Chapter 65 Chicago, 1927—Rick #4
He rubbed his temples. “Elliott was only a child. He didn’t deserve that.” Alistair looked back up, frowning faintly. “But what does any of this have to do with why you’re here?”
Rick set his drink aside and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His tone softened. “Elliott’s goddaughter, Kitherina MacKlenna, was a traveler,” he said. “Over the past twenty-five years, more travelers have found their way to him.”
Skye’s eyes widened. “Including you?”
“In a roundabout way,” Rick said with a faint nod.
“But more recently, my cousin, Remy Benoit, had two friends vanish—Marcelle and Bastien LeBlanc. When he went looking for answers, he found a jasper brooch in their home. He traced its purchase to a vintage shop in Chicago. The shop owner had bought the brooch from an estate sale in Dallas.”
Rick paused, studying Alistair’s reaction. “From Edith Robertson’s estate.”
Alistair jerked upright, breath catching. “Edith,” he whispered. “She… she had the brooch? What happened to her?”
“She died of natural causes,” Rick said.
“She was in her eighties, I believe. We found no evidence that she traveled except to Australia and then to Texas. Her death triggered Elliott’s memory of your disappearance.
We handled a similar situation a few years ago.
We put the pieces together and hoped our team would find you in Chicago while searching for Marcelle and Bastien. ”
“And did you find them?” Skye asked, her voice fragile, full of cautious hope.
Rick hesitated, weighing what he could safely say. “We did,” he said finally.
Skye leaned forward. “Where are they now?”
Rick glanced at her, then at Alistair. “I can’t tell you much more than that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Rick said quietly, “it won’t happen until 1928.”
The clock ticked once—twice—before either of them moved. Then, Skye sank back into her chair, eyes wide but unblinking. Alistair turned toward the window.
“So why are you here now?” Alistair asked, his voice carrying equal parts suspicion and exhaustion.
“It’s complicated,” Rick said, leaning forward slightly. “But let me ask you something first. If we could rescue you in 1898—take you straight back to 1972 Inverness—would you want that?”
Alistair froze. “I don’t know. Jane, Skye, and I have had a good life, with exceptions, of course. But it’s been a life we wouldn’t have had in Scotland. Why would we want to go back to that?”
Rick nodded, the question already forming in his mind. “Then let me ask another. Do you want to go now?”
Alistair’s eyes flickered, anger stirring beneath the surface.
“You could have come last year. Or the year before that,” he said hoarsely.
“Why did you wait until after Sheena died?” His jaw tightened.
“Why can’t you go home and come again in, say, 1924 or 1925 instead of 1927?
” His voice rose with desperate conviction. “Couldn’t your doctors heal Jane then?”
Rick hesitated, his heart heavy. “I can’t promise that. The medicine of our time is still fighting to understand breast cancer. In 1927, the five-year survival rate was less than five percent. In my century, it’s over ninety. It’s no guarantee,” he added softly, “but it’s hope.”
Alistair slammed his empty glass onto the table, the sound cracking through the tension like a gunshot. “Then go home,” he demanded. “Come back. Take us from 1898 straight to Scotland. I want my Jane alive and whole again.”
“Wait—Papa!” Skye cried, her voice catching. “If you do that… what happens to me?”
Rick turned to her. “You wouldn’t have been born here,” he said carefully. “You’d be born in Inverness.”
Her breath came fast and shallow. “So just like that?”—she snapped her fingers—“I’d cease to exist?” The horror in her voice cut straight through him. “You can’t do that, Papa.”
Alistair’s anger faltered. He rubbed his forehead. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He turned to Rick again. “Then you need to come for us in 1924. Before it’s too late. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Rick said. “But first, I need to ask you something.” He leaned forward, voice low but firm. “Are you a member of the Illuminati?”
Alistair’s head jerked up. “No. Bowes offered me membership, but I refused. I knew what that meant—corruption, blackmail, worse.”
“Do you know who is part of it?” Rick pressed.
“Bowes is the head of the Chicago branch,” Alistair said, his tone tightening. “But he has connections in New York, Detroit, Cleveland, Philadelphia—tentacles everywhere. I have the names, addresses, and bank accounts of every man involved.” His hand clenched around his glass. “Why?”
Rick held his gaze steadily. “Because we’ve been trying to dismantle their network piece by piece, and those names—those alive today—could help us finish it.”
Alistair studied him for a long, heavy moment. “Is that the real reason you’re here?”
“No, we’re here for you,” Rick said, briefly debating how much more to tell Alistair. Then he said, “We believe they’re going to kill you.”
Skye shot up from her chair, her posture tense and trembling. “No. That can’t happen.” She turned to her father. “Papa—please, let’s leave now. We can go with Rick. I can’t lose you, too.”
Alistair shook his head slowly. “Mr. Bowes has warned me more than once—no one quits. If I tried to leave, I was a dead man.” His voice cracked slightly. “It looks like they’ll make good on that threat.”
“Only if you stay here.”
“Then, Skye and I should leave with you.”
Rick’s stomach clenched. He hated what he had to say next. “Skye can’t go.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“There’s not much I can say other than your time will come soon.”
Skye shot Rick with a hostile stare. “What does that mean?”
“My friends will be here in the spring of 1928, and you have to be here to meet them.”
“It won’t matter if we leave now. That’s only a few months,” Alistair said.
Rick leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his voice quiet but resolute. “All I can tell you is that Skye already exists in the future. If she comes with me now, there’ll be two of her. And I don’t know what happens when time folds in on itself like that.”
Alistair stared at him, the realization settling heavy and hollow. “You must know what happens to me,” he said. “To Skye. To our life here.” He slumped into a chair. “Go back to your time, then come here in 1924.”
Rick shook his head. “Skye can’t leave then either. She has to be here in 1928. Traveling through time creates… paradoxes. This is one of them.”
Alistair rubbed his temples. “If Skye can’t leave, neither will I. If I disappear, the Illuminati will come for her. I’d be signing her death warrant.”
“We can stage your death so they can’t find your body. There will be a boating accident tomorrow night. You can be on the boat, and we’ll come to your rescue. The authorities will look for your body, and after several days, they’ll give up and declare you dead.”
Alistair gave a bitter laugh. “The Illuminati don’t stop without proof. Without a body, they’ll never believe I’m dead.”
“Papa can leave with me next year,” Skye said suddenly.
Rick couldn’t speak right away. He swallowed hard, knowing the pain his next words would cause. “I don’t think Alistair will be alive by then.”
A fragile sound escaped Skye’s throat—half gasp, half sob. “What should we do? I don’t understand any of this.”
“We want to keep you alive, Alistair, but we can’t do that here.”
Alistair straightened slightly, worn resolve flickering through his exhaustion. “They haven’t killed me yet. I doubt they will now.”
“Papa—”
“No, my dear,” he said. “You and I need to speak privately. I’ll give Mr. O’Grady my decision after the funeral.”
Rick nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Alistair turned to Skye. “There’s a file in my safe,” he said quietly. “It contains names, account numbers, and details. Give it to Mr. O’Grady.”
She looked uncertain. “Are you sure, Papa? Once those names surface, there’ll be dozens of reasons for someone to kill you.”
“No one will know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the funeral home to be with Jane.
Or, now that the truth is out, I can call her by her given name—Sheena.
” He pressed a kiss against Skye’s cheek—a small, lingering gesture—and walked out with the same slow, shambling gait he’d had when he first entered.
The silence he left behind was almost physical. The clock ticked softly, grounding them in the moment.
Finally, Skye spoke, her voice quiet and tight. “Will you explain all this to me again? I need to understand everything before I talk to Papa about it.”
Rick forced a small smile. “I will. But there are things I can’t tell you—details I’m not allowed to share.”
“I’m not sure why that matters, but I’ll accept it for now. Tell me about Bastien and Marcelle. Do you know why they come here?”
“They’re jazz musicians,” Rick said, grateful for the brief change of subject. “They love the music of this era—Marcelle’s a trumpeter, Bastien plays the saxophone.”
Her brows lifted. “Did they come to play in a band?”
“We believe they came here to find their soulmates.”
Skye blinked. “Did they?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why?”
He gave a small, apologetic smile. “I really can’t.”
She studied him for a beat. “Are you coming with Remy?”
“No, but I will see you again.” He was in a risky position that could lead to trouble for Remy, and Rick couldn’t handle this situation alone. He needed reinforcements. “May I use your telephone?” He stopped the recording and put his phone in his pocket.
“Of course,” she said, leading him into the hall. She pointed to a small table beside the stairwell.
Rick nodded, offering a brief smile before lifting the receiver. She retreated, leaving him alone. “Tavis,” he said as the line clicked alive. “Come now.”
“Is it a dangerous situation?”
“No—just uncomfortable.”
“What about Clay?”
“Don’t bring him. I don’t want Skye to meet him.”
“Five minutes.”