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Persistence of Vision
Book 1 of Interchron
By Liesel K. Hill
Discover more titles by Author Liesel K. Hill on her Author Website or her blog, Musings on Fantasia.
Table of Contents
Cover
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Title Page
1. A Void in the Crowd
2. Flash From the Past
3. Breaking Away
4. Hypnotic Eyes
5. The Good Doctor
6. Explanations
7. History
8. More Forgotten Events
9. The Team
10. Creature Comforts
11.Trepidation
12. Trap
13. Brain Power
14. The Deceiver
15. Bad-Guy Hierarchy
16. Karl’s Theories
17. Reunions
18. Explanations
19. A Lonely Way of Speaking
20. Courage to Stand
21. The Question of Memories
22. Wind and Water and Scars
23. Neural Pathways to Light
24. A Light on the Beach
25. The Lighthouse
26. The Strangeness of Roses
27. Hope for Happiness
28. Onto the Island
29. The Problem with a Neurological Sedative
30. The Taste of Blood
31. The Eyes of a Drone
32. The Canyons of Time
33. Meetings and Plans
34. Attractive Forces
35. “The Roses Are in Bloom”
36. Far from Vegas
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Author’s Note
Connect With the Author
Also by Liesel K. Hill
About the Author
Chapter 1: A Void in the Crowd
When she first saw him, she thought he must be stoned. Why else would he be staring at a brick wall?
Cursing because she was already late meeting Jonah and the trek was taking so long—she could swear she’d been passing Caesar’s Palace for half an hour—Maggie tried to swallow, but it was like trying to push a golf ball through a pinhole lined with sandpaper. She longed for water—even hot and fetid would do—but the size of the crowds, packed curb to casino and bursting, prevented her from going any faster. Then, up ahead, she caught sight of a man standing perfectly still.
She was headed for him, and a strange, prickling sensation in her stomach had crept up right before she saw him. Maggie told herself that the heat and lack of nourishment was making her hallucinate, but she tried to study the man as she inched along the crowded sidewalk.
August in Vegas meant ungodly temperatures, but somehow this was the peak of the tourist season. Then again, she was here too. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was secured at the nape of her neck, but did little to cool her.
As she moved forward, packed cheek by jowl with hundreds of strangers and praying she didn’t trip—it could mean death by an army of gum-covered shoes—she reminded herself that she was not, in fact, suffocating. Focusing on the motionless man kept her mind off her parched throat. And her looming luncheon.
As she neared where he stood, Maggie saw that a triangular void had opened up around him. The walking tourists made up the sides of the chasm, giving it a bizarre, transitory look. The man stood at the far apex of it. He was tall and dark haired, but that was all she could tell with two hundred tourists in her way.
The sight struck her as odd. The sea of people around her was an ocean unto itself—rolling and pulsating such that trying to stop a single part of it would be like trying to immobilize a single swell of the Pacific; it couldn’t be done. But then there was this man, standing statue-still at the tip of the gap. If Maggie tried to stop like that, she’d be trampled, and that was not overstating the matter. She wondered how he’d managed it.
Suddenly Maggie was in the gap with him. It shouldn’t have surprised her, as she’d been heading right for it, but she was startled to find herself in the space. A moment before, she’d been shoulder to shoulder with twenty strangers. In the natural momentum of the throng, the space should have become occupied. Yet when Maggie reached it, she found herself alone in the vast, triangular void—just her and the stoned guy.
It was as if there was police tape around this particular space—tape she couldn’t see but everyone else could. They walked around it, paying the gap no heed while she pioneered into an alien land, alone and confused.
She’d have thought that a few inches of personal space would help her breathe easier, but it didn’t. She felt more hot and oppressed than ever. And now, she felt…exposed. A moment ago she’d wanted nothing more than to get away from the Vegas throng; now she just wanted to lose herself in the anonymity of the crowd.
Maggie forced herself to move forward. The man was standing marble still, and she was anxious about practically brushing against him as she passed, but she had to in order to leave the gap and rejoin the throng. Finally she came level with the man and put her foot forward to step into the crowd.
Something gripped her arm, anchoring her to the spot. She became aware of breath on her neck—a presence near her. She turned her head slowly, afraid of what she’d find. Her heart pounded in her ears. She couldn’t catch her breath, but she didn’t know why. Trying not to tremble in the thick humidity, she raised her eyes.
He was staring at her, his face inches from hers. It was not at all what she expected. Whatever this man was, he was not stoned. His eyes were a strange color. Hazel, she supposed, but so hazel that they looked almost…amber. His pupils were golden with large flecks of green, brown, and blue. A scar shaped like an upside-down question mark covered the left side of his face, the round part making a semi-circle over his cheek, the straight part reaching from half an inch below his eyelashes to above his eyebrow.
From the side he looked lean, but being beside him, she was surprised to see how broad his shoulders were—how deeply muscled his arms. His hand gripped her so firmly that she knew she would be unable to get away unless he released her. He was not hurting her, though.
He stood there, looking into her eyes for long seconds, his expression a mixture of intensity and sadness. She felt like he was seeing into the depths of her soul. Her heart pounded, and then, for some reason, her eyes watered.
Suddenly Maggie thought she recognized him. Where a moment ago she had been sure he was a stranger, she was now certain she’d seen him before. She ran through reams of memories. A high school classmate? An ex-boyfriend? No, she would remember that. She couldn’t think of when they’d met and then was confident again that they never had. Perhaps it was déjà vu or just a mistake. But she felt a stirring deep in the pit of her stomach. Chills vibrated up and down her spine, but she had no idea why or what the source was.
As she gazed up at him, his brow furrowed; then his face crumpled completely.
His mouth opened, and his lips moved, but no sound came out. He was mouthing her name, silently screaming it.
“Maggie!”
Maggie’s breath caught. How did he know her name?
He winced, shutting his eyes, and the act of reopening them released a single tear down his cheek.
Shaking herself, Maggie got her bearings enough to jerk her arm away. When she did, she nearly fell, for he immediately let go, and her own momentum nearly knocked her over.
She tore her gaze from his and took a purposeful stride out of the unnatural aperture and into the crowd. Suddenly, she felt forlorn.
She was being idiotic; this was just a bizarre encounter with a man she’d never met. Maybe he was stoned after all. She had just imagined the rest. T
hat was it. Yes, perhaps she was lucky to have escaped with her life. The street was so busy he might have kidnapped her, mugged her, or done any number of other things, and no one would have noticed. Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her head as she once again forced her feet to match the momentum of the throng.
Then something occurred to her. The strange man had grabbed her arm, kept her there, and looked at her in an intimate manner, but she had not thought to call out for help. But then, she had not felt fear. She’d felt almost…protected. She shrugged uncomfortably at the thought.
The entire interaction had been surreal. It had only taken sixty seconds, but when she’d entered the gap, everything slowed down. It felt like longer than a minute.
Holding tight to her purse and her phone, she used the natural momentum of her stride to swing around and walk backward.
The amber-eyed stranger was still staring at her in a most…familiar way. By now there were hundreds of people between them. From this far away, his hooded eyes looked red, and she thought she saw…no, she must be mistaken. Were those more tears sliding down his cheeks? Perhaps it was just sweat, or the heat was making her imagine things.
A moment later with the sweep of the crowd, he was gone.
***
After what seemed like hours, Maggie reached the little bar. Jonah was leaning against the side of the squat building, looking down the street for her. Not until she was almost in front of him did he actually see her, so thick was the foot traffic.
“Hey, Maggs.” He straightened. “There you are.”
“I told you it would take a while.”
“Well, you’re here now.” He reached out and took her hand. “Vicki’s waiting. Let’s go.”
Maggie groaned, and Jonah turned back toward her, arching an eyebrow.
“Hey. You promised you’d be nice.”
“I have nothing against your girlfriend, Jonah, but as your sister I call dibs on your mercy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m gonna pass out if I don’t get to sit for five minutes.” She nodded toward the bar. “Could we grab a drink?”
Jonah looked doubtful then glanced back the way he’d come.
“Vicki isn’t going anywhere, and we won’t get a table in the restaurant for a while, right? Please?”
He smiled. “I never could say no to those puppy-dog eyes.” Taking her hand, Jonah led her toward the door.
The bar was crowded, but they walked in at the right time just as three stools opened up. They took two of them and ordered mixed drinks. As the bar tender disappeared down the counter, Maggie swiveled around on her stool to look over the room. She found herself wondering about the people in it. Every person in Vegas was there for a different reason. Maggie’s was boring. She wondered if anyone else’s was better.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Jonah called.
The crowd was speaking in normal voices, but a crowd this large meant Jonah had to shout to be heard. He’d turned to survey the room as well. Just then their drinks arrived.
“How was the Luxor exhibit?”
“Great.”
“What?”
“Great!”
Jonah grinned at her, and they didn’t talk anymore. They could catch up in the quiet of the restaurant when they’d finished here.
Sipping her drink, Maggie let her head fall back, savoring the calming of her adrenaline and the chance to be off her feet, along with the comforting feeling of her big brother beside her.
She tried not to think about the long walk to the restaurant or making small talk with Vicki or…
Maggie was gasping, clawing for the surface. She couldn’t breathe. Everything was blackness.
A flash of purple light. A rock formation. Brown boots walking across a room at eye level. Two large hands covering hers. A hand with an ugly black burn on the back. A woman standing in front of a broken lighthouse. Blood on her hands. A whisper of a voice. What was he saying? Gasping, clawing for air.
But she was breathing, so she wasn’t drowning, but still clawing, trying to get out of something or away from something. Or someone. With a final gasp, she clawed her way to consciousness.
Her eyes shot open. There was a white wall in front of her, and she couldn’t move her body. It was like she wasn’t entirely awake: she was totally aware but couldn’t move a muscle. It wouldn’t be so terrifying if she could remember anything before this moment. Where was she? How had she gotten here?
Her heart pounded in her chest so hard it was painful. It was unnatural for her pulse to be going that fast when she had just been unconscious. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her throat was raw.
Feeling gradually returned to her body. When she could turn her head, she looked to the right. She was in a hotel room, one she didn’t recognize. It certainly wasn’t hers. Hers had grey curtains, and these were a deep, velvet red.
She was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. The wall she’d seen upon waking was actually the ceiling.
She sat up slowly, fighting a terrifying sense of vertigo all the way, and looked around. Her feet were pointed toward a window where the drapes were partially closed. It was dark outside. A single bedside lamp lit the sparsely furnished room. It might have been cozy if it weren’t so…creepy. Putting a hand to her forehead, which was pounding almost as painfully as her chest, she tried to remember.
A flash of purple light. A rock formation. Brown boots walking across a room at eye level. Two large hands covering hers. A hand with an ugly black burn on it. A woman standing in front of a broken lighthouse. Blood on her hands. A whisper of a voice. Gasping, clawing for air.
Were those memories or just dreams? She couldn’t tell. Whatever those flashes meant, a sickening feeling flooded through her when she thought of them. They meant something dreadful, something harmful.
Jonah! Where was Jonah? Swiveling her head around, which she instantly regretted, she saw him. He was lying on the ground parallel to her.
His eyes were wide open. She wanted to scream, sure he was dead, but didn’t have control of her vocal chords. Then she saw his chest moving. Relief flooded her. When she summoned the strength to toss a lead-filled hand to his neck, his pulse was racing faster than hers.
Not knowing what it meant but afraid that such unnatural cardiovascular activity meant a medical crisis, she looked for a phone. There was one up on the desk. Dragging her body up beside the bed, she fumbled for the receiver and clumsily dialed 911.
***
Maggie sat in a small room in some precinct of the LVPD. She had no idea what the station number was or even what part of the city they were in.
The police responded promptly but had been unable to wake Jonah. The medic leaning over his gurney on the drive to the hospital smacked his head on the ceiling and cursed when Jonah suddenly sat up.
They had been checked at the emergency room for injuries, including sexual assault. There was no sign of abuse. All their credit cards, cash, IDs, and other important items were intact. As far as anyone could tell, neither Maggie nor Jonah had been robbed or assaulted.
Maggie heard the doctor quietly asking the nurse to run a tox screen on both her and Jonah. Maggie was officially offended, but she supposed it made sense. Their questions about what substances the siblings had recently consumed weren’t particularly subtle either, but Maggie was too shaken to be indignant.
The examinations did yield some strange things. On the back of Maggie’s left hand, three straight lines reached from the base of her index finger down toward her thumb, as though a miniature Wolverine had dragged three tiny knives over her hand, leaving a two-inch scratch. Maggie didn’t have that mark before she blacked out; she was sure of it. The strange thing was that it was not a red mark or scabbed over blood. It was white scar tissue.
Jonah found something similar. Apparently there was a line, paper-thin in width, but almost eight inches long on his inner thigh. It was a disturbing mark, but he said it didn
’t hurt. If the doctor hadn’t asked about it, Jonah wouldn’t even have noticed it.
Like Maggie’s, it looked like an old injury. Maggie didn’t want to think about what kind of injury would leave a mark like that on Jonah’s leg. How could either of them have injuries they didn’t remember that were more than a few hours old?
After getting the okay from the doctors, they were sent to the police station where they waited to speak to a detective. They’d been over what they knew several times, trying to make the pieces fit. Neither of them remembered anything after being in the bar. Maggie asked careful questions, but from what she could tell, Jonah had not experienced the same flashes she had. She did not mention them to him.
They’d lost twelve hours.
It had been between 12:30 and 1:00 in the afternoon when they got to the bar. Maggie had placed the call to 911 at 1:32 a.m. the next morning. Twelve hours of their lives unaccounted for.
Maggie felt violated. What if something terrible had happened and she didn’t even remember? Even Jonah had a haunted look about him. That scared her most of all; nothing ever bothered Jonah.
After hours of waiting under the lights in what could only be described as an interrogation room from the twenties, the door opened to admit the detective. The noise startled Maggie, and she jumped.
The detective put his hands up in a calming gesture. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He was middle-aged with streaks of gray in his thinning hair and thick mustache. His smile was compassionate.
“We’ve put a freeze on all your accounts, but no one has tried to use them. Your tox reports came back negative, and the doctors tell us there is no evidence of physical or sexual assault. What that amounts to…is that we have no idea.”
Maggie’s heart fell. “What?”
“I’m sorry. We can’t find anything that would have caused this. It’s not a known drug, not a reaction to food or drink, not the cause of an obvious injury. There’s simply nothing.”
“It wasn’t food or drink?” Jonah asked. He was sounding more like himself again, confident and able.
“Not that we can tell.”
“But it must’ve been the drinks.”
The detective leaned forward. “How do you mean, Mr. Harper?”
Persistence of Vision Page 1