by CJ Martín
Sam’s eyes remained closed, but he voiced what he knew. “At Alamo Park, McGregor killed Michelle. I… I know where it is. I can see him map his way to the park. I can hear him plan how he will find her. He went there—I hear the echo of her muffled screams.” Sam’s mind was racing, trying to keep up. “Plastic in the back. There was plastic… A stick… This was not the first one.”
Sam lost it and was back in the present. He had heard too much.
“This was not his first murder,” Sam said, panting.
Marcus met Suteko’s eyes. “Well done, boy,” Marcus said with an enthusiasm not tempered by the context. “Well done, indeed! Let’s go.”
Chapter 41
WASHINGTON DC
“My fellow Americans,” President Hollenbeck began his address to a camera in the Oval Office. Also in the room were the technical and camera crew, the Secretary of State, and his Vice President, Todd McGregor.
“A week ago, our nation suffered one of our history’s most trying moments: the loss of a president. O Captain! My Captain!”
Hollenbeck pulled to the side giving the effect of concealing a tear with his hand.
With the election only weeks away, the media had constantly hounded Hollenbeck to announce his candidacy. He knew what he had to do the moment he met that woman, but ever the political animal, he had timed the announcement for its most poignant effect.
He would die for her. Turning down the presidency was a small matter in comparison. And with her promises of riches and respect, his decision was an easy one.
After several seconds of silence, the president lifted his head again and said, “Many have asked me to run for the office. The timing is unfortunate, but it is a question that you, the American citizen deserve to have answered.”
He paused, looking squarely into the camera.
“The Twenty-fifth Amendment demanded that I should step up to fill the shoes of one of the greatest presidents this country has known—or at least that I should attempt to do so. But it does not require that I seek a full term once President Franklin’s term expires. My fellow Americans, I will not seek the presidency in November.”
He paused again and then nodded slightly as if to cement his decision.
“I will, however, make an endorsement. He has not sought this honor—that of being the president, but it is an honor that seeks him. Clearly, if we have learned one thing these past few weeks, it is that we need a leader who can face terrorism head on. We need an executive who has the experience and the knowledge to defend this great country of ours. No other issue is more important today.”
To the millions of viewers, President Hollenbeck appeared strong and confident. His words had weight.
“My fellow Americans, I can think of no person better qualified to protect America from the terrorism that has too often besieged our shores than my vice president. I hereby announce my support for Todd McGregor as the next President of the United States.” Once again, Hollenbeck paused before finishing by saying, “Thank you.”
The talking heads on the news channels went crazy. Everyone had expected President Hollenbeck to seek the office. He had, throughout his career, been exceedingly ambitious and had often talked about going for the highest office.
Once the shock of Hollenbeck turning down what everyone assumed to be a sure thing had passed, the conversation moved to McGregor. The consensus was that while the choice of McGregor would have seemed odd, ridiculous even, only a few weeks before, he would now be a shoe-in. The people were wanting someone outside Washington and someone tough on terrorism. McGregor, more than anyone else, was a perfect blending of those qualities. He had shown the makings of a strong executive through his public press conferences and by privately working with law enforcement. Not only that, but he was without question the most popular man in the Western World.
Chapter 42
SAN FRANCISCO
“Are you sure it was here?” asked the old man after Sam led them to a specific spot within Alamo Park. They stood on a sidewalk, facing some bushes. By the spacing of streetlights, it did appear the area would not be well illuminated at night. The thick bushes would easily provide cover for someone to hide. Down the path about a hundred feet was a tennis court. Sam was sure this was the location.
“Yes. This was his Fortress of Solitude. This is where he felt invincible and all seeing. This is where he waited for her.”
“Very well,” said the old man taking both of their hands. “Follow my lead.” Suteko touched Sam’s hand and he held fast to hers. “Grab the present—now!”
Sam had seen Suteko do this twice. Once in New Orleans to save their lives and the lives of Cobbs and perhaps a dozen other pedestrians. The other time was at the press conference where McGregor accused them of being terrorists.
But this time felt different. This time, there was absolutely no movement. Sam was sure he wasn’t helping very much, but he could feel time slow and then stop completely. He could sense that the present moment was no longer marching forward.
“Good,” said the old man. “Now, let’s move the present back to that night. Sam, find Michelle.”
Sam never broke his concentration but somehow, he heard and understood every word Marcus spoke. He began grabbing the present and sliding it over. It was as Suteko had said. The present could be visualized as a malleable sphere. Touching it with his mentally projected hands, he gave it a little push.
He realized he had moved to a present that had occurred only yesterday. He snatched another moment and flicked it hard, sending it away with a new present taking its place. He had gone too far, but they were closer now. One more adjustment and… Michelle.
There she was. He didn’t see her or hear her, but he knew he had the right place and time. The boy from the class had just left. She… she was crying. Sam, Suteko, and Marcus could all hear her sobbing before Marcus grabbed hold of that moment and didn’t let go. They were actually there, existing in the past.
“Good.” It was the old man’s voice. “You can open your eyes now. I have it.”
Sam and Suteko slowly opened their eyes. Sam almost screamed when his natural eyes saw the girl, standing there still as a statue in the pale moonlight. The area was indeed dimly lit. He was seeing Michelle—frozen in time—moments before she was to be murdered.
It all looked entirely natural. The colors around him, his depth perception—everything appeared as if it were reality occurring at that moment. Everything but the fact that nothing was moving and that he was looking at a girl from the past seconds before she was to be murdered.
“You can’t do anything for her now, Sam.” Suteko had seen the concern in his face.
“But she looks so real, so alive. I...”
“I’m afraid Suteko is right, my boy. We are simply visitors,” said Marcus. “Now, relax and concentrate.”
As in New Orleans, the scene was surreal. No brush of a breeze on their cheeks. No sound of birds in the trees. No cars honking their horns. Nothing was heard or felt. Nothing but their existence outside of time.
But this was far stranger, far more wondrous. They were existing in a present not of their own. They were experiencing a moment that occurred weeks before.
Sam saw that the old man was holding something in the palm of his hand. He couldn’t make out what it was. With the way time was being held back, he didn’t want to risk breaking Marcus’ concentration even as his curiosity grew.
“Now, let’s ease this forward.”
Sam felt the light puff of a breeze before it accelerated to its natural strength. The sobbing resumed. Sam risked opening his eyes again to watch her pitiable face. There was another sound. Rustling of leaves. Someone—McGregor—was behind the leaves waiting.
Then the killer took action.
It happened so fast. Michelle was sobbing alone and then screaming in the bushes with McGregor’s sleeve over her mouth. Sam watched, gasping. He looked around, but there was no one around from the past—no one to help. Even with his
eyes wide and his heart racing, Sam did not break his concentration. Suteko and the old man had their eyes closed, but Sam just had to look as he leaned into the bushes.
“Shut up! Don’t you see that I love you?” It was the voice of the killer.
Hearing McGregor’s words was strange. Sam had become well acquainted with the voice of McGregor on television. And yet, this voice had a darker feel. It was the voice of an insecure and yet demanding man, very different from the confident and borderline arrogant voice of McGregor the hero.
Sam could not see far within the bushes, but he knew what was happening. McGregor suppressed her cries and began pressing down on her throat.
“It’s me. Professor McGregor. I’ve been waiting for you. Say you love me!”
He pressed harder. She moaned something muffled and unintelligible.
“I love you! Why do you look at me like that?”
McGregor continued pressing and declaring his love until Sam heard only the sound of McGregor’s breathing and felt the odd sensation of the beating of a single heartbeat.
Sam couldn’t control his emotions; he pulled away and covered his face with cupped hands. He began to shiver as if he were freezing. The shaking seemed to affect the sound he was hearing. McGregor’s pulsating heartbeat pounded louder and faster. Soon, Sam realized the sound he was hearing had moved from his ears to his own heart. His blood pumped in sync with the sound. Louder. Faster. And... together with McGregor’s pulse. Sam felt as if the blood vessels in his neck were bursting.
“Wake up, Sam!”
Sam’s eyes were open, but his vision was blurred.
“Sam, look at me.”
Sam’s eyes came into focus. He could see the concerned faces of Marcus and Suteko looking down at him. He was on the ground, and Suteko had her arms around him, supporting him.
“I’m… sorry.”
“No, my boy. You did it! Now, to DC!”
Sam was utterly confused, but he got up and rushed to follow the old man the two blocks to their parked car. He held Suteko’s warm hand the entire way. She smiled and kissed him on his cheek. He was grateful—he needed to feel warmth, flesh, and confirmation that he was still alive. Her kiss also cleansed his contaminated thoughts; he had felt McGregor’s mind and had not walked away unscathed.
Marcus occasionally said, “Well done, boy!” or “Excellent, Sam.” Sam had no idea what exactly he had done to garner such praise, but with Suteko glowing beside him, he almost wouldn’t mind doing it again. Almost.
Chapter 43
Marcus had amassed great wealth over the centuries. Keeping a low profile with meager living conditions allowed him to quietly survive over the years. But if needed, he had the resources to hire a private jet and a pilot. And that was exactly what he did.
To Sam, Marcus was full of surprises. An old man with the agility and strength of a bodybuilder; adverse to technology in general and yet drives red-hot convertibles. And, by overheard conversations with the pilot, he seemed to also have an in-depth knowledge of aviation and the latest in jet technology.
During the flight, Suteko slept her usual ten minutes. Sam followed suit. While he no longer needed massive amounts of sleep, he still required more sleep than Suteko. When Sam awoke, his first image was that of the old man hovering over him, inches from his face.
“Ah, he awakes!”
“What?” Sam said, rubbing his eyes. He felt like he had a full night’s sleep and yet they were still in the air when he awoke. This meant no more than a few hours could have passed. “Did I sleep long?”
“Years! At least, that is how it seemed,” said the old man. “Suteko insisted that we wait for you to wake without disturbance.”
“No, Sam,” said Suteko, giving Marcus a disapproving look. “You slept only a few minutes more than I did. Marcus is just anxious about my dream.”
“You had a dream?” Sam searched his memory for any remnant of a dream. He remembered none.
“Yes. Sam, you must be on your guard. I saw Kaileen searching for you.”
“Kaileen?” Sam asked, still in the process of waking.
“The woman we met at the library in San Francisco.”
“Ah, lovely,” Sam said while rolling his eyes as if the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t enough.
Suteko looked upon Marcus with compassion in her eyes before continuing to Sam, “You must be careful. But, providing the dream is a true echo—and I believe it is, we know where she will be at some point.”
“But you yourself said the future can change.”
“That is correct and the dream may not even be an echo. It could just be my overactive subconscious getting jealous over other women wanting you.”
For a moment, it seemed no one else was on the plane. Sam wondered if Suteko had managed to stop time, but he continued to hear the roar of the engines.
Then with a clearing of his throat, Marcus said, “Before you two love birds get to a point where I cease to exist, we need to resolve this minor issue of someone wanting you—indeed all of us—dead.”
Sam was utterly embarrassed, but Suteko just sat there smiling.
“Now, Suteko, please describe the location. If we can find the place you saw, we might have the upper hand.”
“I can do better than that, Marcus. I know the address. My dream began on the street. I followed her past a sign that said Constitution Avenue and into an apartment building that I would instantly recognize. The room number is 306.”
“Good,” the old man said while standing. “We have an advantage then. Not much, but I pray it will be enough.”
As the old man began to walk toward the front of the plane, Suteko said, “Where are you going?”
“Three’s a crowd,” he said, smiling. “Enjoy your time together. You will have precious little of it until that demon Kaileen is stopped.”
Chapter 44
WASHINGTON DC
Standing in front of a full-length mirror, McGregor was making a final adjustment to his bow tie when he simultaneously heard a voice and saw a shadowy figure appear behind his reflection in the mirror.
“You’ve grown arrogant.” The voice growled impatiently.
McGregor spun around so fast, he almost lost his balance. It was Kaileen—the woman who had pulled him from the site of the bomb in New Orleans and had groomed him to be the man he had become. He had no idea how she did it, but as long as she gave him the drug he needed—her eyes—he didn’t care when or where she appeared.
The woman continued. “The election is still weeks away, and yet you act as if you are already the president.”
“Did you not see the latest Rasmussen poll? Seventy-two percent support me in my bid for the presidency. Seventy-two!” McGregor turned back to the mirror, smiling as he began to fidget with his bow tie again. “I have the sympathy vote, the national security vote, and of course the countless number who are just fed up with the Washington inbreeds.”
His smile widened. Even seeing her angry reflection next to his in the mirror couldn’t keep him from feeling good.
“Do not let your guard down. I sense much weakness in you still. It will not be an easy task to keep you from saying or doing something stupid.”
He shot a glance behind him half-stung by her words, but then his attention returned to his beautiful image in the mirror.
“You worry too much,” he said, patting his already perfectly groomed hair. His full head of hair, however gray, was a source of pride for him.
Before he could blink, the woman was between him and the mirror, and her right hand held his throat tightly.
“Never underestimate the enemy. And never take my words lightly. Never!”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said, managing to voice his thoughts only after she loosened her grip.
Satisfied, she removed her hand, letting him drop to his knees coughing.
“Two of the Temporal know our plan. They will come for you.”
“For me?” Suddenly, McGregor was afraid. “Is
it that Williams and his Japanese girlfriend? The ones at the first press conference?”
She nodded. “I saw them in San Francisco at your apartment digging up dirt from your sloppy past.”
“I... I will make it a matter of national security. They... they are already wanted by the authorities. Tell me where they are—I’ll have the CIA on them before you...”
“Don’t be stupid. I will take care of the problem.” She began pacing slowly as if in deep thought. Her next words were personal thoughts accidentally voiced. “It is unlikely they will attempt to assassinate you. But they will try to get you to say or do something incriminating. That would be too easy...” She moved closer to him and focused on his eyes. “Stay low. Limit interviews to friendly media sources. Do not go out in broad daylight.”
McGregor was hypnotized by her eyes, but he didn’t see the stars. It was only after she peeled her eyes from his line of sight that he heard what she had just said.
“Huh? Why avoid daylight?”
“Have you not noticed that you are wearing sunglasses constantly now? Does not your skin sting like a mild sunburn when exposed to the sun’s light?”
He hadn’t thought about it, but it was true. He had never worn sunglasses much before, but lately his eyes stung and the discomfort was only relieved with dark eyewear. His hands, face, and neck did feel strange at times, but he hadn’t thought about it enough to discover the source of the irritant.
“What’s happening to me? Am I... sick?”
“Don’t be pathetic.” She moved closer. “And do not be ungrateful. You have received everything you have ever wanted: fame, power, love, respect. Did you not expect certain trade-offs? Your outside is simply manifesting what is inside.”