by Danika Stone
“Like your teacup readings,” Ava finished quietly. She had her chin on her hand, eyes soft and happy.
Cole glanced from one to the other. The idea of “flow” he understood... but the idea of a sculpture already existing in the future made no sense.
“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward. “A hint from the future... How would that even work?”
The older man placed an empty plate between the two of them. He took his glass and poured water until it filled the surface.
“This water is everything in time,” he began. “All that’ll ever happen and all that ever did. We tend to think of it in sequence,” Oliver explained, drawing his finger across the plate in a line like a swimmer crossing a pool. “Because that’s how we experience things... how we think—”
“But that’s how it is,” Cole interrupted.
Oliver smirked, and Cole saw Ava reflected in his expression.
“Einstein didn’t think so... Super string theory would say you’re wrong too. I say it really didn’t matter, because we’re all just here to learn.”
Cole’s frown deepened as he stared at the plate, willing himself to understand.
“So where’s the sculpture that wants to be created?” Cole asked, his eyes on the water.
Oliver placed his fingers into his half-empty water glass, letting a bead of liquid hover over the water-filled plate.
“The sculpture that wants to be created is right over… here...” Cole watched as the heavy drop hit the still water below, ripples spreading out across the rest of the plate. “Those ripples,” Oliver added, “are the echoes I was talking about. If you can catch onto one, you can follow it back to where it begins and the closer you get to what wants to be created, the easier it becomes.”
Cole shook his head in frustration. Something here bothered him... pushing at his senses. Something that went beyond artwork and creation. He could almost feel it. Taste it like salt on his tongue.
Hanna’s laughing face flickered in his mind.
“That makes no sense,” Cole growled, “because if things in the future can affect us... then the things in the past can, too.”
Oliver nodded, his finger letting random droplets fall to different areas of the plate. Some were at one side, some at the other, the ripples blending together.
“Everything’s happening at once... Everything creating ripples that affect and change the events at different times. Major events – traumas – echo the loudest, but everything affects the world. We all have choice, of course, but there are times that we feel the pull of events... call it ‘flow,’ call it ‘destiny’... doesn’t really matter. It's all just echoes of what can or had or could be...” Oliver laughed. “That’s my take on it.”
There was a long silence after he finished, and Cole watched the ripples fade away as the water stilled, the surface smooth once more.
“Well, I’m going to grab a few things before we head out,” Ava said, standing up and squeezing Cole’s shoulder.
Her hip hit the table and Cole watched ripples spread across all directions of the plate, his mind still drawn to the implications. Cole had a thousand questions. It didn’t make sense... because it did make sense.
In the other room, the door to Ava’s bedroom clicked shut, but Cole was only distantly aware. There was the scrape of another chair, and he saw Ava’s father standing, a fan of wrinkles on the outside of his smiling eyes.
“I’m gonna grab a smoke outside,” Oliver said, turning to walk across the living room. “C’mon out if you want,” he called over his shoulder.
Cole nodded, grabbing his coat and following.
Chapter 38: New Year’s Eve
Ava stood in her bedroom, dropping items into her bag. She knew Cole was in the dining room with her father; the conversation had gotten weird enough that she was starting to worry. Cole’s face, as she’d left the room, had been apprehensive and sceptical.
‘Fuck it, Dad,’ she thought in frustration, ‘you really had to jump into it with both feet tonight, didn’t you?’
Ava Brooks certainly loved her father, but there were times – like now – that she wished that he was a little more conservative... like Chim’s parents, for instance.
Grabbing fresh panties and a t-shirt, Ava scrounged for the travel-toothbrush in her top drawer. She was crashing with Cole at his dorm tonight. She’d already told her father that she wouldn’t be home (though by mutual agreement, he hadn’t asked her where, and she hadn’t offered that information). Instead, he’d reminded her to have her cell phone with her, to make sure that Chim knew where she was staying, and to call him if she needed anything at all. That part of her father was fantastic. It was just this other stuff – and Cole’s reaction – that troubled her. Finally locating her travel brush and a pair of socks, she shoved them with her wallet into the small backpack slung over her shoulder, heading back to the supper table.
It was empty.
She glanced into the rooms, eyebrows rising in concern. Her anxiety sharpened into the first hint of panic. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Cole her father liked him. (Oliver had told her when they’d dropped Cole off last night.) It was that Cole had looked increasingly dubious as the conversation had become more. The whole ‘echoes from the future’ discussion had left Cole with the same expression he might have if he walked into an Advanced Biochemistry class on exam day, discovering he’d never attended a single class. He looked that kind of worried.
Ava was now dealing with the same feelings.
“Goddamnit!” she grunted as she shrugged on her leather coat and jogged downstairs. If they’d gone outside, it’d be to the fire escape where her father liked to smoke. She and her father had had at least a hundred conversations out there during her teen years. They had been the types of conversations – about Ava’s probation, her anger, seeing a counsellor, getting birth control – that her father couldn't handle without a cigarette in hand. She smiled, remembering. Ava and her father’s relationship had been forged on those stairs. For the most part, she loved what they represented. Tonight was a different situation altogether; Cole was the one she was concerned about. Ava’s feet quickened as she headed down the long hallway, chest tight.
‘Don’t freak out on me, Cole,’ her mind begged, ‘he’s harmless – totally harmless!’
She wondered what had convinced Cole to go outside with her father. What in the world they could be talking about now...
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’
As expected, the fire exit was propped open with a half of a brick. It had been the doorstop for as long as Ava and her father had lived in the building and its gouged side was as familiar to her as the photographs lining the apartment walls. A black band of night was visible beyond. Pulse racing, Ava touched the edge of the partially-opened door but halted, nervous about interrupting. She could hear two voices – Cole and then her father – talking in quiet tones.
For a moment, Ava closed her eyes, letting her attention drift outward, fear and hope mingling. Her father was using that quiet, mellow tone he was known for. She smiled despite herself. This was Oliver at his most persuasive.
“...but why else come back again, Cole? Why be born again if not to learn from our mistakes? What would be the point?”
Ava leaned closer, ears straining to hear Cole’s muttered response.
“I honestly don’t know if there is a point,” Cole responded, “if there is anything after you die at all... I guess I always kind of figured this was it. You live and then you die. End game.”
It made her sad; the finality of his statement. She froze as her father started speaking again.
“Well, that’s as good a theory as any,” Oliver said with a chuckle, and his voice changed slightly... challenge under the charm. “But the thing is, Cole, if this really is your only chance to live, then there’s no dress rehearsal, right? So we should all stop pissing around and get out there and really live.”
Cole laughed – it was an easy, ha
ppy sound, not stressed at all – and with that, Ava stepped onto the fire escape. Almost in unison, the two men glanced up at her from where they sat together, side by side, on the metal grated step.
“Mind if I interrupt?” Ava asked with a smirk.
Oliver smiled as Cole stood up.
“Not at all, not at all,” her father answered, lifting the cigarette to his mouth and inhaling, “just shooting the breeze.”
Ava shook her head.
“Uh-huh... Heard enough to know you’re lying.”
Cole and her father both grinned, and Cole’s hand reached out, hovering. Ava caught the indecision. He dropped it to Oliver’s shoulder with a wry grin.
“You always like this?”
Oliver glanced up at him, winking.
“Nah, I really let loose once you get to know me.”
For the briefest moment, Oliver caught Ava’s gaze and she knew that everything was fine. She couldn’t explain how she knew, she just did. Held tight by her father’s eyes, her racing heart calmed, worry fading.
“We should probably get going, Dad. Suzanne and Chim are already at the Crown, and it’s probably going to be packed tonight.”
Oliver lifted his hand, turning away from the two of them to stare out into the darkness.
“Be good, you two,” he said, his grin translated through the lilt of his words.
Ava smirked, pulling Cole into the building alongside her.
“I always am,” she shouted as the door closed against the brick doorstop, but not before her father’s disbelieving laughter chased her words.
: : : : : : : : : :
The Crown and Sceptre was packed by the time they arrived, and as the night wore on, it got worse. Suzanne and Chim had reserved their booth, of course, and the four of them laughed and joked together, drinking and telling stories and celebrating the end of a great year. The bar – both sections of it – was doing good business tonight. University students made up the main bar, but there was a private function in the back room. Sometime after eleven, Kip Chambers, Raya Simpson and a number of people Ava didn’t recognize walked through the bustling club to the private section at the back. Kip didn’t stop to talk, but he waved as he passed.
Ava nodded, then turned back to discover that Cole had been watching the interaction, a scowl on his face.
They hadn’t talked about the arrest since the night they’d joked about it with Chim and Suzanne, but she knew Chambers and Simpson’s part in the events infuriated Cole. As they sat drinking, Simpson’s presence nearby became an unspoken irritant for Ava. Though Cole still sat next to her, laughing and talking, the tone of the evening had changed. Her humiliation and terror at being arrested transformed into a cloak of righteous indignation. She fumed that Raya would even come here.
‘This is my bar!’ a dark part of Ava’s mind growled.
An hour later, the party was reaching its peak. Several friends slid into the booth along with them, leaving Ava pressed tightly between Cole and Chim. Drinking games took the place of toasts; shooters replacing jugs of beer. It was fun, but Ava was overheated, and sometime past midnight, she excused herself to find the bathroom.
Ava was washing her hands in the crowded washroom when Raya Simpson's haughty face greeted her in the mirror. Ava’s alcohol-fueled anger erupted in a flash-flood. Spinning around, Ava stormed forward, ready to confront Kip’s agent. Simpson had already stepped out of the bathroom, her tall form disappearing into the crowd, headed to the back of the club.
“Fucking bitch,” Ava hissed, staggering as she followed.
“Simpson!” Ava shouted, reaching the door separating the club's rooms.
Raya glanced over her shoulder, moving a little quicker as she stepped through the press of bodies. Ava followed. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be going in the private back room of the bar, but she no longer cared. It was past midnight and there was no bouncer to turn her away.
“I’m talking to YOU, Raya!” Ava bellowed, stepping into the crowd. The music was painfully loud and her words blended into the pulsing beat.
“Simpson!” Ava roared again, anger blossoming inside of her chest, burning away the last of her inhibitions. Ava wanted the woman to be scared. Raya moved faster, her eyes darting back in worry every few seconds.
Ava was pushing past a group of semi-familiar people – regulars from the professional art scene – when someone grabbed her arm, dragging her sideways. Her mind was fogged from the lines of shooters she’d done, but she was alert enough to recognize who it was.
“Goddamnit, Kip!” Ava snapped, tugging to get away, “let GO! That bitch owes me a fucking apology!”
Chapter 39: The Return of Winter
Cole had been waiting for Ava for almost fifteen minutes when he finally decided to look for her. He wandered through the bar, asking regulars if they’d seen her. One of the waitresses coming out of the private room at the back provided the answer. Ava was in the New Year’s party for the Art Gallery staff. With a shrug, the woman nodded toward the door.
“Go on in, Cole,” she muttered wearily, “no one cares at this point.”
As he stepped through, Cole’s eyes scanned the crowd. The smaller space was even more crowded than out front. The place was standing room only, and he forced his way through, sidestepping couples wrapped around each other in New Year’s abandon.
Cole was about to head over the other way when someone touched his arm. It was Raya Simpson, white-faced and wide-eyed.
“You’re Ava Brooks’ friend, aren’t you?” she shouted. Her voice was raised, but still barely audible over the pulsing beat of club music.
“Yeah,” Cole yelled, leaning in as he struggled to hear her.
Raya cupped her hand around her mouth, answering.
“I got the panels today, but can you give Ava the cheque?”
Cole paused, forcing himself to recall the numbers he saw on the page that day in the kitchen. He didn’t trust this woman.
“Sure,” Cole answered. “Need the breakdown?”
He was lying, of course, but he had an approximate memory of the offer (well enough to know if she was skimming). Simpson shook her head tersely.
“I um… I just… here,” she said, her words muted by the cacophony of the bar. She reached for her chequebook and retrieved a pen from inside her purse. Her face was puckered and annoyed... but there was something else there, too. Fear.
“Look,” she shouted. “I know Ava doesn’t want to hear it, but I’m actually sorry the whole thing with the police got out of hand,” Raya continued filling out the cheque, leaving Cole struggling to pick up her words. “It was a filming decision that Kip and I made months ago. But, given what happened...” her eyes flickered to the far side of the room, “...it’ll probably be better if Ava isn’t part of the rest of the film in the summer.”
There it was. The stab in the back.
“What the fuck?!” Cole yelled, pushing closer. Simpson stepped back, eyes narrowing. “You’re backing out on her on that?” he snarled. “How the hell was YOUR fucked-up publicity stunt Ava’s fault?”
Raya Simpson's lips pursing like she was going to whistle. The music was a beating heart, the bass rattling glasses on the tables.
“That’s not what I meant,” Raya retorted. “I just figured, with how things went, Ava wouldn’t want—” She blew out a sharp breath, ripping the half-written cheque out of the book, and crumpling it. “Fuck it,” she growled as she went back to writing. “Here!” she snapped. “That’ll more than cover what Ava would’ve made.” Her eyes slid away again. “I’m just… DONE! Take it or leave it. I don’t have time for this!”
Cole’s eyes dropped to the numbers and his heart lurched. He remembered the original offer was... and this was more than twice that. Without a word, he double-checked the signature and date, just to be sure. He folded it in half, placing it into his pocket with shaky fingers.
“I’ll pass it along,” Cole said.
“Good,” Raya barked. “
While you’re at it, why don’t you get Ava to stop hanging off my boyfriend.”
Cole coughed, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. He followed Simpson’s gaze to a couple on the far side of the room. A blonde woman stood against the wall, talking animatedly to a brown-haired man, her hands gesturing in broad circles. It was Ava and she wasn’t happy – Cole could see that at once. It was the man’s posture that bothered him.
Kip Chambers had one shoulder against the wall and he leaned down, moving into her space. He was close enough to kiss her if he wanted. One of his hands rested against the wall; as Cole watched, he reached out, brushing against Ava’s arm.
“What the fuck?!” Cole growled. Simpson’s claw-like hand was on his arm in an instant, her eyes cold.
“Just get her out of here,” she sneered, “I don’t want another scene.”
Cole grimaced and stepped into the milling crowd.
“You’ve got it.”
: : : : : : : : : :
“Look Kip,” Ava slurred, “I don’t what it’s s’posed to mean – prob’ly nothing. It was a painting – alright? Nothin’ else to it.”
Kip loomed closer, his body blocking her view of the room.
“But you told me that you paint from your dreams...”
He trailed off and Ava flashed to the snake and the coins, then the image of the winged painting that threw her so much. She really did need to talk to her dad sometime, maybe have him read her tea leaves.
“I do shit like that all the time,” she growled, irritated, “but it doesn’t mean—”
“What if it DOES mean something,” he argued, leaning closer. “What if it means something about you... about us?”
“Fuck this,” she snapped, the embers of her temper flaring, “there's no connection between us, d’you get that? It’s a fucked-up painting, nothing else!”
She pushed off from the wall, stepping out of Kip’s way and slamming directly into Cole. He’d been standing two steps away, and in a split-second of sobriety, Ava understood exactly what he’d just seen. Every muscle in his body was tensed and furious. His hands were rolled into tight fists, jaw clenched, stance wide, ready to throw the first punch.