“I, I should be able to, but—“
“Just land the damn plane,” I said, pushing him toward the cockpit as I felt Lisa reaching around to the front of my shirt, her fingers loosening the tie.
“And what if I don’t?”
“Dennis,” I said, as Lisa started pulling me back toward the almost-refilled jacuzzi, “you’d better pray that you do. And under no circumstances, even if the plane is going to crash, should you leave that cockpit. Karen will shoot you.”
“I’ve done worse,” she purred, and the towel she was using fell to the ground, my body the only barrier blocking her from Dennis’ view as he turned bright red.
“Uh, of course, of course. It was a, erm, pleasure meeting you, Karen. I promise I wouldn’t have shot you.”
She brandished the gun, and the cockpit door shut. Then she stepped backward into the water, pulling me down with her to where Lingston had been standing minutes before.
“You promised that when it was over, you’d forget your past,” she whispered to me, biting my ear. You’d forget her. It’s time to forget and to make new memories.”
Then I was in the water with her, her hands on my chest, her lips on my lips, and the water washing Maria away.
Chapter 49
The island loomed in the distance, growing larger and larger as our boat chugged forward. It held a sense of deja vu, as we returned to where it had all started. As we looked forward to stepping onto the shores of Carcer.
Carcer was again, of course, it's own country. The prison itself was recently refurbished, the concrete having dried just a few years before, and the signs still fresh with paint. Typically there would be prisoners inside those walls. The worst types of prisoners, the ones who truly did deserve their time there, for murder and rape and unforgivable acts. And of course, we should be behind them as well, for the accumulation of lesser crimes. Though I do suppose that I now firmly fell into the "murderer" category—I was proud of that milestone.
But today, the prison was empty, and the grounds were silent. An anonymous call had been received by the authorities just days before identifying a security flaw of the self-destruct system just days before. With his skills, it had taken Marco only a day to find the issue. Marco was also particularly adept at anonymous calling.
Not wanting to risk a certain incident that had occurred decades before, where a group of prisoners ingeniously managed to escape the prison through the cunning exploitation of a loophole, Carcer had closed while construction crews rewired the walls. All the prisoners were moved mainland under maximum security and power was shut off, meaning the incubation labs would not be in effect. But today was a holiday. And the construction crew was granted the day off.
So as we each stepped onto the beach from the boat, we were the sole inhabitants of that tiny nation. There was my team—Lisa, Pete, the twins, and myself—and then there were three other women, women who were being paid well to be surrogate mothers after they had been mistresses to Lingston. Eleven million each, in fact, to collect excess DNA from Lingston after his encounters with them, undergo a simple procedure conducted by a doctor hired by Marco in the Carcer lab that morning, and bear his children.
Through the marvels of modern science, it had not been difficult to ensure that one of the mothers would bear twins, while the other two would bear a daughter and son between them. And if he were alive, I would think that the father should be quite proud of that, now having four children when he had previously had none. Four illegitimate children, but still children. And still heirs to his fortune.
"A congratulations," I said as my team faced me, "to our success. To our accomplishment. And to our newfound wealth. Do with it as you will, for there will be plenty to spoil. In fact, I encourage you to do just that. Spoil it. From the auction, we now know the accounts that Lingston used to hide the vast majority of his wealth. Empty them and any others you may find."
“Shouldn’t be too much trouble,” said Lisa. “It never has been in the past.”
“We’ll throw a few parties,” said Angel.
“Maybe you’ll even be invited!” added Julian. “Maybe.”
“Heck, I can start my own art collection and burn it with that money,” said Pete. “After this cycle, I’m sick of art. Most of it’s trash.”
They stood in a line in the sand, digging small holes so that they were equal in height. The three surrogate mothers watched, their stomachs soon to be protruding with the life now growing inside them. Marco stepped from the boat, holding an unassembled fifty-caliber sniper rifle. Walking up the beach, he assembled it such that it was level with them and took aim.
"You ready?" he called as the wind gusted, and the sea sprayed, and the sun shone overhead.
"Ready!" called the twins and Pete. Lisa ran toward me, locking me into a kiss.
“One last one for the road," she said, and she squeezed my elbow. “Promise you’ll come back for me, Frederick. I’m not through causing trouble for you yet. Ah, I hate this part though.”
"No shit, no one likes dying," called Pete.
"I'm just hoping we don’t get separated," said Angel to Julian. “I don’t want to have to share a womb with one of these jokers."
"Eh, I'd prefer it," came the reply, and he received a punch on his arm that caused him to swear as Lisa rejoined the line.
"Fire when read—," I called out. With all the trouble lately, I can't say I blame Marco for being a little eager on the trigger. For two days, he'd been talking about how much he was looking forward to the event, even mentioning that he wished I was among them.
The line never heard the shot as the world turned black. It took only one shot, the bullet entering Lisa's forehead above her closed eyes, then Pete's, and finally the twins’. Then the bullet itself escaped Carcer, flying out over the ocean, and landing far away in the water as four lifeless bodies fell. And in a few months, they were babies again. Their memories slowly returning, the urgency behind them gone, knowing the task was complete.
And knowing they were the heirs of Lingston.
***
“After the disappearance of Lingston,” said the reporter on the television as Marco and I watched one year later, the world council building in the background, “no news has been revealed about the wellness of the world leader. Authorities agree that he is most likely dead, and the council eagerly awaits his return. As per the law, his chair will be open until he claims it once again.
“However, three of Lingston’s mistresses have stepped forward, demanding child support for their sons and daughters born under him. Tapes have surfaced showing Lingston entering and leaving hotel rooms, taking vacations, and holding public relations with these women. The first woman bore twins. The second, a son. And the third, a daughter.
“Until twenty-one years of age, they shall receive a monthly stipend from Lingston’s fortune. Some speculate he disappeared due to the scandal, and may not return for the same reason. Should he not reveal himself by the time they reach age twenty-one, these children will assume control of his finances as his sole heirs.”
Chapter 50
Despite the rise and fall of nations, the migrations of peoples, and the development of new cities, the location of the Passkeeper's Guild has never changed. Around it are ruins, the ruins of a city long forgotten, rubble fighting with the forces of nature for claim of the land. Weeds rose between cracked stones, and bats flicked in and out of the dark hollows that had formed over the centuries.
But at the center of the city, where the guild's lawns began, the landscape was flawless. And, if my memory serves correctly, it looked exactly how it had the first time I saw it.
At the edge of the lawn, the paths began, hundreds upon hundreds of paths that twist and intertwine across the perfectly trimmed grass, often passing above or below each other with miniature bridges. None of the paths were of the same material, rather each was unique—either a different shade, or making a different sound when a boot crunched down on the gravel, or containin
g differently shaped constituents. Approaching the guild, there was a single rule that was upheld with the strictest admonition.
Those that wished to enter the guild were not permitted to step from the path.
I chose my first path carefully, picking one that looked as if it were paved from golden pebbles and led directly to the front of the guild. But as I approached the large oak doors, the path veered to the right and ended, releasing into a new path paved with crimson stone. My foot caught on the transition of one path to the other, and I barely recovered as I nearly fell into the grass. I passed from crimson, to blue, to turquoise, to green, circling for an hour through the maze. And toward the end, some of the pebbles mixed with those from other paths, creating streaks of color that flavored the gravel.
At my second to last path, an extraordinarily short one, a high fence surrounded me, blocking me in on all sides before opening up to a path that led directly to the door.
Two guards bowed as I approached, uncrossing spears as old as the building itself. I hesitated, staring at the double doors, then back at all the paths that had brought me there. And I sighed, staring at the building, admiring the work that had gone into its creation in a time when power tools and electricity were still far, far away.
The building itself was constructed of ten stories of grey stone, but instead of being smooth, thousands of faces were carved into each block. Rumors claimed that every Original face since the dawn of time could be found on the building, and that the Passkeepers were still adding blocks high above, accounting for each new Original that arrived into the world. Keeping track of every soul to ever exist.
Straightening my back, I walked forward as the doors creaked open, and I entered a darkness broken only by candlelight.
Hundreds of flickering dots surrounded me as I walked, stepping up to a small, raised stage at the center. There was but one room in the entire building, the ceiling ten stories tall, and walls as wide as a city block. The candles extended to the top, each one carried by a man or woman on a separate balcony, their faces unmoving as I studied them, a single tattoo etched into their foreheads. A single name written in black.
On the stage there was a telescope, and I reached down, extending it to look high above. I scanned the uppermost row, flicking from forehead to forehead until I found one of the three that I sought. An old man, his hair grey, his face consumed by wrinkles.
The silence in the room deepened as I spoke, my voice echoing off the walls. I shouted a name that had not been heard in the guild for far too long.
“Jamil Kolinder!”
High above, the old man’s head swiveled, and his eyes met mine. A smile cracked across his lips as he waited, anticipating the password that would drive his next decision.
“Second chance!” I shouted, louder this time, filled with purpose as I threw my shoulders back.
For a moment, all was still.
Then the old man nodded.
And the leader of the council returned to finish what he had begun.
FROM THE AUTHOR:
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Til Death Do Us Part Page 15