Soul Source: Back and There Again

by Charles Vella

  The mist in Justin's mind started clearing and he could suddenly see it, what was going on. Pruitt. His friends. They were the ones. They'd been the attackers. That had to be it. And somehow Sarah'd found that out. But she'd seemed as surprised to see Pruitt there as Justin'd been. Anyway she somehow found out that they'd be at that apartment the day before the attack. But how'd she know that? Why had she wanted to follow this young woman? And more important, what'd she planned to do about it? It suddenly didn't seem so abstract, the attack. The two thousand thirty-six elections didn't loom so large sitting across from a scared young woman inside a coffee shop in two thousand twelve. Without Mr. Hartron there breathing down his neck there was no comparison.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out that cell phone thing they all had, sort of like a screen you could hammer nails with, like the one Justin'd lost somewhere, and glanced at it. She put it back in her purse and they stared across the table at each other for a long time. Time to go. She looked so lonely, but that wasn't what struck Justin. What almost took his breath away was that he suddenly realized how lonely he was, or how lonely he'd been. There'd been something about being around Sarah, something fun that'd taken the edge off his loneliness in spite of the fact that she's a lunatic, but the last two hours were different. They'd barely talked but Justin realized to his surprise that he'd stopped worrying about getting back. Being stuck in two thousand twelve somehow didn't seem like as much of a disaster. "I might as well get to the hotel," she said, now staring out the window. "My room's a single." She shot a glance at him then looked away. "I hope Agnes is alright."

  What'd she said? He was rooting around in the empty storeroom of his brain where he kept unused responses to women who asked him back to their hotel rooms when the name fought its way through the marching band playing in his brain.

  "Agnes?"

  "My roommate." She lowered her eyes and looked directly at him and spoke slowly, as if she were explaining something simple to a small child. "She'll be alone at the apartment because I'll be at the hotel tonight."

  Justin nodded. Agnes? It couldn't be. He needed to find out. Probe. Be subtle. But his mouth was too dry to get any words out. So he just kept nodding.

  6

  "Oooh Sarah. I don't know. I just don't know." Monica sat on the edge of the bed in her tights. Hands on her head as if she were holding her ears on. They'd talked, argued, cried and talked more long into the night before finally falling into the ancient bed, exhausted, at the point where they'd started. The bed sagged in the middle so they'd spent what was left of the night trying to push each other uphill. Sarah shook her head and went into the bathroom.

  "Oh my God. Stay away from the mirror."

  Monica didn't want to think what she looked like. They'd at least managed to undress before falling into bed. The extra clothes and toiletries that'd been carefully packed for Sarah were still in the trunk of the car, and Monica hadn't brought anything but what she wore.

  "Do I look as strange in these clothes as I think I do?"

  "Yes."

  Sarah came out of the bathroom. She looked as exhausted as Monica felt. Her hair stuck out from her head like a Dr. Seuss character. But she was just as relentless as she'd been the night before.

  "Somewhere out there Monica," she took a hand off her hip and waved it around. "My father's alive. Alive. I've never met him. I don't even know what he looks like."

  "Weren't there...pictures?"

  Sarah sighed. Shook her head. "Not recognizable. Just a body under a sheet." Monica winced. "I hacked into the police files but the photos weren't digitized yet, if you can believe that." She shook her head in wonder, turned and went back into the bathroom. Monica heard the water running.

  Sarah's father. That's what this is all about. For her. Saving her father. But they really lived in two thousand thirty-six. Two thousand twelve's just a mirage. Isn't it? She looked around from her perch on the bed. It looks real enough. She reached out and lightly tapped the top of the peeling table. Feels real enough. And right now, out there somewhere, Sarah's father lives, breathes, not knowing that today's the day he'll be cut down by a hail of bullets. The water stopped running and Sarah came back out of the bathroom, her hair tied back in a damp ponytail like a small animal she'd fought into place.

  "My whole life," Sarah said, "...growing up, I lived with my aunt, we'd go and visit my mother on Sunday. She sat in a room, in the sun, like an old lady, even though she wasn't any older than you are now. That attack killed her too. Actually in some ways it was even worse for her."

  "But how do you know about your father? That he was..." She couldn't bring herself to say it. Coward.

  "It was in my file. They somehow got ahold of it during my background check. My aunt never told me. Actually there isn't any proof, but he was, is, will be, with my mother when it happened. Happens. She evidently called my aunt the night before the attack. Last night," she added, not having to say that this was all happening while they were talking their way out of jail and whose fault was that? "Said she'd met her soul mate. Everyone figures it must've been him. My mother evidently didn't get out much. She was the bookish type."

  "Then you must take after your fat..." Monica's wan smile faded in horror and she wished she could take the words back, but Sarah's slowly shaking head told her what she already knew. Too late for that.

  "No idea," she said. "The police were never able to identify him. It was before the Supreme Court decided the best way to protect our freedom was to require universal DNA records and internal passport screens. So," she sighed. "No one knows anything about him. Nobody who can tell us anyway." She leaned over and put her hands on Monica's shoulders. "But it doesn't have to be that way. We can change it."

  Monica looked up into Sarah's eyes. Her life, her whole life, she'd been a rule follower. Do the right thing. Of course you do the right thing. But what if the two weren't the same? What if following the rules wasn't the right thing. Rules were supposed to be there so you didn't have to make those kinds of choices. But what if it wasn't true? What if following the rules was only the safe thing, not the right thing? What does that mean? It means you're a coward. Sarah was like a younger, slightly, younger sister to her. So what was she going to do? Follow the rules? Do the safe thing? Go to bed tonight in two thousand twelve or two thousand thirty-six with the smug satisfaction that no one could fault her for that? She felt, could almost hear, the ripping of an old, rotten structure from its moorings deep in her soul. She stood and put her hands on Sarah's shoulders. They stood in their underwear like two women wrestlers.

  "If we're going to do it," she took a deep breath, "...then let's do it."

  *

  "I've never done anything like that before."

  "Neither have I," Justin answered solemnly. And he hadn't.

  "Are you sorry you did?" she asked, fighting to keep the trembling from her voice.

  "No," he turned from the window and threaded the narrow space between the bed and dresser to where she sat on the edge of the bed. He sat down next to her and took her hand. "I'm not sorry. There's just..." OK. How do you explain this? Fun fact about me. I'm from the future. No. My home town doesn't have a funny name. The future. Two thousand thirty-six. Now tell me something about you. What's he supposed to do now? Disappear from two thousand thirty-six, or rather turn from a rising young political hack to a middle-aged man? Could she come back with him? That would take some explaining. 'Hey. Look what I brought back.' What'd he been thinking of? How could he've let this happen? He was here on a mission and hadn't managed to get anything right from the start. "...well you don't know anything about me." How lame was that?

  "I called my sister last night," she finally said. "Late. Just to tell her what I do know." She looked at him and squeezed his hand. "I know enough."

  "You don't have any idea," he sighed. Stood back up. He walked back to the window buried his face in his hands. No idea.

  "Then tell me." He nodded
in agreement but didn't say anything. She got up and stood next to him at the window. People already moving on the street below. A lot of blue shirts and khaki pants, the conference uniform she was wearing. Almost time to go. "I don't care what it is. Even if you're wanted by the police."

  "It isn't that." Wanted by the police? Nothing that simple. They don't even know I exist. In fact, I don't exist. He took a deep breath. Could he tell her? Would she believe him. He didn't believe him. She'd think he was crazy. Was he crazy? "It's a long story. What time do you have to get down there?"

  She let go of his hands and glanced down at her phone. "Pretty soon." She looked up. "Will you be here when I get back?" she asked too casually to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

  "I'll do better than that," he said, feeling his resolution harden. Was it really impossible to work out? After all, what'd he really have back in two thousand thirty-six? His parents were retired, spent all day playing golf and didn't seem overly worked up when he came and went. What else was there? His career? A gopher for Mr. Hartron? Maybe one day a mid-level cog in the political machine? So why didn't he stay? Oh sure. Even in two thousand twelve there were computerized records. People didn't just show up from nowhere. He'd be a man without an identity. No birth certificate. A thirty-year-old who couldn't drive a car and didn't know how to use money. She'd probably end up thinking he'd escaped from an asylum. No. He had to find Sarah and Monica. And just how was he going to do that? Go back to the diner and hope they showed up? Why hadn't they told him more? It'd been such a rush. Just stick with Sarah. She has all the information. Sure. He'd just have to go and wait at the diner. Wait for Sarah and Monica. Go back to two thousand thirty-six. He could come back for her then. Sure. It'd be like dating his mother. Wouldn't that be a scene to remember? "I'll go with you," he finally sighed.

  7

  "What time is, what time does it happen?" Monica asked. She limped after Sarah who half-walked, half-trotted down the street toward the hotel. No one else seemed to be in a hurry. They had to push past people going in both directions.

  "No way to tell exactly," Sarah answered. "The first police call was at eight eleven. There were like ten different witnesses and they gave eleven different times."

  "Well where'd they come in?" They stopped at the corner. The hotel sat across the street. People and cars passed by oblivious to the menacing glare the place was giving Monica. The bright sun peeked over the top like a spotlight on a stage murder. If passersby noticed the building at all no doubt they only saw a kind of frumpy respectability.

  Sarah shook her head.

  "The security tape was missing. They must know what door it was pointed at."

  "They must but we don't. They kept all of that stuff away from the public. All that was leaked was that the tape'd gone missing, not which door it was recording. I've hacked all their systems but couldn't find much. Most of it was on paper." She frowned in disgust down the two walls of the hotel they could see from the corner. "All I know for sure is that it happened on the mezzanine level."

  "What time is it now?"

  Sarah held up the cell phone she was carrying. "Eight." She stared at it for a couple of seconds before lowering her hand. "I can't believe people actually carried these things around everywhere they went. I mean where're you supposed to put it? I've only got one pocket and it's too small."

  "Well what now?" Monica asked. "I mean now that we're here, any ideas on how to stop a bunch of heavily armed men?"

  "No. All my plans were set for yesterday but somebody stuck her nose into them and screwed them all up."

  Monica looked around. "There's never a cop around when you need one."

  "And tell him what? Excuse me officer. A bunch of men are about to start shooting up a hotel?" She deepened her voice. "And just how do you know that miss?" she snorted. "Talk about an intervention. In twenty-four years we'll be able to visit ourselves in jail."

  "We should've told that cop yesterday." That cop. Griff's father. Had to be. And she hadn't said anything. Said anything? Like what? I'm from the future and I know you're making a mistake?

  "If you're going to talk try to say something useful."

  "OK then how..."

  "MONICA." Sarah grabbed her arm and dug into it with her nails.

  " Ow." What?

  "That was Pruitt."

  "What? Where?" But Sarah was already halfway across the street in the path of a moving car."

  "SARAH..."

  The driver slammed down his brakes and horn at the same time. "What's the matter with you?" he shouted after her retreating figure. "Jesus Christ," he added as he started and then jammed on the brakes again when Monica ran out in front of him.

  "Sorry," she called over her shoulder into the blare of a second horn as a car coming from the other direction jolted to a stop close enough for her to lay a hand on the hood. "Ow." She pulled her hand back as the driver stuck his head out the window at her. "That's hot."

  "Hot? Are you crazy?"

  "SARAH." Monica turned, if you're going to be rude you shouldn't expect an answer, and limped to the curb, calling Sarah over the shouts and honking behind her. She followed a few steps and stopped. Couldn't keep up on her ankle. She watched Sarah grow smaller down the street along the hotel and disappear around the corner into what looked like an alley.

  Monica stood at the corner, ignoring the stares of passersby as she swung her head between the corner where Sarah'd disappeared and the front door of the hotel.

  "Damn." With a last look down the street at the alley she turned and ran directly into a man walking on the sidewalk who'd been busy looking at the lower part of her body.

  "Hey," he said as she pushed away from him and ran down the sidewalk. "What's that you're wearing?"

  "Keep your eyes where they belong and you won't...," she called over her shoulder, "oof".

  "Hellllo."

  "Sorry." She pried his hands off of her, set off in a limping run down the sidewalk to the hotel entrance and pushed through the revolving doors.

  "Stairs," she groaned. Didn't they have escalators in two thousand twelve? She grabbed the rail and pulled herself up, wincing as she put weight on the ankle. She reached the top and limped into the lobby, stopped in spite of herself. It was like walking into a museum. Placards, actual cardboard signs, stood on easels welcoming conference attendees and giving directions to various activities. A few people milled around in the lobby or stood talking. Some of them curious glances in her direction. Everyone else must already be where they're going. Where they're going. The thought shook her back to what she was there for and she limped to the back of the lobby where she could see a wide staircase on either side of a bank of elevators. A small knot of people waited at the elevators. The stairs must go to the mezzanine. She limped over and just got her foot on the first stair when the blast of what sounded like hundreds of shots filled the space above her.

  *

  Sarah sprinted down the street toward the corner where the van'd disappeared, Pruitt's face framed clearly in the window as he'd leaned over the driver's shoulder. She turned the corner and spotted the van, doors open, at the end of the alley. A man and woman stood in the doorway. Younger versions of Pruitt and Agnes. Agnes? Sarah turned her speed up to a sprint, her ponytail bouncing wildly behind her head like a small animal chasing her, eyes trained on the hand holding the door ajar.

  "STOP." Their heads snapped up to her. Pruitt disappeared through the door. Agnes, it was Agnes, a much younger Agnes, followed Sarah with wild eyes until she was almost there. Twenty meters. Ten meters. She just had to get a foot through the crack between the door and the wall. But suddenly Agnes seemed to snap out of her stupor. She grabbed the door with both hands and pulled. The crack disappeared and Sarah's foot bounced off the door. She beat at it with both fists.

  "STOP. YOU TRICKED ME." Agnes's wide-eyed face stared at her through the square of glass near the top of the door. "We can stop it." Sarah scream
drifted off to a sob. She tapped her head against the window. Her fists loosened until her palms pressed against the door. Nothing. She pressed her face against the glass. Still nothing. Agnes's face was gone. Sarah stepped back, took a deep breath, looked both ways down the alley, then set off at a sprint toward the closest corner.

  *

  "What time do you get off?" Justin asked as rakishly as he could manage, not being a particularly rakish sort. He stopped to let her through the door then followed her into the hall.

  She locked both her hands on his as the door drifted closed behind them. "The leadership session," she rolled her eyes, "...will go until lunch." She started down the hall, pulling him with both hands.

  "Don't roll your eyes at the leadership session." They got to the elevator and stood there.

  "Well? Aren't you going to push the button?"

  Justin stared back. She laughed and shook her head. "Comedian." She reached out and tapped a button with a little arrow that pointed down. The button lit up. There was one over it pointed up.

  "I could skip it."

  "Skip it?" he said, still looking at the buttons.

  "The leadership session. I mean I really shouldn't." The elevator door opened.

  "Tell you what," he said, leading her into the elevator. He could come back and try the buttons while she was at her committee. You seemed to have to actually walk up to the elevator and push one to tell it you were going up or down. How did it know which floor you wanted to go to? "You go to the meeting and I'll meet you in the lobby at noon."

  "And we'll go for a long walk."

  Ah. That was it. There was another panel of buttons, inside the elevator, on the wall next to the door, with numbers on them. She pushed one with an M on it. He took both her hands in hers and smiled as the elevator doors slid closed.