I prayed Larry would give it up tonight. A nice monologue from Olson confessing to the murders of Rob, Crimson, and the attempted murder of Shane—all packaged up with a pretty bow on top.
I clicked on the old cassette Mike Cherstvennikov had given his life to protect. The voice of a much younger Olson filled the theatre with the sound of a man betraying his country.
“Make it worth my while, Tran. After all, it’s in both our best interests. The US has you outmanned and outgunned. Can you wear them down over time with guerrilla tactics? Wouldn’t you want some extra firepower to help you along?”
Another voice now, obviously from the man Olson had called Tran, responded in clear but accented English. “Firepower is good. Locations for where to use that firepower, that would be better.”
“Information is just another commodity. Let’s talk price.”
Larry shouted over the echoing voices from the past. “Shane! Are you up there? I want that goddamned tape! You hear me, you son of a bitch? No games. I get the tape. You get to live. Simple.”
Time to switch tapes. I popped in a new one and set to record. Then I called out in my scariest Holly ghost-voice, drawing out every word, “Ohhhhlson. You killed Robbbbert. You killed meeeeee. Holllleee Malooooone. Tell me why and I might let you liiivvvve!”
Larry stopped dead. He’d finally been met with the unexpected.
Larry continued to stare at the catwalk, doubtless trying to figure out what ventriloquist or sound engineer was up there. I carefully made my way to the middle of the catwalk and gave it another shot.
“Confessssss, damn yooouuu! Or I’ll haunt you and Angeellaa the rest of your liiiives!” I’d come prepared with various props I could send flying when the time was right. The time was right now. I tossed a blank tape at him.
He ducked and yelled, “Stop it, whoever you are! That little bitch is dead and I’m not buying your ridiculous ghost act.”
Angela laid her hand over her brother’s arm. “Larry. Let’s get out of here. You may not buy it but I’m starting to get spooked. That tape came from nowhere.”
“Get off it, Ange! We’re in a goddamned theatre. They’ll probably have a smoke machine hooked up and white sheets on wires flying by next.”
“Larry, I’m serious.”
He shook her hand away with a roughness toward his own sister I hadn’t expected and glared up at the catwalk. “Who the hell are you?”
I tossed him a manila envelope in which I’d enclosed a copy of the photo of Olson and Cherstvennikov in the VA hospital. I toned down the spooky ghost voice a couple of notches. It wasn’t helping. “You murdered Rob. You shot me off a bridge. Crimson is dead because of you. You tried to kill Shane. Confess now, you bastard, before I send you where you belong—straight to hell!”
Larry was way past pissed. He aimed and fired right into the middle of the catwalk. Crap! For someone who couldn’t see me, he’d come way too close to my location based on the sound of my voice.
I was insane if I remained where I was any longer. I edged my way down the left side ladder with as little noise as possible.
Once I reached the bottom, I began tossing blank cassettes across the stage, to the middle
of the theatre, at Angela, and two or three to the top of the proscenium so they could shower down onto the stage. General poltergeist stuff.
Larry took shots in every direction where he heard tapes land.
I raced to the back of the stage—he was still looking up at the catwalk—and screamed, “Murderer! Traitor!” Then I ran to the stage right wings.
Larry kept shooting and Angela covered her ears and screamed.
I was terrified if I kept tossing tapes and shrieking at him he was going to get lucky and land a bullet and kill me for real. Time to leave.
That was when I saw Shane enter from the back. It was obvious he’d heard the shots, realized a confession was off the table, and rushed in to save me.
“Oh, Lord, no!” I waved at him to leave but of course he couldn’t see me.
But Larry could see him. He whirled around when Shane yelled, “Want me, do you? Well, guess what? I’m not going down without taking at least one punch to your ugly face. You effin’coward.”
Larry smiled, and calmly raised the gun, aiming it directly at Shane.
Click.
No bullets! A miracle, but one that didn’t last long.
Shane charged Larry while he was reloading the gun. Shane tackled him and began delivering punches a boxer in his prime would envy. Larry’s face was bloody and his lip was beginning to swell. But Shane didn’t know Angela was about to enter the fray with her own weapon. It should have occurred to me the woman would also be more than handy with a gun. After all, she was COO of her brother’s slimy company. She didn’t shoot though. She whacked Shane over the head with the gun, giving Larry enough time to spring back up. Once he was on his feet, he stepped back a second to catch his breath.
Shane lay on the floor of the theatre, appearing stunned, staring up at the brother and sister.
I couldn’t let Shane die. I had to do something to stop this. I began throwing more tapes, this time at both Larry and Angela. Larry didn’t bat an eyelash.
Scarecrow’s Dream Page 23