“Can I help you?” The girl was maybe twenty, standing in the hallway behind one of those upright desks. She was in costume, and looked more like someone from the 1890s than 1990s. Well, except for the bright blue ink pen stuck behind one ear and the blood-red nametag—Rhonda—pinned to her blouse.
“Yes," I told her. "I’d like to take the tour.”
“Sorry. Only one more tour today and it’s at capacity. And you are over twelve, right? Otherwise, you'll need to have your parents here, too.”
“Yes," I said through gritted teeth, hoping I wouldn't have to prove it since the ID I was carrying showed me as twenty-one back in 1962. "Don’t suppose maybe you could make an exception? Since it’s just one more person? Could make it worth your while.”
Rhonda glanced down at the two twenties I held out to her. “No can do. Rules are rules.”
Funny, I thought, I'd always heard they’re made to be broken.
“It's all good. Can I get a reservation for tomorrow?”
“We don’t take reservations. You can buy a ticket, though.”
I didn't really see the difference between the two, but I paid and took my ticket.
And I probably would have just let the whole thing slide, but her attitude pissed me off. So, while Miss Rhonda was counting back my change, I set a stable point in the foyer for the exact same time the next day. And as soon as I shoved the change into my pocket, I blinked out and right back in, twenty-four hours later.
Rhonda was at the desk again, wearing the same outfit. She was missing the blue pen this time, and holding a can of Diet Pepsi, which she dropped straight to the floor when I appeared. The can tipped and a stream of soda, topped by light brown foam, spread across around her shoes.
“Sorry, my bad," I said, holding out my ticket. “You okay? Look like you saw a ghost.”
Rhonda hurried out of the room, mumbling something about me appearing out of nowhere. When she came back, she was holding a wad of paper towels. She got down on the floor to start mopping up the mess and gave me a wide berth for the next hour. That wasn't why I did it—I just wanted to wipe the smug look off her face—but it was a nice side benefit.
The tour began a few minutes later, and I was able to set several good stable points in the library across from the sofa where Andrew Borden was killed. The guest room where they found Abby Borden's body was a tight fit and I never got a location that wasn't at least partly blocked by the furniture. I also set a dozen or so points, most of which I was pretty sure I’d never use, at other spots in the house.
The tour didn’t include the cellar, unfortunately, but I had three points in the yard that would give me a clear view of the naked man as he ran out the side door. Once I set that last point, I waited for Rhonda to lead the rest of the tour back inside and pulled up the stable point for my room back at the Farm.
Show time.
The Farm
Estero, Florida
March 25, 1902
"The third stable point seems the most likely," I told Kiernan as I transferred the stable points to my spare CHRONOS key. "It's the one inside the Borden's library." It would have been easier if we could both just watch through my key, but they don't work that way. You have to be holding the medallion so that it can scan you for the CHRONOS gene and then it shines the images right into your eyes.
As usual, even though Kiernan was acting like a total ass about the whole thing, I gave him a second chance. I'd originally planned to just jump back to Saul's place in 2027, so I could sit back and watch with a bowl of popcorn. Pretend it was one of those Halloween movies. But the idea that Saul might be there watching me while I was watching him back in 1892 kind of creeped me out.
So I jumped to the Farm and dragged Kiernan down to Bamboo Landing, so we could sit on the bank as we watched the events unfold. If Kiernan wasn't willing leave the Farm right then, no reason I couldn't bring the show to him, right?
And yeah…I'll admit it. The other reason I decided to come back to the Farm is that I didn't want to watch this alone.
I was pretty sure the guy I saw run around the back of the house was John Morse. But what if it was Saul?
I mean, this Culling thing Saul had planned would wipe out billions of people, but that's…what's the word? Prophylactic? The goal was to prevent even worse atrocities in the future. Like Truman with the atomic bombs, just on a larger scale. And just like with Hiroshima, the Culling is pretty much a hands-off affair. Saul wouldn't even have much of a role in setting the thing in motion given that he couldn't use the key.
And there's a big difference between ordering the deaths of people you'll never see and hacking someone to pieces in person. Or, at least, that's what I thought at the time.
"Exactly what are you expectin' to see?" Kiernan asked.
"It's a whodunit. I guess I want to see who dun it. Start scrolling forward from 10:15. One minute increments every second."
"Every three seconds," Kiernan countered, "unless you want to have me pukin' up my lunch as soon as the image starts jumpin' around."
"Fine, set it for three seconds. Starting…three, two, one, now."
We sat there for maybe a minute, watching the empty sofa in the empty library. The couch was one of those dark ornate pieces, with carved wood on the back, but the plain black leather was the only spot in the room that didn't burn a flower-shaped hole in your eyeballs. The wallpaper had flowers, the carpet had flowers in a different pattern, and the throw rug displayed yet another floral monstrosity.
"The museum room didn't look quite this awful," I said. "They toned it down a bit."
Kiernan laughed, but his voice had an edge to it. "A minute ago, I'd have sworn Lizzie did it. But now I'm thinkin' Borden turned the hatchet on himself to keep from seein' that room—Hold on. There he is."
Borden walked into my view as Kiernan spoke, looking a little wobbly on his feet. He didn't stop to remove his coat or his boots, just slumped onto the sofa, holding one hand over his eyes.
After a moment, his mouth moved.
"Did you catch that?" I asked.
"No. It was only a coupla words."
Borden lay there a few minutes, until the woman in the blue dress came in with a glass. She knelt down in front of him for a moment and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.
"That's Lizzie."
"Yeah," Kiernan said. "She looks about the same as the pictures I saw during the trial."
Borden sat up and took the glass from her. He started to tip it back, but Lizzie put a restraining hand on his arm.
"Probably saying he should go easy," I told Kiernan. "They were all sick the night before."
"Or maybe she's tellin' him to slow down so he doesn't spill poisoned lemonade all over the sofa."
"Yeah, right. The cops would've been all over that."
Lizzie took the glass when Borden finished and patted the arm of the sofa. He gave his daughter a faint smile as she left the room, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Borden was all we saw for about five minutes, until Lizzie crossed in front of the stable point. She was wearing her hat now. When she reached the doorway she turned back, opening her mouth like she want to say something. She must have changed her mind, however.
"Where's she goin'?" Kiernan asked.
"To the pear tree in the backyard, then up to the loft of the barn. Nothing much happens. Just Lizzie munching on pears and staring out the window. And then getting her panties in a wad about something. Not sure what."
"So…what's next?"
"We wait until we see someone come in with the hatchet."
We watched in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Kiernan tossed the key onto the grass next to me. "This is sick. You know that, right? I don't want to sit here and watch some poor bastard get himself carved up like Sunday dinner."
I shrugged. "Then I guess you won't know whodunit. I'm not gonna tell you if you're not man enough to—"
"That's not bein' a man, Simon! That's bein' a bl
oody ghoul. Why did this CHRONOS place even care who killed those people? Aren't there murders to solve in the 24th century?"
"I'm sure there are," I said, keeping my eyes on the key, where Andrew Borden had stirred slightly and then rearranged himself on the couch. "But it's a mystery. It's human nature to want to solve it. You see a stray thread sticking out, and you want to tug on it. See where it takes you."
"Not me." He stretched out on the river bank and closed his eyes.
Truthfully, I didn't much care whether he watched with me or not as long as he didn't leave. It was still better than sitting somewhere watching on my own.
"Fine," I said. "Just stick around. I'll let you know if it's Lizzie. I think it's more likely to be her uncle, though. I saw—" I stopped in mid-sentence, watching the display as a shadow fell onto the floor directly in front of the stable point.
"You saw what?"
"Shhh. Someone's coming in."
The bare back that moved in front of me was too tall and too well-muscled to be female. He took two more steps toward the couch and I saw that he was completely nude, except for reddish-brown streaks on the side of his leg.
Abby Borden's blood. From when he killed her a few hours earlier.
"What do you see?" Kiernan asked.
"Thought you didn't want to know. Shhh. I need to watch."
Kiernan huffed and went back to staring at the sky.
Back in the Borden's library, the man took a few more steps toward the couch and I saw the hatchet down by his side. The same hatchet that the shorter man dropped earlier when he ran down the path, back toward Spring Street. The same hatchet that Esther scooped up as she scurried up the path.
I still couldn't see the man's face. Just the back of his body from mid-calf up. Rookie mistake. When I was setting the locations on the key, I was thinking about good angles to see the murder. What I should have done is park my ass on the couch so that I'd have a good angle to see the murderer.
Just as I was about to shift to a different stable point to try and get a glimpse of the man's face, a movement in the doorway caught my attention. It was Esther, still in the servant's uniform. Her hands were covering her mouth and nose, and her dark eyes were perfectly round orbs, horrified.
The man—who I then knew must be Saul—turned toward her. He must have said something, because she shook her head vigorously.
Borden stirred slightly on the couch, opening his eyes.
That's when Saul brought the hatchet straight down toward the man's head. And then he swung it again. And again.
Blood began to spatter onto the hideous wallpaper and seep into the hideous carpet. Then Saul turned slightly and I now could see his face.
I expected to see an angry expression, something that would match the act he was committing.
But, no. His face was peaceful, almost happy. Sort of like when he'd get totally wrapped up in one of his simulations. Even though I couldn't hear what he was saying—and for once, I was kind of glad about that—I knew from the rhythm of his lips that he was counting.
…twenty-four, twenty-five…
I tried to pull my eyes away, but simply couldn't do it. Something about the counting had me mesmerized, determined to watch Saul count off the next blow, and the next, and the next. Or maybe it was just his expression as he pulled the hatchet up and down and up and down.
…thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight…
Then, as the hatchet connected with Andrew Borden's body for the thirty-ninth time, something—maybe part of a finger—flew straight toward me.
It was like one of those cheesy 3-D movies I'd watched on Saul's system in Miami. The rational part of my mind knew the thing flying toward my head couldn't hit me.
That didn't stop me from closing my eyes, however. Didn't stop me from ducking.
Fall River, Massachusetts
August 4, 1892
If I'd ducked first and blinked second, I might have broken eye contact with the key long enough that it wouldn't have mattered. But the smell of blood, so strong I could nearly taste it, told me I was no longer on the bank of the Estero River. I knew it before I heard the thwack of the hatchet, before I heard Saul counting off the number forty, or the soft whimpering noise Esther made.
Esther must have seen me at about the same moment I opened my eyes and saw her, because her whimper stopped.
"Saul! Behind you!" She didn’t shout. It was more of a stage whisper, followed by the thud of the hatchet connecting for the forty-first time.
Saul yanked on the handle to free the blade, then whirled around to face me.
Okay, not entirely nude, I thought. He was wearing some sort of thonged cup-thing. I was very glad of that, glad that I was spared the sight of my grandfather's blood-drenched and also completely naked body.
That was probably a dumb thought to have when said grandfather was in front of me like some sort of crimson war god with his little hatchet flying toward my head.
But now I knew why I'd seen that flash of recognition in Saul's eyes the first time I met him at the testing.
He remembered seeing an older version of me.
Or maybe he remembered killing an older version of me?
Blood flew from the blade and spattered onto my CHRONOS key. The downward trajectory of the drop must have pulled Saul's gaze for a second and it was the sight of the medallion that stopped him, mid-swing, mere inches before I would have been added to the death toll.
My entire body was shaking and there was no way I could pull up another stable point to exit. Words just started pouring out of my mouth. I don't remember everything I said, but there was stuff in there about the Cyrists, and the Culling, and maybe even a few verses from the Book of Cyrus. I'm not usually the scripture-quoting type, but I was that damn scared, scrambling for anything to make Saul believe that he had no reason to start swinging that hatchet again.
I do remember the thing that finally made him move that hatchet back to his side, because it made him laugh. He was still staring at me, open-mouthed, until I said that he was the one who gave me the key, that we were blood kin. I guess that struck him as funny, because he sat down on the carpet and laughed softly.
Esther was still in the doorway that led toward the kitchen, looking at both of us like we were crazy.
Saul's eyes narrowed after a minute, and he asked, still in hushed tones, "Can you use that key to jump from place to place? From A to B to C? Or just A to B and back to A again?"
"Yeah…I can jump wherever I want as long as there's a stable point."
He grinned wide. "Ha! It works!"
"What works?" Esther asked.
"My plan for getting you out of this mess," Saul snapped over his shoulder, and Esther fell silent again.
"Okay," he said as he got to his feet. "Strip."
"What? Why?"
"Quiet! I need to wipe some of this off me, so I can get to the cellar to bathe and change into my own suit without leaving a trail. I hadn't imagined it would be quite this"—he glanced back at Borden's body—"wet."
I've never liked arguing with Saul under the best of circumstances, so I certainly wasn't going to attempt it when he was holding a bloody axe. I got up from the carpet and stripped down to my underwear. He made a gimme-motion toward those, too, but I shook my head. It was bad enough standing in my boxers in front of him, Esther, and the pile of blood and gristle that was once Andrew Borden. I needed some sort of cover.
Saul rolled his eyes dramatically, but took the clothes from me and started wiping himself down. "Give me your apron, too, Esther. Just tell CHRONOS that you snagged it on the garden fence and had to leave it behind."
"They'll be angry," she said, but she started untying the apron. "We're not supposed to leave anything behind."
"We're not supposed to interfere with history either. But that didn't stop you from spooking Borden's bastard son in the alley, now did it?"
"I told you already!" she hissed, throwing the apron at him. "I didn't do anything. The f
ool just saw me and ran."
They were facing each other at that point, intent on their argument. I wiped the blood from my key with my thumb and activated it, hoping I could pull up a stable point before Saul's attention turned back to me.
No luck. Saul reached back and grabbed my wrist. "Can't leave without your things, dumbass." He handed me the shirt and apron, now streaked pink and red.
"Oh, and you can take this, too."
He held the hatchet toward me. As I took it, I couldn't help feeling that Saul was reading my thoughts. Or maybe the temptation to swing that hatchet at his head, the way he'd just done at mine, was just written that plainly on my face.
"Ah, but even if you wanted to—and I don't think you really do—you couldn't use it on me, could you?" He grinned and raised his eyebrows up and down. "If you're one of my progeny, using that hatchet on me now would mean you'd never exist and therefore never be here to use the hatchet on me. Right?"
I didn't answer. I just rubbed my wrist, now smeared with blood, on a slightly less soiled spot near the hem of my shirt, as Saul continued wiping himself down with my pants.
"Esther, now might be a good time for you to get the hell out of here. Lizzie will see you, but she won't scream out. Take a roundabout way to the stable point and jump back to HQ. I'll follow shortly. And for God's sake, get your wits about you before you go back to CHRONOS. I've fixed it. They'll never know you screwed up."
"But I didn't—"
"Do you think I hacked these people up for the pleasure of it?"
Esther shook her head, but there was a little glint in her eye that suggested she might very well have thought that. I'm pretty sure she saw his face while he was counting, too.
"We need to keep our story straight," he continued. "Everything went as planned. No mention of…our friend here." He gestured toward me. "Are we clear on that?"
"Yeah. We're clear." She gave the two of us one last glare and then bolted toward the kitchen.
Saul handed me the pants, and then used my socks to towel the blood out of his hair.
"Can I go now?"
Alt.History 102 (The Future Chronicles) Page 14