Time Walker: Episode 2 of The Walker Saga

by Shannan Sinclair

  Aislen felt like she would vomit, her head swimming and her energy spinning wildly.

  Sigmund casually walked to the mirror, unbothered by his now-soaking wet clothes. He washed his hands and smoothed his hair, checking his reflection in the mirror, basking in an afterglow. After a moment, he went to the chair, carefully scooped up his jacket and draped it neatly over his arm.

  He looked up at the space where the Viewer, Grant, was still standing. Grant was white as an actual ghost now and looked as mortified as Aislen was.

  “That, Mr. Parker, is how it’s done. Figure it out soon, or I will have no use for you, either. Now get back to Headquarters. We’ll meet you there.” Sigmund turned his back on him and headed for the door.

  Grant gladly followed his order, contracting himself into a pinprick of light and pinging out the window.

  As Sigmund passed by, Aislen could no longer contain herself. “You are EVIL!!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, unleashing all her own rage, not caring that no one could hear her.

  Sigmund stopped, cocking his head ever so slightly in Aislen’s direction. Curious, he slowly walked toward her. Stopping in the space in front of her, he sniffed at the air and then looked directly at her.

  “Preston!” he barked at the child behind him. “Is there someone else here?”

  Preston looked up at Aislen. “No, Pappy. I don’t see anyone.”

  Sigmund stared into Aislen’s eyes, boring into her presence. Then he smiled knowingly.

  I always knew you were there, Poppet. A gnarly unseen hand ran its fingers through her hair and began scratching its claws at her skull. I could smell you, it whispered huskily in her head. It’s how I found you again.

  “No!” Aislen pushed herself away from Sigmund, charging her space with a fiery energy, forcing the hungry ghost of her great-grandfather out of her head. The Sigmund that stood before her was unfazed, his grin broadening, gloating with validation. He finally turned away from her and walked to Preston, bending over and getting into his face.

  “Don’t think I don’t know when you are lying, you wretched brat. And don’t think that because you’re a child, I won’t do to you what I did to your mother and father. You will be doing exactly what I say from now on.”

  Sigmund stood upright and walked out the bathroom door. “Follow me,” he called back to Preston, who stood staring up at Aislen with a sadness that broke her heart.

  He looked towards the bath one last time, then slowly turned to follow his grandfather.

  “No!” Aislen cried out, following him to the doorway. She wanted to grab hold of him and steal him from this time and place…bring him into the future with her, where he would be safe.

  Preston stopped at the top of the stairs, pausing for a moment and shifting his weight back and forth on the loose board, making it creak loudly.

  “Preston, stop that right now! This is no time for games!” Sigmund yelled up from the doorway. “Get down here right now!”

  Preston looked back at Aislen, pointed down at the loose board, then raised his small, pudgy finger to his lips.

  Shhhhhhhh, he said, telepathically, before turning away from her one last time. Aislen watched helplessly as he descended the stairs toward the open doorway, darkened by the ominous shadow of Sigmund Lange, and walked out into an unimaginable future.

  Aislen was left standing at the top of the stairs, the only ghost in the house.

  Pain, sorrow, and loss shattered her into a million pieces. Her head fell back and she opened up, letting it all out in a wail of grief, a keening of lament and agony that soon morphed into a primal scream of rage.

  Something grabbed her roughly and ripped her up…up, up, up, out of the house and out of the Viewing. She opened her eyes, meeting Raziel’s as he held her up by the shoulders, searching her face, waiting for her to recognize him and where she was.

  She collapsed against his chest, her face wet with tears. Raziel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in, holding her to him.

  “I got you,” he whispered into her hair. “I got you.” He rocked her gently as the swells of grief pulsed through her.

  Her poor dad! That was his life? No wondering he ran away! His mom? His dad? They were all victims of that monster! Sigmund Lange, a vile, evil monster. Aislen shuddered.

  Raziel squeezed her tighter in his arms. “It’s a dream, Aislen.”

  “But...”

  “Shhhhh, I know it’s real,” he whispered, “but it’s not real right now.”

  She didn’t know how long he held her. She rested her head against the curve of his shoulder, in a groove that felt made especially for her head, until the pain dissipated…until the terror waned.

  “I need to go to a house tomorrow,” she finally said, cautiously. “I think I need to find something there. Will you take me?”

  Raze was quiet for a long moment. “Yes.”

  Aislen breathed a sigh of relief. Raziel moved a hand up and caressed her hair, smoothing it down her back, soothing her body back down into tranquility. The amulet against her chest sang its approval, an intoxicating lullaby that sent her off into a restful sleep.

  ∞

  A shrill squeal pierced through the veil of his semi-conscious alpha state. Probably a distant siren mewling through the streets of San Francisco as they do continually. It usually wouldn’t register with Raze, just part of the white noise of the city, but he was napping lightly tonight, staying vigilant in case any unwanted guests arrived. He tuned it out and dropped himself back into lower alpha.

  The siren persisted, growing louder. Raze went through a quick checklist of alarm sounds in the house, but none had this particular tone. He sat straight up in bed, on high alert, just as Aislen’s cry became a wail so loud, so full of pain and sadness, that his hair stood up on end.

  He pulled away the pillow barrier between them and looked for her on the far side of his Caesar-sized bed. She was on her back, knees pulled in, fists clenched, back arched off the mattress as her lament turned into a savage roar.

  Wherever she was, it was not good.

  Raze slung all the pillows off the bed in one deft motion, catching her by the shoulders and lifting her off the bed hoping the rough motion would scoop her from the Viewing.

  She woke with a gasp, a feral look in her eyes as she tried to piece reality back together. When she recognized his face, instead of recoiling or pushing him away, she collapsed against him.

  Raze wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, an instinctive response that he’d thought extinct in himself. The warmth of her body enveloped him. Her tears soaked through his shirt against his skin. He could feel wave upon wave of sorrow and confusion radiate through her, and it tore away the last bastions of his already crumbling walls.

  “I got you,” he whispered into her hair. “I got you.”

  Another new reflex took over, and he rocked her gently back and forth. He didn’t know if this was helping her or helping him. He’d always thought he maintained one impenetrable wall, but he now realized there was one after another, layers of blockades that had isolated him, and she was working through them all, slowly exposing him to something he’d never known existed.

  Aislen tensed as a shiver worked through her. He slipped his arms around her more and pressed her against him, trying to help absorb the remnants of the nightmare.

  “It’s a dream, Aislen,” he said because that’s what you tell yourself to get focused on the third dimension.

  “But...”

  “Shhhhh, I know it’s real,” he whispered, “but it’s not real right now.”

  She seemed to accept that and turned her head to the side, laying the flat of her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder. Her face turned inward, not away from him. He could feel her breath brush against his neck, he could smell her–taste her–in the air. Another layer melted away.

  He thought of trying to erect something between them, to maintain a distance, to protect himself, but he realized he didn’t want to. Thi
s was right. This was the one right thing, the only right thing, that had ever happened in his life.

  “I need to go to a house tomorrow,” she said finally. “I think I need to find something there. Will you take me?”

  Raze thought about this. It didn’t seem wise, exposing themselves together in public, but it was no less dangerous than sitting here. Moving was harder to track, and maybe it was the next step they needed.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Aislen relaxed more, the last of her anxieties relieved. He felt the amulet between them purr calmly. It was the right choice.

  Unconsciously, he caressed her hair, lulling her back to sleep. He thought of holding her like that while she slept the rest of the night, to make sure she didn’t start Traveling again. He lowered himself carefully on the bed as not to wake her back up, letting her rest on his shoulder with his arm still around her.

  He marveled at how perfectly natural it felt, the close physical contact, the warmth in his chest, the protectiveness he felt toward her. He thought he knew himself, who he was and what he stood for. He felt like he was turning inside out. A part of him protested…it made him weak…it was too dangerous. And indeed it did, and it was. But he was already out of bounds.

  He wouldn’t be going back to Infinium. And he wouldn’t be taking her there. They were going to have to run and probably soon. He would need to implement his contingency plan. Everything was already in place. He had a backpack in the safe, cash in five major currencies, five passports with different identities, a dozen debit cards and two burner phones.

  After they ran Aislen’s errand, they were going to have to go dark whether she liked it or not. And Raze was sure she wasn’t going to like it.

  Twenty-Six

  Blake was lying on the bed, rolled up like a burrito in his blankets. He was ordered to do this, told to stay still and let him rest.

  Ichiban had said, “This is my body now, and don’t you forget it,” but he’d also said that sometimes he would have to submerge himself so that Blake could give the cells in his muscles and brain some of his own juice.

  “You are the gas, but I am the driver,” Ichiban said.

  Blake was not to even think the words “Two sticks in a bu–” even though it kept him calm because Ichiban was “fucking sick of hearing it.” It was okay, though, because Blake actually felt a lot calmer now that Ichiban was back. He had told him, “Everything is going to be fine.” And Blake believed it, too, because Ichiban was a badass.

  Blake had been lying there all night, imagining he was juicing his cells while creating Minecraft tropes on the ceiling by connecting the holes in the tiles. He was working on a new kind of alien mob when he heard Mr. Troy’s footsteps coming down the hall. Mr. Troy stood outside the door talking to the police officer in his nice voice for a long time before he finally came into the room.

  “Let me talk to Ichiban,” he snapped at him as soon as the door was shut. He didn’t use his nice voice with Blake anymore. In fact, he was being a dick all the time, and it was starting to make him mad. But Blake didn’t argue. Ichiban had been expecting him. Hopefully, when he’d said he’d take care of everything, he meant he’d take care of Mr. Troy, too.

  Blake closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Sigmund sat up in the bed. “What took you so long?”

  “I got here as soon as I could,” Troy said, defensively. “There was a lot to do, and I still had to wait for visiting–”

  “Enough! Give me an update!”

  Troy dropped a small duffle bag on the floor. “I got back into Blake’s house just fine. Mom and sister aren’t staying there, so that made it easy. I grabbed some clothes and was finally able to find Blake’s passport; well, your passport, I guess.

  “I transferred the money like you said and got cash out for Ms. Walker.”

  “And?” Sigmund stepped out of bed and began doing a series of stretches, working himself back into Blake’s body.

  “She’s handled. I got her out of the hospital by telling her that Aislen was missing and that I had a lead on where she might be. Once we were alone, I told her that Preston has Aislen and is holding her hostage until she comes to him. And I told her she couldn’t tell anyone, especially not her cop boyfriend, because people are looking for Aislen and will kill anyone with knowledge of her whereabouts.”

  “And she bought it?” Sigmund asked, dropping to the floor to do some push-ups just because it had been a long time since he’d been able to do such a thing.

  “She must have known enough about Preston’s life not to question me. She didn’t even ask how I would know such a thing. I told her where they would be, and that was it–she was off. Didn’t even go back to say her goodbyes to the copper.”

  “Good. Very good.” Sigmund did some one-handed push-ups just to show off.

  “This can happen a lot faster than we expected, though. She could be on a flight by tonight.”

  Sigmund hopped to his feet. “Well, then we should be on one by tomorrow. What about the transfer papers?”

  Troy pulled them out of his back pocket. “I forged new dates on the ones I already got from Parker, so we can leave as soon as you’re dressed.”

  Sigmund did a little jig, prancing around the room, not only in sheer joy that everything was falling into place perfectly but also to make sure he’d be able to run in his new body if he had to.

  “Let’s get to it then! I just need to get out of this robe.” Sigmund got into the bag and started pulling out clothes.

  “What do you want me to tell Grant and The 8?” Troy asked while Sigmund changed.

  “You tell them nothing!” Sigmund snapped as he pulled a polo shirt over his head. It was too small. Blake had outgrown it already, and if Sigmund raised his arms up, his belly button would show.

  “But how do I explain where you are or why I can’t find Aislen?”

  “You don’t explain anything. I’ll be doing all the ’splaining when I walk into that chamber and sit my ass down in my chair! You just come along for the ride and do what you’re told!”

  Sigmund pulled on a pair of jeans. They were an inch too short. “Seriously, is this the best you could do?” he said, modeling his Maynard look for Troy.

  Troy shrugged. “Well, you look harmless enough. That might be helpful.”

  He had a point. “What about my old body? Is that handled?”

  “Should be cremated by this afternoon at the latest. The attending physician didn’t think anything of it. Fuck, dude you were old. There isn’t going to be any autopsy or anything.”

  “Alrighty then, we’re all set. Let’s get this show on the road.” Sigmund sauntered toward the door, eager for his first taste of freedom in 20 years.

  Troy grimaced. “Uhhhhh, the officer needs to, uh…put handcuffs on you.”

  “What?! You gotta be kidding me?! I’m only 12!”

  “They aren’t going to let a murderer be transferred without them no matter how old you are. And…” Troy winced a bit more. “You ought to let Blake come back…at least for a bit. You can’t be talking with that old man voice. I mean, I know he’s going through puberty and all, but that croak is freaky.”

  “I won’t say anything then.”

  “If someone asks you a stupid question, you think you’re gonna keep your mouth shut? I’m not sure we should take that risk.”

  Sigmund wanted to cry. He’d been waiting so long for this. And to be denied? He stomped back to the bed and plopped down. “Fine. But as soon as we’re in the clear, I want to be let out. Do you understand?”

  Troy nodded, “Yes, sir.” But Sigmund detected a hidden smirk in his voice. He’d make sure Troy paid for that at some point–no doubt about it. Sigmund sighed and lay back down on the bed, reluctantly curling his energy back up and allowing Blake control of the body.

  One day…one day soon, he would be out of his prison for good. And when he was, everyone who had put him here was going to pay.

  Twenty-Seven

&n
bsp; The pale morning light burned through his eyelids, pulling him out of a deep sleep. He’d been way deeper than he’d intended, probably deeper than he’d slept in years. Then he remembered the whiskey, and Aislen, and his general lack of discipline the past week. It was no wonder he’d lost control of his sleep cycle.

  He rolled over and opened his eyes to the angel hovering over him. When he commissioned the artist, it was because he liked his gritty, photorealistic street art and how he captured the truth about someone and spray painted their portraits on random alley walls for strangers to accidentally discover.

  Raze didn’t tell him what he wanted, just gave him the wall as a canvas. And he gave Raze the angel: serene, protective, and blind to the faults of those she watched over. Raze had never given her much thought before but realized she was exactly what he had needed. He wished she could take her blindfold off now. He wasn’t the person who needed to hide from her anymore. That person had been eradicated, his dark impurities burned away by the alchemy of another supernatural creature.

  He turned and looked across the vast expanse of the bed, but the space where Aislen should have been sleeping was wrinkled and empty. She was gone.

  Raze shot out of bed, fully awake and alert. He rushed into the bathroom, hoping she was in the shower, but she wasn’t there. His heart sank. If she’d left for the house without him, he couldn’t protect her. If she’d escaped…or God forbid, went back home…his stomach turned at the thought.

  He heard movement downstairs and raced out the bedroom door and onto the landing. She was in the kitchen, puttering around in bare feet, trying to be quiet as she made breakfast. Raze’s heart pounded in his chest with relief.

  He marveled at the fact that none of the alarms in the house had been triggered. She’d maintained his old frequency all night and kept the system on standby. And she had moved through the house without stirring him, which was almost as impossible. She was like a ghost in 3D, too, if that was even possible. But Raze was starting to believe that with Aislen Walker, anything was.