There's Always Tomorrow (Immortal Series) (4 page)

It all started
easily enough.
 
No one expected
that they would soon be involved in one of the most deciding battles of the
entire war.
 
The Confederates just
needed shoes.

* * *

Tony looked
down at his bruised and swollen feet.
 
He, along with many of his friends, had wrapped burlap, leather, even
leaves around their feet, to protect them from the sharp stones they were
forced to walk across.
 
Boots were
as important as bullets in this war.
 
An army could not be expected to win a war in their bare feet.

Looking
through his eyeglass, the commanding officer spied a column of Union soldiers
riding across an open area, just south of the little market town of
Gettysburg.
 
He gave the order to
attack.
 
“Go get those shoes,” he
barked to his men.

Tony watched
his fellow soldiers easily overtake the Yankee column, killing them, and taking
their shoes—among a few other items they thought they could use.
 
No one wanted to acknowledge the fact
that men had died to provide them with the shoes they so badly needed.
 
The men all rejoiced as they slid their
muddy feet into the soft leather.

“I’ve got a
bad feelin’ thar’ll be hell to pay fer this,” said a young lad, excitedly, as
he laced his boot.
 
“These are damn
good boots, and they fit…well, almost,” Samuel chuckled.

Tony admired
his own new boots.
 
“They do feel
good, at that.”
 
No one seemed to
notice that Tony didn’t speak the way a good southern boy should.
 
He sounded like a Yankee, but he proved
he had the heart and the courage of a Reb.
 
He’d made few friends in the two years since he’d signed up,
to fight for the South.
 
Everyone
knew him to be a loner, and gave him all the privacy he required, but he was
still well liked, and could be depended upon to watch your back.

Tony looked
up at the skinny, freckle-faced boy, smiling innocently.
 
“How old are you, kid?”

Immediately,
the smile was replaced with a seriousness of purpose.
 
“I’m old enough.
 
How old are you?” he responded.

Tony laughed
and practically choked.
 
“You’d
never believe me, kid.
 
It doesn’t
make any difference how old you are, I guess.
 
I can see by your face you believe in the cause, and I’m
proud to have you with me.”
 
Tony
meant it, too.
 
The kid had heart.

While the
men enjoyed their spoils of war, news of the little skirmish was putting all
the elements together for a major confrontation, with both sides vowing to be
victorious and turn the tide of the war.

General Heth
had been surprised to find two Union brigades in the little town, and
attacked.
 
That afternoon, General
Lee arrived and directed his forces to push the Union lines back, further.

“We need to
advance here, men.
 
We need to
bring the war to the civilian population, in the North, making them as weary of
the fightin’ as our families have become.
 
We can take this little bit of Pennsylvania, men.
 
We must!”

Lee gave the
orders and the valiant soldiers succeeded in pushing the Yankees through the
town and up to a series of hills called, Cemetery Ridge.

Union
Commander Meade immediately sent for some badly needed reinforcements.
 
Before the day was out, more than
160,000 men had gathered at Gettysburg.

Tony and his
friends waited.
 
“Damn, but it’s
hot,” Tony growled.
 
Sweat dripped
into his eyes, causing them to burn.
 
“I knew these damn boots were gonna get us into trouble.”

Young Samuel
laughed.
 
“Yeah, but I’d rather be
runnin’ away from them Yanks wearin’ shoes on my feet, instead o’ high-tailin’
it outta’ here, barefoot.”

“You do have
a point,” Tony conceded.
 
“Let’s
try to get some sleep.”

Day Two was
simply miserable.
 
As the sun rose
up over the ridge, the heat was already sweltering.
 
All day long, they charged forward.
 
The Confederate cannon barrage wreaked
havoc and destruction on the Union’s defenses.
 
Casualties on both sides were heavy, and still the Rebs
could not push the Yankees down off the hills.

Day Three,
and it was imperative they turn the tide.
 
Lee gave the order for Pickett to attack through the center and charge
up Cemetery Ridge.
 
The fighting
was hand-to-hand, and the most vicious anyone had ever seen.
 
Several times, Tony couldn’t advance,
for the number of bodies piled up in front of him.

Eventually,
out of bullets, the men lowered their rifles and led with their bayonets
glinting in the sun, and their loud Rebel yell filling the air.

“Samuel,
stay next to me!” Tony hollered.
 
The boy had done well, and Tony would not allow him to fall, now.
 
“This way,” he pointed.
 
Samuel followed wordlessly.
 
All color had drained from his young
face.

They made
little progress.
 
Tony’s hands were
soaked with Yankee blood and it turned his stomach.
 
What the hell was he doing here, in the first place?
 
This wasn’t noble.
 
This war was insane.
 
Just as he rounded a stone wall, Tony’s
heart lurched in his chest.
 
At
some point, Samuel had taken the lead.
 
Now, standing squarely in front of the kid, was a blue coat, his rifle
aimed at Samuel’s narrow chest, and determination in his cold and empty eyes.

Before he
could think, Tony lunged with his bloody bayonet.
 
He felt it sink deep in the muscled chest of the soldier,
just before he felt the burning pain of a bullet, as it tore through his
gut.
 
“God,” he moaned.
 
The pain was indescribable.
 
He heard a scream.
 
Was it him?
 
Was it the man he stabbed?
 
No, it was Samuel.
 
The boy had grabbed the fallen Yankee’s rifle and fired it into his
chest.
 
He was going to fire again,
when a stray bullet from an unknown source, entered the back of his skull and
exited right between his disbelieving eyes.
 
Samuel fell to his knees, in front of Tony.

Momentarily,
Tony forgot his own pain, as he looked into the beautiful face of a boy, too
young to be there, and he felt his heart wrench.
 
Sightless eyes stared up at him, bewildered.
 
This was a good boy—no—this
was a brave and good man.
 
His ma
and pa had done a good job in raising him, and it hurt to know they would never
see him again.

In anguish,
Tony hoped he would die of his own injuries, but he knew better.
 
In fact, he felt very strange.
 
Something was different.
 
He could hear the fallen Yankee’s
thoughts.
 
It was impossible to
read another’s mind, but this man was coming through loud and clear without
saying a word.

After a few
silent minutes, he whispered to a stunned Tony.
 
“Name’s Paul Grant.
 
You’re not crazy, brother, unless you think being here, is crazy.”
 
The stranger closed his eyes for a few
moments, holding his shirt to his wounds.
 
“I won’t die, you know.
 
I
take it, you won’t either.”

Tony was
dumbfounded.
 
He’d never met
another man, such as he—other than his best friend, Thomas.
 
There had been rumors there were more,
but he thought they were just that, rumors.
 
“Who are you?” he gasped.

“I told
you.
 
We are brothers, of a sort.”

“You don’t
know what you’re sayin’.
 
You’re
dyin’.
 
I killed you and I’m happy
that I did.
 
Samuel shot you in the
chest.
 
No one survives a wound
like that!”
 
Tony sounded like a
child to his own ears.

The Yankee
laughed.
 
“I guess it is a hard
thing to comprehend, but it is true, nonetheless.
 
Surely, you have heard the stories.
 
There are quite a number of immortals,
such as you and I.
 
Not all of them
are sane, however.
 
This
affliction, that we share, can drive some mortals mad, causing them to react
violently.
 
Some choose to live
life in a reckless and immoral manner, but most prefer to exist peacefully, in
the shadows.
 
There are more than
one or two, here, in this very war.
 
That’s why I am here.
 
I
hunt.”

“You hunt
who?
 
Them?”
 
Tony could not believe his ears.
 
“Are they Rebs?”

“Oh,
God.
 
I know I won’t die from these
infernal wounds, but they hurt like the dickens.”
 
The Yankee grasped his chest and pressed hard, as he tried
to sit up.

“Yes, I hunt
the renegades, and it is of no importance on which side they choose to
fight.
 
It doesn’t do anyone any
good, if they are allowed to run amok, among the general population, and with
no fear of reprisals.
 
Now, you are
…?”
 
He waited for an introduction.

“Tony.
 
Private Anthony Bowles, actually.”
 
Tony was reluctant to give the stranger
too much information.
 
He had been
relegated to the shadows for too many years, and he trusted few.

“When were
you turned?” the stranger asked, as if it were the most common of questions.

“I don’t
know what you mean,” Tony insisted.
 
He hesitated, looking at the man with the very wise and unusual golden
eyes.
 
After several quiet moments,
he decided to trust the stranger.
 
He could hear inside the man’s head, and his thoughts were honorable.

“My best
friend and I were attacked by wolves, near Prague, in the early fall of
1810.
 
We surely would have died,
had it not been for the efforts of a very young and innocent gypsy girl.
 
We didn’t ask for this.”
 
He suddenly became defensive.

“It’s all
right, Tony,” Paul whispered.
 
“We
all have a similar story.
 
It’s
hard to share.
 
I think we should
stay where we are, until this blasted skirmish is over, and then hightail it
out of here.
 
Are you with me?”

Tony looked
down at the boy lying dead at his feet.
 
There was nothing he could do for his young friend.
 
He gave a silent prayer for the lad and
then nodded.
 
“When you go, I’ll
leave with you.
 
Hope you have a
plan.”

By nightfall
it was evident the South would not route the Union forces, and General Lee was
preparing to withdraw.
 
As the
final assault came to a close, more than 51,000 men had perished.
 
Two men should have been added to that
list, but they crawled away and managed to heal their mortal wounds in less
than a fortnight.

It is said
that Lincoln was very unhappy that General Meade did not pursue General Lee, as
he pulled back.
 
The War Between
the States could have ended there, he said.
 
No one really knows why Lee was allowed to exit the
battleground, as he did, nor can they explain how Jonas, his youngest in
command, survived, time and time again after suffering grievous wounds in
combat.
 
He was known to be
fearless in battle, and very, very lucky.

The sign on the
door simply read:
 
Grant
Paulsen—Investigator.
 
Tony
chuckled to himself.
 
“Yeah, and a
little more, I think,” he muttered, under his breath.
 
Suddenly, while he was still studying the door, a voice
bellowed from the other side.

“Gonna’ stand
out there all day or are you coming in?”

Grant was in
fine voice today, Tony thought.
 

Upon entering
the small, but neat office, Tony felt the old and familiar electricity travel
up his spine.
 
Being in the
presence of another immortal, always brought an odd tingling sensation to the
nerve endings running up and down his back.

Grant’s hands
and feet would warm to an alarming degree, when Tony was within twenty feet of
him.
 
In some cases, he could
actually see through the eyes of his prey, making it easier for him to locate
them.
 
Some immortals felt feverish
or sick to their stomach, when in close proximity to their own kind.
 
A woman, in France, always got the
hiccups.
 
It was these various and
sometimes humorous signs, that helped a hunter make contact with the
others.
 
Also, they very often
saved him from a fate worse than death.

“Take a seat,
Bowles...or is it Barker?” Grant asked, good-naturedly.

“Actually, it’s
Barton, now.”

“Can’t keep up
with you, Tony,” he chuckled.
 
He
pointed to a leather chair in front of his desk.
 
“Take a seat.
 
My girl, Sophie, is out of the office for a while.
 
I think it’s best if she doesn’t meet
you.
 
Cute kid, but curious as all
get out.
 
In fact, I’ve been
thinking of letting her go.
 
It’s
just that she needs the money, I pay her, and she’s very good at what she
does.”
 
He thought for a moment and
sighed.
 
“Oh, well, we have a
brother to find.
 
Better get to
it.”

Tony was always
taken a little aback, by the cavalier attitude Grant had toward his chosen
profession.
 
Actually, it wasn’t
fair to say he had chosen to be a hunter.
 
It was what fate had chosen for him, and he was damn good at it.

“What have you
been able to come up with?
 
Did he
snatch the toddler?
 
Is he really
feasting at the zoo?”
 
Images of a
crazed man gnawing on the leg of zebra crossed Tony’s mind.

Grant
snorted.
 
“The zoo story is just
that…a story.
 
I checked with the
head gamekeeper, and the boy who cleans up there.
 
Not a word of truth to it.
 
All of the animals are accounted for.
 
However, the child is still missing,
and I have a bad feeling about it.”

“What do you
want me to do?” Tony asked, letting Grant run the show.
 
“I can prowl around at night, listen
for his voice.
 
Have you been able
to
see
anything yet?”

Tony could hear
what the immortals were thinking.
 
It was his own particular gift.
 
He could feel what they were feeling, if they were within range.
 
When he was first
saved
from
death, this gift almost cost him his sanity.
 
He couldn’t shut out the constant voices in his head, the
sounds of their tormented pleas.
 
To whom the voices belonged, he hadn’t been certain, but they roared
through his head, night and day, never ceasing.
 
Over the century, he’d been able to focus his mind and shut
out most of what they said.
 
Now,
he heard them only when he chose.

Grant did not
hear the voices, but he could
see
through their eyes, when he
concentrated very hard.
 
His
ability only extended about 10 miles or so, but that was usually sufficient to
catch a rogue.
 
It was both a gift
and a curse.
 
Through the eyes of a
lunatic, he had seen horrific images that still haunted his nights.

Grant sat his
large frame on the corner of his desk and ran his hand through his thick brown
hair.
 
He closed his golden eyes
and his brows knitted together in concentration.
 
“I see only darkness, but that’s what
he
sees.
 
I know it.
 
He must be hiding in a cave or a basement without
windows.
 
It’s total blackness.
 
The problem is…every once in a while…I
see the slightest movement of a small foot.
 
It’s the child.
 
I’m certain of it.”

“Hell,” Tony
swore.
 
“At least he’s still alive,
but we’ll have to move fast.
 
Total
darkness could be anywhere in the city.
 
Last night, I tried to listen for his voice or his thoughts, but got
nothing.
 
Some heavy breathing and
a few grunts, was about all.
 
I
didn’t hear anything intelligible.
 
Don’t know what to make of it.”
 
Tony had never encountered anything quite so puzzling.
 
“You don’t suppose he’s so far gone
that he doesn’t have any coherent thoughts, do you?”

Grant stood and
looked out through the floor to ceiling window, which overlooked the entire
city block.
 
“I think …”

“Hi, boss,” a
bright voice called out, cheerily.
 
“I’m back a little early, but I had some filing to do and thought it
would be nice to get home at a decent hour.
 
Got to watch American Idol.
 
Have you seen this year’s singers?
 
I think they’re great, but the guy with the …”

“Sophie!” Grant
bellowed.
 
“Focus!
 
Can you at least pretend to be
professional when we have a client standing before you?”

The young
office assistant turned her huge turquoise eyes upon Tony.
 
“Oh, I am so sorry.
 
I get carried away sometimes.
 
Please be assured that you are in the
very best of hands, with Mr. Paulsen.
 
He can find anyone or anything.
 
Never fails.
 
It’s really
uncanny, when you think about it.
 
Once, a lady came in, hysterical she was.
 
It seems that her…”

“Sophie!”

“What?”
 
She spun around to face her
employer.
 
“I was just
apologizing.
 
Geesh!
 
I was singing your praises.
 
Lighten up, Grant... er... Mr.
Paulsen.”
 
Her cheeks turned bright
red with embarrassment.
 
She should
never have called her boss by his first name, in front of a client.
 
Even she knew that.

Tony was trying
not to laugh at the obvious discomfort of both Grant and his young assistant.
 
He thought she was adorable.
 
Her blonde curls bounced gaily around
her delightfully funny face.
 
He’d
never seen eyes quite the color of hers, and her lips looked delicious.
 
He noticed she was a complete package,
full of soft, lush curves, and in all the right places.
 
She was on the tall side, maybe five
foot, eight inches.
 
That was
terrific, as his own considerable height intimidated shorter women, and he found
it difficult to kiss them while standing.

“Whoa!” Tony
managed to say, before laughing out loud.
 
“Is it always like this around here?
 
Do you always have this much fun?”

Grant rolled
his eyes.
 
“Not every day.
 
Look, Tony.
 
I think we should meet later and come up with a plan.
 
How about you come to my place at
seven?
 
We’ll be alone.
 
It will be quiet, there.”
 
He shot a stern glance toward an
oblivious Sophie.

Sophie
interrupted.
 
“No can do,
boss.
 
You’ve got a date to scope
out the new art gallery, on Embassy.
 
I guess I could do it for you,” Sophie hinted.

“Ha!
 
You don’t want to miss Idol, do you?”

“Look, Grant
…er, Mr. Paulsen.
 
When do I get to
do some sleuthing?
 
I’ve been
taking classes at the community college.
 
I know what to do.
 
Really!”

Tony was
mesmerized by the precious pout of her bottom lip.
 
Her lips were so kissable, and he was a starving man.
 
It had been decades since he’d lusted
for a woman.
 
He needed to say
something.

Winking at
Grant, Tony stepped up to the young woman and said, “There’s a number of things
that a man can only discuss with another man.
 
I hope you’re not offended.
 
However, there are a few items that I’d like you to help me
with, if you’re game.
 
Could I take
you to dinner at seven, and discuss them with you?
 
I can meet up with your boss after his engagement.”

Sophie sucked
in her breath and her eyes grew even larger with surprise.
 
“Are you serious?
 
You want to hire
me
as a private
eye?
 
What case do you need me
for?” she asked in all sincerity.

“Tony’s just
being polite,” Grant stated, without any sign of humor.
 
“He’s only having you assist me, kid.
 
His contract is with this firm, not you
specifically.
 
I haven’t said I
agree to let you get involved.”
 

“Please,
Boss.
 
It’s my only chance to prove
I can do it,” she pleaded.

Grant narrowed
his eyes and tapped his lips with his fingers, as if in deep thought.
 
He knew he was going to say yes, but he
enjoyed watching her squirm.
 
“Okay, Sophie.
 
You’ve got
your chance, but I’d better not hear any complaints.”

Tony grinned at
the radiant creature waiting on his every word.
 
“I look forward to our evening, Miss.
 
He held out his hand.
 
“I’m Anthony Barton and I’m honored and
happy to make your acquaintance.
 
I
sincerely hope we see a lot of each other.
 
Shall I pick you up at your place or would you prefer to
meet me here?”

“I think I’ll
meet you
there
, Mr. Barton.
 
I have to go home and get cleaned up, and feed the cat, and leave a note
for my landlady.
 
I need to set my
recorder—don’t want to miss Idol, you know—and I need to stop by
the ATM—just in case you don’t have the necessary funds to pay for our dinner.
 
That happened to me once before, and I
don’t intend to let it happen a second time.
 
I promised myself, right then and there, never to be caught
without cash, again.
 
Besides, I
can’t be giving out my address to simply anyone who asks for it—even if
he is a client, can I?
 
I don’t
really know you, do I?
 
Don’t
forget there is a murderer on the loose, and you’re so very tall, and dark, and
yummmm…”

Grant lightly
placed his hand over the girl’s mouth to silence her, and grinned at his
friend.
 
“I predict you’re going to
have a very interesting evening, Tony,” he chuckled.

“I hope so,”
Tony replied.

Turning toward
the door, Grand shook his head, slowly.
 
“See you at ten.”

 
* * *

God, but
you’re adorable
, Tony thought to himself, as he sat across from
Sophie.
 
Don’t you ever stop
talking?
 
He sat smiling like a
lunatic, staring at the young woman.
 
He heard nothing she said, but was mesmerized by watching her sensuous
mouth move seductively, while forming her words.
 
Her lips were plump and moist, the upper lip slightly fuller
than the lower.
 
How
interesting,
he mused.
 
He
imagined sucking on those sweet lips and drawing her small pink tongue into his
hungry mouth.

“Well?
 
Say something, Mr. Barton.”

Tony’s eyes
darted up to see Sophie staring back at him as if he had grown another
head.
 
“What?”

“You weren’t
listening, were you?
 
Don’t bother
denying it.
 
I’ve been blessed with
the ability to completely bore to death, any man I meet.
 
Do I talk too much, Mr. Barton?
 
I’d really like to know.
 
Be honest.
 
I can take it.
 
It’s important to learn the things about yourself that irritate
others.
 
I guess I could talk too
much.
 
Only, there are so many
things I have to say.
 
What do you
think?”