Eternity's Edge (24 page)

“I was in a place of blackness, where my mother is.”

Her auburn eyebrows dipped. “It seems that my vision cannot penetrate there, but since you are in the realm of dreams now, I can speak to you.”

Nathan lowered the violin. “Where should we go?”

“Although I long for your presence with me, the mirror you have can only return you to one of the earthly realms. Yet, I can send you to someone who can give you help.”

“My father?”

Scarlet's eyes dimmed. “I have been unable to locate him. Even his dreams are out of my reach.”

“Then, who?”

“Illuminate the path, and you will see.” The face in the mirror clarified. Scarlet, her lips trembling, spoke in a near lament. “Don't forget to come for me, Nathan. I cannot escape, and the stalkers will never let me go. You are my only hope.”

“But how? How can I get back to you?”

Her voice faded. “Look for me in the mirror that sings my song. I know not the title, but it strums the sorrows of my heart and eases my pain.” Seconds later, she disappeared. A construction site replaced her image, a building with no roof and a man on a ladder adding bricks to the top of a wall.

As the light in the dreamscape dimmed to blackness, a loud crack sounded from underneath the van. The left rear wheel sank. The frame of the van thumped against the ground, angling their bodies toward the depression.

Nathan grabbed the steering wheel. “Daryl Blue's waking up!”

More cracks erupted. The van sank again. The entire world around them faded to black.

Daryl aimed the flashlight. “Say the word, Captain!”

“Hit it!”

The beam shot out and bounced off the mirror. Instantly, the surrounding blackness began to fizzle. By the thousands, dark pinpoints sparkled with colorful light until the image in the mirror materialized all around them.

With the entire landscape now in view, Nathan scanned the area to get his bearings. The van sat on a bare foundation, facing a tri-fold mirror that had been bolted into the concrete floor. A curved, plaster wall stood behind the mirror, making a semicircle and leaving the area behind them open to the trees. Only a few stacked cinder blocks marked where the rest of the observatory's domed wall would be built.

Nathan leaned his head out the window. “They're building Interfinity Labs here.”

“You mean StarCast,” a man with a British accent said. “It is not Interfinity yet.”

Nathan looked at the outside rearview mirror. A man walked toward him on the driver's side, a short, bald man with owl-like glasses. “Dr. Simon? Simon Blue?”

Dr. Simon opened the van door and motioned for Nathan to get out. “We have much to do and little time to do it.”

Nathan hopped down to the foundation and hugged himself to fight the cold breeze. “Interfinity's almost here. We have to figure out how to get back to the misty world and play the violin.”

“Yes, yes,” Dr. Simon said, waving his hand. “I know all about that. But first we have another disaster to try to avert.”

“No! We'll just create more holes in the dimensional fabric.”

Dr. Simon pointed at the sky. “There are many holes, and the wounds we inflict on the dimensional fabric are miniscule compared to the greater danger the stalkers are creating.”

“Exactly! We have to stop them. That's why we can't afford to get distracted. I have to find the violin as soon as possible.”

“Nathan Shepherd,” Dr. Simon said, giving him a fatherly glare, “are you a true son of Solomon? If you are, then where is your compassion? If you knew someone was about to die, would you try to save his life? Or would you skip away to do what you perceived to be your duty, saying ‘Have a nice day,’ while he dies in flames and his widow and children are doomed to suffer for years to come?”

Nathan stepped back. Dr. Simon's words shot through his heart like a heated poker. What would his father do? Would he risk the lives of billions, hoping he had time to rescue them later, in order to save one soul he was certain would die? He took a deep breath and looked Dr. Simon in the eye. “What do you have in mind?”

Dr. Simon pulled a small three-ring notebook from his
pocket and leafed through the pages, stopping somewhere near the middle. “The space shuttle Challenger will launch tomorrow, and it will explode moments later because of a flaw in the O-ring seal in one of its solid rocket boosters. Apparently, extreme cold exposed the flaw and created a disastrous chain reaction.”

“So now you want me to be an astronaut?” Shaking his head, Nathan stepped back again. “You're out of your mind! They would never let me on board to —”

“Don't take me for a fool,” Dr. Simon snapped. “I know you can't buy a ticket and stroll aboard a space shuttle. But you can use the Quattro mirror to send the seven astronauts elsewhere before they ever set foot in the craft. That should give us time to convince them to inspect the O-rings. At the very least, we could delay the launch and hope for warmer weather.”

“But won't the astronauts dream about the explosion? And the launch workers? At least some of them have to be next-day dreamers, right?”

“If only it were that simple. It seems that many major disasters are hidden from dreamers. Just a few months ago, a Midwest Airlines flight crashed after taking off from Milwaukee. In order to test a theory I have, I went to the gate shortly before takeoff and interviewed some of the passengers about their most recent dreams, and they all reported that they slept without dreaming the previous night.”

“No dreams at all?”

Dr. Simon shook his head. “My theory is that Mictar has access to disaster lists, and his stalkers suppress the dreams of the victims. Zelda has already explained and taken advantage of this phenomenon in quite theatrical ways. The day before a disaster, she announces that one is coming. She writes the details down on a parchment, seals it in a black envelope, and locks it in a vault. The stalkers plant false dreams about disasters that never occur, making people believe that such dreams are unreliable.

Then, after the real disaster occurs, amid much fanfare, she opens the vault and reads the exact account of what happened. She explains that these events will occur from time to time as a means of warning the people that their dreams are not to be relied upon and for proving her position as prophetess.”

“But how do the people stand for that?” Nathan asked. “Why don't they rise up and demand to see the parchment?”

“Many have protested. Now they are dead, the victims of dream stalking. The entire world lives in fear, and since each individual assumes that he is likely not a disaster victim, self-preservation becomes the weightiest factor in his decision-making process. Apathy becomes a life-saving choice.” Dr. Simon's voice deepened. “The question for you, Nathan Shepherd, is whether or not you will join in their apathy.”

Nathan lowered his gaze and replayed the video footage of the Challenger disaster in his mind. How many times had he wished he could travel to the past and stop the tragedy? Now he had the chance to do it, an impossible dream come true. But what about the billions of others in the three color-coded earths?

As if reading his mind, Dr. Simon spoke in a soothing tone. “Who can tell when the worlds will merge or how much time we have? The hours you spend on this assignment will take only moments in the other worlds. I have been traveling back and forth between Earths Blue and Yellow for several Yellow years now, and the ultimate collision still has not arrived.”

Nathan stared at the sincere eyes behind the circular lenses. Dr. Simon had a good point. Interfinity seemed like a doomsday prophecy that would never arrive— lots of ominous signs but nothing that proved it would result in the end of the cosmos. Maybe it was a big, barking Doberman without any teeth.

He looked at his female companions. Three more pairs of eyes stared at him. Kelly leaned against the van's side panel, rubbing her arms in the cold breeze as she seemed to search his
mind with her gaze. Daryl stood next to her, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Francesca crossed her arms and glanced between him and the other girls. With her lips parted, she seemed ready to offer advice, but she stayed silent.

He sighed. If only one of them would help him make this awful decision.

Kelly pushed away from the van, shivering. A splotch of red blemished the shoulder of her sweatshirt as she shuffled toward him, giving evidence that some of her stitches had broken loose. “Don't go, Nathan.” She stopped and grimaced before looking him in the eye. “We can't afford to get sidetracked for a whole day. Besides, we couldn't stop the jet from crashing.”

“Right,” Daryl offered. “Crashing the government's space party and convincing the Feds to postpone the flight would make your airliner mission look like a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey.”

Nathan shifted his gaze to Francesca. She glided toward him, her eyes sorrowful, yet piercing. Leaning close, she whispered, “You must do what you believe to be right. Not what Solomon Shepherd would do; what Nathan Shepherd would do. Your father has been your guide, your rock, but the wisdom he instilled in you is not a spreadsheet of formulas that yields an unmistakable result in the bottom cell. Wisdom is a jewel with many faces. Looking at it from all angles gives you a variety of perspectives, and each face tells a different story, some lovely and some tragic. Often more than one will present an option that seems right, yet, since their paths diverge, only one can be chosen.” She kissed him on the cheek and backed away. “Wisdom provides a glimpse of the face of God, Nathan Shepherd, but not always his whole counsel.”

Barely able to breathe, Nathan watched the lovely young lady rejoin the other girls. With her long dark locks flowing in the breeze, she looked more like his mother than ever, and
her breathtaking words proved that the heart of his mom beat within her breast.

He turned toward Dr. Simon and tried to show in his expression the pain of his decision. “I can't go. I have to save the cosmos.”

Dr. Simon firmed his chin, but he seemed more resigned than angry. “Very well. I will not beg you to have pity, but I can offer another option that will take far less time and effort.” He glanced at his wristwatch, then returned his gaze to Nathan. “In just over two hours a pilot will take off from a Chicago area airport and crash due to mechanical failure. Saving his life should be a simple task.”

Nathan shook his head. “I can't do it. Regardless of what you think, interfinity is almost here. I saw how everything is crumbling. You know how the nightmares are enslaving everyone. We need to —”

“What's the pilot's name?” Daryl asked.

Dr. Simon raised his eyebrows, then flipped to another page in his notebook and pointed at a line near the top. “Harold. Harold Markey. Twenty-eight years old, father of two.”

Daryl fell back against the van. “My uncle!”

“I see,” Dr. Simon said. “Your father's brother, I assume.”

Her eyes wide and pleading, she grabbed Nathan's arm. “We have to rescue him!”

“We?” Nathan pointed at Dr. Simon. “If it's so easy, why not him? And where's Simon Yellow, anyway? Can't he help?”

Dr. Simon adjusted his glasses and looked at his watch again. “My Earth Yellow counterpart is already at Cape Canaveral. Since Scarlet desires rescue, and since we know how to open the portal to the misty world, we assumed she would send you to find one of us.”

Nathan balled up his fist. “How do we get to her? Tell me!”

“I have the appropriate musical piece right here.” Dr. Simon
withdrew an iPod from his pocket. “I will give it to you if you acquiesce.”

Nathan glared at the white rectangular iPod. “You mean I have to go to Florida and save the shuttle before you'll give me the tune?”

“Or to the local airport to save the pilot.” Dr. Simon took yet another look at his watch. “Make your choice, one pilot or seven astronauts. Either option presents you with a noble task. Our primary goal is to save lives, of course, but we also want to harness the power of Quattro. As long as Scarlet and the other supplicants are imprisoned, they might as well be useful, and perhaps we can learn how to use their power of deliverance on a wider scale at a later time.”

Nathan looked again at his three female partners in turn. Daryl folded her hands in a begging posture, her clenched fingers trembling. Francesca stood stoically, but shivers made her arms and legs shake. Kelly bit one side of her bottom lip and met his stare. She seemed to have an idea, yet remained unsure whether or not to reveal it. Did she know another way to get to the misty world?

Nathan turned back to Dr. Simon and half closed one eye. Would this self-proclaimed deliverer really hold back information that could save the universe? He tried to read his expression, but he showed no signs of bluffing, not a hint of fear or doubt.

Finally, Nathan shook his head. “I have to stick to my mission.”

Daryl spun around and slammed her palm against the van, but she said nothing.

“Don't be a fool!” Dr. Simon shouted. “You won't be able to accomplish your mission without passage to the stalkers' world. You can dream your way to the violin, but you can't play it as a ghost.”

Nathan held back a grimace. Simon wasn't bluffing. He was
in control, and he knew it. Turning toward Kelly, Nathan silently searched for help. She edged closer and slipped her hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Apparently she knew something, but she didn't want to give it away to Dr. Simon.

Nathan pulled in a long breath. “If you want to save them, then go for it. I'll find another way to get to the violin.”

“Very well.” Dr. Simon pushed the iPod back into his pocket. “I will work with my counterpart to prevent the space shuttle disaster. Then we will get another musician to play the violin in the stalkers' world. I doubt that such a stubborn, insensitive boy would be able to play the piece properly anyway.”

Nathan tightened his fist again. “Stubborn? Insensitive? Just because I won't —”

Daryl jumped in front of Nathan. “Let
me
try to save my uncle.”

15
SCARLET'S SONG

 

Dr. Simon stared at Daryl. “You? Why?”

“Because I'm here. Because I can. And because I can't help them play a violin. I can't even play ‘Chopsticks’ on a piano.” She looked at Nathan. “I'm sorry. I understand why you can't save him, but I have to try. My father has been depressed ever since his brother died. That's why he got fired by two big airline companies. Maybe I can save Daryl Yellow from going through what I had to suffer.”

She turned back to Dr. Simon. “Will you take me to that airport?”

Dr. Simon glared at Nathan. “Of course I will. If you rescue him, I won't be able to experiment with Quattro, but I'm glad to see that someone has a heart.”

Nathan's cheeks flamed. He was ready to shout one of a dozen protests that boiled in his mind, but when Kelly's thumb caressed his knuckles, the rage settled to a simmer. He set his jaw and nodded at Daryl. “I understand. Do what you have to do. We'll figure out how to get to the misty world somehow.”

His scowl deepening, Dr. Simon waved toward a car sitting in a field beyond the unfinished wall. “We should go now. I will try to reunite you with the others after you save your uncle.” He marched away, not looking back.

Daryl followed, her anguished gaze locked on Nathan. With her red tresses billowing across her sad eyes, she blew him a kiss, then turned and ran to catch up with Dr. Simon.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Nathan motioned for Kelly and Francesca to huddle with him. “Any ideas?”

“Not from me,” Francesca said. “Even if we could drive back to Iowa and use the portal in my old bedroom, it would take too long.”

Nathan shook his head. “Right. Too slow. We have a mirror here. We should be able to use it.”

“Let's dial up Daryl Blue,” Kelly said. “You know that tune, and we can ask Gordon Red about the iPod.”

“Do you think he would know the right music to get to the misty world?”

“Maybe he won't have to know. Remember Scarlet said to use
her
tune. It might be labeled in the iPod's directory in a way we can recognize.”

Nathan pointed at her. “Brilliant. The van's already facing the mirror, so we can use the headlights.”

“But we can't drive it into the observatory.”

“We're not going to. We'll stand at the transportation point with the van behind us.”

Kelly turned toward the mirror. “Why don't we just talk to Daryl and Dr. Gordon? That'll save us from causing another wound.”

“Sure.” Nathan shrugged his shoulders. “We can try that.”

Francesca hurried to the van and returned with the violin. “What do you play to summon Earth Blue?”

“Waxman's ‘Carmen Fantasy.’”

Nathan reached for the violin, but she held it back. “Really?” she asked. “I love that piece.”

“I know. You taught it to me.”

She raised the violin. “Shall I?”

“Mother,” he said with a formal nod, “I would be honored.”

Furrowing her brow, Francesca played the opening notes, keeping her eyes on the mirror. As her hand danced across the fingerboard, beautiful music flowed through the snow-laden
saplings and drifted toward the unfinished wall to their right. The man on the ladder, maybe a couple of hundred feet away, turned, his trowel frozen in place as he paused to listen.

Nathan watched himself, Francesca, and Kelly in the reflection. The image faded, first as if a cloudbank had drifted in front of the sun, then as if late evening had spread a blanket of darkness across the field. Soon, a hint of light shone through — the lamp on the computer desk in the observatory. The glow strengthened, revealing Daryl tilting her head toward them, but her movements seemed slow, painfully slow. A smile emerged, but it took several seconds for it to spread across her face.

Francesca lowered the violin. “She's in slow motion.”

“Earth Yellow is still speeding along,” Nathan said. “To her, we probably look like we drank a gallon of coffee.”

Kelly stepped closer to the mirror. “Makes it tough to communicate. How do we tell her to ask Dr. Gordon what's on the iPod?”

Nathan joined her and watched the Earth Blue scene. Daryl had raised her hand to wave, but she looked like an old movie advancing one frame every five seconds. “The Challenger disaster is tomorrow. Do you know what year that happened?”

“That was before I was born,” Kelly said. “I saw a replay, and it gave me nightmares, but I don't remember when it happened.”

Francesca counted on her fingers. “It's nineteen eighty-six. I've missed some time here, but I've been keeping track of the years since you first showed up at my house.”

“Did we have mobile phones back then?” Nathan asked.

“Yes. I've seen them for a while, but my father says they're too expensive.”

He looked at the bricklayer. As the muscular man went back to work on the wall, a bulky device swung at his waist. Nathan nodded toward him. “Want to bet he's got one?”

“Looks like it,” Kelly said. “Who're you going to call?”

“Tony Clark. He can use the computer and transmitter to send a note to Daryl Blue telling her exactly what we need. Then she can send back a list of the songs on the iPod.”

“How long will that take?”

“Probably a lot less time than driving back to Iowa.” Nathan took a step toward the bricklayer, but Kelly pulled him back.

“Let me do it,” she said.

“Uh … okay.” He squinted at her. “But why?”

“Trust me on this, Nathan. He'll respond better to me.”

As Kelly jogged toward the office part of the StarCast building, Nathan leaned against the van and watched. Even with loose-fitting jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, as she pumped her arms and swayed with her gait, her feminine form was obvious.

He let out a sigh. No doubt she was right. Once Kelly turned on the charm, what guy could resist helping her? Especially with blood oozing from her shoulder.

Within a minute, Kelly was talking on the worker's mobile phone, the bricklayer standing at her side … too close to her side in Nathan's estimation. Soon, she jogged back, huffing white mist.

Nathan stepped between her and the bricklayer. “Get it done?”

She nodded. “My father's sending the message now, and Eddie will tell us when he calls back with the list of songs.”

“Eddie?”

She cast a glance toward the worker. “I had to give him my phone number to get him to agree to help.”

“Your phone number? But that'll just get him your father here on Earth Yellow.”

“I know. But it wasn't a lie. I gave him my real phone number.”

“Look,” Francesca said, pointing at the mirror. “Something changed.”

Nathan and Kelly turned. Daryl was now reading a paragraph of text in an instant messaging window on the computer screen, but the characters were far too small to decipher. Her hand inched toward the touch pad, traveling at a fraction of normal speed.

“Is she going to send a note to Gordon Red?” Kelly asked.

Nathan crossed his arms. “Probably, but this is like a marathon race between two snails.”

As he watched the unbearably tedious action in the mirror, Kelly picked out a spot a foot or so away from him and leaned against the van. She copied his pose, crossing her arms and adding a shiver.

He glanced at her. From time to time she looked over at the bricklayer, but her lips stayed tight, showing no signs of emotion. As warmth again crawled along his skin, he slid an inch or so away. Was Kelly interested in that guy? What was he, about twenty-four? And what if she was interested? Should that be making him feel like his heart had just plunged into his stomach? Yeah, probably. He'd be a fool to think he hadn't grown attached to her. Any hint that her heart might search for another guy made him feel lonely and cold inside.

Heaving a sigh, he slid back, regaining the space he had given up. Daryl was now eyeing a new message on the screen, a list of some kind, maybe the songs they were waiting for. He leaned close to Kelly, almost brushing her cheek as he whispered. “Cold?”

Shivering harder, she nodded. “Very!”

He draped his arm over her shoulders, careful to avoid her wound, and pulled her close. As she snuggled into his embrace, a smile trembled on her lips, but she said nothing. Still nearly cheek to cheek, he whispered again. “Keep me in mind, okay?”

She turned her head and met his gaze, a look of confusion in her eyes at first, but her face slowly relaxed. Tears welled,
and her lips trembled harder. “You're already there, Nathan. I thought you knew that.”

New warmth flashed across his skin. He wanted to break the eye-lock, but he didn't dare. Not now. Not when her heart was so vulnerable.

He cleared his throat and tried to speak with enough passion to truly express the fire kindling inside. “I did know it. I just want to stay there.” He wanted to add “forever,” but it wouldn't pass through his lips.

She turned back to the mirror, a tear running down her cheek. “I'll never ask you to leave.”

Daryl slowly tapped her keyboard, her movements jerky now as the speed changed sporadically. A few seconds later, a masculine voice sounded from beyond the curved wall.

“Kelly! Your phone call!”

She pushed upright and looked at Nathan. “Want to come?”

He shook his head and winked. “You can handle it. I'll stay with Mom.”

Flashing a bright smile, she brushed away her tear and jogged toward the building.

Francesca buried her hands in her sweatshirt pockets and slid through a thin layer of snow on the foundation. She stopped at Nathan's side, blowing vapor for a moment as she watched Kelly. After a few seconds, she looked at Nathan. “She's a lovely girl, you know.”

He didn't answer at first. He didn't know how. Once again it seemed like his mother, his real mother, had spoken. He knew he had to answer truthfully. Mom would never settle for anything else. He pushed his toe across the snow. “Yeah. I know.”

Francesca grinned and took Kelly's place at his side. She snuggled even closer than Kelly had. “It's so strange to have a son my age. I can be affectionate without fear of misunderstanding.”

He looked into her eyes, soft and walnut brown. There was
no doubt about it. The spirit of his mother lived inside this beautiful teenager. And he loved her — completely, devotedly, with pure passion. New warmth yet again flooded his body, but he just let it flow. The joy of innocent love should never be squelched.

Soon, Kelly jogged back and hopped up to the foundation, a sheet of paper in her grip. Smiling, she showed it to Nathan while Francesca looked on. “Eddie wrote them down while I called them out. He was fast.”

Nathan scanned the list. “Looks like about forty pieces. We can't just try them all. I don't even recognize some of the titles.”

Francesca shook her head. “Same here. You probably learned the ones I taught you … or will teach you, I suppose.”

“But what would be Scarlet's song?” Kelly asked. “Is there anything you recognize that relates to her?”

Francesca ran her finger down the page. “Something with
red
in the title or something
close
to red?”

“Not likely,” Nathan said. “Scarlet said it strums the sorrows of her heart. The clue would be in the content, not the title. It would probably be emotive, something that makes you feel lonely or lost.”

Francesca pointed at each title in turn. “‘Brahms’ Lullaby'? No. ‘Rhapsody in Blue’? No. The ‘Hallelujah Chorus’? No. Never heard of this one. Never heard of this one, either.”

Kelly set her finger on a line near the bottom. “Here it is. I'm sure of it.”

Nathan read the title. “‘Moonlight Sonata’?”

“I used to play it on our piano whenever my parents …” She bit her lip, then blinked rapidly as her voice pitched higher. “Whenever they weren't getting along. It always made me feel kind of lonely, but after a while, I would always feel better.”

“It's worth a try.” Nathan looked at Francesca. “Do you know it?”

“Not memorized, but I can hear some of it in my head. Maybe I could improvise. It could come back to me while I play.”

“Yeah, I've heard the first movement enough times. We could work it out together.”

“But it's a piano piece,” Kelly said. “A violin could never get the sound right. It needs to be melancholy, with lots of forlorn echoing.”

“Maybe that won't matter.” He nodded at Francesca. “Let's give it a try.”

Francesca raised the violin once more and played the first notes of the sonata, soft and solemn. She closed her eyes, apparently concentrating on the music flowing through her mind. With her wavy raven locks dancing across her shoulders in the freshening breeze, she looked like a goddess; her perfect posture against a snowy backdrop painted a portrait of strange contrasts— black over white, a lively nightingale against a backdrop of decay and death.

Goose bumps swept across Nathan's body, but not because of the cold. This goddess was his mother in the making, a virgin virtuoso who would one day lay her pristine gifts on the altar and give birth to a new generation of talent.

As she played on, Nathan shook his head. She was so good, so very, very good. Even though she was still so young, her playing carried a sweet perfection he had never been able to reach. Try as he might, something was missing, something elusive, a heart and passion that resonated with every stroke of her bow.

Why, then, had she, as his mother on Earth Red, told him otherwise? At least once a month for the last three years she had looked him in the eye and said,
“You are an heir, the recipient of a musical inheritance. You have more talent than I could ever hope for. You just have to learn to reach into your heart and let it bleed through your fingers.”

He sighed and turned to the mirror. It seemed to darken at times, but the slow-motion scene of Daryl in the observatory
always came back. She had typed something on the screen, but, again, it was too far away to read. Could she have figured out the tune? Maybe she was telling Dr. Gordon which one they had selected.

Finally, Kelly leaned close to Nathan and whispered, “I don't think it's working. She's playing the notes perfectly, but it's just not the same.”