Time Out of Mind (24 page)
Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
It was him. The old guy. Maybe twenty-five years
younger but it was him. Lesko moved closer, his eye on
the small brass plate on the lower crosspiece of the frame.
Tilden Beckwith II, it read. Chairman of the Board, Beckwith Enterprises. Lesko whistled softly. Big bucks.
Very big bucks. This hotel was only a piece of what the guy must have had. A weaselly-looking sucker. Sneaky
eyes. The kind people have when they've just bullshitted
you and they're looking to see if you're buying it. The kind
of eyes that say, I wonder if these people know I think
they're garbage. Exactly the kind of guy who would hire a
little turd like Dancer. Lesko flipped open his notebook and
moved one portrait to his left.
Very big bucks. This hotel was only a piece of what the guy must have had. A weaselly-looking sucker. Sneaky
eyes. The kind people have when they've just bullshitted
you and they're looking to see if you're buying it. The kind
of eyes that say, I wonder if these people know I think
they're garbage. Exactly the kind of guy who would hire a
little turd like Dancer. Lesko flipped open his notebook and
moved one portrait to his left.
The next picture, he knew at a glance, was Tilden's father. The same gaunt bone structure. The same air of ar
rogance. But not sneaky or stupid arrogance like Lesko had
seen on the man in black. This one looked like a snake.
And there was something odd about the likeness. Lesko didn't know what it was, exactly, but something was not quite right. He looked at the nameplate. Huntington B
Beckwith.
Hummph! Another initial with a missing period. Chairman of Beckwith Incorporated. The Enterprises must have come later. This picture had dates, 1944-1962, it said,
referring to his time in office. And beneath those, another
set of dates referring to his life span, 1888-1965. Hey! Wait a minute.
Lesko felt a low hum building in his brain and a tickling
at the back of his neck. Missing initials. And who else was
born in 1888? Jonathan T Corbin the first, that's who.
Lesko moved almost reluctantly, disbelievingly, to the next
portrait of the series.
“
Jesus,” he whispered.
Lesko shut his eyes tightly and took a step back from
the wall before he opened them again. Once more he looked
into the face of this new Beckwith. Tilden Beckwith I. No
middle name. No initial. Born in 1860. Died in 1944.
Maybe forty-five years old when the portrait was painted.
A little gray at the temples. But still trim. Athletic. A busted
nose tilting a quarter inch off center and a familiar scar
breaking the line of one eyebrow. Raymond Lesko was staring into the face of Jonathan Corbin.
the wall before he opened them again. Once more he looked
into the face of this new Beckwith. Tilden Beckwith I. No
middle name. No initial. Born in 1860. Died in 1944.
Maybe forty-five years old when the portrait was painted.
A little gray at the temples. But still trim. Athletic. A busted
nose tilting a quarter inch off center and a familiar scar
breaking the line of one eyebrow. Raymond Lesko was staring into the face of Jonathan Corbin.
“
Friends again?” Sturdevant looked up. Corbin and Gwen had been touching and whispering over by a potted tree for
a full ten minutes.
Friends again?” Sturdevant looked up. Corbin and Gwen had been touching and whispering over by a potted tree for
a full ten minutes.
“
We had a good talk,” she replied, taking the chair Cor
bin held for her.
We had a good talk,” she replied, taking the chair Cor
bin held for her.
Harry Sturdevant tapped Gwen's notebook. “This is
quite extraordinary. Shall I attempt to summarize?”
quite extraordinary. Shall I attempt to summarize?”
“
Do you mind”—Corbin lifted a hand—“if I ask first
whether you believe it?’'
Do you mind”—Corbin lifted a hand—“if I ask first
whether you believe it?’'
“
Would you, sir, be reassured if I told you that this sort
of thing has happened before?’'
“
In your experience?”
“
No, but there's literature on it. I've done some research
today, and I plan to do a good deal more tomorrow. May I proceed?”
No, but there's literature on it. I've done some research
today, and I plan to do a good deal more tomorrow. May I proceed?”
“
Dr. Sturdevant”—Corbin waggled the still upraised
hand—“if there's literature it has a title. Or at least a sub
ject heading.”
“
Naturally.”
“
Could I ask what it is?”
“
You're concerned, I gather, that the subject heading might be schizophrenia.”
“
Something like that.”
“
It isn't. Do you mind if we come back to your question
after a bit?”
“
I'd really like to know the subject heading.”
”
I mentioned it in passing earlier. It's genetic memory.
Also known as ancestral memory.”
''A man named Tilden something or something Tilden
lived at the Osborne Apartments sometime between 1885
and 1892.” Harry Sturdevant, his head tilted back, read
from Gwen's notes and his own marginal jottings through
a tiny pair of reading glasses. “This Tilden had an infant
son and a wife whose name sounds like Emma or Anna.
One night, during a blizzard which blew in from the south,
she fled the Osborne, taking a course that led her one block
north and two blocks east. Tilden gave chase. At the end
of the short block north, he found a frozen corpse whose
name was George but whose death seems to be little more
than a background detail.” He glanced up at Corbin.
Corbin nodded. ”I don't feel like I know much about
him. Or that he was involved in the rest of it.”
“
You cover George up with some regret,” Sturdevant
continued, “and press on until you see the woman. At this point she tries to reach a building on the north side of the street. Today, with Gwen, I gather you spotted a hotel and
said you thought it was the building. You called it the Span
ish Flats?”
“
Yes.”
“
Were you looking at the Navarro Hotel?”
”
I didn't notice a sign.”
“
It was probably the Navarro. Once there was a huge
complex of apartments called the Navarro Flats, also known
as the Spanish Flats, running from Central Park South to
Fifty-eighth Street and from Seventh Avenue halfway down
toward Sixth. The Navarro Hotel is much more recent. It
simply kept the name. In any case, you frustrate the
woman's attempt to reach this address and you fling her
hat toward one of its entrances, a gesture which I assume
has significance. Lord and Taylor did have a Broadway store, by the way, I think at Twenty-third Street.”
“
The woman stumbled on, passing under the northern
terminus of the Sixth Avenue Elevated, which you've al
ready identified. It says here you were struck by the irony
of this woman seeking sanctuary in the elevated because
she'd somehow used it to betray you and some other ‘good
people.’ Any further light on that?”
Corbin shook his head.
“
Failing to find help there, and failing to attract the at
tention of two policemen, she pushed on toward Fifth Avenue until she reached a high iron fence which opened onto
a very large home with a huge porte cochere. That would have been the home of Cornelius Vanderbilt the second,
which was right across the street, where Bergdorf's is now.
Cornelius, by the way, was the same Vanderbilt who built
the Breakers in Newport. The woman turned away from the
possible sanctuary of the Vanderbilt house, which suggests to me that she had considerable social ambition, which she was loath to damage by turning up in a state of dishabille, blizzard or no. Your notes also mention that she had blood on her mouth. It turned out to be a fatal vanity. She turned
and ran across the street to a construction site, which
sounds like it might have been this hotel. Is that correct,
Jonathan?”
Failing to find help there, and failing to attract the at
tention of two policemen, she pushed on toward Fifth Avenue until she reached a high iron fence which opened onto
a very large home with a huge porte cochere. That would have been the home of Cornelius Vanderbilt the second,
which was right across the street, where Bergdorf's is now.
Cornelius, by the way, was the same Vanderbilt who built
the Breakers in Newport. The woman turned away from the
possible sanctuary of the Vanderbilt house, which suggests to me that she had considerable social ambition, which she was loath to damage by turning up in a state of dishabille, blizzard or no. Your notes also mention that she had blood on her mouth. It turned out to be a fatal vanity. She turned
and ran across the street to a construction site, which
sounds like it might have been this hotel. Is that correct,
Jonathan?”
“
Maybe. It doesn't seem right, though.”
“
It wasn't. This Plaza Hotel was erected in 1909. There was another, shorter-lived Plaza Hotel on this site before
that. On our way out I'll ask when that one was built. I
suspect, however, that the answer will be 1888. Everything else seems to fit the massive blizzard that hit the northeast
during mid-March of that year. Including the great tangle
of wires which you say were down all over the street. After
that experience, the city quickly caused them all to be laid
underground.
Having settled on a probable date, and having at least
partially identified two of that storm's fatalities, we should have no trouble researching their full names and therefore your own. Although it may be a bit more difficult, we can
probably also find out whether a man named Ansel Carling
ever lived at the Navarro Flats. You pummeled him a day
or so later, I understand.”
partially identified two of that storm's fatalities, we should have no trouble researching their full names and therefore your own. Although it may be a bit more difficult, we can
probably also find out whether a man named Ansel Carling
ever lived at the Navarro Flats. You pummeled him a day
or so later, I understand.”
“
You keep saying I did it. I'm not entirely comfortable
with that. It wasn't me.”
“
Bear with me. You thrashed this man in the bar of the
Hoffman House?”
“
Yes.”
“
Where is the Hoffman House?”
”
I don't know. Downtown someplace.”
“
Guess, Jonathan. Where do you think it is?”
“
Near Madison Square Garden. Wait. That can't be.”
“
Yes, it can. It was off Madison Square. Twenty-sixth
Street and Broadway. Near the original Madison Square
Garden.”
Yes, it can. It was off Madison Square. Twenty-sixth
Street and Broadway. Near the original Madison Square
Garden.”
Corbin moved his head hopelessly.
“
You're resisting, Jonathan.” Sturdevant lowered the
notebook. ”I want you to try to see through this man's eyes.”
“
I'll try.”
“
Describe the Hoffman House bar.”
”
I... I can't. I only had that one dream last night.”
“
Then it's fresh in your mind,” Sturdevant insisted. ''Gwen's notes mention a large painting with prancing nudes.”
Then it's fresh in your mind,” Sturdevant insisted. ''Gwen's notes mention a large painting with prancing nudes.”
“
And a cigar stand,” Gwen added. “You put your coat
and cane on the cigar stand as you approached Carling. And
there were two other men you knew at the bar. One had long hair.”
And a cigar stand,” Gwen added. “You put your coat
and cane on the cigar stand as you approached Carling. And
there were two other men you knew at the bar. One had long hair.”
“
Actors,” Corbin whispered.
“
Who?”
“
The two at the bar. One was with a Wild West show. I almost want to say it was Buffalo Bill.”
“
It could well have been Colonel Cody.” Sturdevant
scribbled a few more notes of his own.
“
The other one was a stage actor. A smaller man.
There's something about the Osborne with him too. Could
he have lived there?”
“
You tell me. Do you have a name?”
“
No. Sometimes I almost do, but no.”
“
Describe him.”
“
Dark red hair. Not very big. Slender.”
“
What about facial hair?”
Corbin closed his eyes for a moment. ”I don't think he
had any. Now that you ask, it seems that he was the only
one in the room without a beard or mustache.”
had any. Now that you ask, it seems that he was the only
one in the room without a beard or mustache.”
“
That's very good, Jonathan. A stage actor would nor
mally be clean shaven. Give me a name.”
That's very good, Jonathan. A stage actor would nor
mally be clean shaven. Give me a name.”
”
I can't.”
“
The fight was finally ended by a manager or maître
d'hôtel named Oscar. What is his last name?”
“
Just Oscar. He was just called Oscar.”
“
It was not at all common, Jonathan, to address a man
by his first name in 1888, no matter what his station.”
It was not at all common, Jonathan, to address a man
by his first name in 1888, no matter what his station.”
“
Oscar of the Waldorf,” Corbin blurted. “Later they
called him Oscar of the Waldorf. The Waldorf-Astoria
hired him away.”
Oscar of the Waldorf,” Corbin blurted. “Later they
called him Oscar of the Waldorf. The Waldorf-Astoria
hired him away.”
Sturdevant arched one eyebrow. “You remember that or
did you read it?”
did you read it?”
”
I remember seeing him there. He was older but not old.”
I remember seeing him there. He was older but not old.”
Sturdevant made more notes. He seemed troubled by the
mention of the Waldorf. “Back to the Hoffman House,”
he said. “Was the cigar stand on the right or left as you entered?”
“
Left.”
“
The bar?”
“
On the right, further on.”
“
And the nude painting?”
“
Left.”
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