The Untimely Deaths of Alex Wayfare

by M. G. Buehrlen

  I laughed for the first time in ages. A real, honest-to-goodness belly laugh. God, I loved teasing Porter. It made all the death and demise bearable for one tiny moment.

  We sneaked around the building, crunching through the snow, hiding in the shadows, looking for a tilt-out window left ajar. We spotted only one, on the second floor. In the hazy glow of the street lamps, we could tell it was popped just an inch or so. There was a ledge, so Porter laced his fingers together and hoisted me up. Luckily, we were both tall, and I reached it without much effort.

  I shimmied along the ledge to the window and pulled on it, expecting it to give way freely, but it was stuck. Which is probably why it was left ajar in the first place. I tugged on it, my fingers going numb with cold, my nose and cheeks icy and burning. Then headlights swept over me and I froze, flattened against the side of the building.

  Like that would help.

  A maintenance truck parked in front of the main entrance below me, off to the left. A chubby man with a thick mustache and a mullet climbed out and rolled a janitor’s cart inside. Porter had disappeared. I prayed the janitor wouldn’t see my footprints leading up to the windows. He left the front doors propped open as he made several trips carrying his tools inside, singing along to his portable radio.

  I swore under my breath. If we’d waited a few more minutes, we could’ve sneaked in behind him. Instead, I was stuck on a ledge in the dead of winter, yanking on a window that wouldn’t budge. Porter, my trusty ladder, was nowhere to be seen.

  When the janitor finally closed the entrance doors, I wrenched on the window so hard one of my feet slipped off the ledge, and I clung to the frame with my fingertips, pulling on it with all my body weight.

  That’s when it swung loose with a mighty groan. Hoisting my foot up, I scrambled to climb up. Then I slid inside, crash-landing on a desk. Papers and pencil cups went flying.

  “Shhhhh,” I said to the pens as they scattered across the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  I almost jumped out of my skin, thinking the janitor had found me. Lo Jie’s fighting instincts kicked in, and I whirled around, ready to strike. But it was only Porter, standing in the hallway, his afro silhouetted in the open doorframe.

  “How’d you get in?” I hissed.

  “Snuck in behind the janitor. And look”—he held up a set of keys—“I swiped his keys off his cart while he was in the bathroom.”

  Of course. Of course it was that simple for Porter. He was too patient, too calculating, to climb up the side of a building and dive through a window.

  After we cleaned the mess I’d made, we found the right lab, and Porter tried the keys until the deadbolt gave way with a thunk.

  “I’ll gather the data,” he said. “You look for a copy machine.”

  The lab was made up of two rooms, one large area with a dozen tables where the actual experimenting took place, and another, smaller, office-like space with filing cabinets, a little kitchenette, and two desks overflowing with papers, books, and folders.

  Porter turned on a desk lamp. In the far corner stood a fat copy machine, the lid lifted high like a salute. By the time I got to it, Porter already had a handful of papers for me to scan. I flipped a switch on the machine, and when it whirred to life, my stomach did a backflip.

  But then it made a whining sound, high-pitched at first, then lower, until the lights on the machine flickered and faded altogether.

  “What happened?” Porter asked, piling another stack on top of the other. “Did you blow a fuse?”

  I flipped it off, then turned it back on. It did the same thing as before. Fired up, then wheezed and died. “It’s drawing juice, just not enough to stay on. I think the power supply is failing.”

  “Then we need to find another machine, and fast.”

  “No time,” I said, my eyes already darting around the room. “If I go traipsing around the whole building, trying key after key on that ring, I’ll run into the janitor. We’re safer if we stay in one spot. Besides, I can totally fix it.”

  Porter raised his thick black eyebrows. “You can?”

  “You doubt me, Saturday Night Fever? Watch and learn.” In the kitchenette stood a massive four-pot Bunn coffee maker. I slid it away from the wall and ripped its power cord from the socket. Scientists needed their coffee, I knew that well. Dad had one of the same machines in his engineering lab. I could use the coffee maker’s power supply to give the copy machine a little CPR.

  As I tried to pry the electrical panel off the back of the coffee maker with a letter opener, Porter handed me a Swiss army knife. “Thought this might come in handy. Found it in Sam’s glovebox.”

  I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Tall, dark, handsome, and a quick thinker? Talk about swoon.”

  Porter rolled his eyes and went back to thumbing through drawers and drawers of files.

  I cut the coffee maker power cord and brought it over to the copy machine. Even modern machines need a strong surge of power when they turn on. After that, the copying draws very little juice. As long as I could get the machine over that initial hump, it would be smooth sailing.

  “How do you know about Saturday Night Fever?” Porter asked, tossing a few more pages on my pile. “I thought you didn’t watch movies.”

  Using the scissors on the Swiss army knife, I stripped the coating on the power cords, revealing bare wires. “It’s one of Mom’s favorites. I’ve seen it a gazillion times.”

  I twisted the wires of both power cords together, then connected them to the copy machine. I plugged each cord into a separate wall socket and hit the switch.

  The desk light dimmed and the coffee maker’s power brick popped, sending a thin trail of smoke rising to the ceiling. But the copy machine whirred to life and sat humming happily, waiting for me to feed it the first page.

  It took less than ten minutes.

  Porter’s eyes were wide. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  I winked at him, and started copying like a madwoman. With Porter there with me, I felt invincible. I wondered if that’s what it felt like to be partners with Blue. Back when we worked together and understood each other. I wondered if that’s what it was like to truly lean on someone else, putting not just your life in their hands, but the lives of those you loved.

  It took us less than an hour to find what we needed, copy everything, put the pages back where they came from, and rewire the coffee maker and copy machine. I felt bad about frying the coffee maker cord. The scientists would have to go without coffee for a day or two, but it was a small price to pay to save countless lives in the future.

  Back downstairs, we hung the janitor’s keys back on his cart, then sneaked out the front doors and past the maintenance truck. The janitor was digging around inside it, his back to us, no doubt looking for the keys he thought he had misplaced.

  We were back to my car by midnight, the files tucked safely inside Porter’s jacket.

  He smiled warmly at me, a look of pride on his face. “You did it.”

  “We did it.”

  “I’ll take these to my safe deposit box in Cincinnati. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

  I nodded. “See you on the flip side, Sam.”

  It was all up to Porter now. All I could do was pray that he made it to Cincinnati. I wouldn’t know whether we succeeded, truly succeeded, until I was back in Base Life, and the files were in Mom’s hands.

  Chapter 26

  Tangled Up in Blue

  On the way back to the Michigan state line, Bob Dylan serenaded me through swirling snow, past flashing lights and construction warning signs, and off the main road onto a detour through the woods. He sang about a girl he once knew, and how he was all tangled up in blue.

  I knew what he meant.

  All the driving gave me plenty of time to think. I thought about Blue. About Jensen. About Micki. About everything being so complicated. So messed up.

  I missed Micki, which surprised me. I had liked
having her there to guide me through China. I missed trying to figure her out, her tiger eyes, her high heels. I missed the friendship that could have been. We were just finding our groove when I pushed her away. I accused her without proof; I ignored Porter and Levi when they said they believed in her.

  Was I wrong? Like I was wrong about Blue?

  And I missed Jensen. I tried to convince myself that he was a jerk, that all his kindness had been a ruse, but I knew deep down that wasn’t true. I knew he felt bad about kissing me, about accusing me of lying about Blue. But I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t deal with the situation. And I was so angry, because I wanted to kiss him again.

  More than again.

  What did that say about me? What did that mean?

  Blue and I had been through hell and back together. We’d journeyed across continents and battled foes. We were soulmates, weren’t we? Our stories were sewn together at the seams, transcending time.

  So why did I hate myself for pushing Jensen away, for losing my only chance with him? Why did I wish for a little bit of time with him before I died?

  Watching the light in Blue’s eyes go out as he looked at me that night at the inn was a prick in the softest part of my soul. I knew things would never be the same between us. And as morbid as it sounded, I actually looked forward to death, being reborn, because it would release me from Blue’s hold. I’d feel lighter if my mind weren’t twisted around thoughts of him, weighing heavy with guilt. I wished I’d never met him. I wished my mind was my own, and not tangled up, knotted up in Blue.

  I didn’t realize how soon those knots would unravel, how quickly I’d be set free from my guilt.

  I didn’t realize the lights up ahead, blocking the road, belonged to a sleek black Cadillac. I didn’t realize, until I slowed to a stop, squinting through the snow, that a man stood in front of that car, with gray hair and vicious eyes, a revolver in his hands glinting in my headlights.

  “Get out of the car, Janet,” the man said.

  It was Jimmy McKenzie. I recognized his face from his mug shot online.

  I threw the Gran Torino in reverse, but a second car pulled up behind me, blocking my way. Another guy, taller, leaner, jumped out. Before I could slam on the gas and smash into his car, forcing my way through the blockade, the younger guy took a baseball bat to my driver’s-side window. The glass shattered across my lap, sparkling diamonds slicing my cheeks.

  I screamed.

  He popped the lock, wrenched the door open, and dragged me out onto the pavement by my hair.

  I wanted to fight back, I did. But my care and concern for him made me hesitate. Made me gape up at him like I always do when he appears.

  I didn’t think I’d see him on this mission. I didn’t think I’d see him again until I was reborn. And yet there he was, standing over me, his eyes red from whatever drug he was on, his shoulders heaving up and down, his breath shuddering through him. He grabbed me by the front of my coat and raised a fist.

  “Blue,” I said, throwing my hands over my face. “It’s me. It’s Sousa.”

  It was all gibberish to him.

  “You think you can steal from us? Huh? Do ya?” he said in a thick New York accent. “You think we wouldn’t find you?”

  Oh, Janet. What have you done?

  I kept silent like Porter taught me, but it only made things worse. When I didn’t answer, Blue backhanded me across my face, and I flew backwards into one of the car tires, my body splayed out in the snow. I dabbed at my nose. Blood poured from my nostrils.

  “What have you got to say for yourself?” he shouted as I cowered beneath him.

  “Blue, please. Please remember.” I knew he was in there, somewhere behind those red, raging eyes.

  “Stop saying that. Stop saying blue.” His black, shaggy hair was sweaty, plastered to his forehead. He raised a hand to me again.

  “Please, come back to me. I need you right now. I need your help. Remember Chicago. Stardust. Burgers the size of our heads. Remember filling my gas tank on the side of the road in Ohio. Remember kissing me in the woods in 1876. Remember China. Remember Dante’s Inferno and the gleaming palace.”

  This time he grabbed my collar with both hands and shook me, hard. “Stop it, you psycho bitch. Snap out of it.” He slapped me twice, once with his palm, and again with the back of his hand, then dropped me to the ground, disgusted. He sneered and stalked off to Jimmy, like he couldn’t bear another look at me.

  This time Jimmy approached me, scowling. He wasn’t outwardly angry like Blue. He seethed quietly, his gun held casually at his side, like it was a part of him. His silver hair was slicked back. His nose was crooked, his eyes unfeeling, almost dead. He wore a long overcoat, shiny black shoes, and a ring on his pinky finger.

  He opened the back door of my car and reached under the backseat. Pulled out a package wrapped in newspaper. Inside was a neat stack of bills, so thick he had to hold it with both hands. “I always knew you were crazy, sweetheart, but I never thought you’d steal from me.”

  Shit. Janet had taken off with a wad of her daddy’s heist money, stealing from gangsters, and thought she’d get away with it. Dumb move. Really dumb move. But I had to admire her ambition. She had to know they’d kill her if she got caught. She must not have cared.

  I didn’t have that luxury.

  I couldn’t let Janet die there on the side of the road. That wasn’t how her story ended. She still had to get to the mental hospital. I know, because I have the memories. It would create a Variant, and I’d have to do a touchdown to erase it. If I did that, I’d lose the files and have to try it all over again.

  Jimmy squatted next to me, moving slowly, like he didn’t have anywhere else to be. Like he had all the time in the world. “I don’t need this kind of betrayal under my roof, understand that? I don’t need a rat in my house, stealing my cheese, understand that?” His New York accent was thick, too, his cologne even thicker. “You knew what would happen if you stole from a wise guy. You knew, but you did it anyway.”

  “It’s bullshit, Janet,” Blue said, still furious, still shaking and out of control. He slammed the baseball bat into one of the Gran Torino’s headlights. The entire scene darkened a bit, and not just from the loss of light.

  “Get her up, Frankie,” Jimmy said to Blue as he walked away, his back to me, shaking his head.

  Blue hauled me to my feet. The pain in my nose had reduced to a dull throb. My face felt numb. I wobbled, but I could stand on my own.

  “Blue,” I whispered. “I gave you that name, you know. The first time I met you, you had the most striking blue-green eyes. They knocked me out flat. You don’t always have them in every life. Last time they were brown, almost black, like a buckeye nut. This time they’re lighter. I call you Blue but you’ve had so many other names. Heath. John. Tao Jin. Nick Piasecki. Tre.”

  Blue stared at me, his face twisted, his mouth open, like he was watching someone go mad right before his eyes. He shook his head, then joined Jimmy across from me. Like they were lining up at the shooting range.

  “I’ve had a few names too,” I continued, feeling a little mad myself, for staying there, for not ascending and starting over. But I had to try one last time to save the mission. If I could call Blue back to me, maybe it would save Janet’s life. “Shooter. Susan. Lo Jie. Ivy. Sousa.” I paused as Jimmy cocked his gun, fire in his eyes.

  “Alex,” I whispered.

  This was the end. And I was on my own. No Porter, no Micki, no Levi. The mission was over.

  Jimmy raised his gun.

  I closed my eyes.

  I was just about to ascend when I heard it. Not the blast from the barrel, but a word.

  “Sousa?”

  My eyes flew open.

  Blue wasn’t shaking anymore. His shoulders were relaxed. He looked confused, disoriented. Finally, finally, his eyes widened as he took in the scene. Saw the gun pointed at me.

  The iron fist of fear gripping my throat eased a bit. He remembered. I fin
ally got through to him. And he would help me out of this mess. He wouldn’t let Jimmy kill me.

  He’d help me salvage the mission.

  “Jimmy,” Blue said, slowly lifting his hands, palm out. “Put the gun down. You don’t want to do this.”

  Jimmy looked back and forth between us, a snarl on his face, unsure of what to make of Frankie’s sudden change of heart.

  Blue motioned for Jimmy to give him the gun, and after one long last glare at me, Jimmy uncocked the gun and handed it to Blue. A rush of breath left my lungs.

  “That’s it,” Blue said, slowly taking the gun into his hands. “That’s it. You don’t want to whack your own kid. You don’t want that kinda thing hanging over your head.” Blue checked the chamber, and I assumed he was going to empty the bullets.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead he cocked it. Aimed it right at me, his arm extended. “Let me do it for you.”

  And he fired.

  Chapter 27

  Turning the Tables

  I didn’t have a chance to flinch. The bullet tore through my shoulder, just below my collarbone, and the force knocked me back onto the pavement. Jimmy got in his car and drove away, never looking back, leaving his daughter to die.

  What a gent.

  “Dammit, Blue,” I said through gritted teeth, gripping my shoulder. “You shot me.”

  I thought I remembered what it felt like, a bullet ripping through muscle and bone.

  I was wrong.

  Blue strode toward me through the snow, tossing the gun to the side, his eyes sad, his mouth turned down. “I had to.”

  “To convince Jimmy to leave?” I sucked in a breath as I sat up, the pain white-hot and blinding. “We could’ve faked it, you know. Acted like you shot me.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long while. He just stood there, staring at me with those sad eyes.

  I sighed, clutching my hand to Janet’s shoulder, her jacket covered in blood. I felt so tired all of a sudden. So very tired. “Now my mission’s ruined. I’ll have to redo it.”

  “I’m sorry, Sousa, but I can’t let you go on any more rogue missions. You have to stop.”