Children of Eternity Omnibus

by P. T. Dilloway

  He bolted from the house as she screamed. The entire village turned out to track him down. He managed to escape by wiggling through a crack in the door of ancient crypt. There he changed clothes and devoured half the bread, sleeping next to the decomposed body of some old knight. He might have stayed there longer if the gravedigger hadn’t spotted him. He narrowly escaped from the villagers a second time.

  That was a day ago, but still he feels them nearby, always on the horizon. He’s not safe anywhere. No matter where he runs, they’ll find him. When they do, they’ll string him up for stealing the bread and clothes. His pleas for leniency will not sway them. That he only took the items to survive won’t matter. Their lust for his blood must be sated.

  In the morning his waterlogged shoes have become too heavy to lift anymore. He collapses into a ditch along the roadside, staring up at a clear blue sky. He can’t muster the strength even to reach into his jacket for the bread. He’s going to die here in this ditch. What does it matter? He’s lost everything that ever mattered to him: his mother, friends, and home. They’re lost to him forever.

  He hears footsteps on the road. They’ve found him at last. Not much longer before they seize him and finish him off. Good, he thinks. At least then it will be over. All of it will be over at last. No more wondering who and what he is or what will become of him. Now he’ll have peace.

  “Oh my God!” a woman says. “You poor boy. However did you get in there?”

  The face of a woman with blue eyes and dark hair like his mother fills his vision. At first he thinks Mother has somehow found him, but then he sees this woman wears the rough clothes of a farm matron. She sets a basket of eggs next to him and sits him up. “Can you hear me?” she says. “Are you hurt?”

  He shakes his head. “Where are your kinfolk?” she asks.

  “I don’t have any,” he says. “They’re dead.”

  “You’re on your own then?” He nods. “You poor thing. You’re welcome to come with me. My husband and I have plenty of room. We could use another set of hands around the house.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Nonsense. You can’t stay here in this ditch. Now come along and pick up that basket. Try not to drop any of those eggs. They’re for Mrs. McCracken down the road.”

  He empties out his shoes and then gets up. With the basket clutched in his hands, he follows behind the woman. “Come along now, lad. Keep up with me or you’ll be left behind,” she says. He quickens his pace to fall in beside her. “You look a fright. As soon as I get home we’ll have to give you a bath and do something with that hair of yours. You look like a girl.”

  He fingers the greasy ringlets hanging down past his shoulders. He remembers Mother running the comb through his hair, telling him how beautiful it looked. Then he remembers her seizing him by the same hair, dragging him down to the cellar. “Here you’ll stay,” she said.

  “Come now, pay attention. I asked you a question.”

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Wendell.”

  “Don’t you have a proper surname?”

  He can’t give her his real last name or she might betray him to Mother. He tries to think of another one, looking about for inspiration. “Basket,” he says, his eyes on the egg basket. “It’s Wendell Basket.”

  “What kind of name is Basket? You are an odd child, that much I can tell already. I’m Mary Connolly. My husband is James and my daughter Fiona.” She looks him over, shaking her head. “Come along then, Mr. Wendell Basket. We have to pay a visit to Mrs. McCracken and then we’ll get you home.”

  Home. The word warms him like a ray of sunshine. He skips next to Mrs. Connolly like an obedient child. Home, he thinks over and over again.

  The sound of voices stirred Wendell from sleep. They’ve found me! he thought. He scrambled into the brush, waiting for Mr. Pendleton and some of the other men to tramp past. After a few moments, he realized the voices were chanting in a language other than English and from the opposite direction of the camp.

  He followed the voices through the trees, emerging at a rocky hill. A narrow path wound its way up the rocks to the mouth of a cave. The voices continued their chant, the sound echoing off the rocks. Wendell poked his head into the cavern and then threw himself back.

  Savages! he thought. A dozen of them were gathered around a pit, chanting in their strange tongue. He waited by the entrance for someone to come out and discover him, but no one did. The chanting grew louder.

  Wendell stuck his head into the opening again, creeping nearer the pit for a better look. As he watched, an ancient woman hobbled forward with the help of two other women. A man wearing an elaborate headdress of animal horns circled the woman, reciting words Wendell didn’t understand.

  When he finished, the man in the headdress signaled to the women holding the old woman up. They undressed the old woman and then placed her onto a sling made of animal hide. The chanting became a howl that shook the entire cavern. Wendell braced himself for a cave-in.

  The two women took the straps of the sling and as the howling reached its crescendo, they lowered the old woman into the pit. A white light burst from the pit, washing over the savages and blinding Wendell. He screamed, but no one heard him over the renewed chanting.

  His vision cleared in time to see the women haul up the sling. On it lay not the old woman, but a girl of no more than seven years. The two women helped the girl stand, and then dressed her in new clothes and placed a garland of flowers on her head. Then they gave her a bowl to drink from. The man in the headdress intoned something followed by the girl echoing his words. She drank from the bowl and then collapsed into the waiting arms of the two attendants.

  Wendell bolted from the cave before the ceremony ended. A fever gripped his entire body, sweat blinding him as he descended the path and stumbled into the trees. He collapsed in the brush, his body shaking not with cold, but with fear. It’s real, he thought. It’s all real.

  Chapter 16: Reconciliation

  Joey climbs up to the top of the hill to find her waiting for him. The wind swirls her brown hair around so that he can’t see her face, but he knows it’s her. He races across the grass as fast as he can, leaping into her outstretched arms.

  She hugs him and then kisses the top of his head. “I didn’t think you were coming,” he says.

  “Of course I was. I would never miss seeing you.”

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he says. “Why did you have to leave me? Why can’t you stay?”

  “They need me,” she says. “I can’t abandon them.”

  “But what about me? You can abandon me?”

  She sets him down on the ground and brushes the hair from her face so that he can look into her blue eyes. “You know that isn’t true. I would never abandon you.”

  “I’m tired of this,” he says. “Someday you’re going to have to choose: them or me.”

  “Joe, please, don’t ask me to do that. What we have is special, but I can’t forget about them. I can’t act like they don’t exist. Try to understand.”

  “I am trying, but I don’t see why you have to keep it all such a secret,” he says. He plucks a handful of grass and then hurls it into the winds. She sits down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

  “It’s a difficult situation, Joe. I need to know I can count on you to support me.”

  “I’ll always support you,” he says. “It’s just that sometimes I don’t think I’m all that important to you.”

  “Joseph, you’re the most important person in my life. Nothing can ever change that.” She leans down to kiss him on the cheek this time. “Do you understand?”

  “Then why do you have to go?” Tears come to his eyes. “We hardly ever get to see each other anymore. And as soon as we do, you have to go again. Why can’t you stay with me?”

  “Joe, please, we’ve been over this. I don’t have a choice. I don’t want to go, but I have to. Try to understand.�
�

  “Then let me come with you. I won’t get in your way.”

  “I know you won’t, but it’s a very difficult situation there. I don’t want to get you involved with it.”

  “I’m not scared. Whatever is going on there, I can handle it.” He takes her pudgy hand and gives it a squeeze. “I want to help you through all this. Why won’t you let me?”

  “It’s complicated.” She squeezes his hand back. “Let’s enjoy the time we have left instead of arguing.”

  He wants to continue pleading with her to stay or at least to let him go with her. He can’t bear to be without her again. Not after the last time, when she left and didn’t come back for four months. During that time he felt an ache in his heart every moment. The pain made every day unbearable. Their conversations by telephone only made the lack of her presence more pronounced.

  Instead, knowing a continued argument will only spoil their last moments together, he snuggles against her, resting his head on her bulging stomach. She strokes his hair as they sit there on the hill, watching the sun go down over the waves. He wishes they could go on like this forever. He wishes she never has to leave him again so that he can spend every moment with her.

  When she picks him up and swings him onto her shoulders, he tries to hop off. “Can’t we stay a little longer?” he says.

  “It’s getting dark. Your father will be expecting us back soon,” she says.

  “So what? He doesn’t care about me.”

  “Joe, you don’t mean that. Your father is a good man. He loves you very much.” She starts down the hill, trying to lighten the mood by making horse sounds.

  “Sometimes you act so weird,” he says. He laughs and plays along until the house comes in sight. Then they both go silent.

  She lets him down and then takes his hand to lead him up the stairs. With each step his heart grows heavier, knowing it’s one step closer to her leaving again. At the top of the stairs, she picks him up. He presses his ear to her chest so that he can hear the beating of her heart.

  She opens the door to his bedroom and then lays him down onto the bed. She smoothes hair away from his forehead to kiss him there. “I’ll be back real soon,” she says. “I promise.” She pulls the blankets up to his chin and despite his best efforts, he feels himself growing sleepy.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “Goodnight,” she says and then turns out the light.

  Joey woke up and looked around the bedroom in confusion until he realized it had been a dream. Mommy’s gone, he thought. She left me to go take care of other people. It’s not fair. I should be with her instead of here.

  He climbed out of bed and went into the main room. Molly sat at the table with her head buried in her hands. When he touched her on the shoulder, she looked up to reveal a purple bruise on her left eye. “What happened?” Joey asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Molly said. “I deserved it.”

  “Who hit you?”

  “It’s not important. Are you hungry? I can make us something for breakfast.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, instead bustling into the kitchen to search among the fallen pots and pans for something to eat.

  “What happened to the others?” Joey asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Molly said. “They’ve disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? How?”

  “They fell into a pool of water and never came up.”

  “Are they dead?” His voice quivered as he asked this question. Samantha and the twins had called him names and treated him badly, but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to them. Especially not poor little Samantha after what had already happened to her last night.

  Molly rushed over to him to take him by the shoulders. “No, they’re not dead,” she said. “Veronica and David are going to find them. They’re going to find a way to bring them back.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, dear. They’ll think of something.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “We can pray to ask God to bring them back safely to us,” she said. She took his hand and together they kneeled down on the floor. Joey closed his eyes and visualized the faces of Samantha, Prudence, and Wendell.

  God, please let them come back, Joey thought. They were mean to me, but they’re not bad kids. Wherever they’ve gone, please let them come back safe. The face of his mother crept into his thoughts then. And wherever Mommy’s gone, please look after her and make sure she comes back too. Amen.

  Chapter 17: Chicago

  Samantha couldn’t fall asleep on the flight to Chicago. This time she wasn’t concerned as much about waking up in a crib as she was haunted by the memory of him. Try as she might, she couldn’t put a name with the face. Who was he? Where was he?

  She knew she had loved him twenty years ago. She stared at the bare fingers on her left hand, free of any tan lines that might indicate a ring’s former placement, and wondered what had happened between them in all that time. Had he found someone else? Had she? Did they get married? She tried to think of answers, but only came back with questions.

  A horrible thought occurred to her over Lake Michigan. She took the flier out of her jacket pocket and wondered if he could be responsible for this. Perhaps there had been a falling-out and this was his revenge.

  No, not him, she thought. He didn’t have the eyes of a killer. Those turquoise eyes like a pair of bright stones couldn’t mask that kind of evil. Those eyes that looked deep into her soul—

  “Stop it,” she said aloud. The passenger next to her edged away in his seat. “Sorry,” she told him.

  This was no time to act like a schoolgirl with a crush. She couldn’t rule someone out as a suspect because he had pretty eyes. Her love life could wait. Right now she had to focus on stopping the killer before he struck again.

  Dr. William Herschowitz. The name seemed familiar to her. She couldn’t think of where or when she’d heard it before, but perhaps when she got to the Radisson she would remember something. First she had to get him to a safe place, wherever that might be. She would have to think of how to explain all this to him later.

  The plane touched down at noon. She noticed the two agents as she came down the boarding ramp. One in a rumpled business suit sat at the table of a coffee shop, glancing at her over his cup. The other, in a grimy T-shirt and baggy shorts, browsed a travel guide for Austria. To anyone else they might pass as normal travelers, but her instincts told her they were comrades from the Bureau.

  She stopped at a drinking fountain down the terminal, pretending to shake hair away from her face to get a look. They had joined the bustling crowds of O’Hare to follow her. She left the drinking fountain and kept walking right out of the terminal. A line of taxis waited for fares at the curb. Samantha got into the nearest one and said, “Radisson Hotel.”

  “Sure thing, Agent Young,” the driver said as he pulled the cab away from the curb. “We might have to make a stop first.” The driver pointed a gun at her. “Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  As with Gutierrez in the Suarez apartment, she didn’t fear the gun. She could take it away any time she pleased with little effort. The driver must have sensed this too, because he soon lowered the weapon. “I’ve got two cars behind me plus a helicopter overhead watching the whole thing,” he said.

  She turned in her seat, finding the two nondescript cars following them right away. She couldn’t see the helicopter, but didn’t doubt it was up there somewhere keeping tabs of her. “What’s all this about?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, you’ll have to ask at headquarters.”

  “A man is going to die by eight o’clock tonight. Are you going to let that happen?” she asked.

  “That’s not any of my business,” the driver said. Samantha considered her alternatives. She could knock out the driver, take the wheel, evade the tails, hide the taxi somewhere to keep the driver from telling her destination, and then proceed to the Radisson to find Herschowitz. Or she could go to hea
dquarters and see what they wanted. The first alternative would land her in prison for certain. As for the second, it depended on what they wanted from her.

  “All right,” she said. “Take me there.”

  She leaned back in her seat, watching the skyline of Chicago fill the windshield. The Sears Tower, she thought when she saw the black skyscraper that seemed to disappear into the clouds. She closed her eyes, seeing herself standing behind glass at the very top, his brown hand taking hold of hers—

  “We’re here,” the driver said, pulling up in front of the Federal building. The driver dropped the gun into a pocket before opening her door. He left her in the care of the agents tailing her at the airport, who led her inside to the elevator.

  “Can you tell me what this about?” she asked.

  “Assistant Director Tanner will tell you, ma’am,” the agent in the T-shirt said. They led her through a bustling office to a room smaller than a prison cell with only a metal table and a pair of plastic chairs. “He’ll be in to see you shortly.”

  They left Samantha alone in the room. The table was bolted to the floor and the chairs so flimsy they couldn’t do any sort of damage. The gray walls were smooth, but she knew there was a camera hidden somewhere, keeping an eye on her. She settled onto one of the hard chairs to wait.

  Over three hours passed. In four hours Herschowitz was due to deliver his keynote address at the Radisson, if he was still alive. The killer might have already struck. She might already be too late. She should have taken out the driver and gone to the hotel. Herschowitz’s blood would be on her hands.

  Her eyelids drooped throughout the wait, but each time she closed her eyes, she saw him leaning down, his lips about to touch hers. Then the questions started all over again. What had become of this man?

  The door opened to reveal an older man in a rumpled suit. Once he spoke, she recognized his voice from the phone call in Savannah. “Young, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” he said. He slammed the door shut and then sat down.

  “I was right about Junction, sir. A woman by the name of Judy Coleman was murdered this morning. Tonight he’s going to strike again.” She took out the flier, showing it to him.