The Anarchists (27 page)

When Damario returned home, he halfway expected his children to mob him, thrust themselves upon his legs, and insist that he hoist them into his arms. Christian and Gabriel’s presence calmed both him and his wife following the heat of battle, and the couple tended to more readily compromise and agree once their tempers cooled. This one was different. The children were still with their grandparents.

“Robbie?” From the bottom of the staircase, he noticed the light from their bedroom and detected the scent of liquor.
Worse than I thought.
“Robbie?”

He treasured every drop of that blended scotch, and intended it to last him at least until the end of this year. Before now, it could have happened; Robinne stopped drinking altogether in ’45. To that point, the home-schooling mom handled sobriety like a professional, and though Damario shunned drinking beer in her company, she waved it off. “I can handle it,” she’d say, and she did.   

Damario searched the old hiding places. If he found another bottle underneath the sink, she wanted to get caught. Liquor stored in washed-out cleanser containers equaled
trouble.
He searched the pantry, refrigerator, cabinets, laundry room and trash and found nothing but his empty scotch bottle rinsed clean in the recycling bin. As he journeyed up the stairs, Damario improvised his story. If he told her about time travel and alternate realities, it could push her over the proverbial cliff.

“Robbie?” From the doorway, she appeared an absolute wreck. On the edge of their bed in a white cloth bathrobe, Robinne hung her head down to her chest. A white bucket sat between her legs. A bird’s nest of uncombed hair exploded from her head and her chocolate skin glistened with beads of sweat. 

“Hey stranger,” she weakly responded. Talking increased the pounding and spinning.

He tiptoed closer. “Need water?”

“No,” she said, steadily breathing. “Got some.”

He eased onto the mattress, so it did not bounce. “So. . .”

 “No steps, alright? Sponsor’s been called.”

He thought back to the irony of the 100-year-old Christmas gift from Madison. So that he could keep it, he lied and told Robinne that Justin Rochester from forensics pulled him in Secret Santa. Rochester sampled alcohol almost as often as he picked up one-night stands. Another secret he and Shenk shared played a part in this. “I should’ve gone with my first mind and given it back.”   

Robinne licked her dry lips. “I called Madison last night.”

Damario’s heartbeat quickened.
Did she call her drunk? What did Madison tell her?
He said nothing. The scotch lie was the least of his worries.

Robinne lifted her red eyes and looked at her husband. “I told her our take on things. You’re transferring. You need a different partner. She was a woman about it.”

Our take?
“About what?” His voice rocketed in pitch.

“Her feelings for you.”

His body stiffened with panic. “I didn’t sleep with her. . .ever.”

“She said you’re best friends. You’d never transfer. Not even if I begged you.”
 

That much was probably true, but Damario gave his wife room to further explain. “We’re in the middle of a big case, Robbie, a game changer.”

Robinne tenderly scratched her head. “That’ll always happen. Something has to die, Damario. If I start drinking again. . .the doctors said it’ll be me.” 

Damario remembered the grim diagnosis after her C-section to deliver Gabriel. Years of indulgence in foreign substances stressed her body to the brink of organ failure. “We can get through this, Robbie. Just give me a week. One week.”   

“No,” she forced out. “I need a divorce.” 

CHAPTER TWENTY

Harper’s insides leapt with joy when Micah called that morning.
He’s alive!
Happy to be wrong, she packed him a change of clothes, deodorant, a blade and shaving cream, toothbrush and a travel-size of toothpaste. She immediately alerted a still-sleeping Quinne to the development. “Quinne,
Micah is alive.
Get up and get dressed.”

“Huh? Yeah.” Her head stayed underneath the heavy 800-thread count quilt.

“What do you want for breakfast? Order anything you want.”

“Huevos rancheros,” Quinne blurted, finally pulling the cover down. “Anything?”

Harper shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Just tell the service droid and be downstairs in 15 minutes. It’ll take us awhile to get across town.”

As she descended the winding staircase, Harper thought that Quinne may take her time. Each guest room connected to an in-suite bathroom and the deluxe showerheads sprayed streams from multiple directions. The shiatsu setting would massage the sore leg muscles Quinne pulled during her run yesterday.  

“Good morning, Missus James,” said the female droid. “What will you have?”

“Eight-ounce Blue Mountain, black with sugar. Two slices of light toast, buttered; two poached eggs and a turkey sausage link.”

“As you wish.”

Harper trailed the droid into the kitchen, where the breakfast nook bathed in natural morning sunlight. She chose to sit in her customary chair across from Micah’s, which faced the holovision. No need to see depressing news reports.
Micah’s safe.
   

Minutes later, when breakfast had finished cooking, Harper spent extra time saying grace. “Thank you for saving my husband,” she prayed. “Thank you for keeping him safe. Thank you for our life together. Thank you for how You’ve blessed us. Thank you for this food, and may You be blessed in our eating and drinking. Give peace to the Kirkwood and Mitchell families in their time of mourning. In Jesus name, I pray. Amen.”

Harper started eating, and she had finished about half of her plate when Quinne entered the kitchen, unloaded her duffle bag from her shoulder, and sat in Micah’s chair. Bare-faced and wearing a black rock t-shirt and tight jeans, Quinne looked young enough to pass as a preteen.

“Good morning, Quinne.”

“Good morning.” She stretched out her arms and folded them down when the droid approached with a plate of food. “Huevos rancheros, a four-ounce Kobe steak, and hash browns. Coffee with cream and sugar and freshly-squeezed orange juice.” 

Quinne blushed at her order and now felt compelled to eat it all in a hurry. Being at the James’ house certainly beat life with her paranoid ex-boyfriend.

“Kobe beef? We have an ambitious one here.”

“Sorry. You said anything.”

Harper giggled. “It’s fine. Everybody does that the first time. Did you rest well?”

The quip put Quinne at ease. “Best in years.”

“Good. Eat up. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

Madison tried to distance herself from the insanity surrounding her partner, but found herself sucked into it. Though they had solved one case by finding Micah James, two more cases – the Kirkwood/Mitchell double murder and the Noor death/ transference – unraveled. Damario put on the God’s eye, passed out for 45 minutes, and had recently awakened. Now, he looked at her, as if something about her had changed.

“To understand what I’m about to tell you both, you have to accept two things.” Micah leaned forward on the chair’s cushion. “One: time travel is possible.”

Scientists had been trying.
“Alright,” Damario relented. “What’s the other?”

“Two: five people were sent back in time and you were one of them. I’m not one of them, which is why I know the world, as we know it, never existed as it is right now.”

Madison interrupted. “What happened to change it?”

“Doctor Chu worked on a hypothesis called the Sixth Equation. He theorized that the traveler had a one-way ticket back in time. Whatever he changed about his world, he would live through it in an alternate quantum reality – a world of his own creation.”

Damario wrung his hands. “So, Chu’s responsible for all of this?”

“No. His theory lacked method. There’s something else you should know.”

Madison’s doorbell rang. She kept her Ordnance at her side and held her finger to her lips. She carefully approached the front of the apartment and eyed the peephole. Quinne and a jittery Harper waited on the other side. Madison opened the front door, and Harper almost knocked her down while running to her husband. Though Micah smelled terribly, she jumped into his lap and smothered him with kisses.

“I can’t believe it,” she said between smooches. “You’re alive! Where have you been? Why didn’t you come home?”

“It’s a long story, Harp, but I’m here.” He pushed back a little. “Officer Shenk, if you don’t mind, I’d like to. . .”

“Come with me; I’ll get you a towel and a washcloth.” Micah accepted the bag of clothes and toiletries from his wife and followed Madison to the guest bathroom.

Harper watched Micah go and wanted to join him, just to be in his presence again. She brightly smiled at Damario, who she credited with the reunion. “Thank you, Officer Coley, for whatever you did to get him back. I can’t ever repay you.”  

Damario’s countenance fell. “I didn’t do anything, Harper.”

“But you did. You pushed through, even when it looked like he might not ever come back, and there were no clues to where he’d gone. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him, Officer. So, you see, I’m in your debt and owe you gratitude.” 

“Excuse me.” Damario walked over to Madison. “I need to go home and talk to Robbie, catch a shower, and get some breakfast.”

Harper’s eyes widened. “Seriously, now? You can’t wait an hour?”

“I gotta clear my head, Maddie. All this is too much.”

She sighed. “Go outside then. Get some air. Call the station and check in, then hit up Robinne, patch things up, and come back inside. I’ll order food.”

“Alright,” he relented. Madison watched him go until he reached the elevator tubes. Damario casually saluted her before dropping out of sight. 

After securing the door, Madison returned to the living room. A laughing Harper pushed Quinne’s shoulder.

“Your husband – he smells like old meatloaf and hot trash.”

“You see,” she cackled. “He’ll come out a new man.”

Madison skirted the two and sat next to the God’s eye. She handled the glasses with care and set them on her lap.
I wonder if I can see through them?
While the two joked, she put them on her face. A flurry of images flashed before her eyes.

“Stop!” Micah shouted. Groomed and dressed in a maroon sweater, black dress slacks and loafers, he reclaimed the God’s eye from Madison, who blinked a few times to allow her eyes time to adjust to the light.

“Easy, honey.” Harper watched Madison’s face for signs of trouble. “It looks like she’s okay. Besides, she wasn’t asleep for long. Are you alright, Officer Shenk?”

“Y-yes. I’m fine.”

“This isn’t a toy, Officer Shenk. It’s DNA-specific technology!” Micah shook the glasses. “It’s only coded for seven people. You could’ve been seriously hurt, or killed.”

“Take it easy, man,” Quinne interjected. “She ain’t worse for wear.”

Micah reared around, ready to launch into Quinne, but stopped short. “Sorry. . .I just didn’t know if Doctor Chu programmed a trap into the code. Did you see anything?”

She definitively shook her head and averted her eyes. “Nothing but a bunch of images I didn’t understand. Tell them what you started telling us, Micah.”

He explained the absolutes they had to accept: the Sixth Equation and the alternate lives they now led. Harper volunteered to be the next to go. Micah reluctantly handed her the God’s eye, settled down on the couch next to her, and held her hand. 

Damario fought the temptation to start Madison’s police transport and drive straight home. Rather, he dialed the home number and waited. Robinne’s voice interrupted the automated voicemail message. “Hello,” she slurred.

“Robbie? Are you alright?”

“Fine. Tired. What’s up?”

The long pauses between words put him on guard. “You never called your sponsor and got into the Oban again?”

“Mmm. . .not much gets past you, Detective.”

Apparently, his wife’s bend toward addictive substances extended to both realities. She skipped anesthesia during childbirth, shunned caffeine, and barely took aspirin because of it.