“I beg your pardon?” Gabriel bolted forward in his chair, narrowing his eyes at her in exaggerated offence.
“Councilman Ruiz, please allow me sir.” Councilman Canaan stood up, holding his hand out to still Gabriel. It had been a request, a respectful one, but his smooth voice, with a hint of an old-world accent, had force behind it. Gabriel, still scowling, nodded at Canaan and leaned back in his chair with a huff.
“Miss Fitzroy, may I ask your area of study at the university?” Canaan also eased back into his chair. He leaned forward onto the table, interlacing his fingers in front of him in an ‘I’m listening’ posture.
“I’m an engineer,” she said.
The look of understanding compassion on Canaan’s face informed her of how sadly unsuccessful she was at pretending she did not feel guilty for having insulted Gabriel.
“All right, that makes sense.” Canaan nodded, a reassuring smile touching his lips. “You see, engineers can, in some cases, be overly pragmatic. That’s not an insult.” He held up his hand to quell her impending retort, the large silver rings on two of his fingers glinting in the light.
“I myself am a temporal physicist and it is the job of a physicist to think in abstract terms, in terms of what may be. So even without doing any calculations, even before the council and I adjourn to our deliberations, I would like to present you with the problem as I see it.”
She nodded, having absolutely no idea what he was about to say.
“Our timeline, and everyone in it, exists only because Councilman Jaramillo killed a man, this John Churchill. Correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
He stared at her meaningfully, waiting for her to have some epiphany. But she still didn’t know what he was getting at.
Realizing she was clueless, he let out a sigh. “How then, do you suppose, can we depart from this timeline to stop the event that created it?”
She felt the color drain from her face. Sweet Jesus.
Canaan continued to stare at her, the look of sympathy reigniting his features. “I see that you have good intentions, Miss Fitzroy; we all do. But I’m afraid you’ve been a little simplistic in your appraisal of the solution. We are not approaching this decision lightly. I have spent my adult life in the study of temporal physics; four of these men spent their younger years as Agents. We are experts in our respective fields, my dear, and we will seriously and objectively consider our options. You have my word that our deliberations will produce the best and most practical course of action, whatever that may be.”
Her stomach went sour. How had she not considered that? Suddenly very warm, she looked timidly back up to the table. All of the men were still looking at her, but none looked triumphant. They looked just as solemn as before. Perhaps there was still hope they would—could—do the right thing.
She looked at Gabriel. “I apologize for my outburst. I had no right to accuse you of cowardice.”
He nodded tersely at her, leaning back in his chair and exhaling loudly. “We will sequester for our deliberations after a two-hour recess. In the meanwhile, Miss Fitzroy, Comandante Guerrero will escort you to more comfortable surroundings so you can rest. I imagine you are exhausted. We can also get you some pain killers.” He nodded meaningfully at her neck.
“How long do you imagine the... your deliberations will take?” she asked meekly, the smell of Guerrero’s cologne suddenly enveloping her.
Gabriel drummed his fingers on the table top, biting his lower lip as he pondered. After a long moment, he looked at the far end of the table where Canaan sat. “What do you think?” Gabriel asked him quietly.
Canaan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Three days at a minimum. It would be helpful to consult with other physicists, but since that is not possible in this situation…” he trailed off, spreading his hands in a ‘who knows?’ gesture.
The smell of that damn cologne got even stronger, but she still could not bring herself to turn around. Instead she stared up at Gabriel, searching for malice in his face but finding none.
“Gabriel?” she whispered.
Diverting his eyes from Canaan, he looked at her, not unkindly, waiting for her question.
“Are you throwing me in jail?”
There was a flash of guilt behind his eyes and, as he opened his mouth to speak, she felt Guerrero’s fingers wrap around her arm, gently but insistently.
“Nothing so nefarious,” Gabriel said, his remorseful eyes focusing just above her head. “You don’t need to be afraid, Shannan. You are guilty of no wrongdoing. However, under Alpha 714, there will be a few restrictions you’ll need to follow. But you needn’t be worried.” Gabriel’s reassuring words were belied by his hollow tone. “Julio will take good care of you.”
Gabriel moved his eyes to a spot just behind her, no doubt where Julio was standing, breathing into her hair. She felt the grip on her arm tighten, and her last look at the council table revealed Alfredo flashing a satisfied smile directly at Julio.
The taste of bile in her throat, Shannan shivered as Julio walked her quietly out of the council chamber and into the brightly lit hallway. His fingers did not loosen on her arm as they approached the outer door, and he only slowed to put his face near the retinal scanner of the exit. The glass doors slid open to a near-empty parking lot, the sound of cicadas emerging in a wall of sound as she stepped out into the humidity.
Julio turned his head to look at her, his face as blank as an egg, and gestured toward the gun-metal SUV parked near the ramp. There was no one else in the parking lot, no other guards or police presence. Gabriel had said she was not going to jail, but who was Julio if not a cop?
“Where are you taking me?” She pulled gently against his hand, not really trying to free her arm, but rather to provoke the taciturn man to speak.
“Home.”
“Your home?” she pressed.
“My home, your home. From now on, they’re one in the same.”
“What?” she hissed, yanking her arm out of his grasp.
Faster than a rattle snake, Julio wheeled around to face her, his hand clamping around her wrist to pull her in close.
“Now,” he hissed in her ear, his body pressing up against hers, “You belong to me. Maybe only for a week or so, but most likely, you belong to me for good. You’re here illegally; you do not exist. You can’t buy or sell anything, you can’t get on any kind of public transport. You can’t do anything. Open your eyes and look at me!”
He squeezed her wrist, hard, and Shannan blinked rapidly, trying to comply with his order.
“If you eat, it will be because I feed you. If you have clothes, it will be because I gave them to you. So you don’t ask me questions. Not where we’re going, not what I’m going to do with you. Do you understand me?”
His face mere centimeters from hers, Shannan fought the ridiculous impulse to scream for help. There was no one to help her, not anymore. I should never have come here.
“I understand,” she whispered, barely able to get the words out through her shaking. “I- I’m sorry.”
The grip fell away from her arm and a rush of cool air hit her torso as Julio peeled his chest off of hers. Vibrating with the intensity of her effort to hold sobs back, Shannan flinched with his movement, expecting him to drag her into the SUV. Instead, he walked the few feet over to the back door and opened it for her, jerking his head for her to get in.
“Órale, Mija.”
I am going to die here, she lamented, climbing into the back seat.
“Put your seat belt on,” Julio muttered before slamming the door.
He walked around the vehicle, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the car up. As he put it in reverse to pull out of the parking space, a movement caught Shannan’s eye. Her vision was blurred from tears, so she took one moment to consider that she had been mistaken about what she saw.
But then Julio put the car in drive and she turned her body in her seat to get a better look out th
e rear window.
No, she had seen correctly. Alfredo was standing at the glass doors. Waving goodbye.
Epilogue
A fine layer of dust covered the beautiful china tea cup and a brown film covered the untouched beverage inside it. Undoubtedly, Elizabeth had left a hot cup of tea and milk on the desk in anticipation of Isabella’s return, though she had to know how unlikely it was. Sweet Elizabeth.
The first day of deliberations had been a dull affair, full of Paul Canaan’s musings about physics and righteous interjections about duty and morality from Gabriel. Alfredo had said nothing, as his opinion was clearly no longer valued. He had tried several times to cement the details of Shannan’s confinement, only to be told that ‘the girl’ was an issue for later. Tired from a long day of sitting in those uncomfortable chairs, the council had finally adjourned, though none of them were permitted to go home. They were sequestered to the Launch Depot and they had all retired to their respective offices—all but Alfredo. He had come to Isabella’s office.
Her long-cold tea on the desk and her uniform hanging from the curtain rod, it seemed at any moment she could stroll through the door and admonish him for sitting at her desk. But he would never again see his child. He could only hear her voice, aged and raspy as it was, on the recording she had made for him. It was the last, best remnant of her—better even than the pictures of her as a child, smiling with her hair in lopsided pigtails. He had so wanted her to live a happy life, to grow old with someone she loved and who loved her. And it appeared she had. But it seemed to him, from what Shannan had said, and from the coy remarks of his daughter, that Isabella had done more than live a happy life for herself. She had touched the lives of others, just as Monica had always hoped for their daughter.
“Stefania,” he called for office computer.
“Yes, Councilman Jaramillo?” the mechanized voice responded, sounding eerily like the real Stefania.
“Bring up all the images you have of Shaftesbury Abbey.”
“For which dates?”
“All dates. And all image types.”
An eruption of light and color filled the room as the requested images swirled around him—photographs of museum exhibits, paintings of the Abbey exterior, and crude rubbings. They went back centuries. The Abbey itself was burned to ash in the 1500s, leaving only the museum as a record of what was. Even if there had been a remnant of Isabella in the Abbey, there would be nothing left of it.
“Stefania, search all the images for the word ‘Deorca.’”
Defying his downtrodden expectation, the computer responded immediately with, “There is one image fitting this description.”
Alfredo sucked in his breath, tears filling his eyes, as the mass of images disappeared, leaving only one. It was one of the rubbings. The bright, crisp image floating in front of his face showed the old, fragile paper in which someone very long ago had taken chalk and rubbed a relief of a gravestone. His daughter’s gravestone.
Gasping in a swallow of air, he averted his eyes from the paper itself, which he could not read, to the translation plaque below it. This gravestone, the plaque said, was placed directly next to the grave of King Edward the Martyr, which was unusual both for a woman and a commoner.
“You always…” he broke off, both a sob and a laugh catching his throat. “You always had to have the best of everything, didn’t you Isabella?”
Collapsing into the chair, he bawled unashamed as he read his daughter’s tombstone.
Here lies Deorca, Woman Tanner
Wife of Sigbert, Servant of Shaftesbury
Good and Faithful Child of God
That’s my girl, he could only think the words and he cried into his hands. That’s my girl.
Kristin McTiernan
Kristin McTiernan was born the daughter of a career military man and spent her childhood bouncing from one country to another. Her love of writing surfaced early, and upon discovering the double threat of comic books and Star Trek in middle school, Kristin spent the majority of her spare time creating new worlds and interesting people to populate them. Following in her parents’ footsteps, Kristin enlisted in the Marine Corps at 17 and, upon her discharge three years later, settled into a life pursuing her love of words. She achieved her bachelor’s degree in English from Emporia State University in her home state of Kansas and works as an editor to support her writing addiction. She lives in Las Vegas with her husband and dog.
Stay in touch with the author via:
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/8293054-kristin-mctiernan
Blog: http://kristinstelling.blogspot.com/
Sunder Page 40