by Peter Clines
Fifteen bowed his head. “It will be as you say, Mr. Teague.”
Eli looked at Harry. Her chin dipped once, her eyes stayed on his. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’m releasing it.”
“Back into our custody?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “I release the American Dream back into the custody of the faceless men.”
He raised his hand. Static electricity crackled under his fingertips like the screen of an old television set. He stretched his fingers wide and lifted them away from the lid.
The wood box sat on the stone plinth. Unmoving. Unconcerned.
The faceless men rose to their feet as one. Hats slid back above masks. Pistols vanished into coats. Fifteen reached up and set his fedora on his blank skull. “Thank you, again, Mr. Teague.”
“You’re welcome.”
Fifteen extended one finger to point at Eli’s chest. “Remove them. Now.”
The faceless men leaped forward.
44
The faceless men slammed into Eli. The clown and the gaunt one grabbed his arms and yanked him away from the sandstone plinth. Eli struggled, but it was like fighting statues. The chamber spun, a whirlwind of marble and flags. He caught a glimpse of two other faceless men lifting Harry as she kicked and fought. His feet stumbled as they dragged him away.
The brightness of the marble antechamber made him squint. The doors of the rotunda swung shut and closed. A click echoed from the restored keyhole.
They hauled him back, and Eli’s stomach lurched as he began to drop. They’d thrown him out onto the staircase, he realized, to break countless bones as he tumbled and crashed down forty feet worth of marble steps. He wondered if the fall would kill him.
But they held on, dragging him backward as they charged down the stairs with an eerie, metronomic speed and precision. The marble room rushed away, and the heavy curtains closed across the staircase. They held him facing the archway, but the sounds of motion and typing and muffled conversations reached his ears.
The two faceless men released Eli’s arms and stepped away. After the whirlwind trip away from the dream and down the stairs, the lack of support left him swaying. He shuffled his feet into better positions and looked around.
Harry stood a few yards away, favoring her bad leg, flanked by her own pair of faceless men. She brushed her hair out of her face and shook her coat back into position. Her eyes met Eli’s and mirrored his own confusion.
The clown dipped his head and held out Eli’s derby. A faceless man with an expressionless mask presented Harry’s tricorne.
Fifteen stood before the curtain. He strode forward, between Eli and Harry. The sounds of business and work faded to silence.
“The dream has been restored,” he boomed to the chamber.
His voice echoed across the massive room. Applause broke out. Some of the faceless men cheered, the sounds muffled by flesh and distance. It reminded Eli of old newsreels, of polite, contained expressions of joy.
The noise level settled back to normal, although the chamber seemed brighter. More energetic. Unburdened.
“All remaining agents in the field should be recalled,” said the gaunt faceless man with the fox mask.
“Agreed,” said Fifteen. “At this point all efforts should be put toward relocation.”
Eli glanced at Harry. “Relocation?”
Fifteen’s blank face turned to aim at Eli. “The security of the dream has been compromised.”
Harry shook her head. “No,” she said, “it hasn’t. Eli’s correct. It’s never left your care.”
“Security has been compromised,” said Fifteen, extending a finger, “by the two of you.”
Something rolled over in Eli’s gut. Harry’s hands settled low at her sides. Right by the holsters holding her empty pistols. Her eyes flicked from side to side, watching the faceless men around them.
“The dream will be moved,” the faceless man continued, “because its location and the location of the office have been confirmed by outside parties. This action follows all existing protocols.”
Eli blinked. “What’s that mean?”
“The founding fathers were very thorough,” said Fifteen. “Contingencies exist for almost every situation, including a compromised location.” His blank face swung back and forth, pointing at each of them. “The dream will be moved, and the office of the faceless men with it. This time tomorrow, the Founders House will just be an abandoned hotel near the center of Sanders. This will have some effects on your hometown, Mr. Teague, most noticeably—”
“What happens to us?” said Harry. Her fingers flexed reflexively by the holsters.
For a man with no face, Eli thought Fifteen did an amazing job of looking confused. “What do you mean?”
“You said we’ve compromised the security of the dream.”
“You did,” agreed Fifteen. The empty sockets of his mask turned to Eli. “You’ve seen the dream. Touched it, even. You both now know where it’s located within our base of operations, and where our base is. This is why we need to relocate.”
Eli and Harry waited. “And?” she asked.
“And nothing,” said Fifteen. “Per Mr. Teague’s request, there will be no punishment.”
Eli counted three heartbeats. “So…you’re just letting us go?”
“Correct,” said Fifteen. He gestured down an aisle of desks and file cabinets. “This way, please.”
Fifteen marched forward. Eli and Harry followed, her arm draped across his shoulders. Two faceless men fell into step on either side of them, with two more shoulder to shoulder behind them. It felt like a Secret Service kind of formation, the way a president would be guided through a crowd.
Harry cleared her throat. “What about Eleanor?”
Fifteen turned his head to her without slowing. “Who?”
“The car,” Eli said. “Our car.”
“The 1929 Model A business coupe,” said Fifteen with a nod. “It’s currently a dislocated object in 1898. It will be retrieved and restored to any appropriate era you wish.”
“Thank you,” said Harry.
Their group moved smoothly through the swarm of faceless men, passing maps and desks and card catalogs. They turned once beneath one of the massive chandeliers, marched down a second aisle, and came to a wide set of double doors. The formation shifted around Eli and Harry as a faceless man on either side stepped forward to hold them open so Fifteen never broke pace.
The hallway beyond looked like a hospital basement, with pale green floors and stripes on the walls. Their footsteps echoed against the concrete. It reminded Eli of his recent injuries.
“What about Zeke and his Hornet?” he asked. “What’ll happen to them?”
“As you’ve no doubt realized, Mr. Teague,” said Fifteen, half turning his head to his shoulder, “the Hudson Hornet will remain where it crashed. It is dislocated, but the nature of Sanders should prevent it from causing any damage to the timeline.”
“And Zeke?”
“Zero will be repaired and go through rehabilitation. It’s my own fault for rushing him into the field. Adjusting to the nature of being a faceless man is overwhelming for some people. More so if they are an anomaly. We’ll repair his wounds and his mind. The faceless men have always taken care of our own.”
“Will it work?” Eli asked. “Will you really be able to help him?”
“It took several years,” said the clown, walking at Eli’s shoulder, “but eventually I was able to resume my duties and responsibilities. Thank you for your concern.”
Eli stared at the sockets above the plastic smile, at the shape of the skull behind the mask. “Zeke?”
“I am currently known as Thirty-Three, Mr. Teague.”
“Are you…are you okay?”
“I have health, certainty, and purpose. I am one of the faceless men, and always have been.”
“That’s…good?”
Thirty-Three gave a polite nod.
They came to a
single door with a large glass window. Sunlight fell through it to make a bright square on the concrete floor. Fifteen stopped with his toes just on the edge of the light.
In the distance, Eli could see buildings, an open space, and what looked like some kind of snow-covered scaffolding. Then the images lined up in his mind and he realized he was seeing the baseball field bleachers from behind. They were looking out one of the back doors of the Founders House.
“You’re free to go,” said Fifteen. “You may also continue using the dream’s effects to travel through our country’s history.”
Harry’s brows went up. “Really?”
“It’s a natural consequence of the dream’s existence. It isn’t our place to restrict it. We will, however, continue to monitor for disruptions to the timeline of the United States. Any serious incidents will be dealt with. Harshly.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Excellent,” said the faceless man. “Please pass word of this along to your fellow searchers.”
Thirty-Three stepped around his superior and opened the door. The sunlight shifted angles. Cold air rolled into the hall. Off in the distance, a car engine chugged away. A very modern engine, to Eli’s ear.
Eli turned to Harry. A few loose strands of blond hair swung free from her tricorne and caught the sun. “Shall we?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think we shall.”
Fifteen reached out and set a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Not you, Mrs. Pritchard.”
Her arm stiffened across Eli’s shoulders. His tightened on her waist. “Why not?”
“You told us we were free to leave,” she said.
“And you are,” said Fifteen. “You were promised freedom, but not freedom together. Mr. Teague must be returned. He’ll be the only one leaving this way.”
Eli and Harry looked at each other. “Returned…where?”
“To Sanders,” the faceless man said, gesturing at the door. “Your town is an anomaly. You are part of the town. It needs to be as complete as possible when it catches up with the rest of the country.”
“What?”
“Your town will be freed of the dream’s influence. Its progress will no longer be slowed. I’d expect the first few weeks to be…startling. You can also be an active agent there, helping to smooth over any confusion or suspicion that may arise.”
“He’s my partner,” said Harry.
Fifteen nodded. “And most likely will be again. Eventually.”
Eli frowned. “How long is that?”
“As long as it takes for new connections to establish between Sanders and history. Weeks. Months, perhaps. No more than a few years.”
“A few years?” they both said at once.
“I wish I could be more exact. Nothing like this has ever happened before, or will ever happen again. It’s a unique moment in American history. As I said before, Sanders is one of the most important places in the country.”
Eli and Harry looked at each other. Her grip on his shoulders loosened “What if—” Eli began.
“There’s no way around it,” Fifteen told them. “Once you leave, Mr. Teague, relocation will cut off the town. There will be no more of the slick spots, as you like to call them. Not here, at least. The only way to travel in and out of Sanders will be the same way everyone else does.”
He gestured at the door.
“I…” Eli looked at Harry, the door, back to Harry. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Thanks?”
“For saving my life half a dozen times. And not dumping me on the side of the road somewhere. Thanks for convincing me to finally get out of my town.”
“You did that on your own,” she said. “Even if it was for very stupid reasons.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess they were.”
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. She was a good height to hug. They fit well in each other’s arms. “Thank you for…everything.”
“I guess I’ll see you…sometime, maybe?”
She glanced at Fifteen. “Eventually,” she said. She took a few limping steps back. “I’ll find you again. I promise.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
45
He stepped out of the Founders House into a patch of snow and heard the door shut behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw an empty hallway through smudged glass. He wondered if Harry and Fifteen and Thirty-Three stood there watching him, hidden from sight, or if the dream had already moved them along to somewhere else. He looked up at the sprawling structure, hoping to see any sign of life, and saw none.
He shuffled through the ankle-deep snow across the back lot, down the gravel side road, and out onto the slush-covered street. No Hudson Hornets. No Model A. Nothing.
He walked through the slush toward the Silver Arrow.
Within half an hour, he learned he’d been gone for over three months. He’d missed Christmas and New Year’s. People had given up hope. His mother had gone past hysterics to mourning. The fact that Eli’s apartment had been found vandalized with the door kicked in, and that Zeke Miller vanished a few days later, had led to numerous whispered theories. Small towns might not run on gossip, but it tended to be a standard alternative fuel source. People talked a bit louder about Zeke’s temper, his stalker-ish behavior toward some women, his long history with Eli. Sealed school records became points of coffee shop discussion. Depending on who was asked, Eli had been run out of town, kidnapped, or possibly even murdered.
Eli shook his head at all of it. As he explained to many people, with complete honesty, he hadn’t seen Zeke’s face in months. When asked where he’d been, he shrugged and managed to look embarrassed. He’d been struck with wanderlust, taken a few days off, and just kept going. The impulsive after-college road trip, many years late. There may have been a woman involved.
People sighed and smiled. Dependable Eli Teague could be just as irresponsible as the rest of them sometimes. It fit well into the history they all liked to believe.
Over the next few days, he went back to the station to give statements about his absence to Captain Deacon, to the state police out of Alfred, and to a bored-looking FBI agent out of Portland who’d been called in when Eli’s car was found in Boston. A missing persons case had been opened, and procedures had to be followed before it could be closed. No, he hadn’t been kidnapped. No, he hadn’t been threatened. No, he hadn’t seen Officer Miller during that time. Eli sat in the chair and answered all their questions with a straight face.
“Are you a steampunk fan?”
Eli blinked. “What?”
“Steampunk.” The FBI agent pointed his pen at the hat sitting on Deacon’s desk. “I’ve got a friend who is. She has a bowler too.”
“It’s a derby,” corrected Eli.
“What’s the difference?”
“I’m not really sure,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure there is one.”
“Not into steampunk, though?”
Eli shook his head.
“Strange choice for a hat, then.”
Eli shrugged. “Used to be the most popular hat in the country.”
The FBI agent smirked as he packed up his paperwork, his first real expression in their five-minute discussion. “Yeah, well, what was it Obama said about horses and bayonets?”
Eli’s car had been towed from the Boston parking structure and impounded. He owed thirteen weeks of storage fees—a frightening sum—if he wanted it back. Much to his surprise, his apartment was still his. Captain Deacon had labeled it a crime scene after Zeke’s disappearance. The lock on the door had been fixed, but the rest of the small space had been left as they’d found it. Eli cleaned up a few things and threw away many more. His bed felt too soft, so he dragged the blankets onto the floor, cracked the windows open, and slept soundly in the cold, fresh air.
He’d been equally surprised to find out he still had a job. Bill had hired a new systems person—a woman with spiky hair, dark eyes, and a much more impressive résumé than Eli
—but after his absence and reported disappearance, no one had gone through the actual motions of firing him. Bill told him they’d sort things out, either getting him a position at another branch or at least some back pay so he’d have a cushion while he looked for something new.
Eli spent his free time checking in with his friends. Jack in the Box, the fast-food franchise, had slipped into Sanders and made a quiet offer for the Emporium building. Corey and Robin had considered it for all of two days, and accepted with a little encouraging nudge from Eli. The tidy sum, more than they’d make in a decade of video rentals, would let Robin go back to art school and Corey launch a Twitch show with a sizeable budget.
When the gossip mill became too much, Nicole had packed up and moved a few towns over into New Hampshire. A manager position had opened up at one of the big multiplex cinemas in Newington. Eli stopped by to visit and found her planning her film festival. They both smiled and spoke warmly, but the recent events had stomped out whatever spark the two of them might’ve once had. Nicole kissed him on the cheek as they hugged goodbye, and Eli felt sure he’d never see her again.
Even his mom had good news, despite all her worry about her son. It turned out the family home sat in a geographically perfect spot for a cell phone tower. The day after he talked with the FBI agent, a company approached her about building on her small patch of land, deep on the back of the property line. The lease was double what she made as a librarian.
It seemed as if the American Dream had finally caught up with Sanders.
And then, right on cue, Eli got fired.
Bill asked him if he could swing by the bank. When Eli arrived, his boss—his ex boss, he already suspected—looked close to a panic attack. “She’s been waiting to talk to you,” said Bill. “She wouldn’t leave. Said she wanted to explain things to you personally.”
Helena stood at the back of the bank, next to one of the spare desks.
Eli glanced out through the blinds. He didn’t see the Cadillac Sixty Special anywhere in the parking lot, but he couldn’t see the whole lot from where he was. Was this another case of timelines not lining up? Could this be an earlier visit, from her point of view?