1
Travis again became acutely aware of his surroundings, as he returned to the vault.
He stopped and looked behind him, confused. Looked before him.
Something was out of place.
What had just happened? Hadn’t he just been at lunch?
Had he been so preoccupied in thought that he’d lost track of that much time?
And what time was it?
He looked at his watch.
Stopped.
He shook out his wrist a couple of times, but it still didn’t restart. Time for a new one. Again.
Wasn’t he supposed to be having one of those “Freaky-Shit” days? Why, yes, yes he was — then this all fit in perfectly.
Travis continued on to his office. Hoped that whatever he might have done while “out” wasn’t so embarrassing he couldn’t laugh it off.
The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly shot straight up.
A lone individual approached from the far end of the corridor.
Black.
Shit.
Blanking his mind and trying to appear as casual as possible, Travis nodded in acknowledgement (which was not reciprocated by Black) as they passed each other. Not a word was exchanged.
Black didn’t do small talk.
Travis just needed to get past as quickly as possible.
Unscathed.
2
As Travis passed by him, Black paused and turned. He eyed Travis for a long moment.
Then continued on his way.
3
Mel waited patiently on the line, as he listened to the phone at the other end ring. His heart raced. He was excited — not only at the prospect of again talking with Lizzie, and that she’d become his source of the familiar — but also that he was going to be talking with a girl.
A real female.
He had no idea what she looked like, but loved the sound of her voice, the way her mind worked, and how she was so concerned about him.
Interested in him.
He hadn’t had much experience in the girlfriend department… even wondered if he’d had one, since that memory also came up blank. But he also really didn’t want to appear as being so needy. He just wanted to talk. To her. Anyone. And he really loved the sound of her voice…
When the ringing stopped he held his breath, and he had to consciously exhale when the expectant dead air after the ring (that seemed to last forever!) filled in with a voice — her voice.
“Hello?”
“Lizzie? Hi, it’s me, Mel—”
“Oh, hi, Mel! How are you! I was just thinking about you! Hey, hold on, would you? Just a second…”
She’d just been thinking of him?
Mel sat back in the recliner and hit the mute button on the TV. Wow, someone he didn’t know — outside this house and his weird little existence — had just been thinking about him.
Who was he that someone should be thinking of him?
Mel sat in the downstairs living room before the glare of the TV, on which was the X-Files episode, “The Field Where I Died.” It was an episode involving Civil War past lives between Mulder and another character. It was presently cutting to a commercial, another weird one with no voice over, showing children skipping, laughing, and playing in a field. Mel leaned forward, almost forgetting he was on the phone. The commercial was eerie, but curiously playful.
One word filled the screen.
Play
“Mel?”
“Yes — I’m here!” he said, leaning back into the recliner.
The commercial ended.
“How’ve you been? I was just waiting on a caller, but they apparently hung up. Anyway, I put myself on break. I hope things are okay, since you are calling…”
“I guess they are. I’ve been having more weird feelings and all, but—”
“Weird feelings? How do you mean?”
“It’s kinda hard to explain… but it’s like, well, something’s wrong — or gonna happen — but I can’t put my finger on it. Or maybe that I’m not all there? You know, added to my normal, everyday Who-am-I-and-why-am-I-all-alone issues? And occasionally I see, well, these other images of me and some dark men. I’m awake when I’m asleep, or asleep when I’m awake…
“Does any of that make any sense?”
“Sure. I lost both my parents and my husband.”
“Oh, right — sorry.”
“Look, I know it’s tough. You’re probably having more going on inside your head than you care to admit — or can even sort out right now — but that’s okay. It’s only natural.” Lizzie cleared her throat. “It’s tough, but…”
Lizzie broke off.
“You okay?”
Lizzie inhaled deeply.
“Lizzie… I’m, um… sorry if I—”
“Oh, it’s not you,” she said, sniffling. “I had a rather weird experience of my own this afternoon.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“It’s not fair, since you called to talk with me, and I’m supposed to be giving you support and advice.”
“I don’t mind.”
Another long, drawn-out inhale. Sniffling filled Mel’s ear.
“Well… to make a long story short… I had a vision about the accident that took my husband’s life.”
“How’d it happen, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“For some stupid reason, I drove by — well, actually pulled into — the parking lot… the very place where he’d died. It was a field when I knew it, but it’s now an apartment complex and shopping center, and, well, I just saw everything unfold. Everything. It was the first time this’d ever happened to me — at least on this scale. It scared the crap out of me, and I got so emotional. I guess I’m still a little shaken up. So, it’s not you, Mel, don’t worry about that.”
“Okay.”
Mel listened as Lizzie continued to sniffle and quietly sob for another moment or two.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I’m better, now. Thanks for letting me, um, get that out.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I have a question, then.”
“Okay.”
“How come you’re all affected like this… and I’m not?”
“Excuse me?”
“My parents. It’s really bugging me. I don’t know if I mentioned anything about it before, but I’ve found that… that…”
“Go on… just say it…”
“That I don’t seem to feel anything toward them. Not one thing. Isn’t that strange? Isn’t that… evil?”
“First off, my dear, sweet young man, don’t ever compare yourself to anyone else about how you’re ‘supposed’ to feel. Everyone handles grief differently, death… differently. Your situation just happened, right? It’s recent?”
Mel chuckled. “As far as I know.”
“Well, there you go. You’re more than likely still in shock. I lost my parents a few years back, and my husband just over a year ago. I’ve already gone through what you’re just beginning to experience. Not that it’s anything to look forward to, but I’m sure you’ll probably get to the crying-and-mourning stage sooner than you’ll care to experience…
“But another thing,” she said, continuing, “and maybe I won’t quite explain this just right, since I’m not a psychologist, or anything, but I think — me anyway — I think that losing parents is different from losing husbands, wives, or girlfriends. It’s not something I can adequately put into words, but though we love them all, it’s a different kind of love and emotional attachment. Of course we’ll mourn them when they do go, especially if it’s under tragic circumstances like yours, but there’s a different kind of closeness. One that also, I think, speaks to their having already been around for all our lives, and consciously or unconsciously, we expect them to go first, in whatever way they do go. Whether or not we admit it — we, their children — in a manner of speaking, know they’ve already lived their lives. We never want them to go, of course, but it’s just the reality of it. We, and our spouses and mates, haven’t really lived our lives in that respect. We’re younger. I don’t know… I guess it could all be thrown out the window, if you were really close to your folks, but that’s kinda how I’ve been looking at it.
“Were you?”
“What?” Mel said.
“Close to your parents?”
Mel paused. “I guess we were, but I’m just not sure. Man, you must think I’m really bad, but I hardly seem to remember anything about them—”
“Again, Mel, please don’t torture yourself over this. You’re grief stricken. You need time to work through this. You’ve been through a lot. Maybe this is how you react to traumatic events. Like I said, I’m sure you’ll come out of it all right… and remember — when the time’s right. Don’t force anything. Right now, your mind, your emotions — your psyche — are all confused.
“How are you holding up otherwise?”
“Like the rest of this,” Mel said, “as fine as can be expected, I guess, all things considered. I’m just feeling like I’m in a rut, is all, and needed to hear your voice. Thanks for talking to me, Lizzie. I’m sorry about your experience this afternoon, though, with your husband, and all.”
“Well, there’s actually a little more to it then I let on. A few days ago there was this guy — from the government, he claimed — who came nosing around. He actually followed me home from a restaurant. He said he was looking for someone and asked if I could help. But the more I thought about it, and tuned in, the more nothing felt right about it — he didn’t feel right — so I turned him down—”
“Way to go!”
“I wish it were that simple. There was something bad about him I kept picking up on — and he did come back. I had to tell him no to his face, and it felt weird telling him that. He seemed… nonchalant enough… about it all, but I somehow feel that that isn’t the end of it. He’s very obsessed with tracking down this person, whomever it is, but never, or wouldn’t, go into details. He was really quite creepy.”
“How do you feel now? Are you able to pick up on anything?”
“I do pick up on a lot of — for lack of a better term, which I always hate to use — evil. It’s interesting you used that word, earlier. I didn’t trust him when we first met, and I still don’t. He’s looking for someone and isn’t easily put off. I’m sure he’s lied to me, though I’m pretty sure he is from the government. Just not the FBI. I really don’t think that was the last of him — and it does have me a bit apprehensive.”
“I’ll protect ya!” Mel announced, proudly. He was kind of embarrassed after having said it, but he suddenly had a cause — something else to do — to attach himself to, rather than just mope around the house confused, getting all hung up in his head, and being glued to a television set.
“Oh, Mel, that’s so sweet of you, but—”
“What’s he look like?”
“Well… he’s quite tall, well over six feet, large hands… dark, salt-and-pepper hair, heavy on the salt, and dark, penetrating eyes—”
“‘Salt and pepper’?”
“Black hair going white… kind of speckled looking.”
“And what’s his name?”
“Black. Victor Black. Anyway, he always wears black, at least when I see him. His personality is quite intense. He bores right into you — even me. He’s very scary. In his sixties or so, I’d say. But capable — very capable — of violence… and creepy. I really don’t think there’s much either of us could do, should he come for us, I mean, I doubt that’s likely, but, thanks for your offer.”
“You know,” Mel continued, suddenly wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, “but I think I might know this guy—”
“Oh, don’t tell me that, Mel, that isn’t even remotely funny.”
“Believe me, he scares me just from your description, but there’s something about him that makes me think I really might have met him—”
“I did not need to hear that. Where? When?”
“Sorry, you know my memory. I seem to have blocked out much of my life, lately, but I do get the impression, once you started describing him, that we’ve met. And, now that I’m talking about it, he feels tied to those dark-men images I told you about. About being awake while asleep.”
“Well, if that’s true — stay clear of him. Be very wary. And above all, do not go anywhere with him. I picked up on some very bad vibes from the guy. He’s not good news.”
“‘Delphi’ just popped into my mind.”
“Delphi?”
“Yes. It mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“Do you pick up on anything else from him — Black — now?”
Lizzie paused. “No.” She again cleared her throat, “I don’t seem to…” Her response was flat. Frightened. “No… I’m not getting anything. I don’t know what that means. But it’s just not right. I always pick up on something. Don’t know… not liking this trend.”
“How about me?”
Lizzie again paused. “Okay, this is unnerving — same thing. I don’t know… maybe all the stress has finally caught up to me. It was pretty intense, watching my husband—”
Lizzie again broke off.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay… give me a moment… it was pretty intense, and it is harder for me to pick up on things when I’m stressed. When Joe died… it was hard for me to work — nearly impossible — and I had to take some time off until I could get it together. Maybe that’s all this is.”
“I’m sure that’s all it is.”
“Well, Mel, hate to do this to ya, but I still have to work, so I’m going to have to go.”
“Okay.”
“You can call me again, though, if you’d like.”
“Really?”
Lizzie’s tone then changed into one of total seriousness.
“And Mel… please, please, be careful out there — I mean it. Black is dangerous. Stay clear of him. I’m sure he’s far more dangerous than either of us realize.”
“I will. You too.”
“I will. Take care, Mel.”
Mel hung up and lay back in the recliner, eyes closed.
What a neat lady. He always felt better after talking with her. It’s funny how talking with someone could ease a mind. Sometimes living in your head wasn’t as good an idea as it sounded. You had to get out. Interact. It was amazing what wonders talking did — what cheap therapy it was.
But there was something about that Black guy.
He was pretty sure he’d met him, though he wasn’t sure if it was an actual memory, or something he’d made up.
Mel got out of the recliner and headed upstairs to the kitchen. At first he drifted about, not sure what he was looking for. He knew he’d know when he found it… a card, piece of scrap paper — a letter. But nothing caught his eye. He still had Lizzie’s Madame Nostradameus card with him and took it out, placing it up before him like a target sighting as he surveyed the room. He scanned the room in this way, aiming over the stove, the countertops… the refrigerator…
… and stopped.
The refrigerator.
Mel stood before the fridge’s door and lowered the card. Another card was stuck to the door, under a Pizza Hut magnet, along with a picture — a sketch, really, a police sketch, he guessed — of a guy he didn’t know.
His blood ran cold.
There, on the card… Black’s name.
His first reaction was to immediately call Lizzie back, but he couldn’t. That would have been too namby-pamby, and she’d most likely be on another call.
Behind the card on the fridge was that sketch, which he pulled from the fridge. He left the business card under the Pizza Hut magnet. He really didn’t want to touch it. The police sketch was of this guy Black said he’d been looking for — it all came back to him. He had come by the house, given him his card — and this sketch.
Some kind of kidnapping investigation?
But this guy… he didn’t look like a kidnapper, not that Mel knew what a kidnapper was supposed to look like, but Mel definitely didn’t get the feeling that this guy could do anything like that, in fact—
The doorbell rang.
The calm, monotonous tone, normally a pleasant one, was anything but, this time.
Who could possibly be stopping by at this hour?
Mel took the sketch with him as he went for the door. Through the vertical slice of glass in the front door, he saw a silhouette of a person lit up by the front porch’s light. There was a screen door between him and whoever was outside, so, he unlocked and opened the door.
No sooner had he done that, than the door was forced inward and he was met with a well-placed and rock-hard haymaker that swung on down from above, like a ton of
(steel)
bricks.
Mel was unconscious before he hit the floor.
“Protected, indeed,” Black said, as he casually stepped over Mel’s unconscious body and entered the house.
4
Kennedy sat in his study, a book on the Battle of Gettysburg open in his lap. He stared blankly at its pages.
How old was he? Just how the hell old was he?
And how had it happened so goddamned fast?
Just yesterday he’d been a young, tough Navy Lieutenant, and not long following that, President of the most powerful nation on Earth… how had he ended up here, sitting in the dark of what was supposed to be his study, at who-knew-what-hour — in the body of an old man?
And where was he?
He’d been reading… unable to sleep, yes, that was it… but he’d also felt he’d been somewhere else…
Had it been a dream?
Was he really in bed, at home on leave from the Navy, and dreaming of a future him?
Kennedy shut the book with a solid thwap, and got to his feet. He paced the room, hand to his head in concentration… why was he asking himself all these damned questions?
Shouldn’t he be in bed?
Kennedy stopped and looked to his attire. He was in sweats and slippers.
Good Lord, was this senility? Was this how it felt to lose your mind? To go off the deep end?
No, he’d just had a tough day, and was tired, was all.
What had he done to be so tired?
He’d been to Boston… had a meeting with the GFP… had lunch with Paul and Carol afterward. Visited his great-grandkids—
There’d been something else, though, hadn’t there? Something… odd… what had happened at that board meeting?
Kennedy stood before his bay windows and opened them. He inhaled the sweet late-night breezes, as he stared out over the ocean, a section of which he’d privately decreed as his own.
What was going on out there, right this moment — what secrets lie beneath those darkened waters? What life-and-death struggles… what creatures enjoying the night?
And what secrets lie beneath his own darkened waters?
The Center’s boardroom.
The boardroom?
What had that to do with anything?
He searched his memory. The boardroom… felt curiously familiar in a proximity sort of way… like he’d just been there…
And how was Sorensen these days? Hadn’t talked with him in…
Damn, he was antsy! There was no way he was going back to bed.
Kennedy again inhaled deeply of the nocturnal salty breezes and thought — what the hell — why not? It was quiet and dark, and the calming effect of the ocean and breezes might relax him enough to get him back to bed…
Kennedy closed the window and retreated back into the bedroom, where he changed clothes and made his way out into the night, wondering, of all things (he was surprised to realize), what Black was up to…