“No one in your own time will ever believe it’s real, but you will know.”
Downy turned reluctantly to go.
“Run along now, professor. Report of me truly.”
“Who am I supposed to tell that would believe any of this?”
“You need not worry about that. It is the record you have taken that is important.”
Downy walked into the darkness of the corridor and paused. He had the sword now and Caesar was not armed. His heart was thumping in his throat. He could not kill him though, even if Charlie would have. He looked back, but Caesar was already gone. He realized he was in a sense sealing Samara’s fate too. She would still be gone when he returned. He quietly opened the door in front of him and could feel the familiar darkness closing in all around. He was headed home for good he prayed and Caesar, finally to his fate.
Chapter XXVIII
Sullivan could see nothing in the darkness. He’d been a fool to take orders from someone he didn’t know. He could hear Tina’s voice.
“The water’s gone, I’m not even wet.”
A man’s voice came from above in a whisper. “Put on these clothes. Continue down the passage, you’ll find your friends. I will return as soon as I’m able.”
“Wait you can’t leave us!”
He heard a door slam behind them. It smelled musty and strange in the room.
“Here,” he said handing Tina what amounted to a large swath of cloth with a whole cut out at the top.
They continued cautiously down the steps until they heard a voice.
“Who’s there?” Sullivan listened intently. The voice came again. “Who’s there?” It was a gruff, unmistakable voice. “Tackett is that you?”
“Sullivan?”
“Holy shit man I never thought--” He threw his arms around Tackett in a giant bear hug.
“I never thought I’d see you again you—you cranky old bastard.”
“Ok, don’t freak out. I’m happy to see you too.”
“Where the hell are we?”
Tackett lowered his voice in a whisper. “I can’t say, but it’s one of the strangest fucking places I’ve ever seen. Listen, my new roommate over there on the floor is from our gallery of the dead. She claims she’s none other than Samara Patterson.”
“What?”
“She’s been beaten up pretty badly, but she seems lucid. Knows lots of details about Charlie Patterson too. It’s crazy shit, she looks a lot like the girl from our post mortem to me.”
“How?” Sullivan said regaining himself, “I have to tell you some really bad news.”
“Ok.”
“Tierney, Rodriguez, Sheppard, they’re all--they’re gone, man. They killed them all.”
“Who killed them?”
“This guy Taro, who brought us, claims it was the Vestals. Do you know who he means?”
“Taro?”
“Yeah, that’s his name. He says something called the Vestals are responsible. Any idea who or what he means?”
“None. No one has said a goddamned word to me since I woke up here. I was taken at gunpoint while you were inside the station. That’s the last voice I heard. Never saw the guy’s face and he sure as hell didn’t introduce himself. You’re sure about Bob and Rod--”
“Yeah man I’m sure, they shot them dead. Ambushed us.”
There was a solemn moment of silence between the two men.
“How did you two make it?”
“This guy Taro saved us.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“I’m not sure man.”
Sullivan rubbed at his face furiously.
“It’s just the two of you down here then?”
“No, get this: Danny Fleming is over there in the corner cell. I can’t get him to talk to us directly, but when he speaks he repeats his badge number, address, names of his kids. He’s been down here for years I think, since he disappeared.”
“Fleming is alive?”
“How’d she get dragged into this mess?” Tackett said pointing to Tina, sounding disappointed. She ran to him finally for a consoling hug.
“She is attracted to deeply stupid men,” Sullivan said flatly. “I brought her. I thought it was the only way to protect her. This thing is big man. These people are seriously cold blooded and calculating. They fucking set us up. Nobody had a chance. We were each lured there under some pretext I’m guessing. They must have been planning it all along.”
“Which begs the question of why we’re still here.”
“This Taro says we’re under his protection.”
“I feel more like we’re chess pieces.”
“Chess pieces for what?”
The three of them stood together in complete silence.
“Come on, let me introduce you to the dead girl.”
Chapter XXIX
Sullivan couldn’t believe his eyes. If it was not Samara Patterson it had to be her twin. The girl shuffled in her sleep. Her eyes fluttered, but then she fell silent again.
Tackett whispered, “She’s been drugged I think. She’s real weak, she falls in and out.”
“How do you think she got here?”
“How did any of us? What kind of name is Taro anyway?” Tackett said shaking his head.
“It’s a pseudonym I’m pretty sure. It’s taken from an old story about time travel, or so Rodriguez--”
“It’s Urashima Taro.” The girls voice startled everyone. She looked up groggily from her sleep. It’s a story about a man who falls asleep fishing one day and wakes up in the distant future. It was one of my father’s favorites.”
Sullivan leaned in to get a closer look at the girl. The hairs at the back of his neck tingled.
“My partner here says you think you are Samara Patterson.”
“I am Samara Patterson. Who are you?”
“I’m Nick Sullivan, a detective. I investigated your murder--I saw your--”
“You’re both convinced that was me, aren’t you?”
“I’m trained to pay attention to faces and--”
“So how does it feel talking to a corpse then?”
The two men looked at one another nodding their heads, seeming to agree it was impossible both things could be true.
“Can I see your tattoo?”
The girl leaned forward with her shoulder revealing the Latin Script. Veritas. Tina suddenly came forward and put a hand to the girls face.
“That’s a bad bruise. Are you ok?”
Sullivan and Tackett realized they hadn’t been very comforting.
“Do you have any idea how you got down here?” Sullivan said adding a hand to her shoulder, remembering the girl must be frightened out of her wits.
“She came with me.” An outline of a man’s shadow now stood at the bottom step.
Taro stepped from the darkness and lit a small torch. “I’ve brought each of you here to protect you, but now we must depart. This location has been compromised.”
“Why the hell should we go anywhere with you,” Tackett said walking menacingly toward Taro.
“You can stay if you insist, but you’ll be dead by supper. The Vestals are now aware of this place.”
“What the fuck is he talking about?”
“You know Detective Tackett, you really are quite the blunt instrument. At one point I considered not saving you at all actually. Show me some gratitude and do as I ask and you may yet live awhile longer.”
“Where do you plan to take us?”
“There’s a hidden door at the top of those stairs. Once through, I need to entrust your safety to a dear friend. He will watch over you until my mission is complete.”
“What mission?”
“My murder has been planned for this day. I must be there to face my assailants. That is enough for you to know.” Taro started up the stairs and each of them looked to the other as if for a confirmation.
“Come on” Sullivan said, “If he wanted to kill us he’s had plenty of chances.”
***
The group followed Taro to the door and walked through the darkness emerging inexplicably onto a crowded street corner. They stood in a tiny alley perplexed at the noise, which surrounded them and the mob of people, all dressed in robes exactly like the ones Taro had given them. Taro led the way through the crowd and turned back to them, beckoning them to follow. There was a roar coming from a large crowd nearby.
“Don’t get lost or you’ll be lost forever!” he shouted. “It’s a mean city!”
“Where the hell are we going?” Tina said shouting above the fracas?” but no one could hear her.
Soon the unruly mass of people had enveloped them and they could only see the back of Taro’s head. He turned, stopping the whole wave of them, creating a tiny lane for them to catch up. The crowd seemed to be following him, but some clamored over the others nearly sweeping them up in the faceless shuffle. The smell of the hoard of people was overwhelming. Taro turned and pointed at an old man who was struggling to get through.
“Artemidorus! These are friends of mine from far, far away. I wonder if you’d tend to them until after my meeting.”
“Gaius, I have something for you. You must read it immediately!”
The crowd was circling now and it was difficult to hear what Taro was saying. Soldiers now appeared clearing away the crowd, which was chanting in unison, some on their knees at Taro’s feet.
“Artemidorus, be of good cheer. I shall tend to your words later, I promise. Take care of my friends please, old friend.”
“Caesar, please, you must listen; you must re--”
But it was too late. The throng had pushed him past and he could no longer hear them.
The crowd was now in a near frenzy as he ascended the steps. Perched on top was an old woman covered in filth.
“I know you, don’t I?” he said.”
She smiled a wicked, toothless grin and stood up at the base of a statue of Pompey the Great. Her face was covered in grime and when she grinned her mouth twisted into a horrid snarl. Seeing that Caesar had stopped to listen, the crowd drew together in a tense hush.
“Beware this day mighty one as it has been foretold by the Sibyl’s themselves. Beware the Ides of March.”
Caesar smiled back to her. “I know you from the river, don’t I?”
“I know you by the stench of fresh death, dictatore,” she said hissing through clenched teeth. “I know what ya done.”
“We shall see,” he said almost demurely.
“Ey, we will see, the day is not yet done, great one.”
“Indeed it has barely begun, old woman,” he said turning, and with him the crowd once more swept him up.
Caesar flung his robes over one shoulder and leapt up into the causeway, just out of their reach. The crowd broke into great cheers again and he leaned in to touch hands with some of them. He looked up into the small rotunda of the senate house in wonder at the freshly painted image of the god Jupiter throwing a javelin into a raincloud. He’d commissioned it himself. At the top of the stairs, waiting for him was his protégé, Brutus. He smiled close-mouthed as Caesar approached. His skin looked drawn and pasty. Sweat poured from his brow.
“Sir, we’re so glad you decided to come. There are many inside who wish to honor you waiting patiently. Your great deeds seem only to multiply their affections.”
“Dear boy,” Caesar said putting his hands on his shoulders, “Let me look on you. Are you unwell?”
Brutus sputtered to speak, diverting his eyes to the ground before a man suddenly appeared interrupting them.
“We must begin; many are growing impatient. It’s poor form to make them wait.”
“Yes, yes by all means let’s begin then,” he said pushing Brutus up the stairs.
The man who had interrupted them threw an angry side-glance at Brutus, who could now barely walk it seemed.
“Your condition worsens still, Brutus. I fear you’ve caught the death.”
“No, sir only too much wine at dinner.”
They walked into the great hall together amongst a clamor and Caesar pointed to the atrium.
“Look there at my new décor, Brutus. What do you think? I chose crimson so as not to be misinterpreted in the kingly purple.”
Great drapes hung now throughout the hall, enclosing the space in flowing waves of scarlet. The beams of sun which tunneled through made the room seem to sway, almost to breathe.
“I was here only yesterday. You have put a rush on the job, Caesar.”
“What do you think, does it not add to the dramatis of the place?”
“Yes, of course. They’re very elegant sir, very.”
“Thank you, my son. You know I have always considered you such.”
Brutus’s hand began to shake almost uncontrollably and he thrust it inside his robe to conceal it.
The senators now moved as a throng toward them.
“Go stand over there now, my boy. I see I have petitioners before me.”
Brutus fell to the back of the crowd now. It was Casca who approached first. Caesar already knew what he wanted. The release of his brother who had fought against Caesar in the war, not once but twice pardoned already. He would get no reprieve now or ever. Casca fell to one knee reaching for Caesar’s robe, the sign to begin the attack, but as he did Caesar stepped back suddenly and spoke in a commanding voice.
“I lay a great plague on your houses villains and bring down the slaughter of the very gods upon you!”
The sound of a mighty war horn bellowed throughout the hall and all turned in terror at the noise, some dropping to their knees. Then, Caesar pulled a sword from beneath his robes.
“Kill every bloody last one of them!”
The drapes suddenly came down all around them, revealing Caesar’s Spanish guard, hidden in the wings, a hundred strong. They moved in one momentous surge into the crowd of terrified senators, who now had nowhere to flee. Caesar stood with his sword in the air crying out. He thought he could hear Professor Downy’s crazy music blasting in his ear. Then he started his own cutting, first with Casca.
“Yes,” he clamored, “die on your knees like a squealing pig, good Casca.” Caesar crouched low and swung upward for leverage. Casca’s head flew off his body like a cork popping from a bottle. “Let them drown in their own cowardly blood,” he shouted.
But Caesar was looking for just one man--his beloved Brutus. His soldiers knew to leave him alone. Caesar walked through the crowd slowly, methodically toward him. Brutus had a dagger in hand, but it fell uselessly by his side and he dropped to both knees listlessly. A slow trickle of urine splashed at his feet onto the smooth marbled floor. Caesar laughed in spite of himself. Brutus seemed to be speaking a prayer silently.
“Wretched boy, my misplaced affection.” Caesar dropped his sword and knelt slowly in front of him slipping both hands around his throat. He mustered all his strength and squeezed until Brutus eyes nearly gorged from their sockets. Brutus tried to do the same, but Caesar steered him onto his back, overpowering him.
Caesar whispered into his ear forcefully.
“Pray to me, boy. I am your God,” and the two seemed locked in perfect rhythm together. He could not tell how many seconds had passed. Then he simply let go.
Brutus’s body fell limply to the floor.
The room was growing strangely quiet now, only the last moans of men being killed slowly could be heard. There were tiny yelps like those of whimpering children, pleading, followed by the ghastly rattles of strangulation, a horrible chorus of the dead and dying. Caesar walked over them in survey of the room, checking for the faces he knew so well. There was each, as instructed, mortally wounded but not yet dead. They could look to one another as they perished, so each would know their own treachery had done them in. Cassius Longinus, who’d begun the conspiracy with his acid tongue, lay in the room’s corner having nearly escaped. He had been stabbed in the groin and blood poured from him in a smooth flow, leading down the steps into the great hall.
“Po
isonous Cassius, you served me once with distinction. How would you have served me this day? As a cold dish I think, but you first.” He leaned in closely to watch the light of his eyes slowly flicker out. Caesar’s top lieutenant approached.
“A fair reckoning. All were armed, as you suspected. Your intelligences serve you well, sir.”
Caesar seemed to awaken as if from a dream.
“I must go now as planned to the outer provinces, Labienus, further than I ever have been before. Announce this treachery and its conclusion. Nothing can be the same now. We are writing a new history.”
“Sir, if I may ask, what of Cicero? He is not among them, but surely his hand is in this?”
Caesar seemed to think for a moment. “Leave him to his books.”
“Spare him, sir? I think it is a mist— “
“Deliver to him the head of young Brutus. Tell him to come and collect the rest of those he would deem friends. We shall never see him again.”
“Yes sir.”
“You are the best of men good Labienus.”
“Sir? Thank you, sir.”
“Now clear the room for me. I need a moment alone.”
Caesar could hear the screaming beginning in the streets outside as the word had already begun to spread. It would be a night full of terror. He walked to the balcony portico and looked out over his beloved city. He could see the subura, his old neighborhood, far off in the distance. A sudden dirge of birds bent their flight, turning west into the blazing sun. Some sixty souls were being carried away with them. He pulled the piece of parchment from his tunic. The note from his beloved teacher Artemidorus read:
There will be an attempt on your life in the senate house this day. All are involved and armed. You must return home at once.
He crumpled the paper in his hand and gave it a heave off the portico. He felt a strong urge to sleep in his mother’s house this night, which was still standing, but there was one final detail yet to be finished--one final piece of history to be written.
Chapter XXX
Downy awakened with his face against the screen of his sliding glass door. He had returned to the exact spot where he and Caesar had gone through together. He pulled himself up and as he did the sword slid out onto the floor from inside his jacket. It reflected a glimmering gold and silver. The birds off his balcony were chirping wildly now, as if in appreciation. He inspected it more closely, trying to read the various inscriptions, but they looked foreign even to him. Was Caesar telling the truth about its age? Nothing seemed impossible to him now.
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