“Absolutely, Rachel.” Troy gave her a reassuring smile. “And if you see Aislen before I do, could you tell her I’m looking for her?”
“Absolutely,” Rachel wrinkled her nose at him and pushed the cart out of the room.
Troy watched her leave, then moved to the door, shutting it quietly behind her. He slowly walked back to Sigmund’s bedside.
The meds were already kicking in. Even if he could have, Sigmund didn’t have enough strength to fight them. Troy took his time walking back, the hard tap of his shoes clicking like a doomsday clock.
As the meds worked on his brain, Sigmund’s vision began to fog, and suddenly, she was there–Ashlyn–at the end of his bed.
“Ashlyn!” Sigmund cried out. She looked mortified, realizing that he could see her. “I knew you were here! I always knew when you were around. Please, help me!”
Troy walked to the end of the bed, searching for what Sigmund saw, surveying the area for any sign or feeling of her. Finding nothing, he turned and walked back to Sigmund, leaned down into his face and looked him in the eye.
“Any final confessions, old man?”
Sigmund couldn’t speak. The meds had overpowered his muscle control, and his mind was starting to fade. Aislen was materializing at the end of the bed, becoming more real and less phantom.
Please, Poppet, make him stop, Sigmund pleaded.
Aislen looked from Sigmund to Troy. “Troy?”
Troy, of course, was oblivious. Only Sigmund could hear her.
“You are no longer needed here,” Troy whispered to Sigmund.
Troy clamped a hand over Sigmund's mouth.
Aislen freaked out. “Troy! What are you doing? Please stop!”
Sigmund couldn’t breathe. He didn’t have the strength to pull any oxygen through Troy’s fingertips.
Sigmund watched as Aislen grew even more horrified by what Troy was doing.
“Troy! What are you doing! This isn’t okay!”
From the wall behind Aislen, Astrid appeared. She walked over and stood behind Aislen. Then, right behind her, Thomas materialized. Aislen stopped yelling at Troy and turned, seeing them there, too.
Sigmund realized he was dying. Astrid and Thomas were not there to greet him into the light; they were there to judge him.
A final jolt of survival adrenaline coursed through Sigmund’s body, giving him enough strength to fight against Troy’s death grip. Troy clamped his face tighter.
Vater appeared in the room behind the others. Then Sigmund’s mother, though he never knew her name. The room had filled up with ghosts.
Aislen looked around the room and turned back to face him, realizing he was dying. She looked horrified and helpless, yet also something akin to relief.
Troy leaned even closer and whispered, “Just let go, old man. There is no need to worry about Aislen. I’ll be handling that. Your legacy will be erased from this planet for good very soon.”
Sigmund’s body involuntarily sucked at Troy’s palm, begging for oxygen and being denied. In a last-ditch surge of defiance, Sigmund closed his eyes and began tapping his gnarled fingers against his thumb.
Tap.
Mudra one.
Tap.
Mudra two.
Tap tap.
Mudra three, then four.
Tap tap tap.
Both hands now.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
One, one, two, three, five.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.
One, one, two, three, five, six, seven, eight.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap–POP!
Seventeen
Raze stepped out of the house into the late afternoon bustle of the city. Unlike most dreary winter days, it was bright and brisk. The sunlight had burned off any fog that could have provided a cloak of anonymity. He’d changed out of his work clothes and into something more casual so he could blend in better with the public. He didn’t need the slick black suit calling any more attention to himself than his presence normally did.
He didn’t know where to begin. He was the proverbial fish out of water, an anomaly trying to assimilate into the normal. He hadn’t shopped for food in years. His basic needs had always been provided, delivered by Infinium’s wage-slaves, which left him to focus on his work. But they had moved into uncharted territory now, and he needed to adapt quickly to this new reality if he was going to survive. He started toward the Embarcadaro, remembering that he’d passed a farmer’s market there during some of his runs.
The stunt he’d pulled with Grant, Troy, and The 8 would only buy them a day, two if they were lucky. Troy would be off scouring the streets of Modesto hunting for Aislen right about now. But after he checked the three or four places Aislen could be, he’d reach a dead end. Troy was not dumb. He would be the first to figure out that Raze had sent them on a wild goose chase. But he was so low in the ranks right now that it would take a lot for him to convince the others. They wouldn’t just gather an emergency session because Troy had a hunch, but two days from now they would definitely give him a listen and be calling for Raze.
He had to get Aislen up to speed that fast. But what speed? What did she really need to know? How was Raze supposed to teach all that to her?
She’d been Traveling since he’d picked her up, that’s for sure; in the car and again while he met with The 8. And if he was to believe her, she was time traveling. This was an astounding revelation.
Most operatives were only trained as Viewers. They used physical coordinates to enter an aperture of Place and surveyed what was going on there. At Level VI, Viewers would learn how to acquire people’s signatures and could Travel to their locations and bear witness to their activities.
Raze knew that Aislen could acquire signal lines using signature frequencies already. She’d skipped the basic GPS skill set altogether. But if she was following those lines backward or forward in time, that could present significant problems.
Most Operatives never acquired this skill at all, and the very few who did were given tightly controlled restrictions, especially when Traveling in the past. It was an “observe only” directive. There was too much risk. If the Operative were detected or shifted the course of events in any way, it could change the probable future timeline in countless ways.
It was why Raze was only allowed to work in Real Time Zone. As a Control Operative Level XI, Raze was an Influencer, trained to manipulate, influence and eliminate people and probable future events. Doing this to targets in a Past Time Zone created disruptions that expanded through time, and like black holes they sucked in future events and even people. One false move and you could suck the wrong people, even yourself, out of existence.
If Aislen was already capable of time travel, Raze needed to make sure she knew the rules before she started influencing people and disrupting the timeline.
When he got back, he’d get her nourished and then see what she’d been up to. He could assess where they needed to go from there.
And where did they go from there? There were too few choices. They could disappear off the grid, like her father Preston had. Raze sure as hell didn’t want to do that, and he didn’t have to guess Aislen wouldn’t be down either.
If she was already that adept, Raze could sell The 8 on using her as an operative. It would solve his problem and save her, both at the same time. Maybe he could convince her of the lifestyle, and she’d go willingly. It was the easiest fix.
Raze felt a sick turning in his stomach as if the idea repulsed him. But it was the best idea! She’d be alive and still able to keep an eye on her mother, even if she couldn’t contact her anymore.
And why did he even care! The easiest choice was just to turn her in to The 8! Let them have their way with her, and he could go back to his hard-earned life!
The twist in his gut tightened, and a stinging sensation burned his thigh. Aislen’s amulet had awoken in his pocket. He’d been carrying it all day, and while there was a constant low-grade frequenc
y emitting from it that he’d gotten used to, it hadn’t done this before.
He stopped and pulled it from his pocket. The platinum rings of the labyrinth glinted in the light, and the rich colors of the jewels sparked and radiated. All except one.
That was odd. When he’d first examined it, all the gemstones were bright, vivid colors. But now one had turned black. The olive-green tourmaline was now an onyx. What had happened? What made the stone change? Was it his thoughts, or something else? Raze traced the route with his thumb, back and forth around the semi circles. When it reached a colored gemstone, the pendant would ting a different frequency, ever so subtle. When it touched the onyx, it went silent. A portal had closed.
And what was the significance of the labyrinth anyway? Was it a puzzle? A game? A maze?
Raze continued moving his thumb along the arcing path. There were no straight lines to the next destination, but what seemed like a dead end was really just a turn. To get to the next stone his thumb had to turn in alternating directions, one way, then the opposite. What seemed like going backward was actually moving him deeper into the layers. The amulet was definitely a guidance system.
It sung in his hand in response, a pleasant sensation–ding, ding, ding! A yes. The sick twisting he’d felt must be its way of saying no. Raze tested his theory, thinking about the idea of making Aislen an operative as a way to solve their problems. The amulet immediately transmitted discord–a definite no. Raze was holding a powerful tool in the palm of his hand. Even if he didn’t know where to begin, the pendant could provide direction.
It was the answer. He needed to give it back to Aislen.
The amulet fell back into harmony, communicating its intentions clearly. Raze slipped it back in his pocket and continued toward the market.
TONAL
Adolescents ~ Incubus
Even if he now had some clarity, Raze felt uneasy. He was used to relying on himself to make choices, head in directions, and reach goals…straight, precise lines of his choosing, not going with the flow. But the grid he’d been in was still a maze, and it was just as easy to get lost.
His life as a Control Operative had hit a turning point the day Aislen showed up in Demesne. And each step along the way, each decision he’d made, had taken his life in a new direction. He was now in a mystery–the labyrinth, meandering and following the unknown.
He let that sink in as he wandered into the crowded market. He tried to blend himself into the diversity of energy, sound, and color.
A stream of shoppers swept in around him. Raze spotted a woman walking toward him, eyeing him intently. He was used to that. He eyed her back, waiting for her to get uncomfortable, avert her eyes and shut down. But she didn’t. She smiled as she passed, a friendly smile, nothing beguiling or flirtatious, just neighborly, and continued on her way.
This was not a typical reaction. It was either fear or sex, not just…normal.
He meandered through the maze of canopies. The aroma of fresh bread embraced him. Fully feeling his hunger, he followed the tempting tendrils to the bread vendor.
“Good afternoon! Can I help you with something?” A man in tie dye, with long hair gathered in a topknot on his head.
“Yeah, uh, I just need some bread.”
“Ha! Yeah, well, this is the right place! What can I do ya for? All our artisan breads is made from the highest quality, all natural ingredients. We have an amazing roasted garlic & olive oil sourdough today and a sprouted wheat that’s a favorite.”
“I guess the wheat?” Raze didn’t think roasted garlic was a good idea.
“Good choice!” Mr. Man-bun selected a loaf and bagged it for Raze. They exchanged money, and just like that, Raze had acted like a normal person himself.
He moved on to a stand of fresh eggs and did the same thing. Then into a produce tent where he picked out some spinach, onions and other vegetables.
As he waited in line to pay for his remaining items, Raze felt something brush against his leg. He looked down to find a small boy looking up at him, a toddler on a leash trying to hold on to his mother’s tight yoga pants with one hand and manage a blue sippy cup with his other.
He looked up at Raze, gave him a slobbery grin, and raised his sippy cup up to him. He babbled something incoherent. Was he offering Raze a drink from his sippy cup?
Raze was taken aback. Children usually knew better than adults to steer clear of Raze, ever suspicious and burying their heads in a parent’s leg to hide from him. They never engaged.
The boy confidently babbled some more gibberish and tapped the cup into Raze’s thigh.
“No, thank you. I’m good,” he said to the boy.
Yesterday’s Raze would have had to resist drop-kicking the toddler into the bay. But today’s Raze felt remarkably tolerant and equally confused.
The boy giggled and did it again, a salut to the knee with a juice. Some of the juice spouted out the top and splashed on Raze’s pant leg.
Instinctively, LululeMom turned to see what her rugrat was up to, saw the damage and began apologizing profusely. “Jeffrey! No! Oh my God, I am so sorry! Here let me find a napkin or wipe.”
Raze stopped her. “It’s all right. Really.”
And really it was. He was officially a part of the world now, christened into humanity by an innocent. Another pivot in the path.
Raze paid for the produce and made his way back toward the warehouse in a daze. The air felt different, charged. Raze felt different. He felt energized, like he’d shrugged off the leash and harness he’d misinterpreted as freedom for too long and connected in some small way to the real world. He felt capable. Even if he didn’t have all the answers, he was certain that he could maneuver whatever was coming as long as he stayed present and in the moment.
Raze opened the garage door and walked up to the Qi. He shifted all the bags into one arm and raised his right palm to the panel.
Nothing happened.
No beep. No clicking. No locks disengaging. He pushed on the door to see if he’d left it ajar, but it was shut and secure.
A sick feeling of dread welled up in the pit of his stomach. He grounded himself, conjured up his signature frequency and projected it again into the Qi.
It responded.
“Unknown guest. Access denied.”
Eighteen
Aislen stood helplessly at the end of Mr. Lange’s bed, watching Troy–Troy–murdering her great-grandfather. She was appalled. The look of pleasure, no, outright delight on his face was grotesque. She’d watched his whole persona transform from the charming, charismatic Troy that she thought she knew—and might have loved—into this monstrosity; flirting with Rachel one minute, murderous psychopath the next.
Who was he? The realization that this was the real Troy made itself perfectly clear. She had been played.
Aislen realized she was surrounded by others now: Astrid, Thomas, Sigmund’s Nazi father, and a woman who felt like Sigmund’s birth mother. They didn’t acknowledge Aislen, or each other for that matter. They just stood impassively at the end of the bed, watching as the murder unfolded, waiting for Sigmund to cross over.
“Unknown guest. Access denied.”
Aislen looked around to see who had spoken. But besides the faint suckling noise of Sigmund fighting for breath, the room was silent.
“Please, Poppet, make him stop!” Sigmund found his way into her head. He glared at her over Troy’s clenched grip, eyes wild and desperate.
As much as she was growing to hate him, even though he was more of a monster than Troy was proving himself to be, this frail, broken version of her great-grandfather pulled sympathy from her.
But there was nothing she could do. He couldn’t hear her. He was oblivious to all the others standing in the room with her.
Raziel was right. If it was a dream, she could change it. But this was reality. She was witnessing a current event a hundred miles away and was helpless to stop it.
“Unknown guest. Access denied.”
Ais
len couldn’t pull her eyes away from Sigmund’s pleading stare.
Troy leaned down even closer to Sigmund and growled in his ear, “Just let go, old man. There is no need to worry about Aislen. I’ll be handling that. Your legacy will be erased from this planet for good very soon.”
Aislen went cold. Troy had never been on her side. It was all a sham, a deadly farce that she had fallen head over heels for.
As Sigmund realized his imminent doom, he closed his eyes. Aislen watched the fingers of his restrained hands begin to twitch as the life was squeezed out of him.
“Mudra one. Mudra two.”
“Unauthorized subject at the Warehouse Door 1.”
“Mudra three, mudra four.” Sigmund was reciting in her head. She watched his fingers tapping a sequence, a stemming fidget she’d witnessed him do many times before.
“One, one, two, three, five.” Tap tap tap tap tap.
“Warning! Unauthorized subject at the Warehouse Door 1.”
Aislen began to recognize the woman’s voice and started to remember where she really was. She was in the lab. She could feel the chaise beneath her and the warm blanket cloaking her.
“One, one, two, three, five, six, seven, eight.” Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.
The violent scene playing out before her started fading away as Aislen was pulled backward through the signal line.
“One, one, two, three, five, six, seven, eight, thirteen–” POP!
Aislen felt the energy shift, the void created as Sigmund’s life left his body.
The aperture slammed shut, locking her out of the hospital room. She ripped the blanket from over her head, overwhelmed by tumultuous emotions.
Her great-grandfather was dead! This brought her a measure of relief, a sense of justice. Sigmund Lange was an evil, evil man. But Troy! How could she have been so wrong about him? All the flirting! His caresses! The feigned care and compassion! He had been working her the whole time. Aislen was devastated as though someone else, someone infinitely more precious, had died in that room. But that person was just a fantasy; the Troy that she had believed in didn’t really exist.
Time Walker: Episode 2 of The Walker Saga Page 13