by Speer, Flora
Mired in the grey pain of mourning, her only source of pleasure on that holiday lay in watching the easy way in which Mark and Willi talked and laughed together as they prepared the Christmas feast. India was pleased by the changes she noticed in her friend. Willi was wearing her usual black leather miniskirt, on this day topped by a bright green turtleneck sweater, but there was a new softness to her makeup, and her flamboyant red nail polish was gone. Instead, Willi’s nails were a quiet shade of pink. The biggest change of all was that Willi’s former sadness, the remnant of a difficult and impoverished girlhood, was missing from her eyes. And not once during that entire day did Willi call India kid in her old, tough way.
As for Mark, when he was not devoting all his attention to Willi, he spent his time probing India’s memories about what had happened to her. He did it with delicacy and skill, by repeatedly steering the conversation onto the subject of the previous Sunday and then asking tactful questions. Whenever India tried to divert him, he went along for a while, talking about other things, but he always returned to his primary topic of interest. Dinner was over and the three of them were sitting in the living room, where logs blazed in the fireplace and the tree Willi and Mark had brought glittered in the bay window, when India decided that the best way to handle Mark’s curiosity was by direct confrontation.
“I wish you would leave the subject alone,” she said. “It is very difficult for me to think about that day, much less talk about it.”
“I’m not prying,” Mark told her. “There is a more serious reason behind my questions. I was hoping you would have some information that would help to stop Hank before he causes more trouble and puts someone else into danger. I know what Hank was trying to do. Willi told me as much as she could about his private project. From what she said, and from what I saw in Hank’s office, I have been able to make a couple of intelligent guesses. There have been a few other projects based on theories like Hank’s, begun by people like him, working alone and not fully understanding the damage they could cause. You cannot go back and tinker with the past. If you try, the changes you make, no matter how small, will mushroom exponentially until they alter the world we know. That’s why I have called in a friend of mine, who is going to try to locate Hank and talk some sense into him.”
“Will he go to jail?” asked Willi.
“Not unless the university decides to press charges against him for copying all those keys and for diverting material from the storeroom to his own use. It seems that the project was entirely his own, and had nothing to do with the university, or his actual job there. There are no laws against what Hank was trying to do. That’s why my friend’s investigation will have to be unofficial.” Mark paused, watching his hostess’s reaction to what he had said. “What is it, India? You have the strangest expression on your face.”
“I was wondering if the world has already been changed by what happened last Sunday. If it has, we’ll never know it, will we? The changes will just be part of our past and will seem perfectly natural to us. I can tell you this much, Mark – I cannot regret what happened, and if I had to live that time over again, I would probably say and do exactly the same things.” They were both staring at her as if she had said something completely outrageous. India pressed her lips together, imposing silence on herself, vowing not to say another word on the subject, or about Hank.
On the Saturday morning after Christmas, Hank came to see her. He was standing on the front porch when India opened the door to take her mail out of the box.
“I’m leaving town,” he said. “I can’t get near Willi because that Brant guy is always hanging around her, so I decided to ask you to tell her good-bye for me.”
“There are people looking for you,” she said.
“I know. Some friend of Brant’s wants to talk to me. I plan on disappearing before he catches up with me. I’ve been fired, did Willi tell you? And they fined me for the keys I had made. They said it was to cover the cost of changing all the locks.”
“I’m sorry you were fired, Hank, but you should have expected it.” She stood back, letting him into the front hall. “Do you need anything? Can I help you in some way?”
“I could use a cup of coffee.” He followed her toward the kitchen, looking about with interest as he walked down the hall. “Nice house you have here. It’s pretty big for one person, isn’t it? You must get lost in all these rooms.”
“What will you do now?” India asked when they sat at the kitchen table sharing cinnamon buns and coffee.
“I’ll find another job, somewhere far from Cheswick. How are you doing, India? No residual aftereffects? When I asked about you in the history department, they told me you’ve been sick.”
“I’m all right now. I just needed a few days to sort out my thoughts.”
“What about the big retirement party for Professor Moore on Monday night? Are you going to it?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said.
“You ought to go,” he told her. “It would do you good to get out of this mausoleum. Look, India, would you consider giving me those floppy disks to play around with?”
“No,” she said. “I would not. I told you that on Sunday night.”
“Then I’d better leave before Willi or her new boyfriend arrive.” Hank gulped the rest of his coffee and picked up an extra bun before rising from the table.
“Have you got any leads on new jobs?” India asked.
“Maybe.” His sharp, distrustful eyes met hers, then veered away. “I’ll find something. And I’ll try again. I’ll keep experimenting until some day I’ll succeed in a way that will make all of you sit up and take notice.”
“You still don’t understand, do you?” India cried. “What you are trying to do is dangerous and potentially very destructive to people’s lives. Hank, you have to stop!”
“Oh, come on, now.” He was completely unrepentant. “You know I gave you the greatest adventure of your life. Well, so long, India. Do me a favor, will you? Forget to say good-bye to Willi for me. Don’t tell anyone I was here.”
She stood in the doorway, watching him go down the walk. When he was too far away to hear her, she whispered after him, “It was a great adventure. Good-bye, Hank.”
Shortly after noon of that same day, Willi appeared carrying a garment bag. “Mark asked me to go to Professor Moore’s retirement party with him,” Willi announced. “I want your opinion on the dress I just bought. Isn’t this weird? Just a little over a week ago, I was giving you advice on how to dress.”
A week ago for you. For me, it was six months ago. India did not say what she was thinking. She followed Willi upstairs to the second floor, into her own bedroom. There she sat upon the padded window seat while Willi modeled the dress for her. Charlemagne prowled across the room, pausing to rub against Willi’s legs before he jumped up beside India and promptly fell asleep.
“What do you think?” asked Willi, twirling around twice for India’s inspection. The dress was pale turquoise with a draped bodice, long sleeves, and a short, flaring skirt. “It’s not my usual style, but I thought something elegant might be nice for a change. I may let my hair grow out, too.
“India, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said. What’s wrong?” Pushing Charlemagne out of the way, Willi sat down next to her friend.
“I can’t seem to adjust,” India said. “I can’t eat, I don’t sleep well, and when I do sleep, I have nightmares.”
“This has gone on much too long,” Willi declared. “I think you ought to see a doctor.”
“Are you suggesting a psychiatrist? If I did talk to one, if I told everything, I would probably be locked up.” India sighed. “Some things never change.”
“All right, fine, if you won’t go to a doctor, then just talk to me about what happened when you disappeared. I won’t repeat what you say, not even to Mark,” Willi promised. “This is the first time in our lives that you have refused to tell me about something that’s bothering you.”
“I can’t.”
“India, I told you this a couple of weeks ago, before all this mystery started, and now I’m telling you again. You have to get on with your life. For starters, why don’t you dump this outfit?” Rising from the window seat, Willi picked up the green tunic and trousers India had folded and placed on her bureau on her first night at home. “Who would ever believe this thing is less than a month old? It looks like a reject from a detergent commercial. What’s this in the pocket?”
India had been scratching Charlemagne’s ears and thinking how badly the lazy cat’s name suited him. She looked up just as Willi pulled out a handful of dried flowers.
“Violets,” India said. “White violets. He gave them to me one spring afternoon.”
“He? Who, the man I saw you with? The one with the sword?” Willi watched her friend with dawning understanding. “You left him there. That’s why you’re grieving again. Oh, India, I’m sorry.” She gave the flowers to India, but as they passed from her fingers to India’s, they began to disintegrate, crumbling until India held only a small pile of grey powder in the palm of her hand.
“Dust,” India said, looking at the powder. “Like everything else from that time. Like love itself.”
“No, that’s not true.” Willi crouched before India, looking up into her face. “Those flowers are only things. Love doesn’t die like that, it lives on in your heart. And you did love him, didn’t you? But you have to go on, India, and you have to keep hoping. There will be some kind of answer for you, just like there was for me when I first met Mark. I’m certain of it.”
Pushed by Willi’s insistence and compelled by her own affection for Professor Moore, India decided she would go to the retirement party being held the night before New Year’s Eve.
“I’m glad to see you have recovered from the flu,” Professor Moore said to her when she greeted him in the receiving line. Turning to Willi, he said, “I am delighted to see you again under these more pleasant circumstances, Miss Jones, and I am most pleased to note that you came in with Mr. Brant. I trust you have learned your lesson and will have nothing more to do with that questionable character, Mr. Henry Marsh.”
“I haven’t seen Hank for more than a week,” Willi replied.
“Good evening, Mr. Brant,” said Professor Moore. “When will your brother arrive in Cheswick?”
“He’s flying in from Europe tomorrow,” Mark said. When Professor Moore turned to speak to newly arrived well-wishers, Mark said to India, “Willi and I are driving to the airport to meet Theo’s plane. Would you like to join us? It would be an informal way to introduce yourself to your future boss.”
“No, thank you.” India could not keep out of her voice the sudden tension she felt at Mark’s suggestion. “I prefer to wait until the university officially reopens next week.”
“Are you sure?” She could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew there was something strange behind her refusal.
“Please don’t press me,” she whispered. “Just let me ease back into normal life in my own way.”
“Whatever you want.” His smile was encouraging, his hand on her arm a sign of warm friendship. It was almost like having Marcion back again. “Call me if you need me, India. I mean that. Day or night, call me.”
Not wanting to intrude upon the new intimacy between Willi and Mark, India had insisted on driving herself to the party. Later, on her way home, she thought about Mark and Marcion, Willi and Bertille. Inevitably, her thoughts drifted to those other friends from the past, Hugo and Danise. In the twentieth century, she knew no one like either of them. She thought she knew why. It was because neither of them had ever had children. Marcion and Bertille, having married, had surely produced children, and Theu had left his young son behind when he died. But Hugo had died too soon, and Danise had seemed headed for the convent life at Chelles, so their genetic material had not survived into later generations. How sad that such dear people should be lost to the world.
Still deep in thought, India pulled into her garage and entered the house through the connecting door. She walked from the back entry through the kitchen and into the front hall to hang up her coat before it struck her that something was wrong. She was not sure how she could tell – a whiff of shaving lotion in the air, one or two objects moved just a little out of their usual positions, or some more subtle clue – but she knew that during her absence, someone had been in the house.
She quickly discounted the possibility of a burglar. Her grandmother’s silver tea service sat in plain sight on the dining room buffet, the television was still in its cabinet, and when she hurried upstairs, none of the bedrooms had been disturbed and none of her jewelry was missing. Nothing had been taken from the house except – except—
“Hank!” India almost flew down the stairs to the study. There, with trembling hands she opened the locked drawer where she had stored the two floppy disks and the notebook. They were gone. Frantically, she searched the room, knowing all the while that she would not find them. Giving up at last, she dialed the number Mark had given her. She was afraid he might still be with Willi, but he answered at once.
“You said to call anytime.” She told him what had happened, told him, too, about Hank’s Saturday visit, which she had previously not mentioned to him. “Now I wish I had told you. It was just an excuse for Hank to get inside the house and look around, wasn’t it? Mark, he asked me not to tell anyone he had been to see me, and then he urged me to go to Professor Moore’s party.”
“So he could be sure you would be out of the house for a few hours, giving him enough time to search the place,” Mark finished the thought for her. “Hank is so damned clever, he probably had no trouble at all picking the lock on your door or on the drawer in your study, and then relocking them both.”
“We have to get those floppy disks back,” India cried. “And Robert’s notebook. Mark, he’s sure to try to recreate what happened to me. Someone has to stop him.”
“Let me check on this. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Mark hung up, leaving India to wait in restless concern until the telephone rang some forty-five minutes later.
“It’s being taken care of,” Mark told her. “We have a good man on the job, and he’s on Hank’s trail right now. I talked to him; he’s planning to watch Hank for a few days in case Hank contacts someone else engaged in a similar project. That way, we might catch two birds at once. This means you won’t get your property back for a while, but you don’t have to worry about Hank anymore.”
“Thank you, Mark. I knew I could count on you.”
“Anytime. Sure you won’t change your mind and go to the airport with Willi and me tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so.”
“My brother is not as bad as you might suppose after meeting me,” Mark teased. “Give him a fair chance, and you two could become good friends.”
But when Willi stopped by to see India on New Year’s Day, her report on Theodore Brant was not encouraging.
“You can tell Mark and his brother really love each other,” Willi informed India, “but Theodore Brant is not at all like Mark. He has been teaching in Europe, and I guess they are more formal there, because he seems to be a bit uptight. If I were you, India, I would walk carefully around him until you know him well.”
“Is his wife uptight, too?” India was surprised to find herself holding her breath until Willi answered.
“Mark says she died a few years ago,” Willi said. “At least you will have that much in common with him. You’ll meet him on Monday. You are going back to work on Monday, aren’t you?”
“I need the job, and I have no logical reason for leaving it,” India replied. “On Monday I will have to walk into the history department office and meet my new boss. But not yet. Thank heaven, I still have a few days left.”
During those few days, India faced the fact that where returning to work was concerned, her courage was rapidly failing. Emotionally bruised by what had happened to her, still devastated by Theu’s death, she was terr
ified of meeting Theodore Brant, fearing that he would prove to be as much like Theu as Mark was like Marcion. She did not know how she could deal with a man who looked and sounded and acted like Theu, but who did not know her and who would treat her like the stranger she would be to him. It would be like losing Theu a second time.
Much as India wished she could do so, she could not stop the passing of the days. Monday arrived, the university was scheduled to reopen after the holiday vacation, and she could no longer put off going to work. Armoring herself in the tightest self-control she could muster, deliberately wearing the cheerful cranberry skirt and sweater Willi had chosen for her on a night that seemed years in the past, she returned to the history department office.
Classes had not started. Registration for the new semester was still in progress, so there was no one else in the office that morning. In the outer office there was no sign as yet of anything belonging to Theodore Brant, and the substitute secretary, who had taken over for India during the days before Christmas, had left her desk clean and neat. When the mail came, India sorted through it before taking the important-looking pieces into the chairman’s office, entering the room for the first time in more than two weeks.
Professor Moore had been endearingly absent-minded, leaving books and papers scattered about in great disarray and keeping the file cabinet so full that its contents constantly spilled out onto the floor. Now that he was gone, the room looked bare, with books precisely lined up on the bookshelves, the file cabinet drawers closed, the Venetian blinds tilted at just the right angle to let in plenty of light without glare.
India laid the mail in the center of the desk, lining up the edges of the papers until the pile was neat. Without warning, her hands began to shake.
“I have to get out of here,” she muttered, starting toward the door. She had almost reached it when she stopped, her eye caught by the picture on the wall. No, it was not a picture. What the foot-square frame contained, what the glass covered, was not a picture at all, but a jagged, triangular section of chain mail. She stepped closer to see it better.