Keeper of Time (Wealth of Time Series, Book 4)

by Andre Gonzalez

  Once dressed and mentally ready for the day, he remained in front of the mirror a moment longer, considering both the minor and major events that led him to this day. His hair was black, with only a couple of gray streaks starting to run from his forehead. His face was still tight, only the slightest of bags hanging below his eyes, and overall he had a new glow that he’d never seen before. “You handsome devil,” he said, and winked before turning to grab his coat and leave for the event.

  Chester had stayed the night at the Broadmoor while Chris remained in the comforts of his home. For living his entire life in Colorado Springs, he’d never actually stepped foot inside the city’s grandest hotel, and brimmed with excitement at the thought of doing so.

  During the drive over—in a limousine, no less—Chris thought of how proud his parents would be to see where he was going on this special day. They had worked hard during Chris’s childhood, scraping together just enough money to survive on a weekly basis. Chris never saw his father take a day off or fall too ill to work. His mother maintained their home and juggled an evening job at a local restaurant. Their dedication and work ethic surely helped shape who he was today, and he kept them close in his heart as he started this new journey.

  The hotel was a short ten-minute drive, and when they pulled into the front loop that led to the entrance, Chris gazed out the window as they passed the front lawn that was an immaculate green: shrubs groomed to perfection, and a four-level stone fountain spewing water into the clear day.

  Once they reached the entrance, it felt like they had entered a whole new world. Thick, towering spruce trees surrounded the property, cutting them off from the rest of civilization. The driver pulled up to the portico decorated with a row of multiple Colorado and United States flags. A gentleman in an impressive suit trotted to the car and opened the back door where Chris waited, welcoming him with a warm smile.

  “Good evening, sir,” the man said. “Are you staying with us or just here for a visit?”

  “I believe I have a room here tonight, but I can’t say for sure.”

  “No worries, sir. May I have your name, please?”

  Chris scooted out of the car and soaked in the grand hotel in front of him. “Chris Speidel.”

  “Oh,” the man gasped. “Yes, sir, you certainly are staying the night. You are our guest of honor in the presidential suite for the next two nights.”

  Chris couldn’t help but grin, a new wave of ecstasy filling his soul. The man guided him inside the hotel, opening the doors to a lobby with polished tile floors and a crystal chandelier hanging from a stained-glass ceiling.

  “And you’re here for the clocksmith summit?” the man asked.

  The question caught Chris off guard. “Uhhh, yes. I’m a clocksmith.” He hoped there wasn’t another gathering in the hotel on this particular day, and figured the Revolution would use a wise cover-up about a clockmaker convention.

  “Delightful,” the man said. “Our main ballroom, where your conference will be, is down that hallway to the left.” He pointed in the direction ahead of them and Chris saw a line of signs directing traffic anyway.

  “Thank you.”

  They crossed the lobby where the man took him to the reception counter. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”

  “Wait,” Chris nearly gasped. “I had a bag in the trunk of the car. I hope he’s still here.”

  “We’ve already taken care of it, sir. The bag is on its way to your suite.”

  “Oh, well thank you.” The man waited for a moment awkwardly, and Chris assumed he wanted a tip. He had no cash, didn’t even have his wallet, in fact, as it was in his bag. “Have a good day, and thanks for your help.”

  The man’s plastered grin wavered into a momentary frown before he scurried away. Chris was surely the first presidential suite guest to not tip the bellman.

  He shifted his focus to the reception desk, where an older woman greeted him with an envelope, pushing it across the counter. “Welcome, Mr. Speidel. Everything for your stay has been covered and you are all set. Your bag should be in your room by now. Is there anything we can do for you to start your stay with us?”

  “No, thank you very much.”

  “Great, your key is in the envelope. Just take the elevator up to the fifth floor and your suite will be at the end of the hallway.”

  Chris grabbed the envelope and offered a polite nod to the woman before turning away. The lobby filled with more people, many of them staring at Chris as if he were a celebrity. They didn’t make their gawking obvious; a few hid behind books or newspapers as they sat in the lobby’s lounge chairs. Others leaned against the walls across the lobby, pretending to be in conversations with each other as their eyes followed Chris.

  Are these the protesters or supporters? Chris wondered as he made his way toward the elevators. No one physically followed him, a great relief as paranoia had started to flood his mind. He took the elevator to his floor and entered the presidential suite to another jaw-dropping scene.

  The suite appeared larger than his house and was covered in gold carpets, drapes, and furniture, all in different shades of the luxurious color. From the doorway he saw a ten-foot long sofa surrounding a coffee table with three loveseats on the opposite side, a full kitchen, dining room, and living room complete with a bookshelf and television. The day’s newspaper sat on top of the coffee table.

  “Am I staying here by myself?” he asked as he stepped all the way in and closed the door behind him. He glided toward the open door on the other side of the living room, the suite’s bedroom.

  A king-sized bed devoured most of the room, but left plenty of space for him to walk through and soak in the breathtaking view overlooking the mountains to the west. His bag rested atop the foot of the bed, delivered unscathed.

  Chris checked his watch to find it was noon, leaving him an hour until his big speech. He debated heading down to the bar for a quick bite before the ceremony, but decided to stay in his room, unsure what people might do if they saw him.

  Instead, he’d stew in his room for the next forty-five minutes, fighting off the final nerves he’d ever feel for the rest of his life.

  * * *

  At 12:45, Chris left his room and took the elevator back to the main level. It was a quick ride that felt like forever, dragged out by the anticipation of his life about to change for good. Chester had left him with no instruction aside from the ceremony’s start time. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go, or if there was someone he needed to speak with upon entering the ballroom.

  When he reached the main level, the hallway leading to the ballroom was jam-packed with people inching their way toward the doors. It made his stomach drop at first, but as he started weaseling his way through the crowd, it became apparent that the flooded hallway helped him blend right in. Everyone was too consumed with trying to get into the venue to pay him any attention.

  The line moved much quicker than it appeared, and Chris found himself in the ballroom within five minutes. The space opened up, with a long stage at the front of the room, and well over one thousand chairs lined up from wall to wall. Chester had said to expect 3,000 in attendance, and it might very well have been more crammed into the ballroom.

  He saw Chester on the stage, sitting in a chair behind the podium with a crowd of people chatting around him. Chris dashed down the aisle toward the front, a walk that seemed to take longer with each step.

  Chester noticed him and immediately stood up and dismissed those he was speaking with. “Hello, Mr. Keeper. How do you like this hotel?”

  Chris shook his hand with a wide grin. “I can’t lie – this is a childhood dream come true. I’ve never been here.”

  “Well, that is what we do here at the Revolution: make dreams come true.” Chester looked to the crowded room and raised his eyebrows. “It looks like we’re about ready—are you?”

  Chris looked around, not seeing an empty seat, and the chatter rising to a level where it made it almost impossible to hear. Men in
suits sat in the chairs, picking up conversation with those around. “Yes, let’s do this.”

  Chester smirked and made his way to the microphone, tapping on it with a steady finger as he cleared his throat. “Testing, testing… can you all hear me?”

  The noise dropped to a murmur before completely fading to silence.

  “Thank you for joining us here today for this delightful occasion of our annual clocksmith convention.”

  The crowd responded with laughter, but Chester needed to protect their identity from any eavesdropping hotel staff. He had even gone as far as having signs made and hung, welcoming the guests of Clocksmiths of America. He never overlooked a detail.

  “Today will be the official Transition of our Keeper of Time. As you may know, Mr. Chris Speidel has been chosen to succeed me in that role.”

  A mixture of applause and booing burst out, and this caught Chris’s attention. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever been booed in his life, but he supposed there was a first for everything. A line of people standing against the back wall held up signs of protest. Too young to lead. Chris is NOT our choice. We don’t want more Revolters! were just a few of the messages being waved around. His stomach sank at the sight of people already opposed to his plans.

  “We had our official announcement last week in Austin, where I also performed the first step of our Transition ritual. Keeper blood now flows through his veins, and he is ready to lead us into a bright future where we can shine brighter than ever. Gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure and honor to introduce your new Keeper of Time, Chris Speidel!”

  In that instant, as the applause broke out once more, drowning out any boos, Chris experienced the first wave of extreme confidence in himself. Any remaining nerves vanished. The room was his, and he knew it. He stepped up to Chester, shook his hand, and grabbed the microphone with determination.

  The applause continued for another minute, many of the Revolters standing while Chris waved with his free hand, the microphone clenched tightly in the other. Once the room fell silent and everyone sat down, he began his speech.

  “Thank you, everyone. And thank you to Chester. I’ve had the pleasure of working alongside Chester for the past week, learning the ins and outs of being the Keeper, and I’m forever grateful for all the knowledge you’ve shared with me.”

  A small round of applause went around the room, prompting Chris to look over his shoulder and give a nod to Chester.

  “I’ll admit, I was just as surprised as you all probably were upon hearing of my nomination. I’m too young, I thought. I don’t have anywhere near the experience of those I was going up against. I was only known here in Colorado Springs. Even with all of these factors stacked against me, I decided to go along for the ride.

  “Through it all, I learned so much from Chester and from my fellow candidates. There is so much knowledge and intelligence within our community, and I couldn’t be any prouder of my decision to leave my old life behind and dedicate my new life to the Revolution. We have such unique opportunities, and it’s my hope to keep it that way and make it even better for each and every one of us.

  “Even for those in the back with the signs protesting, I look forward to the challenge of winning your respect. Whatever your reason for protesting, I’d love to work with you and learn what it is you want out of the Revolution. This is an organization for all of us, and my vision to is to enable those who are interested in making a better life for yourselves.

  “The way I see it, there is no reason for a Revolter to have to work at a job. We sit on untapped earnings for each and every member, earnings that we do not need to take a cut from as an organization. We can come up with better ways to earn for the Revolution that do not include detracting from our members’ hard work.

  “Imagine going into the future for the sake of gaining knowledge of that future world. Now, imagine coming back to today, with that same knowledge, and inventing something you saw. Or investing in a business that you know will do well. We can print our own money, in a sense. This will be my main priority as we move forward, and I welcome any suggestions on how we can best achieve this and make sure we’re not all chasing after the same things in the future.”

  The crowd gave him a moment to catch his breath with a wave of applause. He took the opportunity to gulp a glass of water that Chester handed him.

  “To conclude my speech today, I know I’m not the ideal candidate for Keeper of Time. I don’t look like any past Keepers, I’m not the same generation of Keepers that we’ve come to expect, and my ideas might seem a bit progressive from the norm. But you can rest assured, everything I do is for the betterment of this organization. I love the Revolution, and have fully dedicated my life to it. It is my last, true love. My love drives me to make it something we can all love and feel the way I do. Don’t be afraid of change, welcome it. Don’t be afraid of success, bask in it. And don’t fear the future, for we will be visiting it a lot more to learn how to make ourselves better.

  “Thank you, and long live the Revolution!”

  The crowd immediately rose to their feet and showered applause for the next two minutes. Chris heard no more boos, and couldn’t see the signs in the back, thanks to the entire ballroom now standing. He waved and grinned, soaking in the moment, one he would always look back on as the moment he became the Chris Speidel.

  “Incredible,” Chester shouted from behind, the only way to make his voice heard. He stepped up to Chris and put his lips a couple inches from his ear. “You just won over this entire room. And I’m sure our broadcast around the world is all feeling the same way right now. You’re the future. Our future.”

  Chester patted Chris on the back before he stepped back to let the newest Keeper of Time have his moment. The night ahead would bring constant celebration as Chris would shake hands with nearly all those in attendance. He had already forgotten about the grueling process he had endured to reach this point, and for the first time in his life, Chris Speidel felt like he was on top of the world.

  27

  Chapter 27

  Over the first decade in his role as the Keeper of Time, Chris did as promised in his early speeches as an unknown candidate. By 1974, the Revolution’s population had jumped from 200,000 to well over two million. Member dues to the organization were halted, as a team of savvy financial investors developed a plan for the Revolution to earn its own money—billions of dollars—without burdening its members. These same methods trickled down into the membership, turning them from a group of stagnant history aficionados into the upper one percent of society, quietly running the continent from the background.

  In December of 1974, the world of time travel officially changed forever. They had already known there were members of the Revolution leaving the organization to join another called the Road Runners. These were upset Revolters fed up with Chris and his antics, that felt the need to form an alliance with one another.

  Initially, word of this secret exodus angered Chris, but after further investigation—and introspection, for that matter—he found no one to blame but himself.

  After years of driving intense recruitment efforts, the Revolution reached a point where they were flooded with great minds and hard-working individuals. Gone were the days of members being satisfied with missions only into the past to play and study. Chris had recruited people just like him: curious, urgent, and borderline reckless in their time travel work.

  Keepers of the past had been traumatizing new recruits for decades as a sort of initiation into the Revolution, but none of those recruits had the knowledge or desire to really look into those tragedies that seemed so random. Even Chris had to live through the hell of killing his own wife, and in his initial years with the organization, had never considered looking deeper into the purpose of that murder. Had he, he might have found out that it was his initial test for one day becoming the Keeper of Time. Chester had eyes on him since day one, and made sure to get the result he wanted.

  The Revolution’s newes
t members, recruited under the strict instruction of Chris, had no issue digging into the issues of their own lives, and those who left had found Chris behind every tragedy.

  He had been caught, and even though it was explained to new members that they would endure the pain, it didn’t stop them from turning their backs on the man who had blessed them with the gift of time travel in the first place.

  This discovery was the turning point for not only Chris, but the entire Revolution. The time of peace that they had enjoyed since their inception was now over. On this cold night, Chris lay in his bed in their New York headquarters, a full-sized facility that housed over one hundred Revolters, whether on a permanent basis, or for those traveling and needing a place to stay for a couple of nights.

  Everyone knew he was invincible, yet no one had put that theory to test until this particular night. Little did Chris know the floodgates his attempted murder would open. He’d be dodging bullets and death threats for the rest of his life. Somewhere along the line of great men who had served as Keeper of Time, they arrived at the conclusion that it was best to store blood within another person to guarantee that invincibility.

  This saved him when the traitor known as Maxwell Hart tossed a hand grenade into his bedroom in the middle of the night. Chris had acclimated like Chester said, opting to spend many nights sleeping in bed, even though his body didn’t need to. Why be awake past midnight if no one else was? Especially with so many taking on roles that he had delegated, freeing up time to focus on bigger matters, like people leaving the Revolution in droves.

  He was sleeping on his back, and the grenade landed on his belly, feeling like someone had tossed a baseball and he missed the catch. The room was pitch-black, so he never saw what it was until it banged and flashed in unison, like lightning had just struck.