Part Six

 

 

Noise had begun again. She felt safer with the noise. It was a blanket ... and she could bury herself in it ... and cry ... without anyone hearing.

Here in the midst of renovations to what was going to be Andy and Uma's new restaurant, Ann sat alone in a room on the second floor. They were well into it ... weeks into it, in fact. It was already January 2nd, 2007, and time indeed had decided to keep going, something Ann had once found obscene and now accepted. Spread before her were piles of receipts and schedules ... and permits and fees ... and orders and tracking numbers.

Jeff had made her a makeshift desk ... a few sheets of plywood propped over sawhorses with a left-over bar chair pulled up. She had order to the piles of paper but it was order only she knew.

Her hands rested on top of two of the piles but her eyes were unfocused and she was letting herself cry. She'd begun to experiment with letting herself do it when she was alone, feeling that she was wrong to leave all the tears inside ... what if her son was drinking them somehow, she'd begun to fear.

But then she heard the noise inside the building lower ... and could hear an interruption in the workmen's hammering and drilling ... and then heavy feet on the stairs and a voice she knew well bitching at someone about "bloody well better pick up the pace, mate" ... and she knew she had a visitor.

Her hands shoved inside her pockets and she pulled out a handkerchief to mop up her eyes and face.

She was smiling that new sort of smile she did ... and she told herself that Terry would let her get away with red eyes, surely.

"Where's Jeff?" he barked, coming briskly in the room. "I want to speak with him about this work crew ... sorry lot, you ask me and ..."

"Terry, you are so adorable when you get all priggish."

"I am not priggish ... is that what you Yanks call it now?" He strode in, all Terry and efficient and grumbly ... and when he reached her, he bent down to pat her tummy and kiss her cheek.

His eyes searched hers but she looked off before rising, taking his hand and leading him over to a couch that was also a left over from glory days.

"I need you in a better mood so if you want to piss and moan about the renovations, get it out of your system now and then tell me when we can chat," Ann told him, trying to be flip but not quite making the mark.

"You been crying, sweetheart?" he asked her, sitting slowly next to her, his hand reaching for hers. His voice so soft.

"Thank you for coming. This is the only day I knew we would have some privacy."

The change in subject, the avoidance of his question ... he let her get away with it all. Whatever was going on, he'd sensed it was something serious from the moment she'd called that morning, asking to see him.

"And why do we need privacy, Annie?"

"Uma and Andy made a little trip with Jeff to look over the new bar I tracked down. They'll be back tonight ... Terry, I need to confide in you."

"I'm right here, Annie. What can I do?"

She swallowed hard, squared her shoulders and then looked in his eyes. "When they get back tonight, I'm going to tell them that I'm leaving here tomorrow. I'm going back to Louisiana. To stay with my mom until the baby is born."

"You know how I feel about this. It is not a good idea."

Nodding, she said, "You've made your concerns quite plain and I do appreciate it. But the baby is due in about three weeks. I think I need to be settled and calm until then."

"I'll have someone with you ..."

"No. I will do fine. Ralph and Pete will stay with us."

He frowned and shook his head. "Out of the question."

"You don't get to call the shots in my life."

"That why you called me here? To tell me to butt out?"

"No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that to you ... forgive me. But, Terry, I have made my decisions and my plans. I only want you to know them ... and to understand why so you can help the others accept this."

He rose from where he sat and paced a bit. In his mind, he was making plans for covert surveillance for Ann ... send a few of his people there to New Orleans, keep watch, she wouldn't even know.

"This is only part of it. And it's the easiest part," she said. 

Looking at her over his shoulder, he said, "Why am I getting the feeling I'm about to get real uncomfortable, Annie? I don't want to fight with you, not with you in your condition, but I am not going to let you ..."

"The last thing Max told me was that he needed me to watch over our son in his absence ... now, he had no way of knowing it'd be forever, but he meant that and I won't let him down."

"Yes, and haven't we been helping? I can see something is going on here ... have you ..."

"My son is my priority. Nothing else. Now and in the future."

"You need something else from me, something only I can do to help you that way? Just ask ... it's yours."

"I have given this great thought. This is what I know: he will always be in danger as long as anyone out there is aware of whose son he is. I have to kill that connection to Max's name ... and to do that, I have to kill the connection with the rest of you. He'll never be safe otherwise. So, after he's born, I'm taking him away and we're disappearing ... no one will ever find us. It's something I do for him, of course, as he should be able to live without a threat looming over him ... but this is also for Max, who believes so strongly that his son guarantees him and his ancestors eternity in Elysium."

Terry stopped pacing as she spoke, slowly turning to her, his mouth pressing into a line, his frown growing deeper in confusion as he'd never expected this. "You what? Disappear? You mean ... change your name? Move? Maybe this isn't such a bad way to go ... I can help you ... set you up ... watch over you ... make sure you're okay ..."

She smiled at him and held out a hand until he came to her, took her hand and then sat next to her again. "It's already done. I, too, have connections that are not always totally within the normal law."

His eyes searched hers. "This is an insane idea. You cannot do this on your own, Ann. You'll need us to protect you both ..."

"Terry, you can't keep me safe. If even Max could die ... how can I ever feel safe again? You can't give me the sort of protection you think you can. You have your own life. The responsibility for staying alive is mine ... for me and our son."

"You'd just walk away into the sunset, would you? It's not as easy as you may imagine ..."

"No, it isn't. But I've pretty well got all the plans done. Just a few more details, but I'll wrap them up when I get back to Louisiana."

"Plans? Like what? I could shoot any plan full of holes ..."

"I'm sure you could. But that's part of why I'm telling you. Don't look for me. I want you to promise me that because I know if you really tried, you know me well enough to take some leaps and one of your hunches combined with your skills will find me. And also, I want you as leader of this group to keep everyone else from ever looking. To make them see this is what I needed to do to protect our son, to do as Max asked me."

"I can't promise you ..."

"You will ... I know you better than that."

"Then you don't know me."

Her eyes shifted and looked out the window. "Max left plenty of money between savings and life insurance and investments. I've started working with a lawyer to set up a process to begin transferring everything offshore and when I'm gone, I have further steps I'll take to make it impossible to trace me ... or as impossible as one can be."

"What about your mother? You'd leave her?"

"No. She's coming with us. I need her help to raise our son. I'd be lost if I was on my own! She's already got her house listed and gotten several offers ... it's amazing how quickly a home in her area of the city will go now with so many people needing housing that's safe."

It was this detail that made Terry realize ... Ann had gone well beyond the planning stage ... she was going to do this.

"I'll set up a trust to fund the farm's upkeep and pay Ralph a salary. He and Pete will stay there, take care of the place, do what they feel is best. But it will always be mine ... it's the legacy I'll leave for our son. I want him to have it ... a connection to his father, who loved him so absolutely. I'm hoping that when he's an adult, that there will be no threat to him ... and he can go there to live if he wants."

"Annie ... you can't just leave us ..."

"I'm not leaving you, Terry. I'm making sure my son is safe. I'm doing what Max asked me to do. I'm doing it because I do think it's necessary ... there is still a risk."

"You should have come to me when you started thinking of this ... I would have ..."

"You would have talked me out of it. I knew what needed to be done. Hell, my mom's already picked out a place for us to go. We don't have any ties there or any connections. She just picked it out on a map, liked the sound of the name ... just random."

"You've been busy ... plotting behind our backs."

She thought of all the time she'd had ... all those empty hours of the holidays when she'd sought time alone and others had given her this space. "Yes. I suppose I have. I am hoping you can accept this. I'm hoping you'll give me your blessing. Am I hoping for too much?"

"Yes."

"Terry ... I know you don't mean that."

He looked at her ... and suddenly saw the struggle to be strong and the toll it was taking on her. But now that he knew what she had planned, he could work on her ... subtly, effectively ... at the least, he could get her to stay in some kind of contact ... could figure out a way that would she would feel was secure.

"I cannot imagine that you and your mum out on your own is safer than staying in a place like this ... where we can watch over you."

"That wouldn't be much of a life for me, would it? Imagine always being afraid that bad people know about your son and may come take him, hurt him?"

"No. But there are also ordinary threats to two women alone with a small child ... the world can be a very cruel place without your friends to shield you, watch out for you."

"He has to be my only priority. This is my solution. It may not be perfect but I think it's right for us."

"Have you told Uma?"

"Are you kidding?" Ann gave a light chuckle. "She'd kill me for doing this."

He smiled but then quickly sobered ... and pictured Uma learning about this ... Uma who believed she had a connection to Max through his son ... and that this was vital for the entire group. And Terry knew he had to stop this ... he had a few weeks at least and he was already resolved he would find the right way to get her to stay.

"You're the only one who will know. I just didn't want to suddenly disappear and worry you all ... I wanted you to know I was going on purpose ... so when it happens, you can tell the rest of them and they won't worry."

"We'll always worry about you."

"I love you for saying that."

"Are you sure this isn't just you running away, Annie? Remember ... I know you."

"It could be that this time it's important that I do run away. But, yes, I've thought about that tendency of mine. I just have to follow what I think is right ... I'll wait until he's old enough to travel and then we're gone."

This was how they left it between them ... her knowing it would take time for Terry to accept and knowing he may never ... him already determined to find whatever it took to keep her from disappearing.

She walked him down the stairs and into the kitchen to see him off, through the entry to the pub they could access there. Taking her time on the ascent, she thought about the million details she still had to see to ... but just the act of telling Terry had made her feel more centered, more right about the decision.

Whatever came at her now, she told herself, she would figure it out ... she owed it to Maximus. It was enough to keep her going.

 

~~~

 

"Will you surrender, Warrior?" the voice asked, slipping down his spine.

Maximus looked down at his hand ... at the sword he held as if it was melded into his hand at birth ... what was this place?

"I am not the sort who surrenders," he whispered to the voice. "I would never know if I were defeated. That is who I am, Spirit."

"Then I shall tell you, Warrior ... for you are defeated. I simply have to look at you to see it."

Should he smile in the face of death, Maximus thought, turning back toward the light. He blinked and tried to see ... what was beyond?

"Come back here to me, Warrior. I shall reward you handsomely for obedience. And soon, very soon, you shall see your way to the next stage for you."

"Does it make you very nervous that I found this doorway?"

"No, Warrior. I did it on purpose."

Liar, Maximus thought inside himself. The Spirit lied to him. He could read the voice ... whatever the honey-gold arc of light had been that first set him in this direction toward this door way, the Spirit had wanted nothing so much as to keep him from pursuing it.

Closing his eyes yet again, Maximus tossed everything aside but the moment in which he found himself. Concentrating and yet unfocusing ... until he understood what he had been missing.

Opening his eyes, he smiled to himself.

Max's chin lowered. His eyes sharpened. He flexed his arms. He filled his chest with air. His voice, when it came, was a low sneer. "The light ... sometimes it blinds a man ... but in this case, Spirit, I think it would dissolve your existence. You may control this darkness, but you do not control this man."

"What if you are wrong, Warrior?" the voice whispered now, slinking and coiling around where he stood, on the balls of his feet, ready and wary. "Do not say I did not warn you, Warrior."

"Do not wait up for me, Spirit," Maximus whispered.

And then he charged toward the light ...

But the voice was not finished with him ... and shadow forces massed against the onrushing figure, who slashed and stabbed and cleaved his way forward. He stumbled once but his will to advance was far too strong ... and he hacked into the shadow man who blocked his path. Two others advanced at once and he dodged them only to trip over an unseen obstacle. On his back, he parried thrusts ... his heavy sword shuddering under the blows ... his other hand outstretched for balance.

He thought he heard other voices ... softer ones ... feminine ... one saying his name ... haunted and sad ... he recognized her voice ...

Lumbering to his feet, his sword absorbed more blows but he would not be defeated that easily ... not with a goal in sight ... the shadow men stumbled against each other, getting in the way of each other's advances on Maximus.

He recognized the folly of their disjointed efforts ... how they no longer seemed to act in concert against the concentrated fury of his attack ... he saw the way clearly, the exact strategy to implement ... and he lunged forward, driving back the three who now stood between him and the clear path toward the light's source ... he slew them all and he wondered if they had purposely positioned themselves as gladiators against whom he'd battled in spectacles in Carthage ...

All sound seemed to him to slow until he could hear only his own breathing and the hard swish of his own sword slicing through air ...

Maximus was alone.

Wary, blood raging in his veins ... he surveyed the scene of the fight ... shadows lay at his feet ... fog was dissipated ... a strong sense of déjà vu invaded him.

Turning, he faced the source of the light ... now so close ... much closer than he had anticipated he was. He could not make out its sharper edges yet ... on the balls of his feet, he crept forward, the sword ready in one hand, the other wiping down his clothes.

He looked down at the fabric he wore ... it was the uniform he'd worn as General of the Armies of the North. He could now see his sword ... no wonder it had felt so at home in his hand ... it was the one he chose as his main weapon in battle.

Looking up, he regarded how the light now seemed to expand into the darkness ... and he knew he was now close enough to really study the source.

He closed his eyes and then opened them. Before him, the light took shape.

It came from an opening that was an arched doorway, not unlike those he had seen in his former life. Glancing behind him and seeing no movement, hearing no sound, he made his way forward. He did not relax his vigilance even when he drew near enough to see the details of the doorway. The light was now more diffuse but its aura was golden, warm ... a color he remembered.

The marble doorway was grey-white. The arch was carved, a motif of oak leaves, grapes, birds and lotus flowers. The sides were columns, smooth, classic.

His hand reached toward the light, to feel its warmth, examine the color of it against his skin.

"Warrior!" the voice hissed out. "Did you think it would be so easy?"

Turning now, he watched a large figure materialize before him, so dark that light seemed to be swallowed up inside but yet he could see the play of sinew and angular planes of a body.

"Where does it lead?" Maximus asked, now circling the figure who, like him, now was armed with a Roman sword.

"Would you believe me if I warned you about the simplicity that may seduce you, Warrior?"

"Tell me something useful."

"Perhaps I shall, Warrior," the voice now made flesh said. The arm that held the sword fell to his side, the sword now pointing at his feet, no longer in fighting position.

Maximus kept his own sword before him, gripped now in both hands ... hands that flexed and adjusted the hold for a slashing motion.

"Look well, Warrior ... look well into the light ... see for yourself ..."

He stood aside and Maximus was looking full into the light.

"Cara ..." he moaned softly, his hand reaching forward ... toward the outlined figures standing on the other side of the doorway ... the light behind them ... a mother and a child.

"Are you certain, Warrior?"

Maximus reached ... his fingers anxious ... his lips parted ... tears sprang to his eyes ...

"Are you certain it is who you seek, Warrior, and not some different beings?"

Swallowing deeply, he tore his eyes from the figures beyond the doorway ... and looked toward the voice made flesh as the man stepped back to where he had been ... between Maximus and the lighted doorway. The only answer Maximus made was to charge, in full guttural roar toward his tormentor.

Metal clashed against metal ... Maximus felt a strike slice into the other man, if man he was. The man gave way, backing up ... Maximus bore down but felt the bite of the sword's handle as it brutally clubbed against the side of his head.

Staggering from the blow, he labored to regain his balance ... his sword arm came up ... defensive now ... waiting for another strike ... but now the other being was fully in the light where Maximus was nothing but a shadow to the other being, having maneuvered his way to just this angle ... his fingers flexed quickly and he had adjusted his hold.

He was not like other men perhaps ... other men would have been worn out already, willing to concede defeat ... but Maximus always had within him a wellspring of belief in the strength of honor ... and it was this reservoir he exhausted in the final thrust ...

In went the edge of his sword and he felt it strike home in resounding drumbeats of the other being's heart racing at the shock.

Maximus stood, his sword heavy in his hand ... gazing down at the now clear features of the being that had once been voice and had then finally took him on, one on one, his final challenge in this dark void that had only one exit he could see ... were there other exits? Should he explore more, he asked himself suddenly, hesitating as he gazed over his shoulder at the lit doorway and the stark outlines of woman and child ...

"Warrior! Hear me ..." the voice said and Maximus looked around ... the being gone now from where it had been at his feet. "The choice is yours, Warrior, if you be brave in the attempt. But hear this warning, Warrior ... my gift to you in defeat ... the doorway may not lead where you expect ... Stay, Warrior, and I will escort you to your proper place."

Maximus swallowed and felt his breathing even. He turned fully to face the light and the figures there. He closed his eyes and listened with his heart ... what did it reveal to him? What did he know without knowing? What did he hear that could be trusted?

At long last, he opened his eyes, tucked his chin and growled out to the voice, "It leads to her. That is all that matters. It is all I want."

"Time has passed in your absence, Warrior ... you may not find what you expect waiting for you ... You may not be where you expect, either. What say you? I shall make it worth your life to stay with me, Warrior."

Max's jaw worked side to side. He thrust the sword away, a vicious movement full of his anger and disgust. He spat on the ground. 

"I go to her," he said harshly. "I go to my place in life."

And then he strode swiftly, powerfully into the light ... his arms lifting at the last moment ... his hands seeking contact with the woman he walked toward ...

...How long the transition took, he could not say.

At some point, he opened his eyes, groaned at the feeling of nausea that overtook him. What he expected to see was the tunnel hallway in Chester's arena ruins, where he had first come to this world. In his mind, before he'd stepped forward, he'd presumed he would end there, where he had also begun so long ago after leaving the arena in Rome.

But this was no dark, cold hallway ...

It was white. Shiny floor beneath him. 

He was in the corner of a white room. It took him long moments to fight the nausea and focus on where he was. On high alert, ready for another trick or attack, he swiftly swept his eyes over his surroundings.

Somewhere nearby, he heard someone's labored breathing and a metallic rasping ... and a steady, soft pinging noise.

When his eyes began to register the details, he knew only that he was in a hospital room. Rising slowly to a crouch to get a better view, he looked over the room. There were two beds. One was occupied. The body in the bed was large and round ... sheets were tucked in neatly around the person and there were tubes running under the blanket. The pinging noise he now recognized as the heart monitor. He'd learned about such medical technology during visits to a co-worker who'd been injured in a car accident, several years earlier.

Now he rose to his feet, searching about the room for visitors or nurses. Seeing none, he walked softly toward the patient, who was sleeping or unconscious. Maximus bent over the person, observing his breathing. He was an older man, heavily jowled, slack jawed ... no threat, even if he'd been awake, Max thought to himself.

Just then, the door opened and a woman clad in white slacks, white blouse and a vivid turquoise scrub jacket walked in, her brisk pace bringing her almost to his side before she looked up toward the patient's bed and saw Max.

When she did, she gasped and dropped a tray she carried.

"Do not be afraid of me," Maximus said, his voice a croak ... he put his hands up to show he meant no harm. He remembered how desperate he'd been when Uma had found him ... would this woman show similar compassion?

"What are you doing in Mr. Jenkin's room?" the woman asked, unsure but not afraid. And then her eyes dropped noticeably down to his groin.

Max looked down and realized ... he was nude ... his hands instantly covered his manhood. "I am sorry to have startled you. I am not sure where I am. Can you tell me?"

The nurse took a step toward him, her eyes looking at the side of his chest. "You're bleeding. Where is your gown? Let me help you ... did you get confused and just go in the wrong room?"

"Perhaps so."

"Come sit over here, on the chair. Let me see where you're hurt."

Her hand touched his arm ... and something in the way she looked at him told him that whatever connection he'd felt as a bolt of pure energy when Uma had touched him, it was not happening with this woman.

She got a towel from the bathroom and washed his side, revealing the source of his bleeding ... an opening in his skin ... for a moment, Max gazed at it and it occurred to him this was where the bullet had gone in ... but this was not a bullet hole ... it appeared to be more of a scrape than anything else ... as if someone had nicked him there ... with a sword's tip, he thought.

How had this happened?

Already, his memory of the place he'd been was fading ... he could hold on to little save the sense of battle ... of holding a sword ... of fighting faceless enemies ... of the pervading darkness.

"Do you remember the ward you belong on?" the nurse asked him as she applied a bandage to the wound. "You have a nasty bruise at your temple ... do you know your name? What day it is? Where you are?"

A flash of fading memory ... of a sword handle clubbing his head ...

"My name is ... Cooper."

"Do you know what day it is?"

He frowned, concentrating. "Nov. 16th."

She gazed in his eyes, concerned. "No. That's more than a month ago. It's Jan. 2."

"January?"

"2007."

A groan slipped out. Had he been gone since mid November? Or ... he remembered fragments of the voice's warning ... time had passed ... he would not find the world as he expected any longer ... had he been sent to another place and time ... were the gods continuing to torture him?

"It's okay, Cooper. I'm sure everything will seem better now ... Sometimes with head wounds, things can seem so confusing at first but it will not be so bad ... we'll go find your room ... probably you've got family waiting there for you and ..."

He turned tortured eyes toward her ... she did not know what hurt him so deeply that it showed in this manner but her heart went out to him ... well, her heart ... and ... she was a woman after all. She could not help but be impacted by Maximus as a man. If she'd been standing there helping some unattractive geezer, would she have been so diligent, so gentle, so caring? She'd like to think so ... but being in the presence of a man who looked like this and who had such charisma ... indeed, it affected her.

She realized she was staring. She cleared her throat and went in search of a patient gown and robe for him to wear. She helped him fasten the gown then waited as he tied the robe. He was an impressive physical specimen, she told herself, and she would simply escort him to where he belonged ... mmhhmmm ... he wasn't wearing a wedding band, she observed.

"I'll just go check the patient register ... find out where you belong in hospital ..."

"Hold!" Maximus said ... his hand touching her wrist. Why had he not registered before that she had an accent he had not expected? It was not American ... not British ... "Where am I?"

"In hospital, sir, er, Cooper."

"What city? What country?"

"Melbourne, Australia. Cooper? Are you all right? Come ... have a seat again."

He staggered back to the chair and landed heavily. His head hurt, throbbed. But still, he raced through his memory and tried to figure this out ... he remembered being in Tennessee ... in a hospital clinic ... how had he got to Australia? To a different hospital?

A penny dropped.

When he had first come to this world and time, he'd left an arena in Rome and landed in an arena in England, where he had been drawn by Uma, if his theories were correct. Some connection that was made instantly.

Now ... he had died in a hospital in Tennessee and he had arrived back in this time in a hospital ... in Australia? And then he slowly let himself believe ... had he been drawn here because this is where Uma was? It made its own sort of sense.

Other thoughts flooded him ... the primary one being this nurse and this hospital ... he doubted very seriously that he was a patient here ... much more likely he'd simply arrived here as in the arena in Chester ... and the fact that once again he was not clothed, lent support to this theory.

If the nurse found out he was not a registered patient ... and having found him wounded ... surely she would alert authorities? It would not help him ... not considering how confused he was over what was happening.

No. He needed to leave this hospital and figure out where he could find Uma. But for the life of him, he could not remember the name of her restaurant. He put a hand to his head, to that tender area that ached so mercilessly. What was Andy's last name, he thought ... why could he not remember such a simple thing? Without it ... how would he find her?

"Cooper? Your head ... are you in pain? Severe pain?"

"Yes ... yes, I am," he whispered. "I am very tired."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me just go check the register ... I'll find your nurse and we'll get you back where you belong ... it's no doubt well past your med time ... just wait here."

"I need to use your facilities ..."

"The loo? Oh ... this way ... there we go, Cooper ..."

But before she knew what had happened, Max had his hand over her mouth to prevent her screaming and he had wrapped her struggling arms in tightly with the towel he found inside the bathroom. Another towel bound her ankles. He tried to be gentle with her for she had done him no harm and had, in fact, wished to help him.

He apologized to her as he left and asked her to remain still until she was found. Looking deeply into her eyes, he told her to trust him ... he meant no one any harm but had a journey to complete. She nodded, unsure but not willing to fight someone so much stronger who didn't appear to be intent on hurting her. Max left her on the floor of the bathroom and went back into the room, searching in a half-open closet he'd spied for the patient's clothing.

The pants were too wide but not quite long enough ... they only stayed up because there was a belt he could cinch in to keep them around his waist. But the cuffs came no lower than the very top of his ankle bones. Similarly, the shirt hung on him loosely ... swamping him in fabric ... the saving grace was that the shirt was short-sleeved. The shoes were the only thing that came close to being his size ... and they were worn and dingy brown but at least he could walk in them.

He had not heard the nurse make any noise but perhaps she realized he was still in the room ... he could not rely on her staying so quiet once she knew he was gone ... she would no doubt raise the alarm if she could. He had maybe only minutes to escape the building before a security alert might trap him.

Outside the room, he glanced up and down the hall ... and then decided to take the fastest way out ... opting for speed over stealth. Once he was out, he could lose himself in the surroundings, he reasoned.

The hospital was not on a busy street so there would be no easy way to truly blend in. He must get to a cross street, keep moving, always changing streets ... and get well away from this area before stopping to think through his next move.

On he walked, never quite knowing where he was going other than he headed generally to the southeast, judging his direction by the sun, not wanting to go in circles but wanting to keep moving ever further from the hospital.

Finally, he reached a more congested area with older buildings that led to a commercial district. Much of it had seen far better days. There were many people walking around, going in and out of small, unusual shops. He glanced in passing windows ... there seemed a lot of junk, items that seemed of another age than the one he'd lived in with Anna ... and cafes serving food that sent exotic, unusual scents into the air near them.

His stomach rumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets when it seemed even the belt might not keep them on. Inside the left pocket, his fingers felt stiff paper. Pulling it out, he realized he was holding several bills of money. He had no real idea how much he had.

At the next small café, he stopped and simply asked a young waitress. Holding the money in his big hand, he rumbled the question out ... was it enough for a meal. She grinned at him and told him it was more than enough. She showed him to a small table and teased him about how he really needed to learn the currency if he was going to come visit Australia. He asked her to bring him a meal she thought would please a visitor such as him.

His oddly fitting clothes did not seem to arouse any interest in the café but then he noted that many of the other customers wore rather bizarre outfits, judging by the standards he'd come to accept in this age.

It made him delve into thoughts he did not wish to have ... they all centered on one concern: perhaps the gods had sent him to a new place, even a new time but also a different world than he'd been in. He swallowed down a ball of emotions at the idea that he may have to start all over again ... that this time through, he may not even have his guides and friends to help him.

As he slowly sipped the clear broth soup riddled with chopped vegetables that the waitress brought him, Maximus forced himself to slow down, to revert to the part of him that would protect him from emotions that would cloud his judgment. Stoicism was second nature to him ... and gave him his footing in this world. It was more than simply presenting a blank face to the world. It was a belief system. It was how the world was able to deal with him. It was how he exercised control over what he could ... himself.

His head roared with the ache from his injury. Whatever else could be said of the place he'd been, and even if exact memories seemed to fade away, one thing he knew: it was a place where he'd been alive after death or he would have sustained no new injuries from there. If he considered what he remembered and what he'd felt in that place, he knew clearly one thing: he had not been meant to escape from that place. He had not been meant to find the light. The voice had tried to distract him ... had been clearly agitated ... it had been that golden spear of light that had flown through the dark void ... it had started his journey toward the light that flowed through the doorway into wherever he was.

The voice had wanted him to doubt his choice to go through the door. He could not trust what he was told in there ... but neither should he immediately dismiss it.

Now he cast his mind to examining his own memory ... Andy's last name ... it would be important for how else would he find their phone number or their restaurant?

Perhaps he could call someone else? Anna? Ralph? Thorne?

But, no. Those would be overseas calls ... that seemed an insurmountable hurdle.

The waitress brought his next course ... pork and more vegetables. A tangy sauce. Noodles. He ate with rote speed, seeking to fill his belly rather than linger over a fine meal. When she brought the bill, he held out his money and let her select one of the bills as payment. As he sat finishing his tea and looking over the busy sidewalk, she returned with his change. He would leave her a generous tip ... at least he hoped that was what he was doing.

And then he sat very still at the table and let the noise around him become a buffer. He studied himself, to see what besides the crushing headache was going on ... and knew there was something that making an impression on him ... a sensation more than a feeling or formed thought.

Close your eyes, he ordered himself. Feel it ... then let it talk for itself ...

He felt the need to move, to walk, to continue on his way. He knew then that his path to this area of town had not been entirely random, not solely driven by the need to venture as far as he could from the hospital lest he be found by authorities.

Something felt familiar, he suddenly realized, as if he'd seen this or experienced this. But he'd never been here, he could have sworn. Is this what the other men felt, those who came after him and somehow had found the Come On Inn by sense and magnetism?

He visualized a magnet ... drawing him toward it ... where was it?

Let it talk to you, he chided himself.

Breathing in deeply, he slowly released the air in his lungs. He felt cleansed ... and he knew the only he could do is follow his instincts where they led. If they led nowhere, he would get a room for the night ... surely by the waitress' reaction, the money he'd found would be enough? If not, he had slept in meaner places than in rough alleys.

Outside, the sun had passed its zenith perhaps two hours earlier, he noted. He let himself begin wandering, striding along, turning down alleys or small streets as the urge came to him. He passed small art galleries, leather shops, more junk places, clothing stores from which musty smells emanated.

At a street corner, he turned left out of the alley and felt as if something had reached out and touched him. He stopped and looked all around, getting jostled a few times by passersby not expecting him to be smack in their path. He looked ahead of him then behind. No, it was ahead he must go, he felt certain. At another intersection, he was suddenly unsure ... left, right, straight? He closed his eyes and turned in a tight revolution, letting his inner sense tell him when to stop. When he did, he noted that he was going to be turning left off the street he'd been on. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. His eyes narrowed and he stared all around, absorbing details in case they were important.

It was a dingy alley ... he passed a Vietnamese restaurant ... and then suddenly felt something pull him to a stop. His head turned and he looked toward the next building he would pass. It was being renovated. Several men carrying loads of 4x6's and plywood were heading inside. Hammers and pliers dangled from tool belts. A large industrial bin took up all the parking spaces in front of the building. It was piled high with refuse and old sheetrock.

Maximus swallowed hard ... he remembered his vision inside the dark void with the spirit and shadow forces ... Anna had been in a place with construction work going on. He took a step forward and felt the unmistakable draw to enter this building. But ... how could she be here, in Australia? What was this place? He shook his head at the absurdity of this feeling about the building and was going to walk on by ... but at the last minute, he bolted inside, following an instinct.

Dodging past a tall ladder with a young man at the top, attaching molding with a nail gun ... ignoring the irritated grumbling of a man pulling wiring whom he jostled in the tight hallway that led from the airy front room to the large kitchen behind it ... he saw no one he knew, no one he recognized.

He looked up the staircase that led to the second floor from the back corner of the kitchen. He could hear footsteps above him. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, Maximus advanced quickly up the steps ... he was nearly there when a figure suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs.

 

~~~

 

After seeing Terry off, Ann had slowly ascended the stairs, lost in thoughts ... hoping she wasn't going to re-think things again ... At the top of the stairs, she turned left instead of right ...

"Man, I am not enjoying having to pee every five minutes ... hey, little man, how about moving your big old butt from my bladder?" she grumbled at her son as she waddled her way down the hall to the only working bathroom on that floor.

And by working, it didn't mean it was great. So she didn't linger ... just washed her hands then lumbered back out into the hallway. As she was walking back to the front room where Jeff had set up her makeshift office, Ann was trying to remember when she'd made that shift from being pregnant to being about to give birth ... when did I start this waddling thing, she asked herself. And then her son seemed to lurch inside her ... it was bad enough balancing when you felt always off kilter without the boy lending a hand, she thought, bracing her hand on the wall.

She was almost at the door to the room, her hand on the wall ... when she heard a break in the rhythm of the workmen's noise below.

Listening now ... alert to the unexpected danger ...

And then she heard footsteps in the kitchen below ... familiar ... No, stop that thought ...

Jesus, Ann chided herself, first you think you hear his voice this morning and now you think ...

You think ...

A déjà vu moment ... to think otherwise, was insanity ...

She looked at her hand on the wall ... that ugly, flocked wallpaper she couldn't wait to get rid of ... she pulled her hand away from the wall and it was shaking, which surprised her.

She willed herself to get control ... she could not lose her mind along with everything else.

And then she heard the footsteps again ... on the stairs ... coming up fast ... she couldn't stop herself turning and going back toward the stairs as fast as her waddling body could go ... but she still expected it to be one of the others ... perhaps Terry coming back to make some new point about her plans ... but not ... not ...

 

Maximus stopped with one foot poised on the next step up when he saw her rush to stand there, at the top of stairs, on the second floor landing.

Ann clutched the railing tightly and looked down at where he stood ... and this is when it dawned on her what this meant. It had happened. The one thing she would not abide.

The other Maximus, the new Maximus has finally arrived, Ann thought to herself.

"Oh ... God ..." she moaned, her free hand going to cover her heart. "No ... no ... no!"

No? Maximus lost his breath ... she said, 'no' when she saw him? Was this what the voice, the Spirit had meant? That not only time had moved on ... but he was not where this woman was his lover, his partner?

He felt some essence of life leave him ... and simply looked at her ... then realized that this woman was also pregnant ... heavily ... if it were early January, his Anna would be weeks from term ... Surely, this was no trick?

Taking another step, he advanced up the final stairs toward where she stood. He noticed the white knuckles on the hand clinging to the railing as if it was all that kept her upright, the tears that spilled from her eyes as she looked at him ...

"Do not cry, cara ... you know how it weakens me so," he said softly as he reached her. He put a thumb on her face to wipe at her tears ... an instinctive gesture.

The impact of his voice ... that he advanced on her as if he knew her ... Ann swayed and would have fallen but for the fact that he reached for her, to hold her to him, gently.

"You called me ... called me ... cara," she whispered against his neck, where she'd buried her face the instant he drew her to him. "You know me!"

"Of course I know you," he whispered back, his voice deep and sure. Now his hands swept up her back. "My wife. Anna ... my love ... cara ..."

"They told me you were dead." Her voice was hushed, as if sound would break the illusion that he might be, but at the end cracking apart and dissolving. "It's been six weeks ...  five days ... eight hours ..."

Maximus swallowed hard as he stroked down her hair. "Whatever happened, wherever I was ... I do not have the answers ... yet. But I escaped to return to you, cara ... I only lived to hold you again."

Her arms flew around his neck and she held on ... sobbing even through him picking her up and walking with her into the room he'd seen in his vision. Sinking with her into the couch that had seen far better days, he rocked her as they both wept, faces hidden against the other.

 

~~~

 

"Something has happened."

"Yeah? What?"

"Synchronicity. When you learn of it, you will already have accepted it. And you will remember the things I first told you ... Everything leads to something else ... Have faith. Nothing worthwhile ever came without suffering..."

"I trust you. I even think maybe I have faith ..."

Paul hung up the phone. His hand slid from the sleekness of the receiver onto the polished top of the bar. He looked down the length of the bar at a man who sat nursing an ale he'd poured for him not ten minutes ago.

Dark hair. Playful smile when he was happy. Eyes that could show pain so powerfully and openly whenever he was hurt.

Where this would go, Paul did not know. But for the first time in so long, he felt the stirrings of faith in something capable of not letting him down.

 

 

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