The Fake Voice (Time Alchemist)

by Allice Revelle

  Rick couldn’t be sure of Ash’s condition, and I had no idea how long Dove’s body would hold on. It took a little bit of arguing back and forth—

  so intense, like watching a professional tennis match—until Rick finally relented: we’d search in the morning and head out by the afternoon if we couldn’t find Oliver.

  I wish I could have let it go, but I’d seen too many bad things happen in just this year to realize that there’s no such thing as a coincidence—not when it came to alchemy.

  After exchanging numbers, Rick headed south with a short goodbye, disappearing into the evening crowd. The sky was a warm

  orange, but the sun was setting fast. Luckily, the map I purchased was a tourist’s map and gave a good listing of all the hotels nearby.

  In no time I found a small (though slightly dirty) hotel real cheap, but the only available room wouldn’t be ready for another hour.

  I didn’t think it would be good to wander around alone, especially when it turned dark, but two blocks down the street I spotted an internet café, and an idea popped into my brain, burning as brightly as the sun.

  When in doubt…

  What did Emery do best? She studied and did research. That was how I had found my great-grandmother’s history, after all. It was a long shot, but it couldn’t hurt. Tightening the grip on my bag, I trudged into the small café and ordered bottled water with a bagel, though I wasn’t hungry, and found a free computer near the window.

  All the while, I kept glancing from the monitor to the window, as if I were waiting for someone to come. When I remembered seeing Leon

  —or a Leon look-a-like?—my heart would start pounding like a hammer.

  Focus, Emery. Focus!

  I typed in OLIVER BENTON in the search bar, waiting impatiently for the screen to load. Thousands of articles showed up (and I knew for certain this particular Oliver Benton didn’t own a used car dealership in Austin, Texas), so I had to narrow the search to Atlanta, Georgia.

  The newer articles were school related—apparently, Oliver was part of his high school’s golf club (dorky, but cute). I found a picture of him with three other members, smiling at the camera though their posture was as straight as the golf clubs held tightly in their hands.

  Oliver was in the background, towering over his teammates, but I could see the hazel colored eyes under the shadows of his hat, with strands of loose, curly black hair sticking up in some places.

  Though the picture looked like it was taken in the spring or summer, Oliver was the only one of the group wearing a turtleneck sweater. Odd. In his student I.D. he was wearing a turtle neck (which I brushed off), but I remembered him clawing at a hoodie he was wearing, wondering if there was another layer of fabric underneath.

  Oh well. His choice of clothes weren’t any of my business. The other few articles were related to his golf club (they placed third in the State Junior Championship); a mention of Atlanta Tech and that was it.

  Apparently he wasn’t the only Oliver Benton in the state of Georgia so it was a little difficult to find exactly what I wanted.

  After a half hour of searching, I stretched my neck, wondering how any of this would help. All I discovered is that Oliver is a “top notch teammate with a love for golfing”, and attends Atlanta Tech.

  “He’s been after alchemists like you for a while. Not sure why; I never bothered to ask.”

  I was so adamant that Oliver had something to do with the alchemy world, even though his school editorials said otherwise. I had no proof.

  Yet…

  My fingers flew over the keyboard at lightning speed. That’s right; there was no such thing as a coincidence. Alyssa may have been one of the biggest (and most powerful) bitches I’d ever come across—she’d make Mallory look like a baby in comparison—but if there was one thing I knew from being the school’s Queen Bee mortal enemy is that they don’t attack with no true reason.

  And then when I realized this…I didn’t want my hunch to be true.

  I didn’t want to get Oliver Benton involved in this life.

  But when I saw the first news article pop up, the with title: LOCAL MOTHER ATTEMPTS MURDER ON OWN CHILD; COMMITS

  SUICIDE, my heart suddenly felt like a block of black ice, cracking down to the very core.

  DEWBERRY HERALD

  March 19th, 1998. Dewberry, Georgia.

  The tiny town of Dewberry is shocked with the news of beloved stay at home mother Maria Reese Benton’s suicide at one am on March 19th. Police received a call from a hysterical Patrick Benton—Maria’s

  second husband—when he came home from work to discover his wife’s body in the hallway; her wrists slashed open.

  To make the story even more shocking, Maria’s four year old son, whose name has been kept from the public, suffered a cut along his throat. Luckily, Patrick Benton was able to stabilize his stepson in time for the paramedics to arrive. Currently the boy’s conditions are stable.

  Maria Benton was known to have a long history of mental illness.

  Neighbors say she would seem to scream at nothing, even in the middle of the night. Patrick Benton’s sister, Rosie, claimed that Maria would sometimes refuse to take her medicine for unknown reasons, and Patrick, fearing for his stepson’s safety, would send him to live with her for short times.

  The Benton family thanks the community for their prayers and gifts, but kindly asks for privacy.

  I felt like I was going to throw up. God, if this was the Oliver Benton that I knew…oh my god.

  But then…everything made sense. If I was right. The report says that Oliver’s life was saved solely because his stepfather made it in time

  —but what if they didn’t know the truth? What if Oliver had just died, not even for a few minutes, and had been saved…

  By alchemy.

  My father wasn’t an alchemist—I knew that for a solid fact. And I knew that, even though the Elixir had been in my family for generations, none of the women in the family realized what it really was. To thirteen year old Kathleen Hearst, the Elixir was just a pretty, red gem given to her by a traveling Guinevere who had taken a fond liking to. Until September, I had been a plain, ordinary girl with no magical powers.

  Chrys also was like that. Neither of her biological parents had been alchemists, from what she was told. It was pure luck that she was saved by an alchemist. Just like Dove had saved me.

  Was it possible that Patrick Benton was an alchemist? Yes. It was.

  Judging from the article, it looked as if Patrick really did love Maria and Oliver—he seemed like the type of man who would go to great lengths to save his son, by blood or not.

  … suffered a long cut along his throat…

  Always seemed to be wearing turtleneck sweaters…

  I placed a hand over my heart, feeling it thump rapidly beneath my breastbone. I didn’t even have to see the golden Runes etched on my skin, starting at my heart and flowering over my chest and shoulders The place where I had died, and been reborn. Like a phoenix rising from the golden ashes.

  CHAPTER 13

  I was bouncing impatiently on my feet in front of the diner. Looking through the window I could see that very same woman who had given us the stink eye the night before washing tables. When she caught me looking, her glare could have heated cold soup, and I turned away just as Rick came into view, yawning.

  His own glare was like a heat wave. “Really?”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I said brightly. “Not a morning person, I take it?”

  “It’s seven in the goddamn morning.”

  “Yes. Yes it is.” Geez, what a grumpy pants. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a pretty punctual person. Guess that’s cause of the whole Time Alchemist thing, you know.”

  “This had better be important, Time Bomb.” He stifled another yawn, and I saw how rumpled his clothes were. He wore the same dark pants and jacket, except now he had a green shirt underneath his leather jacket. His hair stuck out at all ends, as if he had litera
lly just rolled out of bed two minutes ago.

  “I’ll buy you a coffee,” I replied with a smile, “But I think I found

  him.”

  “Who?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Who do you think?”

  Rick’s chocolate eyes widened, and finally his usual cocky grin spread on his face. “Great! Thank god. That means we can get the hell out of here.”

  I lifted a hand. “Not so fast. I said I think I found him—by that, I mean where he lives. I haven’t checked it out. Yet.”

  “So,” he said slowly, “You woke me up at this ungodly hour to tell me you think you know where he is, but you haven’t checked? ”

  I frowned, but he did have a point. “I thought it would be better to do this together. Like we agreed. Besides, the sooner we get going the better.”

  Rick finally yielded, then gestured his gloved hand forward, bending a little at the waist in a mock bow. “After you, princess.”

  I felt a warm flush creep on my cheeks, so I did the mature thing and stuck my tongue out, which only made him chuckle. As I walked, him keeping a close pace behind me, I couldn’t help but notice how fast my heart would race when Rick was close. It was different from how I felt around Leon—being around him was like my insides felt like gooey, fluffy, warm marshmallow in a smore. Leon made me feel secure, protected. But with Rick…it felt like, even though he had a bad attitude

  and played for the wrong side, he was still putting all of this trust into me. He just listened and didn’t judge. He probably didn’t care, but still.

  Maybe it was the way I caught glimpse of a softer mask behind his rough exterior one; I liked how sweet he looked when he talked about his brother.

  He was human…just like me. He had been dealt with a bad card and now he was trying to fix it. To me that was admirable.

  And let’s face it: he was hot. Not in the literal kind, either. Maybe I just felt a little sexually attracted to him because he saved my life a few times? (Get a grip, Emery!).

  Ugh. How was I even going to make it through the next hour if I couldn’t handle being in Rick’s presence?

  ○○○

  The house was small with a small garden enclosed behind a white picket fence. Despite the dreadful summer heat, the grass looked sharp and green, as if it had just bloomed. Small pink and white flowers popped up occasionally, but the lawn itself was void of anything else other than a birdbath.

  I took my scrap piece of paper out, the one I had written Rosie Benton’s address, and double checked. 213 Hawthorne Street. This was it.

  “You think this is it?” Rick said.

  I swallowed any doubt. “I’m pretty sure.” On our way here, I had filled Rick in on everything I had discovered about Oliver. Even Rick looked impressed with my research, making me beam with pride.

  However, when I tried looking for Patrick Benton’s address, nothing would come up. It was as if he disappeared from the face of the earth. I did manage to find Rosalie “Rosie” Benton’s home, and was astonished to find that she lived so close.

  “Well,” I started, licking my dry lips and pushing the paper into my jean pocket. “Let’s get this over with.” We just needed one look at Oliver—just one, and then we’d be on our way. And if everything was true…maybe I could convince him to hide, stay low. Just for a little while.

  We walked down the small narrow path that led to the white front door and I knocked firmly. At first, there was no answer, and I worried that maybe she was at work. It was only eight-thirty in the morning.

  We’d have come earlier if Rick didn’t whine about his daily coffee fix, convincing me that arriving at a stranger’s doorstep to interrogate her about her nephew this early would guarantee a door slammed in the face, and I had to relent.

  Still, even eight-thirty was probably too early. Would Rick be willing to wait another hour? Could we wait? Just then the door squeaks

  open, and I was met face to face with a tall woman with copper hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She looked as if she was in her mid thirties, early forties, but thank goodness she didn’t slam the door in our faces. Yet.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice a little raspy as if she were a heavy smoker. Before I could say anything, Rick jumped in, putting on a charm that seemed to melt the hearts of all the women in a five block radius.

  “Ms. Benton?” He asked, smiling that predator-like smile. “We’re classmates of Oliver. Is he in?”

  “Oh! Friends of Ollie?” she smiled, and I wasn’t sure if it was because Rick’s charm was working or if it was just natural Southern Hospitality, but she opened the door wider, just enough so that I caught a glimpse of the living room inside: peach colored walls, mismatched furniture and a fluffy gray cat napping on a coffee table. “I’m afraid he isn’t here. He lives on campus, didn’t you know that?”

  “Er…” I stuttered, and once again, Rick came to the rescue.

  “We tried his dorm,” he said politely, “But his roommate said he hasn’t shown up since yesterday. See, we’ve got a major test at noon in Chemistry but Oliver still has my notes. I hope you don’t mind but Oliver had already given us your address in case of something like that.

  Do you know where he is?”

  Rosie Benton pursed her red lips, brushing away a curl of dark hair out of her face. “That’s really odd. Oliver’s a good, responsible kid.

  But he hasn’t been home since last weekend. Maybe he stayed over at a friend’s house?”

  “Oh, that might be it!” I jumped in, feeling my hands shake. “Why didn’t we think about that? I’ll give him a call.” I pretended to rummage through my bag as Rick made small talk. Once I felt the slender, smooth surface of my phone, I pressed my finger against the side power button and saw the screen go dark. “Crap!” I said, startling them.

  I held up my phone and gave Rick a “Don’t blow this up for me!”

  look, and turned to them both. “The batteries are dead. Rick, do you have your phone?”

  He caught my eye, and it was like silent words passed in the air.

  Finally his eyes lit up as he caught on, and he patted his jean pockets and searched his jacket, but came up empty. “Darn. I must have left it back in my room.”

  “I’m so sorry to ask, but can we use your phone to call him really quick, please?” I asked, trying my best to look like I really was sorry for lying like that. But damn, my acting skills were getting better and better.

  Maybe if this alchemist business doesn’t go well I could pursue a career as an actor.

  Rosie’s eyes twinkled and she stepped back, letting us through.

  She shut the door with a soft click, then pointed over to the coffee table.

  “Our main line is busted, but go ahead and use my cell. Just watch out for Snowbell; he bites.”

  “Thank you.” I reached for the phone. The cat didn’t give me the light of day as I scrolled through Rosie Benton’s contact list until I found Oliver. I signaled for Rick to do his thing, and he obliged, purposely steering Rosie so that her back was to me as I yanked the scrap paper out of my pocket and rummaged through my bag for a pen to scribble his number down. Then I pressed the dial button, because I had to make it look real.

  I was a little surprised (disappointed, and relived) that Oliver didn’t answer his phone, so I used a fake, cheery voice to leave a message, basically saying that we were looking for him and that we’ll try to find him back at his dorm, and to remember about the test, yadda yadda. It was weird enough where Oliver could just delete it, thinking it was a wrong number or a prank, but it didn’t stand out so that he would get too suspicious.

  As I clicked Rosie’s phone shut and pushed the paper and pen in my pocket, I saw Rick motion to the framed picture hanging on the wall by the door. Up close, I could see Oliver—though he looked about twelve or thirteen…and again, wearing a sweater that covered his neck—

  standing in front of a man with the same colored hair as Rosie, a soft,

  rust colore
d, with bright eyes as he hugged Oliver tightly. The way Rosie looked so fondly at the picture made me think she must have been the one behind the lens, capturing that picture perfect moment.

  “Is that your husband?” Rick asked nonchalantly.

  Rosie shook her head. “My brother; Oliver’s father. I’m just his aunt.”

  Neither of us was going to utter a word about Maria Benton, so I cleared my throat. “Where is Oliver’s father?”

  Her eyes dulled. With a faint, sad smile, she said, “He passed away two years ago.”

  The floor seemed to shift, and I had to struggle to breathe. “Oh that’s…I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  Rosie laughed softly, waving her hand as if to say what’s done is done. “Please, don’t worry about it. Kirk died happily in his sleep. He had no regrets.”

  “Kirk?” Rick and I both said at the same time. I was totally confused: he should be Patrick, not Kirk.

  “Yes,” Rosie nodded as if she didn’t care that two strange kids had basically barged into her life and was bombarding her with questions over her late brother. “His name was Kirkland, but he always went by Patrick, his middle name. He just liked that better; reminded him less of our dear old pop.”

  No wonder I couldn’t find anything on him, I thought dryly.

  Maybe he just went by Patrick with friends and family, and Kirkland for business…that would definitely explain why I couldn’t find any kind of work or address on him, and the fact that…I didn’t find an online obituary.

  Man, I felt like such scum.

  “Well, we really should be going,” Rick said, startling me back to reality. I felt a warm hand on my elbow, guiding me gently to the door.

  “We’re really sorry to bug you so early. And we’re sorry for your loss.

  We’ll tell Oliver that you’ve been a big help.”

  “Think nothing of it, you two,” Rosie smiled. “I’m just glad to know he has a nice pair of friends like you two to watch after him. Take care of him for me, will you?”

  I stepped out into the morning air. Though it was only nine, it felt stifling and hot, but I couldn’t tell if it was the weather or the rising heat inside of me, making me want to vomit. I barely remembered the goodbye as we walked on, my feet seemed to move with every step like a robot.