Aftermath

by Sandy Goldsworthy

  “Good morning, honey,” she said. Her tone was always warm and welcoming. “Did you have fun last night?”

  “Yeah, it was good. The girls are really nice,” I answered. “What are you working on?”

  “Oh, this? It’s a shelving unit for the closet in the laundry room.” Her smile turned down before she continued. “I overestimated my patience with putting it together. Not to mention, I really need two people to install it.”

  “I can help you after my soccer game.”

  She took a sip of coffee and shook her head. “You’re a darling, but I’ve already called Neal. He’ll come over with Lucas.”

  I was silent.

  “Lucas is moving back in with Neal,” she said, even though I didn’t ask.

  “He’s been living with his mom, right?”

  She nodded. “Just since his arrest on the Fourth of July.”

  “What was he arrested for?” I asked, innocently.

  “Possession of marijuana with the intent to distribute.”

  “The case was dropped, right?” I asked.

  “Yes. I stayed out of it. I don’t know what loophole the attorney found, but it was enough to get the judge to drop the case. Obviously, Neal was thrilled. No parent wants to see their child in trouble, but it doesn’t look good for an officer to have a son with a criminal record, either.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Aunt Barb proceeded to tell me the story of how Neal’s wife left him when Lucas was four years old. “Charlene had troubles. They probably shouldn’t have married at all,” she said. “She was in and out of rehab for years and finally, Neal gave her an ultimatum to fix herself or leave.”

  “She left them?” I asked, unable to imagine how terrible Lucas must have felt, knowing his mom deserted him.

  Aunt Barb nodded. “She went to Vegas. Neal got a couple of postcards, at first. After a while, the cards and letters came back undeliverable. He had no idea where Char was for years. Then one day, she just showed up… a few years ago. She lives in Riverside now.” Aunt Barb took another drink of coffee and glanced at the clock. “You better get ready for your game.”

  “Um, yeah,” I said and headed to my room. As bad as things were for me, at least I wasn’t abandoned.

  By the time I had my uniform on and was ready for the game, Neal was busy reading the instruction sheet.

  “Neal’s invited us for dinner at his house tonight,” Aunt Barb said when I told her I was leaving.

  “Okay,” I answered. Not that I had a choice.

  “Is that alright with you?” Neal asked. “You don’t have plans or a big date tonight, do you?” I noticed wrinkles near his eyes when he smiled.

  I laughed. “No. No plans tonight.” My cheeks got warm.

  “Good. Do you like bratwurst and burgers?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  Lucas was pretty lucky to have a dad like Neal, I thought, as I drove to the soccer field behind the high school.

  Chapter 71

  Ben's Story

  I knocked on the door to the upper flat in Riverside.

  A female voice echoed in my head. No other voice or thought came from inside the apartment. I knew Lucas left, but since I was already there, why not meet his mom?

  Charlene Tillman opened the door wearing tight jeans, a tank top, and no bra. Dark rings circled like crescents below her bloodshot eyes. I didn’t need to be immortal to know she was hungover.

  “Can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was meek and insecure.

  “Hi. Yeah, I was looking for Lucas. I’m a friend of his,” I answered, extending my hand. I loved the traditional American greeting.

  “Oh. I’m Char… Lucas’ mom.” She shook my hand, and the download began.

  “Is he here?”

  She let go of my hand as the data received flowed through my mind. Thoughts of her childhood, her love for Neal, and her need for drugs flashed in front of me like a slideshow on high speed.

  Pain, embarrassment, and addiction hit my chest. I looked down. I couldn’t meet the eyes of the woman that suffered so much. A cross tattoo rested atop her foot. It was grayed and stretched, not like the crisp image it had once been. It was used and overlooked, like Charlene felt.

  “No. No, he left already. He went to some soccer game, I think.”

  “A soccer game?” I asked, confused. “We, ah… we don’t have a game today.”

  “Ray?” She turned behind her, looked up the empty staircase, and called a second time before facing me again. “Oh, that’s right. He left, too.” She fidgeted with the handle of the door. “I think Lucas said soccer. Umm… girls’ soccer.”

  Char’s memories were sorting and organizing in my mind like a computer server filtering files by topic. Childhood, school, and girlfriends flitted by. She was pretty, young, and popular. A cheerleader with lots of friends and a popular football player for a boyfriend.

  “Do you know where the game is?” I asked, buying time.

  She looked confused and for a second, I felt sorry for her. Years of drug use slowed her thoughts and reactions. Not to mention, it aged her both physically and mentally. She looked a decade older than Neal did, and they were the same age.

  “In Westport. Umm… he’s going to his dad’s after that,” she said and shook her head. “You know… he only lived here a few months. Decided he’s going back… to his dad’s.”

  I nodded, as more memories from her high school years rolled through my head.

  “Got some girl back there, I think.”

  “Stephanie Carlson,” I said.

  “No. No… I’m sad, too. You knew Stephanie?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Such a sweet girl. So terrible how she died.” Char looked upset, but no thoughts crossed her mind. She hugged the door, resting her cheek against it.

  Died?

  “I’m sorry, Stephanie didn’t die,” I said.

  Her dark eyes rolled up and to the left, focusing on the corner of the porch ceiling behind me. Her lips were taut and emotionless, as if in a trance. She was silent.

  Quickly, I propelled myself inside her apartment and looked around. Besides the clutter of unopened mail, newspaper, and dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter and table, there was nothing out of the ordinary. The apartment was empty. Incense burned in a tray near the door at the top of the stairs. Ashes from past burns stacked upon one another, filling the crevice of its bamboo holder.

  The apartment had traces of male and female scents. There was one bedroom, with an unmade queen-sized bed and dresser. The living room was long and rectangular with a couch on the opposite wall from an old, box-style big-screen television. The galley kitchen and snack bar hadn’t been cleaned in days. Despite her calling for Ray, there was no male present, nor a scent of anyone beside Lucas.

  I returned to my body before Char noticed my frozen stance.

  “Mrs. Crandon?” I asked, regaining her attention.

  “Call me Char,” she said. “I haven’t been Mrs. Crandon in years.”

  “Okay, Char. Stephanie Carlson was at school yesterday. She’s not dead.” And I should know, I thought to myself.

  She blinked slowly, opening her eyes already affixed in my direction. “Yes, dear. I know. But when she does die, it will be a terrible thing. Now, won’t it?”

  Her thoughts whipped through her mind and into mine faster than I could keep up. I reached toward her to touch her hand resting on the door, but only seconds worth of files downloaded before she broke the connection, moving her hand away. I couldn’t make out what she was thinking and with the lost connection, I would never know.

  “Do you know if the soccer game is at the high school?” I stalled.

  “Why yes, dear. He went to Emma’s soccer game.” Her motherly tone was unexpected.

  “Emma’s game?” I asked, prolonging my exit.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t he? After all, Emma’s his girlfriend, you know.” She smiled, though her eyes r
efocused on the spot behind me.

  I shook my head. She didn’t notice.

  “If I see him again, who should I say stopped by?” she asked. Images of her courtship with Neal sorted into files in my head. A mixture of love and deceit layered between lust and dishonesty, until I realized she tricked Neal into marrying her.

  “Ben Parker,” I answered.

  “Ben Parker,” she repeated to herself even after she shut the door, and I heard her count the thirteen steps to return to her apartment above.

  Lucas’ mom was messed up. Her memories continued to flow and filter in my mind. They were disorganized and irrational. She took drugs, any and all she could find. From friends and strangers. She was an addict since she was nineteen, about the time that Neal went off to college and she stayed in Westport. Waiting.

  When he returned, he didn’t come back to her. He set his eyes on someone else and someone after that. He dated several girls but never called her. She was distraught and unhappy. Her doctor diagnosed depression and prescribed medication she refused to take. She was confused and vulnerable.

  Worst of all, she was revengeful.

  By the time I reached my truck parked around the corner from her house, I knew more than I wanted to about Charlene Crandon Tillman. Memories of her life filed in chronological order in my mind. The longer I sat there, the more I learned.

  Char lived in fear. But why?

  I searched for the memory buried deep amongst all the rest. The one underneath layers and layers of useless thoughts and images of trivial things set to camouflage the truth hidden deep below. Like peeling an onion, I removed each membrane one by one, so as not to damage the recollection it held.

  When I reached the core, even I had to catch my breath.

  I released my shield and shared what I learned with my team.

  Suddenly, we were all in danger.

  Chapter 72

  Emma's Story

  “Emma, you’re starting center-stopper today.”

  Coach Vieth’s voice startled me during warm-ups. He turned away before I could respond. Being new to the team, I was still trying to fit in and was thrilled with the opportunity to play the position I did back in Highland Park.

  “Brinn, you’re on the bench,” the coach told a brunette on my team. His words were loud and caught the attention of a few girls stretching nearby. Brinn rolled her eyes as soon as he looked away.

  “Prove yourself. It’ll shut ’em up,” Claire said after a few glares and hushed whispers. She was right. Besides, this was just rec ball. Our high school girls’ soccer season wasn’t until spring. Fall was simply a chance for Coach to monitor skills and for us to get touches on the ball. Our win-loss record meant nothing. At least, on paper, and since soccer was one thing I really excelled at, skinny, little Brinn and her posse of friends weren’t going to deflate my confidence.

  Nine minutes into the game, I had my chance to shut them up. Our opponent got a breakaway thanks to a turnover by Brinn’s best buddy. I didn’t think about it, I just reacted. I blocked the girl’s pass and regained control for our team. It wasn’t the only time I saved her mishap. By halftime, she actually complimented my skills and thanked me for being there.

  Claire started the game off strong, but after a few minutes of sluggish runs and missed shots, Coach pulled her and sat her on the bench. In the huddle at halftime, Claire looked pale, and while I wondered if she was sick, there was no time to ask her.

  When I jogged back to my place on the field, I noticed Lucas leaning on the chain-link fence near the parents’ section of the bleachers. The stands were bare, except for a few people scattered about. Lucas smiled and waved when I looked at him, and I found myself grinning as the ref blew the whistle to start the second half.

  Chapter 73

  Ben's Story

  Local agents had already assembled in the conference room by the time I arrived.

  Concerns flooded the group. I couldn’t blame them. They were trained for surveillance, to revive a human not scheduled for transition, to redirect someone temporarily lost or off their life path. They were not trained for physical combat, especially against one of our history’s most notorious criminals.

  Unfortunately, we all knew combat was inevitable.

  Claire was at the high school soccer field when my announcement went viral. She returned response in thought and reluctantly stayed undercover at the game.

  It’s better for you to maintain cover right now, I told her. Besides, I need you to keep an eye on Emma since I can’t. She agreed and decided to link in via thought for our meeting. I knew it would be unsettling to hear alone, but I hoped she didn’t let it show.

  Bianca interrupted me before I could reach out to Molly, who hadn’t arrived yet. “She’s having a late breakfast with that strapping boyfriend of hers.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected.

  “Not after last night.” She smirked. “Molly had quite the night, I must say. Of course, I enjoyed myself as well.”

  I sighed. I really didn’t care to know about Bianca’s personal life. Before I knew it, however, she displayed a video of herself partially unclothed. I severed the transmission before seeing who she was with.

  “I didn’t need to see that,” I said.

  She shrugged as more agents arrived and took seats at the conference table.

  “You shouldn’t have left so early, Benjamin,” she said. “It could have been you instead of that boy.” She batted her eyes and placed her palm on my chest.

  I removed her hand.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” I said under my breath, and then called the meeting to order.

  ***

  “Charlene Tillman appears to have been in contact with Victor Nicklas.” I blinked, releasing a hologram image of her current appearance. I displayed the most flattering photo first. It was the only one in which she wasn’t intoxicated or under the influence of narcotics. She combed her hair, wore a touch of makeup, and had a bright smile. It was the day she returned to Wisconsin and knocked on Neal’s door. She was gone for a decade and happy to be home, though Neal and Lucas didn’t reciprocate the emotion.

  “Char’s memories were disjointed. Audio and visual files of the same moments were kept in different files, as were locations and scents,” I explained. “Despite that, I was able to put together a few pieces of this puzzle.” The hologram image changed to Char as a baby, then progressed to different ages, from childhood to high school.

  “For all practical purposes, her life was normal—on track—during these years,” I said, scanning the eyes of the agents present. Most of the group registered a moderate to high level of fear, while only two of us had none. Bianca and me.

  “Gaps in sequential memories prevented an accurate recap of her life from age nineteen to present,” I stated. “However, what we extracted gave us proof she encountered Victor at least once during her lifetime, specifically while living in rural Nevada.”

  An agent raised his hand and then asked, “How could Char have camouflaged her memories in this manner? It doesn’t seem common amongst humans. Have you ever experienced this before?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve not seen a human do this. It’s one of the reasons I believe she has had—or possibly still has—connection to Victor.”

  “What other reasons do you have?”

  “We retrieved the following footage, which takes place a few miles south of Tonopah, Nevada.” I blinked, and the hologram of Char hovering above the table switched to the image of a rundown tavern. The exterior doors opened, and we were led inside as if we were actually present at the time the event occurred.

  Char was scantily dressed and sitting at the bar beside a black-haired man in a suit. There was no audio sound with the video, but having seen it before, no sound was necessary to understand the danger.

  The bartender we identified as Ralph, poured bourbon for the man, then a second for Char after a few words and a flip of her hair. She raised
her glass and tipped it against his. The stranger never moved. He didn’t return her toast, or turn to face her.

  Words were exchanged, but without sound, I could only guess what was said by reading Char’s lips. I rotated the hologram, spinning it on its invisible axis like a person turning in their seat to see around the room.

  The bar was empty except for the three of them. A clock on the walk read seven minutes past four o’clock. An old-fashioned desk phone in a deep red color sat on the counter with its receiver off the hook. Beside it were dusty bottles of whiskey, gin, and vodka. The stranger stared at the heavyset tavern keeper, but neither moved. Char did her best to flirt with the overdressed man, but her attempts went unnoticed.

  When Char turned her attention back to Ralph, he didn’t move. The coloring in his face disappeared, and his cheeks sagged and thinned. Ralph’s skin drooped and hung low to his neck until it simply slid off his face entirely.

  The stranger’s eyes bore into the keeper while Char watched.

  Silence filled our conference room as the tavern owner’s shoulders dropped in the hologram. Movement under his brown plaid shirt startled Char, as she visibly jumped. It was clear she didn’t speak. The bartender held onto the rim of the counter separating him from the evil before him. His hands turned to bone, as the skin and fat that once surrounded his pudgy digits were now bare.

  Within seconds, his body melted away to a standing skeleton frame that buckled under its own weight without the support of muscles and joints. A pile of clothing rested on the floor where the man once stood.

  Char turned toward the stranger, as the video ended and the hologram disappeared.

  Agents in the conference room gasped. Claire was mentally shaken, as she watched in thought from the huddle during halftime of her soccer game. After several minutes of uncomfortable stillness, questions arose from every corner of the room. Most I had no answer for.

  “The man in the video is assumed to be Victor. Without sound, without the ability to smell his essence, it is only speculation. However, there is no other rogue immortal with his powers roaming the earth at this time,” I said. Chatter amongst the crew began. “Ironically, his disguise with dark, wavy hair is similar to his most recent appearance.”