Chapter Eleven

Traveler

His face is like a granite statue. Emotionless. Unreadable. Hardened. If Arden is disappointed in me, it isn’t apparent. If he is angered, proud, or shocked, I don’t know that either. At this point I can’t even tell if he is breathing. Johanna is visibly concerned; her hand is gripping mine tightly, and she has her body pressed against me. I pull her in close to let her know I won’t allow anything happen to her. Her safety is all that matters to me now.

“This isn’t Traveler’s fault,” she says, breaking the silence. I turn and stare at her wide-eyed as she continues to speak. “Please…I know you don’t know me. But please, don’t be upset with him. Don’t fire him.” She pleads with Arden whose expression matches my shocked one. Of all the things she could be pleading for: to go home, to not be harmed, her life…she chooses to beg for his forgiveness of me. Incredible.

“Don’t fire him? My dear, you either succeed in our little program, you fail, or you are imprisoned. It appears Traveler matches the criteria for all three of those categories.” He turns his glare back to me. “Care to introduce our guest?” He throws his hand out toward her.

I clear my throat. “This is Johanna Martin. I brought her here…by accident.” I look at her briefly, letting my shoulders drop. “On my first visit to 2016—”

“Your first visit? On my account, and by my instruction, there should have been only one.” Arden’s angered tone causes Johanna to squeeze my hand. Her eyes are darting between the two of us.

“Yes. My first visit didn’t go according to plan. I wasn’t connecting with the subject. I observed his passing, and then whatever I was supposed to be learning or feeling didn’t happen. So, I set out to explore the town, to have something to contribute to my work.” Arden throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “Johanna dropped her wallet, and I wanted to try collecting.”

“You wanted to try collecting,” he repeats. “Well, that’s what we do here, isn’t it, Traveler? Whatever we want? That has served you well in past assignments?” I have never heard Arden raise his voice, but in this moment, it is slightly elevated. Johanna protectively moves in front of me, and I grab her arm and pull her back beside me, shaking my head at her. He may be angry with my actions, but I do not fear Arden. He is far better to me than I deserve, and whatever punishment he feels the need to enforce, I will accept. Arden cuts his eyes to Johanna.

“Tell me, Ms. Martin, what all has Traveler divulged to you about our community.” She looks to me, unsure of what she should reveal.

“Arden, she knows,” I admit. “She deserved an explanation of what happened to her.”

“And what was that? Do I, too, deserve your explanations?”

“She saw me shift.” I look away, unable to face the disappointment that covers his face. “I had to go back and find her, return the wallet, lie and make things right. Only…” I turn to her, and she is looking up at me. “Only things got complicated, and I ended up kissing her and losing control. Somehow, I Herded her here. It was an accident.” I snap my eyes back to Arden, hoping he sees the sincerity.

“And because of your little accident, someone from the past knows everything. Shifting, Herding, The Occurrence? I assume.” Arden is now pacing back and forth in front of us.

“I won’t say anything,” she says to him with a strong voice that catches Arden’s attention. “What would I say? Hey guys, went to the future, cool place.” Arden only stares back at her. “Even if I could do that to him. Even if I betrayed Traveler in such a way. No one would believe me. They would lock me away in some mental institution. I won’t, and I can’t say anything.” Her shoulders are aligned with Arden, her eyes boring into his.

“Traveler. Over there. Now.” He points at me, then to an empty space on the other side of the room. I look at Johanna, and she nods her head letting me know she’s fine.

I follow Arden over to the corner. “What kind of game are you playing with that girl? She’s standing in a room, three hundred and fifty years into her future, seemingly sane, and begging for me to go easy on you. What is this, Traveler?” He looks at me, then across the room to her. Johanna is staring at us, chewing at her bottom lip.

“I had to make her care for me. I had to make her have feelings for me so that she wouldn’t betray me. So, she wouldn’t betray us. I care about this agency more than anything. I fucked up, Arden. I made a mistake. But Johanna, she isn’t going to talk. I feel sorry for her. I think she is actually falling in love with me. I mean, look at the way she’s clinging to my side. She won’t talk.” A scoff escapes my lips.

Arden looks across the room at Johanna and then back at me. “How long has she been here?”

“Since last night. No one has seen her. I kept her in my room. There was a close call with Vlad, but he didn’t see her. There is something we need to handle with Vlad and Sephia as well. But first things first.”

“First things first? Do you have any fathomable idea the seriousness of this situation?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry.” I run my hands over my face, guilt washing over me.

Arden looks up and takes a deep breath. “No, Traveler. You can’t know the gravity your mistakes hold. It isn’t entirely your fault. Your mother possessed the same talents, the same rebellious nature as you. You are truly your mother’s son.” A nostalgic smile plays on his lips. My brow creases, and my mouth tightens as he speaks, and it takes me a moment to recover.

“My mother?” I jut my chin toward Arden. “I’ve read about my mother. She was a seamstress for the factory. Not a shifter.”

Arden looks as though he is in a battle with himself. It occurs to me that my mentor, the only person I have trusted in my entire life, has been keeping something from me.

“Arden?” I say, half in question and half to draw his attention back to me. Back from whatever memory he is conjuring up in his subconscious.

“Yes, Traveler. That is what you would have read. That is the information the Ancestry Division would have for you, and anyone else who would inquire about an infant boy left at a fostering home. But those of us who had the privilege to know Jaqueline Romanoso, to really know her, remember a story much different than that of a seamstress.” His voice is so quiet, and I have to restrain myself from reaching out and shaking more words out of him.

“Who is Jaqueline Romanoso? Arden, what the fuck is going on?” I feel the bile from my stomach rise.

“It seems it is time to reveal your story to you, Traveler. I would have hoped to have more time to prepare you, but you refuse to stay the course. You refuse to be careful. Your abilities are not unique to you, but they are unique to your bloodline. This is why I’ve pushed you. Why you, the most out of all my students in the agency, must practice restraint.” He throws his hands toward Johanna. “No one can know about this, Traveler. Your mother sacrificed too much. She entrusted me with your safety, and I will not let her down. Your life, believe me when I say, depends on it. I know you have questions. And rightfully so. But right now, we have to clean this mess up,” he says to me, and I find my ability to speak has vanished. Arden pats my back. “You’re sure the girl cares for you enough to keep quiet? She believes you care for her?”

“I suppose you aren’t the only one who can fool someone.” The words taste bitter in my mouth. “How can you have kept this from me? I want to know everything.” I find myself angrier with him than I’ve ever been.

“I understand your mistrust.” Arden drops his gaze. “Please know it was for your safety.”

“Everything. You will tell me everything.” The growl coming from my throat startles us both. Arden replies by looking me directly in the eyes and nodding his head. I follow him back to Johanna, and I can tell she senses the tension radiating off me.

“I believe I understand what has happened here a little more clearly. I understand the urgency to return you to your home, Ms. Martin.” Arden speaks to her in a gentle voice that has the ability to calm the room. Her relief is visible, and she looks to me for confirmation. I manage a small smile, but the weight of the morning is nearly unbearable.

“Traveler assures me we have your silence?”

“I would never betray him,” she says sincerely and with confidence.

Arden walks over to my shifting chamber and presses the necessary buttons. “Traveler, turn around,” he commands, entering the codes into my neck, removing my chip and placing it in his coat pocket.

“Johanna?” He crooks his finger, motioning for her to come.

“Unfortunately, I cannot allow Traveler to take you home. This task will need to be completed by me.” Both of our eyes widen, staring at Arden in defiance. She takes several paces backward.

“No,” we both say in unison, eliciting an odd expression from Arden’s face. Remain calm.

“Then why remove my chip?” I ask.

“You have some knowledge to gain. Some information you are seeking?” The way Arden covertly speaks of my mother sends a wave of anger to my fingertips.

“Yes.” Though my voice is even and calm, it is more for Johanna’s benefit.

He places a key in my hand. “My home office, bottom desk drawer. You’ll find a container hidden in the back, under a stack of old files. I owe this to you, Traveler. Read them. We will speak of it when I return. You can’t go back to 2016.” He leaves no room for questioning. “Johanna, we must go now. We can’t have you being discovered. It puts him and yourself in too much danger. Say goodbye.”

Arden climbs into the chamber, pushing himself against the glass wall to allow room for her. I grab her wrist, just as I did on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and pull her to me. I place a quick yet soft kiss on her mouth. Turning her cheek to my lips, and right before I release her to Arden, I whisper so only she can hear, “I will come back for you.” Her wide eyes meet mine, and she discreetly nods her head. I turn my back and hurriedly walk out the door with the key clenched in my fist.

****

Arden’s house is located away from the agency campus. Most of the directors, instructors, and Division employees reside on the streets branching away from the shadows of the buildings and towers where they work. I’ve been to Arden’s house on several occasions; however, he has never once mentioned any knowledge of my mother. No inclination that he ever knew her, or had her secrets kept in his desk drawer. Anger stirs, and I kick a rock lying on the ground and send it soaring down the street.

The current information I have on my mother is nothing more than an obituary and a grainy photograph with blurred-out features.

Bonnie Smith, age 28. Described by those who knew her as a dedicated worker within the Division factory, with a quiet nature and soft disposition. There will be no funeral arrangements.

The remains shall be buried at the north side of the Division burial grounds.

I have every word memorized. Each letter stitched into my brain. I remember reading it the first time as a thirteen-year-old boy. I felt unwanted and alone in foster housing, along with the other children whose parents had either been deceased or who had tossed them aside. There were no distant family members waiting to come scoop me up and rescue me. I never even made it into my mother’s obituary. I’ll never know who my father is, I’ll never have the stern yet gentle presence of a grandmother, no brothers or sisters to share childhood memories with. I don’t know if Bonnie Smith even breathed a word of my existence to anyone. I’m a ghost. The only proof she was the woman who bore me in her womb comes from the old woman who ran the orphanage.

By her recollection, on a cool October night a man knocked on the door and placed me in her arms. “This boy belongs to Bonnie Smith. She is deceased. His name is Traveler,” he had said. Then he crept back into the night the same way he came. Who the man was, I’ll never know that either. Her death was investigated and ruled accidental. She died alone in her home during childbirth.

Arden’s dimly lit home stands before me, looking more like Pandora’s box than my mentor’s residence. It is a one-story brick house sandwiched in between others that mirror its landscaping and decor. These homes were thrown together after the rebirth of civilization and the start of our new existence on the planet. I make my way up the steps to the dark front door and slide the key in the lock, twisting it, and feeling the soft thunk of the metal tightening its grasp on the key.

Pausing in the entryway, I let my eyes wander. Arden’s personal space is obviously tainted by years of living as a bachelor. He is clean, meticulous and tidy; however, the essence of a woman’s touch around the home is lacking. He doesn’t speak of it, but he prefers it that way. He has a single brown leather couch in the living area, and a matching recliner perched underneath a floor lamp.

Rows of stocked bookshelves line the walls. I walk into his bare kitchen and turn on the light, searching through the cabinets until I find his drinking glasses and fill one with water from the tap. My mouth is dry, and there is a slight shake of my fingers. What secrets has he been keeping locked away in his desk?

I set the cup on the counter and make my way down the hallway, passing his bedroom. The bed is lying neatly made and untouched.

His home office is across the hallway and I step in, leaving the light turned off and settle for the small desk lamp. I pull the bottom desk drawer out and locate the files Arden said would be there, and underneath, hidden away from the world, is the metal box.

I ease it out and set the box on top of the desk and waste no time opening the lid to see what awaits inside. On top of a stack of books is a photograph, one that I’ve never seen before.

There are several people, young, standing in the courtyard outside of the Shifting Division, smiling at the camera. Some of them have their arms draped across each other’s shoulders. I realize it’s a former class on pinning day. Once an agent completes one of the three Shifting courses, there is a pinning ceremony. Each course has a different pin, and these agents are wearing the Herding symbol, a silvery image of the Andromeda constellation.

It doesn’t take long to find what I believe is my mother’s face among the agents, although it appears different it some way. She’s beaming, and her eyes are fixated on me, her grin holding so much joy. I sense familiarity in her face. She looks happy, her personality is beaming out of the photograph, and instantly sends a rush of warmth through my veins. I run my finger over the picture. She wasn’t quiet-natured, and she wasn’t a seamstress. She was something much more. This photograph is holding so much more life compared to the blurry, dead-eyed shot of her I’ve clung to for so many years. Anyone who laid their eyes on this picture could see how she stands out from the rest. I look beside her and realize that I would recognize him anywhere. Arden’s small eyes and tiny frame, standing beside my mother, wearing the same pin. He not only knew her, he went through the entire program with her.

I set the photograph aside and move to the first book in a stack of two. I open the rough, leathery cover and see a delicate loopy signature scrolled across the page “Jaqueline Romanoso,” I say out loud as I read it. I fan the pages of the book and see the same handwriting splattered across every page of her journal. I stop at a page two-thirds of the way in that is slightly more worn than the others.

I’ve made a mistake. Something

that could forever change the path

I have been traveling down for so many

years now. It felt inevitable. His face was

too kind, his love too unconditional.

I am in love. It is unalterable, irrevocable,

and infinite. A love so written in the stars,

not even the full force of the universe’s

gravity could have pulled me away. But

death I cannot conquer. Yet even in

death he lives inside of me. His child a

forever reminder that love is timeless.

And our son will live.

My hands are shaking, and I find the room suddenly too warm for the jacket sticking to my shoulders. I rip it off and sling it forcefully across the room and watch it collide with the wall where it slides down to the floor. Everything I believed I was: unwanted, a mistake, trash, it’s all a lie. And Arden knew it. He’s always known.

I flip the journal to the last page and continue reading.

I’ve successfully hidden his existence

for as long as possible. My belly no

longer concealed under loose clothing

and my pregnancy now reaching the

end. Yet they will not know. They will not

take this. The plan is set. I will protect

my child.

I pick up the next journal and find that only the first page is completed.

My Dearest Traveler:

I know this comes as a shock to you.

Everything we have done has been to

keep you safe. It has been to keep you

alive. It is because my love for you is

what matters the most. If you are

reading this, then Arden has kept his

promise to be with you. To look out

for you and protect you. I do not doubt

that you have had a difficult life.

Please know, my son, that leaving you

in foster housing was the most difficult

choice I’ve ever had to make. But it

was the choice that kept you hidden

and alive. I have loved you from the

moment I knew you were with me. And

I love you still. Put your trust in Arden.

He will not steer you in the wrong

direction. What he tells you is true. I

know we will be reunited soon. It is the

moment I’ve dreamed of since I placed

you in Arden’s arms. Since the

moment I had to leave you. I’m sorry,

my son.

My mother, whoever she is, is alive. And Arden has known for twenty-seven years. Who and what am I being protected from? What was she so terrified of that drove her to abandon her child? Everything I’ve thought about myself, and everything I’ve thought about the only people in this world I know, has been doused in dishonesty…and I intend to uncover every last fiber of truth.