Die Back Page 5

  "A Parisian bisexual Wiccan goddess?"

  "What?" He was thinking more like 'older sister'.

  Nikki turned to Addison, placing a hand on his cheek, her voice earnest. "Are we lovers, mon ange?" Her searching eyes softened. She pulled back, irritation rising in her voice. "If you want the girl, maybe you should do something really masculine. Hey, I've got it. Go flip the toilet seat up and piss all over the floor. That's what guys I date do." She laughed, turning back to the racks.

  "I just want her to know I'm available. You know?"

  Nikki gave a look devoid of affect. Given the lack of women in his life, Addison figured she didn't want to let pity for his sorry ass creep onto her face. "Yeah, I know. Maybe instead of peeing on her floor you could do something radical, like, talk to her."

  The two continued to look through old albums until Addison felt ready to share his experience with the pen.

  "Nikki, I had something happen today. Something…well, crazy."

  Nikki, now in the R's, examined a Rolling Stones Sticky Fingers album, its honest-to-God metal zipper opened halfway down a black and white crotch-shot of a man in jeans. "Crazy, huh? Like how crazy?"

  Addison moved closer to get her full attention. "I mean like time travel or something." Nikki said nothing, fiddling with the zipper.

  "I found an old fountain pen Dad left me. A file on the desk had a slip of paper with a date and a name, Emmett Earl Pike."

  "Must be someone he was researching for a client. I'd toss it."

  "No, here's the thing. When I wrote the date and the name with his pen, well, I had this…experience."

  Nikki shoved the Stones album out of place one bin over, not looking at what she was doing. "What do you mean, experience?"

  "I don't know. It was like I was inside this Emmett Pike guy looking out. We were in a trench, World War I, I think. The sergeant ordered us to go over the top. I tried to stay in the trench, but I couldn't stop myself. I was running with a friend, Jake. There was an explosion. Jake, he was…I…Emmett died and I came out of him back into the present."

  Nikki stared at Addison with a blank expression. Does she believe me or think I'm nuts?

  "Wow, Addison. That's some imagination you've got there. I've done that myself when I'm reading a really good book. It's as if I'm right in the middle of everything."

  Addison grabbed her shoulders to get her undivided attention. "No, Nikki. Not, as if. I was in the middle of everything."

  Nikki gave Addison the smile reserved for shit-faced friends outside of bars late at night. She removed Addison's hand from her shoulder. "Whatever you say. Sounds like you definitely had an experience."

  Noticing customers pausing over albums to watch them, Addison lowered his voice. "Yeah, I think. I don't know. It's so weird. How could I possibly be transported into some guy who could be my great great grandfather? And the great great grandmother, well…”

  "Wait. You were inside her too?"

  "No, I didn't say that. I mean, I had his memories…of her." Addison's face flushed, Emmett's lustful thoughts still clear in his mind.

  "Clearly you've got some weird mother issues if you're having erotic dreams about old people."

  "I'm not having dreams. Didn't you hear what I said? It was real. I died on a damn battlefield."

  Nearby customers turned their heads toward Addison's voice, which had risen above Charlie Musselwhite's blues harmonica riff belting out from overhead speakers.

  "Alright, calm down. It's just…well, pretty incredible." Her tone dripped doubt.

  "I don't blame you for not believing me. I'm having trouble believing it myself."

  "Have you considered your hallucination might have something to do with the accident?"

  They didn't talk about it, but Addison imagined Nikki thought he still hadn't completely dealt with his guilt over Beth's death, which was true. His mind never strayed far from thoughts of her.

  "I thought that at first, but no, this has nothing to do with it, Nikki."

  She motioned for Addison to follow. "Come on. I need to get back to work."

  "You can't tell anyone about this. Okay?"

  "Are you kidding? If I start telling people my best friend time travels using a fountain pen, I'll be locked in a small room with a pair of jumper cables attached to my nipples taking little blue pills from a paper cup. No worries. Your secret's safe with me."

  "You don't believe me, do you?"

  Nikki stopped, mumbling something to herself, then walked back to Addison. "You seem to forget that during all of the craziness you went through after the wreck, I was there. I was with you every step of the way. If you want to believe you're having dreams or hallucinations or visions from a pen, well, we've been through a hell of a lot worse. Just don't let this get away from you. Maybe you're breathing ink fumes. But if your PTSD is coming back, and it sure as hell sounds to me like it is, don't mess around with it. Get some help. In fact, if I were you, and thank God I'm not, I'd lock that pen away and leave it alone. Or better yet, give it to me and I'll put it somewhere safe." Nikki tapped a finger to her head. "Vous êtes fou. It's an anchor for your crazies. Compris?" She relaxed her gaze on him. "Now, I've got to go back to a public desperate for skinny double lattes." She turned with a sigh. "I know you're having a hard time right now. Who wouldn't? But I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Copacetíc?"

  "It's not PTSD, Nikki."

  A shadow crossed Nikki's face, then she forced a grin. "You've got deep psychological mother issues and desperately need to get laid, mon cher."

  Addison wanted to tell her where to shove it, but before the words could leave his mouth, the door closed behind her.

  Taken for a Ride

  Cameron Grimes, Addison's informal ‘uncle' and an old friend of Thomas Shaw, watched the street outside of RPM from his maroon Bentley. Most people knew him as Fortune magazine had proclaimed him—the third-wealthiest man in America, an entrepreneur with an empire spanning real estate, high-tech, and defense contracts. He had known Thomas Shaw since college days, but circumstances led to a falling out. Cameron hadn't seen Addison in years.

  Jimmy, his chauffeur slash security consultant, had located Addison earlier in the day. Now, Jimmy stood on the sidewalk clad in black suit and tie, complete with chauffeur's cap, calling out to Thomas' son.

  "Mr. Addison Shaw?"

  Addison pointed to himself, as if there might be another Addison Shaw coming out of RPM at the same time.

  "Yes, you. Mr. Shaw?"

  "Yeah, I'm Addison Shaw."

  "Mr. Cameron Grimes would like to offer you a ride home."

  "No, thanks." He waved the chauffeur off, as he tapped past the limo with his cane.

  Cameron, his window open, leaned out. “Come on, Addison. Let me give you a lift home."

  Addison paused, staring at him for a moment, then continued on his way. "No, but thanks. Rather walk."

  "Addison, get in the car. It's just a lift. I only want to talk."

  Addison stopped, looking to either side as if expecting to see armed guards. He shrugged in resignation. "Okay. Sure."

  He went around to the other side of the car where the chauffeur guided him into the Bentley's backseat. Scanning the interior, his eyes met Cameron’s. "Smells like leather and money."

  Cameron pulled down a walnut seat tray between them. "Two of my favorite things. Would you like something to drink? Sparkling water? Whiskey?"

  "No, thanks. You weren't at the funeral, were you?"

  Cameron poured a bottle of sparkling water for himself into a cut crystal glass. "No, unfortunately I was out of town on business in Dubai." He paused for Addison, but his nephew offered only a poker face. "You know, your father and I were business associates."

  "Before my mom died?"

  Cameron’s chest tightened at the memory. "Yes. It's been a few years, but we worked on some projects together."

  "So you were in business together." Addison's tone made the words sound shadowy, crim
inal. "Your business must be doing well."

  "Yes, I've been fortunate. Of course, a man makes his own good luck, don't you agree?"

  "As long as his money isn't made at the expense of others."

  Cameron laughed. "You sound just like your father. Yes, it would seem unsporting to take advantage of the weak. I'm not completely corrupt, Addison. I only take advantage of those who should know better."

  The Bentley took the long way to Addison's house, down Seaview Avenue toward Golden Gardens Park. The snow-covered Olympic Mountains beyond Puget Sound disappeared into a layer of gray clouds. He needed to gain Addison's trust, but clearly the relationship would take a great deal more than a ride in the Bentley to repair.

  "I kind of get the feeling there's a reason we're talking, Uncle, other than the coincidence that you were parked outside an old record store just as I was leaving."

  Cameron took a sip of water, then set the glass on the tray. "Straight shooter. I like that. You're right, Addison. Our meeting is not an accident. First, let me express my condolences on the death of your father. He was a good and honorable man and will be greatly missed."

  "Thanks."

  "Out of respect for your father, and our history together, I am interested in your welfare."

  "I'm fine. Thanks for your concern. I'm sure my father would have appreciated you checking in on me."

  "My honor, Addison." They sat in silence as the Bentley climbed the winding road from the park.

  "How did your meeting with the attorney go, by the way? Everything to your satisfaction?" Addison raised an eyebrow. "I see you're skeptical. I'm just a concerned party with your best interest in mind. Nothing more." He tapped a gold ring against the glass.

  Addison's gaze shifted to Cameron's hand. "Nice ring."

  Cameron closed his hand into a fist, obscuring the pattern etched into the band—a silver quill inlaid within the uneven six pointed star of a unicursal hexagram. "Just something I picked up during my travels."

  "My dad had one just like it."

  "Did he? A man of impeccable taste, I would say." Addison nodded. "You were telling me about your meeting with Mr. Debbs, your attorney."

  "It went okay. I really didn't expect much."

  "But you should, Addison. A father has a responsibility to pass his worldly treasure to the next generation."

  "Mr. Grimes." The chauffeur's voice filled the back of the Bentley. "We will be at Mr. Shaw's house in a few blocks."

  "Addison, your father was a special man with, how shall I put it, special gifts. I imagine he would have wanted you to carry on his work."

  "Well, Dad and I weren't exactly on the same page about his genealogy business when he died. I'm not much for rummaging around the lives of dead people."

  "That may be the case, but your father had much broader interests. I have a feeling he may have left more than you realize. And some of those things may seem a bit mysterious. All I want to say today is if you do find yourself the recipient of something unusual and you're uncertain which way to proceed, please know I am at your side, ready to be of assistance. Just as your father would have expected."

  Addison opened his mouth, as if to speak, but stayed himself.

  "I'm not the enemy, Addison."

  Addison studied him, his face expressionless. "He would appreciate you going out of your way for me."

  Cameron nodded. "Just remember my offer."

  The Bentley pulled to the curb.

  "Thanks. I'll certainly keep that in mind." Addison stepped out of the Bentley, leaning on his cane as the limo pulled away.

  The chauffeur inquired over the intercom, "Where would you like to go, Mr. Grimes?"

  Surely, Thomas had left Addison instructions, but he seemed unaware. Cameron reminded himself to stay close, so when Addison did learn the truth, he would be able to act quickly.

  “Home, Jimmy. I can conduct the rest of today’s business from there.”

  Ripped

  Addison pondered his cryptic conversation with Cameron as he limped into the foyer, the need for a cigarette high on his list. Muffled footsteps, a drawer sliding open, shuffling papers, all coming from the study. What the hell?

  He paused, a hand on his cell phone to call 911, but instead, slid the phone back in his pocket. The cops wouldn't get there in time to stop this. It's up to me. He raised his cane as if holding a baseball bat, creeping toward the study, sounds from within increasing in volume. What if this guy has a knife? Or worse, a gun? At the doorway to the study, Addison leaned against the wall, taking in a deep breath. Maybe I should just call the cops.

  He took a step back in retreat just as the intruder walked through the doorway. The 'fight' of 'fight or flight' exploded out of him. "GET OUT!" Addison swung the cane with all his strength.

  The intruder ducked away as the cane left Addison's grasp smashing the glass door of a bookcase across the hallway. Thrown off-balance, he slammed his shoulder against the wall. He turned to fend off an anticipated blow, but his ‘attacker’ stood several feet away, hands raised in surrender.

  "Slow down, mon tigre. It's me."

  Nikki?

  ”What the hell are you doing? You scared the crap out of me. Jesus, Nikki." Addison surveyed the damage, toeing glass shards littering the hallway. "And the bookcase. Crap."

  "I'm lucky you didn't break my head. How about looking before you swing that thing?"

  "How about not breaking into my house?"

  "Touché, mon cher. I was just, uh, you know…”

  Addison raised his voice as Nikki walked into the kitchen. "No, Nikki. I don't know. Why are you here and what were you doing in the study? I thought your public craved a latte." The refrigerator door opened with a muffled click, followed by the clink of a bottle cap bouncing on the granite countertop. "Want a beer?” He hoped his sarcasm wasn’t lost on her.

  "Thanks, got one. You?"

  "So, why did you break into my house?"

  Nikki took a long pull from the bottle, then set it on the counter, turning it as if inspecting its label. "I didn't break into your house. I dropped by for a visit."

  Addison rummaged through a drawer for the Marlboros, put a cigarette to his lips, flicked a disposable lighter, his eyes squinting as he took a long drag. Exhaling, he sent a circle of smoke swirling toward Nikki.

  "Since when do you smoke?"

  "Cantigney."

  Nikki reached across, snatching the cigarette from his mouth.

  "Hey! What are you doing?"

  She crumpled the cigarette in her hand and tossed it in the sink. "Keeping you from making bad choices."

  "Excuse me? You're the one who visits me by picking my lock and ransacking Dad's office."

  She shrugged. "You should leave a key under the doormat."

  "Never mind." Addison shook his head, letting out a long sigh. "So, why are you visiting me?"

  "The pen, Addison. I'm worried about you. I mean, you come to me with this crazy story about a pen turning you into some sort of sci-fi time traveler. You know, with the PTSD, well, I thought maybe getting the pen away would help break your fixation."

  "My fixation?"

  "Yeah, you know, getting fixated on the pen, sort of like an addict. It's your gateway to crazy town." Nikki twirled a finger by her head.

  "So, you don't believe me?"

  "I didn't say that." Nikki grabbed another beer from the refrigerator on her way to the study. "Where is this magic pen anyway?"

  Addison followed her. "What are you doing?"

  "Show me the pen."

  "No."

  Nikki took a seat in the chair behind the desk. "Come on, mon cher. If I had a magic pen I'd show it to you. What, you don't trust me?"

  "You just broke into my house."

  "For your own good."

  Addison massaged his forehead, staving off a headache he knew was coming his way. "Okay, I trust you. It's just that—"

  "Afraid I'm right about the PTSD and your hallucinating?"

  He h
eld her gaze. "One time, just so you know what I'm talking about." Addison brought out the box, placing the fountain pen in front of her.

  She held it her hands, studying the pen's markings without reaction. "So, what do I do? Just write something?"

  A hint of suspicion rose in Addison. "Yeah. It's a pen." Part of Addison wanted the pen to take Nikki away, just as it had taken him, but another part held a terror that his father's pen would simply be—a pen. "Just write the name of the person you want to enter."

  "Okay. Let me think. How about Janis Joplin? That'd be cool, wouldn't it? I could go to Woodstock." She looked over to the box, picking up the page with Emmett Pike's name. "Hey…isn't this the guy you said you were, what was it, like inside?"

  "Yeah, something like that. Look, you're right. It's PTSD. Let's just put this away—"

  "You've got to be kidding, mon cher. Let's do this." Nikki wrote a date and Emmett's name on the cream paper, just as Addison had done.

  Why can't Nikki just leave it alone?

  She examined the pen like a mechanic inspecting an engine component. "So when does this tripping thing happen?"

  "You're still here? You didn't go into his life?"

  "Um, no." Rising, she wadded up the paper, the pen in her hand. "I think your little magic wand is broken. I'll toss it out for you."

  Did I imagine Cantigny? Addison snagged the pen from her.

  "Come on Addison, it's just a crappy old pen."

  "It's real."

  "Will you listen to yourself? You sound like a mental patient who thinks he’s Jules Verne. Why don’t I quit the cafe and you can toss your father's business out the door. We can start a time travel agency. Imagine it." Nikki spread her arms, sounding like a circus emcee. "Witness history in the making. Hear the shot that killed Lincoln in his box at the Ford Theater. Feel the ice-cold North Atlantic as you sink on the Titanic. Kiss Amelia Earhart's derrière goodbye as you crash into the Pacific."

  She doesn't believe me. Air vacated the room, the walls closing in. Was it all a hallucination? He pushed past her to sit at the desk. "Just give me a second. Okay? Can you do that?"

  Glancing at the remaining page in the file, he spotted another name circled by felt-tipped pen. He had to know the truth.