The Temporal (8 page)

Japan

Sam slept most of the next day. When he awoke that afternoon, he felt like a new man; he had complete control of his body and only felt slightly weaker than usual. The swelling of his tongue had subsided and he could actually swallow without the slightest discomfort.

Sitting up, he noticed Suteko had bandaged his arm. One of those creatures must have injured it, and although he couldn
’t see through the bandage to be sure, it stung like a deep wound.

His bare feet touching the cool tatami mat flooring made him feel alive. He remembered as a child running his hands back and forth with the grain of the straw. The feel of its silky smoothness and the
grassy smell of a fresh mat were two of his strongest early memories and quite impossible to resist.

“
Sam, are you... feeling all right?”

Suteko having heard some stirring found Sam squatting down with his nose to the tatami and hands rubbing her floor.

Using the bed post for stability, Sam stood up with a touch of embarrassment.

“
Oh, great. Actually, I feel great.”

“
Can you walk?”

Not knowing the answer himself, Sam let go of the bed post and took a few steps.

“Good,” Suteko said with a smile. “Are you ready then?”

“
Ready?”

“
Ready to go to New Orleans.”

“
New Orleans?”

She shuffled to the next room, reappearing seconds later with a tiny laptop. Sam surmised the screen was not much more than six inches wide.

“Have you ever seen this place?”

She had the street view on Google Maps up. The screen showed an old four or five story building. There were two small trees decorating the entranceway.

Sam’s eyes grew large. “Where is that?”

“
You’ve seen this building before?”

“
Yes. I’ve seen this. Can you show more of the street view?”

Suteko pulled the laptop back, swiped a few gestures on the trackpad, and handed it to Sam.

“Like this?”

“
Yes,” Sam said, his eyes full of recognition. “And you, also, know this street, don’t you?”

“
It is the street in your nightmare, isn’t it?”

Remembering the destination Suteko had mentioned, Sam asked,
“Yes. Is this in New Orleans?”

She nodded.

“How on earth did you figure that out? Did you live in New Orleans a hundred years ago when this building was built?”

“
No, I have never been to New Orleans. Your drawing of that character was the clue.”

“
How so?”

“
I was curious why you would jot down that particular kanji. It was, after all, associated with you in my dreams. It never made sense to me since it is a common character simply meaning ‘details’ or ‘small.’ But you were interrupted and only wrote one of the three characters that you saw.”

“
Yes, by the earthquake.”

“
But had you not been interrupted, you would have written the kanji for New Orleans.”

With her other hand, she pulled out a piece of paper with the following written on it:

“I thought foreign place names were always written in
katakana
.*”

[* Katakana is one of the phonetic writing systems in Japanese. It is used primarily for foreign names and loanwords.]

“That is correct. But kanji was used for many place names before the Meiji Restoration. Eventually, katakana took over for ease of use.”

“
But this isn’t the era of the shoguns. Why were these kanji written on a bulletin board?”

“
It was an advertisement for a nineteenth century book that someone was wanting to sell. It asked if the reader could read the kanji. The seller thought it would pique a potential buyer’s interest.”

She set the laptop and paper down on the bed and turned around to retrieve a large,
old book from a nearby dresser.

“
You bought the book?” he asked as she handed it to him.

“
Yes, open the book to the chapter on New Orleans.”

The book was all in Japanese. Sam began to flip through, but except for a few masterful illustrations, he had no clue what any chapter was about, let alone where the New Orleans chapter might be.

“Where the bookmark is.”

“
Ah, sorry.” He quickly turned to the page and was astonished to see the building sketched out. Under the illustration was a caption in English reading, “Anderson Theater.”

“
That’s the same building!”

“
Yes, I believe that is where we will find the bomb.”

“
How so? Why? This makes no sense.”

“
From our temporal perspective, I suppose it doesn’t make sense. But we have been given this message and to ignore it would be criminal. Lives are at stake.”

Sam couldn
’t understand the logic but there was no denying the building on the computer and in the book was the very same building he had seen in his dream. However strange the circumstances behind the decision to go to New Orleans, he was as committed to the mission as Suteko.

“
Before we go, I need to know who or what those things were that attacked me?”

“
Honestly, I don’t know. I have heard stories of dark creatures—angels of darkness. But I have never experienced one, and I do not know what they would want with you. However, finding that out is one reason I would like us to go to the States. There is someone I want you to meet. He will have the answers we seek.”

“
We will need to buy some tickets, then.”

“
Already done,” she said, flaunting before Sam’s eyes an envelope with the Japan Airlines logo.

San Francisco

The Californian sun was checked by a deep layer of cloud cover and a dull drizzle. The two men wearing suits and trench-coats took to the second flight of stairs as if they lived there. Mrs. Felds, McGregor’s neighbor, noticed that both of the strangers wore large rimmed fedoras and pitch-black sunglasses. With dress gloves on, it was hard to see any skin.

The two dark men were chatting
between themselves and away from Mrs. Felds. As they passed by, one of them fiddled with his keys as if he was too preoccupied to acknowledge her existence.

She turned her nose. One or both of the strangers gave off a strange smell. It wasn
’t particularly offensive, but it was strange—like a mixture of cheap cologne with a touch of skunk.

She had been out watering her plants; she often watered her plants when she heard people coming up the stairs. The metal stairs shook violently against the side of the
old building when so much as the weight of a cat took to the second floor. With her apartment being the first after the stairs, it was an infallible early warning system.

She was especially interested in people that appear
ed as if they were going to visit McGregor next door. Mrs. Felds knew better. McGregor had no friends, and therefore every visitor would be potential gossip fodder. A bill collector, a jealous husband, a bounty hunter—the possibilities were deliciously endless.

The two men continued toward McGregor
’s door with their faces turned toward each other and away from her. She worked her neck hard, trying to get a look at what kind of face would visit her jerk of a neighbor. With the trench-coat collars up and what appeared to be a deliberate attempt to ignore her, she saw nothing.

While neglecting her flower pots, she managed to get her slippers wet from spilling the watering can. She cursed and began shaking one of her slippers off her foot as the two men knocked on McGregor
’s door. They continued ignoring her while they waited, enjoying the dank scenery in a direction away from her.

★

The nosy neighbor entered her apartment as McGregor answered his door.

McGregor looked terrible. It was nine Saturday morning, but by the bags under his sunken eyes, McGregor must have been working on the assumption it was still late Friday night. His bathrobe was tattered, but functional. Beyond McGregor was a dark, cavernous living space. Windows were either blinded or taped. Not a light was on and no stray
sunbeam could penetrate the back of the apartment. The blast of daylight from the opened door caused McGregor to squint as he tried to make out who the two men standing in his doorframe were.

The aroma of cheap vodka poured from his mouth as he spoke.

“What do you want?”

“
Good morning. We were wondering if we might have a few minutes of your time.”

The two men stood smiling. McGregor snarled as he lifted his hand to his brow trying to dam the
unwelcome flood of light.

“
I’m busy,” he said and began to shut the door. A leather boot and glove prevented the door from closing entirely. Strong fingers wrapped around the slightly warped wooden door and pushed McGregor back into his cave.

Moments later, the door was closed with three men inside. One of the intruders walked
about, hands clasped around the small of his back, searching for something. The other man partially lifted the blinds at a window, allowing some light in and then engaged McGregor.

“
It won’t take a moment. And I believe it is to your advantage to listen to us.”

McGregor stood dazed, uncertain what just happened.
“I’ll call the police...” His voice was slurred and sounded uncertain.

“
I don’t think you want to do that, now do you?”

“
I mean it. You can’t just break into a man’s home like this.”

“
If you want to call the police, I will not prevent you. However, I am certain the police will be more interested in finding you than protecting your rights.”

“
Look, I am simply a professor at a local community college. You may have read about my activities when I was a teenager, but I can assure you, I’m much more docile...”

“
We know about your recent nocturnal activities,” the man said removing his sunglasses revealing a dark eye that seemed to go deeper than space should allow.

McGregor stunted a laugh.
“What? Look I’m just a...”

“
The police will soon know it is you, too. It is just a matter of time before they come knocking. You were sloppy with the first one, my dear boy.”

McGregor
’s jaw dropped and his head gave an involuntary shake.

“
We can help. Join us and we can make all this go away.”

“
Who are you? What do you want?”

“
We are… an association interested in investing in the future.”

“
Why me?”

“
You are a true believer,” said the other man from within McGregor’s bedroom.

“
You don’t have any family to speak of—you have a brother in Kansas, but you haven’t spoken to him in years,” continued the other man in front of McGregor.

“
How do you know that?”

“
You should be proud, professor; we simply did our homework.”

McGregor grabbed a bottle off a counter and sat down on the kitchen stool, slumped over and resigned. He had emptied the vodka from it the night before, but he felt like he needed to hold on to something.

“There are very few guarantees in life, Mr. McGregor. But I’m here to offer you one of them,” the man said with what seemed to be a smile. “If you were to join our… association, obey our will, we would be in the position to offer you power beyond all imagination. A seat of power few in history have held. Nebuchadnezzar, the Pharaohs of Egypt, Hitler—didn’t know this kind of power.”

“
I think you have the wrong person.” McGregor momentarily put the empty bottle to his lips and swiveled his body toward the kitchen table.

“
No, we have been watching you and feel confident in our decision. Join us and you will have the power to fulfill all your desires—even the ones unfairly taken from you recently.”

“
Power?”  McGregor’s stupor faded momentarily. “What power?”

“
Power to actualize your dreams. Power to make the world a better place for you and all other peace loving individuals. Do our bidding and I assure you, wealth inequality will be a matter of historical curiosity. You will be the harbinger of the new future. A future where all who live will adore you.”

“
Look. I may be drunk, but I’m sober enough to know this is a joke.”

“
I assure you,” the tall man said while removing his hat, “this is not a joke.”

McGregor was bewitched by the man
’s eyes. Without his glasses and his hat, the eyes seemed to glow and grow into tiny suns brightening McGregor’s darkness. He saw angels dancing, leaping from the man’s eyes to his and then back again.

For a moment, McGregor thought he saw the girls he had murdered appear in front of him. Then he was sure. They
were the beautiful angels. He watched as they smiled and mouthed McGregor’s name. They wanted him. It was a sweetness McGregor had never known before, addictive and desirable, growing in potency.

In a moment it was all gone: the angels, the sweetness,
the tiny suns. The tall man had returned his sunglasses to his eyes and fitted his hat squarely on his head. McGregor set the bottle on the table and stood.

“
Give me more of that.”

“
But of course. All in good time. However, if I am to give something to you, it is only fair for you to give me something in return.”

“
Anything.” McGregor’s voice was insistent, fully compliant.

“
What would you be willing to do to affect the world change I referred to earlier?”

“
Anything.”

“
Even kill people?”

“
Have I not already done that for the good of nature?”

“
Even kill a lot of people?”

McGregor was silent.

“You will kill a lot of people, but those who are left will adore you.”

“
How is that possible?”

“
Leave that to us. We have arranged for everything except what you must do. Will you be able to leave today?”

“
Do I have a choice?”

“
Of course. You could surrender to the police or... die.”

“
What about my job?”

“
In a few weeks, the reasons for your disappearance will be evident to your boss and colleagues. They will even adore you for it.”

“
And this power, what exactly is it?”

“
After an unfortunate incident involving the current resident of the highest office, you will become the next President of the United States.”