The Time Seekers (The Soul Seekers Book 2) (6 page)

When I’d completed the last sketch, I put it on his desk and then walked away. A minute later, there was an unsmoked cigarette in my palm with a “thank you” of red ink written on it, followed by, “MAX.” “You’re welcome,” I said with a smile, placing the cigarette in the front pocket of Jesse’s black leather jacket. “I’ll keep it forever.”

“Please do. I might need it if this contest falls apart.”

I wanted to say, “
Don’t worry, Max.
” But I didn’t want to jinx it. If it were only me, winning the contest wouldn’t be a big deal. I had other things to worry about. But for him, it was the whole world. His baby. His life.
No pressure,
he kept saying.

The first week of December, we mounted the drawings to black cardboard with adhesive spray. We filled out a form for each with a title, story of inspiration, and what media we’d used, then he made me type up a bio on his office typewriter. I had to fib a little, leave out the part about Springvale and how I’d escaped a soul-stealing cult. He said what I’d written was boring and decided to add a few little details of his own about my supposed life growing up in Paris and then New York. How I’d been a runaway until he found me hanging around the college and took me in, teaching me everything I knew.

“I always wanted a protégé,” he said, sitting back to read.

December fifth was a Friday. I’d been telling William about it all week, adding for him to make sure and wear a tie, to not be late, and how there would be a little get-together afterwards. Like a cocktail party. He liked those.

“Friday, December fifth, got it,” he’d say, finger in the air to mark an invisible box.

I wore my best dress, a blue satin with a V-neck and spaghetti straps. I even splurged on a brand new pair of gold pumps. And to top the whole outfit off, I wore Jesse’s jacket. I figured it wouldn’t be right to be there without him, and anyway, it helped distract from the way my abdomen had begun to push out like a little round hill.

Max dressed up, too. No army jacket, no blue jeans. He wore slacks and a button-down, long-sleeved dress shirt and tie. He even combed his hair.

“You look nice,” I said when I saw him walk into the college meeting room-turned art gallery.

“So do you.” His eyes swept over me in rapt appraisal, then, “Where’s that jerk husband of yours?”

“Coming,” I said, scanning my watch. I stepped back a few inches to get a better view of the entire display. My work, among a few other students from Penn Peak and colleges in nearby towns, hung mid-wall with little spotlights shining down for affect. Jesse was stunning. No matter where you walked, those rebellious eyes stared you down with every step. You couldn’t escape it, or the way his lips twisted up in a familiar smile. Max came to put an arm around my shoulders. “You did good, Bennett. Real good. If you don’t win this damn thing, I’ll set fire to Penn Peak, and we can both hitch a ride to Vegas, okay?”

“Okay.” I was so glad Max was there to comfort me. Artist to artist, he knew how much it meant to see my work up there, and how hard it had been to create every single headache-producing line.

But I needed William, too. I wanted him to see what I had done, to tell me how proud he was. And then afterwards, I would tell him he was going to be a father. He and I, the two kids who had escaped from Springvale only a year ago, had created a life. Beautiful life.

Max placed a glass of fruit punch in my hands and then meandered the room, making small talk with anyone who’d come out to view the show. I heard him say my name repeatedly, and I blushed every time. Later, we stood in the shadows while the judges inspected each piece in a slow manner. He kept eyeing my front pocket because the cigarette was there, and I kept eyeing my watch. William still hadn’t shown.

When they announced my name, said I’d won, I stood back in shock. Max threw his arms up in the air, and then grabbed me for a big, swirling hug. “We did it, we did it!”

I smiled. I cried.

Half an hour later, when the room had cleared and Max and I had schmoozed all the judges, I gave one final check of the time and knew he would never show. Max cracked his knuckles in anger. “That bastard. I’ll kill him if he shows up now. You want me to, Bennett? I’ll do it, honest-to-God.”

“No, Max, I don’t want that. He just forgot, that’s all.”

“Forgot?” Max shook his head. “A good husband don’t forget his wife’s finest moment. I wouldn’t.” He gave me a once-over, then raised a brow. “And here you are, ready to give it all up to have his child.”

I stammered like a dry fish.

His eyes softened. “I knew it. Didn’t have to tell me, but you could have. Poor, young thing.” He touched my face with a gentle caress. “Give him the good news yet?”

Heat spread all over my body. And sadness. “I was going to, tonight. And now . . . I’m not sure what to do.”

¤ ¤ ¤

We pulled up to the house in Max’s coughing Volkswagen van, snow sifting slowly past the rattling windows. A blizzard was coming. The station humming away on his dashboard radio reported weather warnings in between the sixties pop music he loved so much. “Sure you don’t want me to go in there and kill him for ya?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I leaned across to give Max a kiss on the cheek and saw him glance away with a sadness I couldn’t understand.

“Your work looked good up there. I want you to do a million more shows, baby or not. Husband or not. I’ll help you, hell, I’ll . . . I’ll stay around if I have to. You hear?”

“Yeah. And that’s real sweet of you.”

His fingers tapped on the steering wheel. “I love you, Bennett. No one’s ever given themselves to me before like you have, no sex or anything, just pure heart. You worked real hard to help me out and I can’t thank you enough.”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed for an eternity. Finally, I broke away and threw my arms around him. “Oh Max! You softie! I love you too.” We laughed and hugged each other, rocking back and forth.

“Hey now, let’s not crush that cigarette.”

I patted its sacred location and gave one last lingering hug of gratitude. “See you on Monday, Max. Drive safe.”

On the porch, I shivered and watched as he drove away. The Volkswagen’s taillights faded into a swirl of white flakes. My feet were like ice blocks in the stupid gold pumps, and I couldn’t wait to get inside and warm my toes by the radiator. I had no idea what I was going to say to William, but tonight he would find out about the pregnancy. He could forget about me, and the art show, but fatherhood was something he would
have
to face.

I opened the door to a pitch-black living room. The kitchen held a soft glow from the light above the sink, but this alone made no indication of life, as neither of us ever turned it off. I removed my jacket and stuck it on our rickety old coat hanger, then dropped a gold pump from each foot. They clattered to the floor, and then all was quiet. “Will?” My voice echoed through the house with no response. “Are you home?”

His coat was gone, as was his fedora. The boots gone, too. The car was in the driveway. But surely he wouldn’t have walked in the blizzard? I’d gone to school in my sneakers earlier, when it was still mild enough to do so, but anyone walking at this hour would become frozen in an instant.

I called his name before heading upstairs. The hallway was dark, but a light beamed out from under the door. A turn of the knob, and the door yielded against my prodding hand.

Inside it was warm; it smelled of his scent, but he wasn’t there. Many weeks had passed since I’d last visited the room, and I felt a shock upon seeing all the new items he’d accumulated: more radios, trinkets, piles of magazines, shoes, a cane, books, food tins, and glass Coca-Cola bottles. I picked up an antique canister of Ovaltine and opened its lid. The contents were half used. Why would he spend his money on something so stupid? I placed it back on the desk. A mug sat next to it with remnants of the chocolate powdery drink inside. It smelled fresh. The mug was still warm.

I dropped into his chair and swiveled around. A paper sat half-typed in the old hammer-key typewriter, but I had vowed never to read his work unless he asked me to. So far, I’d never been asked. It was a little insulting. But I wouldn’t do it. I turned away.

A
Life
magazine stared at me. Marked 1956, it was perfect, with a front cover so glossy and void of flaws I had to lean in to make sure it wasn’t a fake. The paper wasn’t dingy, or yellowed, and it didn’t crinkle against my fingers. I opened the cover and read a color advertisement for Lark cigarettes. A very tanned man in his forties leaned back with a red packet in his hands and one cigarette sticking out in seduction.

Flipping through, I saw more advertisements; mostly black and white with descriptions of how each product would make one’s life easier to live. In between this was the current news, opinions, politics, slice-of-life stories, and large spreads on the arts and humanities of the day. Before closing, I caught a story headline on the inner last page and felt my breath shut down.

More Adventures in Time Travel,
by W. J. Bennett. It even had his picture, a black and white of him wearing the familiar fedora and tweed coat. My fingers crushed into the magazine, which had the effect of ripping a few pages out of their staples, then I threw it across the room with a strangled cry. I opened another
Life,
an issue released a few months earlier, and found in the back a similar article, titled “Theories on Time Travel.” Again, a picture had been included, this time before he’d grown his beard.

“Damn you, William!” I curled up and cried. Lies, lies. And all the while I was here in the present day working hard, taking care of him, and going to a cold doctor’s office alone because somehow I knew he wouldn’t really be able to handle the truth.

It dawned on me William was in the past now. His warm cup of Ovaltine and the little clocks and items were foreplay to his departure. I’d reminded him all week of the contest, and yet he’d succumbed to his own need—a kind much worse to me than cheating.

I picked up the magazine and bitterly scanned through the article. Maybe I could find out where he was so when he lied I could tell him I knew everything. I had been stupid for this long, but not forever. I would arm myself with information and then hurl it at him like a hatchet. With my index finger, I scanned over each line.
My unique gift of perception allowed me glimpses of a future world, one not unlike our own. I used only my mind, no instruments or fancy machines such as Orwell’s great contraption. Those would only get in the way. I believed the only kind of time travel which existed, existed inside our own consciousness, and as such could only be left as an anecdotal event.
God, he was a pompous ass. I continued reading. It wasn’t much more than how he did what he did, which I already knew, and what he thought of the modern world. According to this article, he found us modern folks wild, out-of-control, and lacking morals, but lovable nonetheless. I supposed I could be included among the lovable, but at the moment I felt more like one of the out-of-control.

I reached the end of the article and saw something which had the effect of clenching my heart up like a knotted rope. “
My next travel will be undertaken with a female partner, a Ms. Betty Jacomber, who also specializes in the mental capacity for quantitative time travel. She has much to say about this subject, and I look forward to our journey.
”

I threw the magazine across the room to join the other. So, he
was
cheating on me, not only with time, but with
her.

I would leave and never look back. Call Max and tell him to pick me up again. If William wanted her and all of this, then he could have it. I’d tried, honest-to-God, to make him fit in, to help him adapt, but apparently he saw me as a tool for his observations, and nothing else.

I left the chair and walked to the door. It hurt. It hurt so much. Everything I knew as normal was now gone, and I had barely understood normal to begin with. I reached for the handle and gave it a slow twist, but it was too much. I rested my head on the door for a moment before leaving.

I heard the sound of coughing behind me and felt a cold rush of air sweep through the room. Electricity prickled my spine.

What I saw sent me running to his feet. William was choking, eyes rolled back, hands grasping at the chair’s arm rests. Snowflakes covered his fedora and jacket, but I didn’t have to rush downstairs to see if there were footprints in the drive. The flakes were decades old, probably void of trace chemicals and soot. William grabbed for me, but I felt useless sitting there, unable to find a way to put breath into his lungs and words in his mouth.

“What is it? What can I do?”

Gasps came in horrible shrieks. They slowed and hit a good rhythm before fading away. He sat there swallowing air, chest moving up and down like hurricane waves. “Hand me the cup,” he gasped, and I turned to the desk to grab it. When he saw it was near empty, he motioned for me to run down the hall. “Fill it up with hot water, quick, Emma!”

I jumped to my feet, backed away for a second, and then raced to the bathroom. The stupid water heater always took forever, especially when it was so cold outside. Finally it rushed out warm enough to steam, and I filled the cup and raced back to William, spilling precious dollops all the way through the hall.

I watched as he dumped a few scoops of Ovaltine inside, stirred, then swallowed the entire contents in one long gulp. “The iron helps.” His breath still came under difficulty. “I get very weak afterwards, and there’s a lot of iron in Ovaltine.”

His eyes flashed up at mine, and there was remorse.

I had to turn away. He appeared pale, sick. His eyes were glazed and dead. It wasn’t the William I loved. Not the man whose child I’d been carrying for almost four months. It was a man who’d betrayed me. All for the sake of time.

Chapter 6

William rose from the chair, but I put up a hand of warning. If he came near me, I’d go crazy. I’d hit and scream and rip at his jacket. He didn’t want any wild modern stuff on him, right?

“What can I say? I did it for you.”

My mouth dropped open. “For me? You did it for me? Are you joking?”

“You couldn’t possibly see the whole picture, but please understand there are reasons for what I’ve done. Reasons which directly affect your well-being.”

“Shut up! Don’t tell me why or make it sound okay. I don’t care.” I smacked at the door, then stood in silence for a long time. Damn tears. “I had something to tell you tonight at the show, but you weren’t there.”

“The show . . .” he sounded remorseful, yet lost in trying to remember which show, and where, and what time, and what decade. “Oh yes, your art show. Forgive me, Emma.”

I nodded, still unable to look at him. He was a liar and a betrayer, the worst kind. I opened the door and left the room, heading for the stairs. He soon followed. His steps echoed mine to the landing. I made a turn for the kitchen. Despite it all, I was starving and there was a baby inside me to feed.

I yanked the refrigerator door open and pulled out a plate of cold chicken. At first I had hated meat, but now I craved it. Once the horrible nausea had eased off, I could eat almost anything, but only small portions at a time. Too much caused heartburn, enough provided a subtle relief to the hunger which never seemed to end. I heard William step into the doorway.

“Have you noticed me eating more? Hmm? Have I worn my old jeans lately? Maybe you haven’t noticed. You’ve been a little busy.” I took a large bite of chicken leg. Sometimes it felt like I’d bite off my own tongue if I didn’t eat fast enough. What was it going to be like months from now? I’d be a horse, chewing away hour after hour and getting fatter and fatter. Maybe it would be best if William weren’t around. He could stay in his beloved past and I could get fat alone.

Swallowing, I took a drink of water and then chomped down again. Tears ran down my face; I knew I looked horrible. “Figure it out yet?” Holding up the chicken, I modeled the satin dress for him, making sure to provide a generous profile view. His eyes took in every inch. At last they settled on my middle. They grew wide and blinked. “Are you telling me—?”

I swallowed more chicken. “Not that it matters. Why don’t you go call her up? Tell her the happy news.”

William stammered in place. His hand lifted to rub at his chin while he thought. “Do you mean Betty?”

“Yes, Betty.” I hated saying her name. I threw the stripped chicken bone in the trash before taking another gulp of water. “I can’t figure out what upsets me more—you taking these trips, or you doing it with
her
. Who is she? Just your English teacher, for God’s sake! So I wouldn’t go, well, why did you have to ask her to come along?” It felt like I was really going to choke on my tears, so I drank more of the water to swallow them down.

William came to my side and took the water out of my hands. He tried to get me to meet his eyes, but I kept moving out of range. “Please, Emma. Look at me. How long have you known about the pregnancy?” I couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in his eye upon saying the word.

“For a while now.”

He removed his hat. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You were never here to tell.”

William thought about it for a long time before giving a slow nod. “Will you let me explain why?”

“No.” I glanced at the phone and, grabbing the receiver off its lime green wall-mounted base, dialed “0” for information. Will tried to speak again, but I held a hand up. A woman’s voice came through the receiver. “Uh, yes, I need the number for a Mr. Maxwell Hershel, here in Penn Peak.”

William groaned a little when he heard the name. “Emma.”

“Shhh.” I would stay with Max, tonight at least. Nothing funny would happen, I trusted him now, but I didn’t trust myself to stay with Will. It wasn’t that I thought I would go berserk and commit a Barbara Walter’s Special type of husband murder, it was because I was so vulnerable, and any little thing he said, did, would be forgiven. And Will shouldn’t be forgiven. Not right now.

Digging a pencil out of the junk drawer I had been vowing to clean one day, I leaned over the counter and scratched off the number given to me. Then I straightened up, took a deep breath and dialed it. “I can’t stay here tonight.” His arms crossed, his brow furrowed, but I held firm. Max’s phone rang once, twice, three times, it rang about six times and my eyes faltered from Will’s to our yucky green linoleum floor. Max had to pick up, dammit. He had to. He should have been home by now, Penn Peak wasn’t a big town.

Still listening to the sound of electric rings for a phantom receiver that never picked up, I glanced out the kitchen window to a dark world filled with a swirling hurricane of white flakes. Max was stuck in that mess, somewhere in town, in that old Volkswagen of his.

I didn’t want to hang up the phone. I did, though only momentarily. When the line cleared, I dialed a different number. One I knew by heart, but didn’t call very often because it would cause trouble for all parties involved. After a few rings, Grandmother Carrie’s voice sounded in my ear. “Hello?”

“Hello? Oh, Grandmother Carrie!” I started to cry again. It was so beautiful hearing her voice. Sometimes I feared she wouldn’t be there to pick up, and time, and life, would finally have fled from us toward the river of forever. “I need to talk to you about something. I just need someone to talk to.”

There was a momentary silence before her voice cleared. “Emma. This isn’t Grandmother Carrie.”

My breath caught. My heart stopped. I knew the person I was talking to now. Not Grandmother Carrie, but my mother. My
betrayer.
How could I have not heard the difference? I almost hung up, but couldn’t. I clung to the phone in shock. “Where’s Gran?”

“Emma . . .” Did I hear regret in her voice? The woman who watched me die in the eclipse? “Emma, I hate to tell you this, but Grandmother Carrie, well, she died today.”

I met William’s saddened stare. He knew.

But I couldn’t believe it. And why did she have to be the one to tell me? Out of all the people on this stupid, miserable earth, she had to be the one. “You’re lying! You took her! The Seekers’ cult took her, right? She’s not really dead!” I started to shake. All of it was too much. This whole night had to be a bad dream, and it would end any minute. Things would reset, go back to normal.

The phone dropped from my hands, and William caught it before it hit the floor. I heard him mumble a few polite things into the receiver, things like
thank you
and
sorry,
before setting it on the base again. Then I was in his arms, and everything turned to black.

¤ ¤ ¤

I woke up on the couch with William crouched next to me, concern etched into every line of his face. His hand smoothed my hair, rubbed at my forehead; he took my hands and massaged them gently, with such care, with such love. But did anyone love me anymore? My mother? Will? The only one who I knew truly loved me was now dead. I’d never see her again. Never.

“Shhh, Emma, don’t cry. Think about the baby, darling. You’ve got to get yourself together.” He said it carefully, not with accusation. But still, I didn’t want to think about the baby right now. And I didn’t want him sounding so sweet, so kind, when minutes before the pressures of life were my solitary burden.

“Is she really dead, Will?”

He thought about it, but shook his head when there was no way to find an answer. “I don’t think the cult has her. There’s no way to tell, though. We’re so far away. My intuition tells me that yes, she is . . .” He couldn’t say the word.

My intuition had faded months ago. Since I’d stopped using it out of a fear of vulnerability, it’d dwindled down to almost nothing. Grandmother Carrie would be ashamed of me; she’d always called it my “gift.”

I looked into Will’s eyes. He was sorry, so sorry. “Are you still mad at me?” he asked.

“Yes.” I was numb. And I needed him.

He rested his face onto my abdomen, and I felt a few deep breaths spread through the silk to my skin. He placed his hands on my middle. “Oh, Emma. Is it really true? I can hardly believe it.” He smiled up at me. “She’ll be beautiful.”

“She?”

The grin spread across his face. “Just like you, beautiful, and we’ll spoil her rotten.”

I shook my head. No, my kid would have rules, limits, and even though I wouldn’t lay a hand on her little sassy bottom, she’d never cross the line.

William sat up again, resting on his haunches. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. It’s true I was busy with my travels. Sometimes I didn’t even know what day it was, much less what you were up to, or that your jeans had stopped fitting.” He hesitated. “But you tied yourself off from me. Whenever I was here, you wouldn’t let me in.”

He wouldn’t say Jesse’s name, but I knew we were both thinking it. “Don’t blame it on me, Will.”

He nodded slowly. “You’re right. It wasn’t your fault. I was desperate to go back, and there’s probably nothing on this earth that could have stopped me.”

Shifting my legs on the couch, I moved to a sitting position. William sat next to me.

“You lied,” I said. “You lied, and you’ll lie again.”

“I lied for a good reason.”

This made me laugh, but not a happy laugh, a tired, “what’s the difference?” kind of laugh. Our eyes met. “The point is, I don’t trust you now.”

William picked up my hand and played with all my fingers. He brought them to his lips. “Do you want to hear why I did it, Emma? Will you let me explain?”

Why did the tears come again? I shook my head to clear out the mist inside. “If you tell me, I’ll have to forgive you, and I can’t do that yet.”

My fingers were tingling. Little shocks zapped against his lips in delightful play.

Leaning in, William’s lips met mine, and I couldn’t help but react the way I always did. I cursed myself, and him, but it felt so good to have him kiss me this way again. I didn’t want to think about his travels or Grandmother Carrie. My hands slid around his neck.

“I won’t lie to you again,” he said, pulling away for a second.

“Just shut up, Will.” I tilted my chin to capture his lips, and then pulled his head down closer. Come, come, Will. Make love to me. Help me to forget—your lies, Jesse, Grandmother Carrie, life, death, everything.

I felt a hand slide underneath to my back before moving up to cradle my neck. My legs moved up around his waist. Soon his breath came hot and quick, as did mine, and we were making love like it was the first time; like the night we’d gotten a hotel room in Las Vegas after saying our vows. It had been cheap and cramped and tacky, but one thing had been right: us. I had been a virgin then; scared and held back by the pain of my first sexual encounter. This time there was nothing to hold me back. Nothing but my own brain, that is.

“God!” I pulled away from his kisses and turned sideways. “I can’t get over you going with
her
.” William hovered over me. I stared up, brows raised. “Well? Why?”

His breathing regulated. Always in control. “She has very strong abilities and was willing to teach me things I couldn’t find out on my own. She has experience, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“I’ll bet she does.”

William lowered down and molded himself to my back. I felt his lips touch my bare shoulder. “I went with her because she and I are very similar: the same age, technically, and we could trade our memories. She allowed me to go back in time using her images of the nineteen-fifties so I wasn’t always stuck in Springvale. Do you see?”

I grunted quietly.

“For instance, the night I came home drunk. That happened at her house, but I didn’t get drunk there, I got drunk at a cocktail party in an apartment in Chicago, nineteen-fifty-nine. I met Hemingway that night. Briefly, but . . . Hemingway. And I couldn’t tell you. God, how I
longed
to tell you.”

His lips were close to my ear. “And I wanted you to go with me, but you weren’t, aren’t, ready. It did seem like a betrayal, but I had my reasons, Emma. Just like I’ve told you.”

I nudged backward so my elbow dug into his chest. “Go ahead, tell me. You’re dying to. Tell me what your
special reasons
were.”

He let go of a long breath, and I felt it sweep past my shoulder like a warm breeze. “The cult. They’re getting stronger. They’re coming for us.” I felt those lips touch my skin again before the next words. “And I think I understand why: they want the baby.”

It took half a second for me to twist around to face him. My eyes searched his for any lies, hoping, hoping it
was
a lie. “They can’t find us. They can’t leave Springvale.”

William shook his head slowly. “They’re much stronger than we ever imagined.”

I remembered the two times I’d seen Jesse as a faceless black mass, but it had undeniably been him. Could Jesse leave Springvale too, then? But why would he? Was the cult using him to betray us? Jesse wouldn’t do it, and anyway, he didn’t have powers like they did. They’d sucked his soul and left him an empty carcass, like a locust shell. And if he had any power, he’d vowed never to be part of the cult or partake in any of their horrible rituals. I searched William’s blue eyes again. He didn’t blink. “So, that’s why I went. All my trips were a backdrop for learning so I could act on a plan.” He didn’t wait for me to ask what plan, or why, or what for. “To go back to when it started, when
they
started. To undermine their efforts. Break up the circle.
Eliminate
the leader.”

“Marcus.”

“Exactly. With him gone, I think the others would never maintain the cult. But I had to find out how they began, and what their initial motivations were.” After a long silence, from which William had gone into a deep and studious train of thought, he said, “It means I have to go back again. Soon, I think, because of the baby.”

“Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere near the cult.”

“But I have to. I can’t let them continue the way they are. It’s too dangerous.”

Rolling off the couch and to my feet, I stood and glared down at him. My hands fell to my hips. He rose as well, a terrible expression on his face. “And I go alone,” he said.

“Alone. Or with Betty? If you’re going back to Springvale, I’m going too. Preferably
without
Betty.”

His teeth began to grit. “Listen—”