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Sometimes people are given a second chance at living one moment over. |
| Chapter 26 He pulled his Monza into the parking lot and turned off the engine. He knew he was early, but wanted to surprise Antoinette. He looked at his watch: she should be up front at the register. He exited and walked into the market. The older Micah whispered, “Something’s changed. I can’t say what it is, because it’s fuzzy, but something’s definitely changed.” That helps a lot. What should I do? “Go in and see what’s up.” “Oh my God,” a young woman said as he took a few steps from the doors. “You’re Micah, right?” a second asked. “Yes.” A man holding his nose in bloodied hands looked at him and smiled. “This is Micah? Oh Lord, I can’t believe she took him over me.” “Excuse me?” the teenager politely asked. “What was that comment about?” The first woman looked at him and answered, “This is Osborne, the manager. I suppose Toni’s told you about him?” Anger flashed in Micah’s eyes. He turned to the man and asked, “So you like harassing teenage girls, do you? Looks like one got you good.” Osborne laughed, “And it got her fired. I called the cops, too. That bitch can’t hit me and leave without paying the consequences.” “What? She left. When did she leave?” “A few minutes ago, with two men in suits,” the second woman answered. “Have you ever seen them before?” Both shook their heads. “No, and that’s why I called the police,” the first woman said.” “You didn’t call to tell them I was assaulted?” Osborne whined. “Hell no and you deserved what you got. I’m telling them once they get here, too, about your disgusting attitude towards her and the rest of us.” “Hello, I’m the injured party. What I did or did not do to provoke it doesn’t matter.” “Yes it does,” Micah said. He glared at the man. “You’re over 21. You have no right to ask out girls under 18.” “I can do whatever I want.” Micah looked at the women. “Do you know what car she left in?” “A Cadillac,” the first answered. The older Micah screamed, cried out. “Oh my God, I know what’s happened. Oh my God, this can’t happen.” Micah did not like how panicked his older sounded. What can’t happen? “She’s been taken by the men that ambushed me. They think she knows where the painting is.” How can she? I don’t even know, because you’ve not told me. “That may be true, but they don’t know it.” Who are they? “Van Rossum. Van Rossum is crazed, obsessed with the painting. He’ll do anything to obtain the location, and do anything to those he feels are threats to him obtaining it.” Oh shit, what do I do? “I hope that bitch gets hers in jail,” Osborne said as he stood up. “Fucking ass, all she had to do was go to lunch.” Micah turned quickly and hit the man in the face, the hell of his right palm striking an already broken nose on Osborne’s face. The older man fell backwards, landing on his bottom. “You all saw that. I was assaulted for no reason.” An older female customer leaned down and spoke to the man. “It’s a shame I didn’t see anything, or I would have to tell the police.” “You like young girls?” a longhaired man asked. The first woman nodded quickly. “It’s a good thing I’m peaceful or I would take you out back.” “We need to get out of here and he to Van Rossum’s,” older Micah screamed. “We need to go and now!” “Thank you,” he told everyone and sprinted out of the store. In the distance, he heard the police arriving. He sprinted through the parking lot to his car. He slowed when he saw someone leaning against his car. “Whoa,” the older Micah said. What’s the matter? Do you know this man? “Unfortunately yes I do.” The silence caused a chill to run through Micah. Is he that bad? “Good afternoon, Mr. Vaughn,” the man said. He was wearing a suit jacket over a Polo shirt. His khakis appeared were well pressed. He had his arms folded across his chest and smiled as the teen approached. Who is he? “Could you do my boss and I a favor and please get in your car?” The tone made Micah’s skin crawl, gave him a feeling of doom was imminent. What should I do? “Do as he says,” the voice of older Micah answered. Micah did as the man asked. He opened the car and sat, the other taking the passenger’s seat. “Where am I going?” The man thought for a moment. “You mentioned Kiliaen Van Rossum in a short story. We’re going to meet him. Drive to downtown Schenectady and I’ll tell you where to go from there.” “Could you at least tell me where I’m going?” Antoinette asked. She sat in the backseat with one of the two men, allowed to watch as they drove onto the Thruway. They stayed under the speed limit, a sign they were trying not to attract undue attention. “In due time, Miss De Fiore,” the man next to her said. She noticed that they were slowing as they approached Exit 25, the Schenectady exit. “Are we going to downtown?” “I said in due time.” His tone scared Antoinette, made her wince. She moved away from him, to the furthest point she could go inside the Cadillac. The man looked at her and smiled. “I won’t hurt you. I have strict orders to make sure you’re not harmed in any way.” That didn’t make her feel safer, didn’t lesson her fear. “Get on the Thruway,” the man told Micah. “Once on there, head towards Schenectady.” “We’re going to Van Rossum’s office,” the older Micah said. “Are we headed to Kiliaen Van Rossum’s office?” he asked. “How did you know?” “Oh, I have this little voice inside of me that tells me things,” the teen joked. “That’s creepy.” “Tell me about it. I can’t have a moment’s peace with him in there yapping away.” “Stop that,” the former office said. “Just shut your mouth and go to the Beverwyck Building. You do know where that is, don’t you?” “Who from Schenectady doesn’t?” “Do you know where the parking garage is under it?” Micah went silent, hoping the older him would know. There was silence. “No, I don’t.” “Once you get onto Broadway, I’ll tell you where to go.” The car pulled into the parking garage and came to a halt near a set of elevators. The driving exited and walked to her door. He opened it and held out a hand. “Miss De Fiore, if you please,” he said politely. She didn’t want to get out, felt that if she did, it could lead to her end. She looked to left and saw the other man nod. She sighed and took the driver’s hand. He helped her out of the seat, the other man exiting on his own. “If you please, come with us,” the driver said. He gently touched her left elbow and directed her to the elevators. “It is very important you answer all questions asked of you honestly,” the driver said. “That way, it will make it easy for you.” “But what if my honest answers aren’t believed?” she asked. Both men looked at each other before the driver answered. “I have not thought of that. Honestly, I hope he does believe you.” “His moods lately haven’t been the best,” the other man added. “Oh that makes me feel so good.” The men knew what they did, made her more nervous, something they should not have done. Micah approached Exit 25 and slowed. He hadn’t heard from his older self through the 25-minute drive and was beginning to worry. He wondered if this was the end of his life. “Don’t do anything stupid,” the man said. “Don’t try to signal the attendant. Remember I have a gun.” Micah sighed and entered the booth. He turned to the man beside him and held out his hand. “Do you think I’m going to pay for the toll?” The man grunted but reached into his pocket and pulled out 30 cents. The teen handed it to the woman and wished her a good day. He pulled out and drove down I-890. “Remember to keep it under the speed limit,” the man reminded. “I know.” The man could sense the nervousness in Micah. “Kid, this isn’t personal. This is a job to me. If it was up to me, I’d let you go and find the painting on your own, but I’m being paid not to allow it.” “What makes Van Rossum think I know where it is?” The man closed his mouth and thought. “Something’s changed in this man, it’s like he’s more paranoid.” “I just wrote a story that had his name in it, that’s all.” “Ask him who gave him the story,” older Micah whispered. He asked the man. “Your journalism teacher did. Emily Cleary is his first cousin. She knows about the painting and contacted him when she saw the story.” “Fuck,” both Micahs said simultaneously. She felt terrible. Emily Cleary was having second thoughts about what she did. She knew she had a family obligation to share the story Micah wrote with Kiliaen, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t have guilt over it. She tried to warn Micah after class but he took off too quickly, went off with friends, overheard him tell them that he had ideas for many short stories and was going to tell his girlfriend about them. During her break, she tried to call Kiliaen, to ask that he leave her student alone, but his secretary didn’t pick up the phone. Cleary thought of leaving early, to run down to her cousin’s office and confront him, but she had to stay until the final period, to sign off on the yearbook delivers. Once she signed papers and made a call to a friend, she ran out of the building. “I hope I’m not too late,” she said to herself as she pulled into the parking garage. She bypassed spots open to the public and headed to the lowest level, where Van Rossum and his family had a private area. The security guard stopped her. She rolled down her window and the man recognized her, passed her through. She parked her car and dashed to the private elevator, the one that raced to the top floor and opened on the top floor. She pushed the button and the doors opened immediately. “Come on,” she panicked. She wanted to arrive before anything happened to Micah. She didn’t want the responsibility of causing his death. The doors opened and she went to exit. A familiar figure blocked her way. “What are you doing here?” Kiliaen asked. “I don’t want you to hurt Micah.” “It’s a little too late for that cousin. You should have thought of that before you shared his story.” He sighed heavily, mocking her sudden concern for the teenager. “What happens now is out of my hands.” “You can stop this.” He removed her from the private elevator and brought her to a private room next to his. He slammed her down into a couch and glared. “He knows where the painting is. He can get it and find the treasure. That treasure is mine.” “Don’t you mean the ‘Family’s Treasure’?” He shook his head violently. “Who else has been looking for it?” “No one has,” she answered. “That’s right. So that makes it mine.” She looked at him. She had a comment for him, but let it die on her lips. |
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