“I would love to Señor. How kind of you to offer.” She looked at him and Esperanza. “I hope you will both forgive me, but my father and I must address an issue concerning the parking permits in front of the house.”
“Of course, Señora.” Vega smiled even more grandly at Alfredo and shook his hand. “And I thank you, Don Jaramillo, for inviting me to your home on this day of mourning.”
“You are most welcome, Señor.” Alfredo lightly grasped Isabella’s elbow and steered her toward the archway leading out of the gardens. When they were safely out of earshot, he allowed himself a chuckle and recited in English: “Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter's wedding... on the day of your daughter's wedding.” He laughed again as Isabella looked at him in confusion.
“Is that a quote from something?” she asked.
He grimaced evasively, kicking himself for the slip. “Yes, my dear. It’s from one of those long-forgotten films your mother and I used to love; I’m sure you wouldn’t know it. That moron just reminded me of someone.” A good enough cover, Alfredo thought to himself. It was always better to be cautious, but he lamented his daughter could not laugh with him.
There actually was a problem with the parking permits, but that minor bureaucratic detail could wait. Isabella had clearly wanted privacy and it became obvious why as she started pulling her phone from her purse.
“I’m going to call Etienne. Do you want to listen?”
Alfredo glanced around the front drive to ensure no guest had returned to his car, then nodded. She selected Etienne’s name from her contacts and put it on speaker.
He answered after two rings. “Hello Isabella.”
His voice was calm and without anger, and it did not sound slurred from drink.
“Hello Etienne. I just wanted to let you know I’m staying at my father’s house.”
He was silent for a moment. “If you feel it’s best. But I don’t want you to feel you have to stay away. I’m sorry I flew off the handle in the car. I had no right to speak to you that way.”
Isabella looked both surprised and contrite and Alfredo had to admit he felt rather astonished himself.
“You were right,” Etienne continued. “This marriage isn’t right for either of us. I don’t like Ramirez, Izzy. But spite for him isn’t a good reason to make both of us suffer. I won’t fight you on the annulment. And I really appreciate the terms you offered. It makes me remember what I loved about you.”
Isabella looked down at the tiny phone with tears welling up in her eyes. She obviously had forgotten how desperately she loved her husband in the beginning, the high hopes she had held for their happiness, but Alfredo had not. She had been enamored of Etienne so completely that she met any criticism of him with violent anger. Going ahead with the marriage was only the second time in her life Alfredo’s beloved daughter had disobeyed him; the first being when she got that hideous tattoo. Only on those two occasions had she cast his wishes aside with all the spite and malice she could muster.
Alfredo had not known where such fury came from, or why she suddenly directed it at him. As the years of her marriage wore on, and the hopes of finding contentment fizzled, she focused that same rage towards Etienne. The anger that had always filled her, seemingly without reason, became entirely her husband’s fault. She had put Etienne through hell this past year. Now it seemed she was, perhaps for the first time, regretful of her actions.
“I’m so sorry I took out my misery on you, Etienne.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I think being apart will make us both happier. I’m glad you’re not angry anymore.”
“I’ve forgiven you Izzy. I hope you can do the same for me. What time is your trip to 1921 tomorrow?”
“I’m supposed to return at one minute past two. But the tourist is trying to push the time window up an hour. He believes the nonsense about High Noon. Will you be my technician?” She smiled, obviously relieved to be in a normal conversation with him again.
“I think so, but I’ll have to check the schedule. They’ve been moving me and Peterson around. Let’s sit down with your father and Padre Lopez-Castaneda tomorrow evening and hammer out the details. You know I’ll want Grandma’s tea set, right?”
She laughed a bit and wiped her eyes. “I would never dream of taking it away from you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Alfredo pursed his lips, biting back the knowledge that if Etienne had fought the annulment, his family tea set would be the first thing she would take in the settlement and have destroyed. But no matter now.
“Sure. And Izzy?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t tell anyone yet. I’d like a little time before we let people know.”
“Of course. We’ll tell them all together. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She signed off the phone and leaned against the hood of one of the cars. Alfredo studied her, noting how tired and relieved she looked. The situation had unfolded exactly as she had predicted. The boy was angry at first, but then accepted what must be. He even apologized. Alfredo would never have believed any man would act so. But it appeared Isabella knew her husband very well indeed. He smiled to himself and leaned against the car next to her. They would enjoy the breeze for a moment before rejoining their guests and rescuing Esperanza from the clutches of Señor Vega. Everything was going to be just fine.
***
Etienne pushed the terminate button on his console and sat back in his chair. The living room was dark and he did not call for the lights. It had taken all of his energy to sound sorry on the phone, and Isabella’s sudden compassion for him was enough to make him want to destroy everything in the house. It was amazing how reasonable she became when her wishes were obeyed. She was just like her father: arrogant, domineering.
Still in his funeral attire, rumpled now from sitting in the armchair for the better part of two hours, Etienne surveyed his home. The beautiful historic country house had been a present from Alfredo on his wedding day, fully renovated and furnished. It had been such a wonderful surprise and Etienne had not been able to hold back his tears as he thanked his new father in law for his generosity. It was everything he had ever dreamed of.
But now, he would have to leave. His life was to be packed into shipping containers and hauled away, the room intended to be a nursery would stay empty, and his bedroom would be occupied by another man. All this because the Princess Isabella wished it so. His desires counted for nothing.
You could go to Boston if you wanted to get back to your roots. If he had anything left to go back to, did she really think he would still be living in Miami? His father was in jail for the rest of his life and his mother and sister lived in poverty, just like everybody else in that disgusting city. His father, in all his wisdom, had seen performing abortions as his duty as a doctor. The judge had not seen it that way, and James Danforth was sentenced to eight consecutive life sentences for the eight “murders” he had committed. So now he was just another child of an Anglo convict, every bit as trashy as they all said he was. She can’t do this to me!
Alfredo had probably been listening to Isabella’s call. She never did anything without his leave. So he had played nice, put on the happy face. Of course he was all right with the annulment. He was fine with his whole life being over.
Now he would be the laughing stock of Miami society, his fate to become a cautionary tale for other silly Spanish girls who even thought of slumming with an Anglo. The Annulment would be featured on society pages all over the country, probably in Mexico and Cuba as well. Meanwhile, the grieving widow Esperanza Macias would get a promotion, a feature in the Miami Crier, and the standard condolence allowance from the Senate. Her husband had died in service to the Republic, so her life was going to improve dramatically. His, on the other hand, was circling the drain.
The idea struck him suddenly. Martin Macias had been declared Lost without much investigation. Everyone, including him, had simply accepted the disappearance of three pe
ople—husbands and fathers all—as simply “one of those things.” No one had been hauled in for questioning; certainly no one was going to be punished.
A giddy excitement washing over him, Etienne looked around the living room once more, searching for the keys to his launch station. Spying them, he finally left the armchair and grabbed the errant keys off the floor. He headed out the door, his lips stretched into a satisfied smile.
4
Dawn came to Miami, splashing a bombast of sunshine into the arboretum where Isabella sat quietly. Launch days were always pleasant, but this one in particular lavished on her a deep caress of hope and happiness. She had risen even before her alarm had gone off and found her way to the glass confines of the arboretum. The beautiful tropical garden had been added to the house after Alfredo filled in the pool with concrete. It had been a wonderful surprise all those years ago, and even now it was a comfort for her.
As the sunshine washed over her, making her feel a little too warm in her long-sleeved uniform, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She was finally going to be with Guillermo and Etienne would return to where he belonged, happy once more with his life. This was the first morning in a long time she hadn’t woken up with a jaw sore from clenching.
“Isabella?”
The meek whisper was too softly spoken to startle her.
“Good morning Elizabeth.” With a smile, Isabella turned around to see her assistant hovering in the door with a suitcase in her hands. Normally, the mousy girl grated on her nerves, despite her efficiency and work ethic, but today nothing could darken her spirits.
“You can put my bags in my room, Elizabeth, thank you.”
Elizabeth nodded her neatly coifed head and turned to go.
“Did Etienne say anything to you when you went over to pack?” Isabella asked.
“Etienne wasn’t there, actually,” she said quietly before disappearing into the house.
Not there? Well, that was bizarre. But maybe it was a good thing. Perhaps Etienne had felt the same rush of relief and freedom that she had and gone out with one of his friends. He only had one or two and he rarely socialized on his own accord; perhaps he was turning a new page. She hoped he was.
Running short on time and not wanting to wake her father, Isabella stepped into the house and bent over the kitchen counter, hastily scratching out a note to remind him of their meeting with Padre Lopez-Castaneda that evening. She was just finishing her last sentence when she heard a timid a-hem behind her.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she snapped, dropping the pen on the counter as she finished her note. Content all of her morning trifles were done, Isabella hastily followed Elizabeth out the front door, calling for the locks to seal as she exited. Her Agency-provided luxury sedan was waiting for her out front; Elizabeth had left the motor running and the rear passenger door wide open, awaiting her arrival. She stretched out on the Italian leather back seat, propping her feet up on the black down cushion to keep her boots off the upholstery, and closed her eyes with a peaceful exhale. The drive to the launch depot was always a soothing ritual as Elizabeth was very good about making it a smooth ride. Considering the time tourist she was going to have to deal with today, it was a good idea to relax now while she could.
This month’s client was a graduate student, a biological engineer who would be studying the immune systems of German refugees in Brussels after the Great War. This meant Isabella and her secondary Agent would essentially babysit him as he collected samples from the indigenous population using discarded cigarettes, flatware, or anything else that could provide DNA. Having so much chance of interaction with the natives of that time would be risky, but Isabella knew she could keep him in line. His preliminary psych reports had revealed him to be the anxious sort, which is why she had chosen Grecia Dejesus as her secondary Agent. Dejesus was an exceptionally patient woman, good at handling excitable people. This one had seemed nervous already, and they hadn’t even launched yet.
As if reading her mind, Elizabeth spoke from the front seat. “The launch station called this morning. Apparently some faculty members at Coronado called to complain about the refusal to change the time window. Something about a lack of consideration for the emotional state of travelers.”
Isabella snorted her disapproval. “He could have booked his time window earlier, and he decided to procrastinate. Our schedules are booked almost a year in advance, and he thinks we should move it around because of his superstition? I don’t think so.” Agitation had crept into her voice.
It was a popularly-held belief among civilians that all Lost travelers and confirmed fatalities had occurred after a traveler was transmitted at the dreaded High Noon. This was utter nonsense of course, but mere fact could not dissuade hysterical civilians from their beliefs and the great majority of tourists scheduled their window as far from noon as they possibly could. The grad student had merely neglected to schedule his departure in a timely manner, so he was stuck with the last available time slot. There was no other time he could go on this day. He would go today at noon or seven months from now at whatever time he wished. As his dissertation was nearing its deadline, he chose to go today, but persisted in complaining to everyone who would listen.
Isabella felt the car pitch mildly to one side, indicating that Elizabeth had just turned onto the narrow, unmarked road leading to the launch depot. The main campus of Jaramillo-Diaz was designed to be a warm and welcoming place, one that shone with corporate efficiency. The independent launch depot, however, was not. Its outer appearance—from the solitary road and accompanying gate to the outer façade of the building—carried a dark, sullen, and despairing look. There was only one road leading to the gate; the encroaching everglades had not been beaten back much from the pavement, making it a shadowy drive. There was no sunlight here, ever, and the odor of the swamps was unpleasant, even overwhelming, particularly after the rain.
Sitting up straight in her seat, she looked up as Elizabeth slowed the pace of the car and checked, for the third time, to ensure the Agency insignia was displayed on the windshield. As her assistant drove the car over the last hill, she could see the guards, standing at relaxed parade rest, their weapons at the alert position. The brakes squeaked slightly as Elizabeth halted in front of the gate. The car was put in park, and the two women exited the vehicle.
While the sedan was being thoroughly searched, Isabella and her assistant presented their ID cards and submitted to pat downs and a weapons scan. They were instructed to keep their hands visible at all times and to speak only when asked a direct question; they complied. When the guards had finished their search, pat-down, and had called the councilman on duty to ensure Isabella was allowed an assistant, they were permitted to re-enter the vehicle and drive through the gates.
After parking in the small lot, they approached the sole entrance to the launch depot, an opaque door with no handle or knob. The two women stood side by side, allowing a laser to shine out from the door and take their retinal scans. Approving their identities, the door opened just long enough for them to quickly squeeze through.
Upon entering the building, any look of darkness or sullenness fell away as the gleaming pristine terminal spread out before them. If the building’s features were exquisite, the security systems were even more so. As Isabella walked down the highly polished hallway, Elizabeth trailing close behind, she knew that every step she took was being recorded by holographic cameras—on the ceiling, in the walls, and in the floors. Even the bathroom stalls had cameras. Being recorded was something every Agency employee grew accustomed to; it was a condition of employment.
Elizabeth, however, made a habit of voicing her discomfort with the policy. “I still don’t see why there have to be so many cameras. No terrorist could get past the guard houses.”
Isabella did not slow her pace. “The surveillance is not solely for spotting infiltrators. It’s also to enforce regulations.” Isabella raised her voice slightly to be heard over the squeaking of her boot soles agains
t the waxed floor. “If even one rule is bent here, people could die. It’s important that every violation is recorded and corrected.”
Elizabeth nodded, still looking warily at the mechanical eyes.
Technicians were considered to have the best jobs in the Agency because the Launch Stations had no cameras. Corporate espionage was a serious problem, and all possible measures were taken to protect the technology. But Isabella knew these pivotal rooms were not left unguarded, as so many employees had assumed. They had their own unique surveillance; highly-evolved sensors recorded every movement or applied pressure. Every footstep, every fingerprint, any insect landing on the wall would be logged. Even the DNA of the person touching the machines was documented. Very few people knew about those security measures, not the technicians nor the Agents. Isabella only knew because her father had told her. The cameras watched as the Agent and her assistant arrived at the ready room.
It was 8:15 a.m.
***
Etienne stood outside the ready room, nervously tapping his fingers against his leg as he waited for Dejesus to come down the hall. The time tourist and his dissertation advisor were already seated inside the ready room awaiting their departure brief and the soft tones of their conversation were the only sounds in the long corridor. The door was hanging open, and they had given Etienne a glance, very likely wondering what he was doing there.
Etienne vibrated with anxiety. What if Isabella changes her routine and decides to actually meet with the tourist like she’s supposed to? What if she’s with Dejesus? Everything would be ruined. The plan relied on so many things going right and the actions he was about to take still felt like a faraway dream, rather than his present reality. The sheer terror of being caught that had gripped him last night as he skulked through the launch depot maintained its hold on him and, not for the first time, he considered abandoning the whole idea.
But no; there was no way he could let Isabella get away with this—no way he could live anywhere knowing she and Ramirez were laughing at him. She doesn’t just get to go on with her happy life. No. Fucking. Way.
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