Remember Me (9 page)

some other time. What I didn’t know was if it went forward or backward, both, or neither. Maybe the other end opened out on a spot in the middle of a galaxy, light years from here. I shuddered at the thought of falling through a rip in time, only to find instant death.

My mother had too conveniently excused all the possibilities. She only saw the here and now. I wasn’t that lucky with my thoughts. My nights were full of chaos and sorrow. I missed Amy, she was the calm I needed every day of my life. Holding her was my peace, my belief. She never had to say a word to S 61 S

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bring me hope and fill me with confidence. I prayed I did for her what she did for me. My biggest fear of all was the notion that life still existed twenty-five years from now, only without me in it. I remembered all the plots I’d ever seen or read on the theory of timelines. Each timeline coexisted, but ran separately. It felt right to me. Maybe this was only a parallel universe or another dimension. It would help explain the feeling of outsidedness I carried with me. It was more than just a feeling of not belonging to this time. I had a feeling that I was standing on the other side of a mirror. I was looking at the room in the mirror’s reflection and seeing it in the past. I didn’t feel real.

This was the odd feeling that I couldn’t shake. It weighed on me to know that Amy was facing the consequences of my disappearance in some other future. It would be easier to believe I was in our past, and the only one who was hurting was me. Tomorrow, I would probably feel something else entirely. Only God knew the right answer, and I was certain he wouldn’t be sharing it anytime soon.

“Andrew?” My mother called out to me, stirring me from

the depths of my abyss.

“Mom, I can’t explain why I feel the way I do, but I believe caution is the best answer.”

“I see,” she replied, a tone of disappointment in her voice.

I could tell she was unhappy with my answer.

“Look, I don’t have the answers, and I don’t know where

to go to get them! And lastly, I’m not sure I want to know them, even if I could find them!” I was instantly sorry that I had started to raise my voice. My mother was only trying to help, and I was full of bitterness.

“Andrew, I have always believed in you as a straight-forward and compassionate man. The man I see in front of me is twice the one he was at age twenty-five. Not just in years, but S 62 S

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in maturity as well. You need to trust in yourself. I believe you will do what is right and good. I also know your soul, and I have no doubt that you will do what is just.”

I looked up and into my mother’s eyes. Her eyes spoke the truth of her belief. It was more than just words she conveyed.

She somehow knew that I needed to hear them and come to

terms with who I was. I made the decision to move on and test the waters of fate. The paper on top of the stack was Friday’s sports section. The cover piece was about the Boston Celtics beginning the NBA finals at home against the Los Angeles Lakers. This was the first time for the new playoff format and a rematch of last year’s finals. The opening game was going to be played on Memorial Day. I looked over at my Mom and said,

“The Memorial Day Massacre.”

“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” my mother questioned. Her eyes opened wide and her lips pursed together as she tried to understand my comment and its meaning.

I began to get excited. “Mom, I remember this series,” I said loudly. “Game one became known as the “Memorial Day Massacre.” The game is going to be played in Boston. The Celtics literally massacre the Lakers. The really funny thing is that the Lakers end up winning the series in six games, four to two. Boston won it last year and was…I mean is a heavy favorite to win it all again this year.”

The silent dawning of understanding began to spread

across my mother’s face. “Andrew, you can make money off this series?”

“Absolutely! The only problem is where to go to place a

bet.”My father must have heard some of the conversation, because his voice boomed out from the living room as he made his way towards us. “I think I have an idea for the “how to place a bet.” Give me a couple of minutes to call Stan from work.”

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He headed back down the hall to the little room off the bathroom. It had once been a guest bedroom, but now it was used as a den by my dad. It had paneled walls, and mounted in the center of the back wall hung his prized, seven-pound rainbow trout.

Mom and I waited patiently only catching bits and pieces of the distant conversation. I took the note pad from my mom and started listing the different professional sports, even if I didn’t believe I knew anything about them. Who knew if something might shake loose out of the clutter of my brain?

A notion today might later be of great importance. Outside of the pro basketball playoffs, the only other sporting event coming up to make a wager on was the Belmont Stakes. It

was scheduled to run the following Saturday. All I knew about horse racing came from Amy. Horses were her passion—sans the betting part. We watched the Triple Crown together the last couple of years. I remember all the internet research I did with her oldest daughter, Christy, for an eighth-grade English paper she wrote on horse breeding. Some of the details were still fairly fresh in my mind.

Once in a while, I had an uncanny way of remembering

things. Most times I would have sworn I’d forgotten everything I ever learned, garbage in…garbage out. All it took was a sharp stab to the brain, and like a wall holding back the flood waters, it would open up and let the discarded memories back in. I looked at the paper and found a small section about the horses racing next week. I scanned the list until I was reasonably sure I knew who the winner was going to be: Crème Fraciche.

Several of the other names registered too; but I couldn’t remember why. Christy’s paper had elaborated on the value of Stud service for major horserace winners. We’d spent some of our time researching the intricacies of how horserace betting worked. I knew that if I could remember the three horses, S 64 S

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win, place, and show, I could potentially win a tremendous amount of money by betting the Trifecta.

I had to brush the thoughts of Christy aside as my dad

made his way back into the kitchen. “I spoke to Stan. He gave me the number of his bookie.” Mom raised her eyebrows at my father, and he grinned at her in response. “Don’t worry honey, I had to call him to get the number, remember!” Mom backed off a little and my father went on, “Stan told me to be careful and to not over-extend myself. The bookie’s name is CJ. Stan asked me how much I was thinking about betting, because CJ

won’t take bets for less than a thousand dollars.”

“Neil,” my mother countered with concern in her voice,

and the familiar worry lines furrowed her brow. “I believe Stan may have a problem. Any man who knows what he evidently

knows may be in well over his head, especially if he’s giving you an advanced warning.”

“You don’t need to worry Linda. Stan only bets on one thing every year and so far he’s lost every year. He keeps betting on the Cubs to win the World Series. According to him, it’s only going to take one year for him to win to come out ahead. He’s just hoping it will be before he dies.” We all started to laugh, and I was feeling better about my decision to place a bet.

Stan had been a long time resident of Chicago, growing up there before he transferred to the plant in Waterloo. I remembered talking with him a few times as I was growing up. He and my dad were good friends, often going on fishing trips together. I remembered him most for the endless amount of jokes he knew, and could tell for hours on end. I also recalled attending his funeral in nineteen ninety-two. He died of a heart attack while mowing the lawn in exceptionally hot weather. I added a note to myself on the note pad, a reminder of Stan’s death. Who knew, maybe I could give him a few more years. If I wasn’t here to do something good then I might as well shoot myself now.

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I was beginning to wonder if CJ might not be a usable

connection when it came time to acquire my new identity. I might be able to gain his loyalty by letting him in on some of my secrets—maybe give him the impression I was a budding psychic. After my dad called CJ on the phone, it was less than an hour when he showed up at the front door. I had tried to get my father’s attention before he gave out our address, but he blurted it out before he noticed me. I didn’t believe that it would be in our best interest to have contact with CJ here at the house. It might have been the year two thousand and ten in me, but I was still concerned about it.

CJ was not at all what I expected. He was clean-cut and

well mannered. He also drove a Mercedes. He was tall and well-built, evidence of many hours spent in a gym. When he smiled, his perfect white teeth stood out in contrast to his tanned complexion. He seemed genuine, but I still felt that certain something…a hunch, a notion, whatever it was I

promised inwardly to be extremely careful with what I shared until I was more comfortable with him.

CJ took his time with us. He engaged us in general chit-chat. It was clearly a move by him to determine our worth or acceptability as potential clients. We exchanged pleasantries and he filled us in on his own personal history. His given name was Clinton James Reisner, but he preferred CJ. His work life was spent in employment for an Accounting firm in Cedar

Rapids. His territory for audits was the Waterloo area. His side job was running numbers for an outfit out of Chicago. He was basically their only Iowa presence and it didn’t hurt that his Uncle was one of the main confidants to the upper tier of the organization CJ referenced as the “Family.”

CJ told us that he had always wanted to be an accountant.

When it came time to decide on where to go, he came to

University of Northern Iowa. It was one of the best universities S 66 S

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around to educate him in his desired profession. His Uncle saw it as a means to an end. Let the kid learn a worthwhile profession, and in the future he’d bring all that knowledge back home with him. It was a win for both sides. He would help out in the family business while he went to school, and later he would become part of the “Family Business.” It had been six years since CJ graduated from the university. He maintained an agreement with his father and uncle, allowing him to continue working in Iowa. He said that eventually he would be heading back to Chicago.

“Neil, Linda, let me be frank if I may,” CJ proffered to us in his best salesman-like persona. “I’m not quite sure what it is you desire from me. I don’t get the sense that betting is anything you have a passion for. I could be wrong, but you two don’t fit my normal clientele.”

I interrupted him. “CJ, it really isn’t them who want your services, it’s me.”

CJ turned to face me. Until that moment I’d been fairly

quiet during the ongoing conversation. He scrutinized me with his intense brown eyes and I saw just a waiver of a smile begin at the corner of his mouth. “I see, and what is it you are looking for?”

I’d already determined what my cover story would be, so I let it fly. “I’m a distant cousin of the family, and I had nowhere else to turn. My current, if you can call her that, wife is planning on divorcing me. We haven’t been together for several years; but suddenly she’s got it in for me. I need to come up with the money to fight her in court for custody of my son. My business has been…well…less than stellar this past couple of years. She has her father’s money on her side, and I need to find some alternative ways to compensate…out of the court’s prying eyes that is.”

CJ’s gaze locked on mine. I held his stare firm, not relenting or looking away. In the coming years, the psychology S 67 S

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of body language was going to become a big business. I was just well read on the subject. All those seminars and training sessions I attended to help me boost my sales at Heartland Distributors had stayed with me. He bought the story, more or less. It was more about buying into the notion of my desperation. I could be an easy mark, quick money.

CJ broke his eye-contact with me. After looking down at

his hands and then back up at me, he began to speak, “I’m going to save you the terminology, I’m sure you wouldn’t understand most of it anyway. So…first question, how much do you have to wager; and secondly, how much are you trying to win…after expenses?”

I couldn’t help myself; I was beginning to like this guy after all. It didn’t mean I would ever want to trust him with my life, he was just predictable. I answered, “I have about five grand to start with, and more if I need it. I also need to win somewhere in the neighborhood of six-digits.”

CJ actually blinked on the six-digit answer I gave. I was playing to the assumption that he saw me losing to house-stacked odds and that I would only be a onetime patsy. Even so, his return comment carried a cautionary tone, “Playing long odds is a loser’s game. If you really need what you say you do,” (a direct comment at me and the doubt about my story),

“then smaller, safer bets over a longer period of time, and with a lot of luck might get you there. It’s a misconception about betting…winning that is. It doesn’t happen very often, and even more rarely, does it pay off several times for the same person. Like they say…the house rarely loses”

I smiled fully at him. “I don’t believe in luck! I have this,”

and I pointed to my head. I was definitely changing my opinion about CJ. He could have easily just taken my bet, but he tried to warn me. I gave him two notches under the imaginary col-umn of “Good Guy.”

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CJ was amused, “What? A system, psychic abilities,” he

commented, as he laughed out loud.

“Exactly,” I responded back, my eyes never leaving his.

I watched as he slowly doused his humor and seriously

studied my face. This was the pivotal moment I knew would come. It was the proverbial “cross-the-line” point. It was clear to me that we both understood the game we were engaged in. I could tell just by watching his reactions that CJ was extremely smart. Getting burned was not something he intended to do. I waited, as did my parents, who had been completely forgotten for the time being. CJ cut to the chase, “I’ll bite. What do you have in mind?”