23. Clark
TWENTY-THREE
CLARK
This was the world’s shittiest kidnapping.
I mean, honestly, who bothers with a blindfold to the airport when the destination was clear as soon as we were ready to board?
A private plane owned by the cult, of course, but still, the overenthusiastic flight attendant said in plain English, “Welcome back, Mr. Evans. I hope your business in Halifax was fruitful. We are expecting favourable weather for our flight to Montréal this morning, and we’ll have wheels up as soon as we get identification from all of your...
guests today, and they clear a time for us on the runway. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“Take off the damn blindfold, Clark,” was the old lunatic’s response. “We’re headed to my home, and there’s no sense in maintaining this ridiculous ruse.”
“But sir—” Robert the Bastard protested.
“Robert, you know I love you like you were my own grandson. Well, this is my own grandson, and I’d like to get to know him a bit before I’ve breathed my last gasp. He’s my guest, not my prisoner, do you understand?”
I heard a “Yes, sir,” and then had temporary blindness as the blindfold was suddenly ripped off while I was facing the sunshine beaming into the hangar. I hated the dark, and this reprieve from the old man almost made me want to thank him. I mean, I wouldn’t, but almost.
A hand shoved me from behind, and I realized we were boarding.
Edward Evans was already up the stairway, and that was Robert behind me.
I guess Jeff was back in the downtown office managing things while Robert would accompany us on this little jaunt to Montréal?
At least I didn’t have to worry about Becky getting sick flying, because Becky was... holy shit.
“Where the fuck is my dog?” I said, turning to see Robert.
He looked up at the plane, which caused me to look up at the plane, and I saw my grandfather standing there looking a bit too much like President Snow in The Hunger Games, and he said, “We are holding her at a licensed kennel. She’ll be fine.
Get up here, both of you.” He disappeared into the body of the aircraft, and Robert snickered behind me.
“Your grandpa told me to slice your dog’s throat.” He held eye contact with me, right up until I realized I had him in a chokehold. He wheezed and tried to speak, so I released him and promptly broke his nose with my fist.
“Jesus fucking Christ! Do you not give people a minute to explain anything? She’s a gorgeous animal, and I’m not a monster.
She’s with my sister’s family. They run a small cheese farm, and she has two teenage boys who will adore that dog.
She’ll be well taken care of.” He’d slipped out of his blazer and held it up to his nose, bent forward, and tried to stop the flow of blood. Hell, had I really done that?
I guess I really meant it when I said I would go John Wick on them if they hurt a hair on Becky’s hide.
As he moaned in pain behind me and kept cursing under his breath, one thing stood out in clarity.
“Despite whatever you may think, I am not the villain of this story. Can you say the same, Evans? After all, you’re the heir to all of that,” he said, pointing at the aircraft.
“How will it feel knowing you’re a multimillionaire or maybe even a billionaire partly because of money paid to you by the families of your cult’s child victims? ”
There was no way he was implying what I thought he was.
“You’re saying I am complicit in those crimes going back decades to god knows when, just because he’s added me to a will?
I wasn’t even born when he started his insane experiments, and my sister died because of him.
Probably my parents, too. I don’t want a cent of his dirty cash.
” Robert made a noise that sounded like a snort, and then started cursing again, likely from pain.
“Wheels up in twenty minutes, gentlemen. We’re going to start moving into position.
Please, board the aircraft. We cannot hold it for more of whatever...
this...is,” the perky flight attendant made a hand motion to sort of encapsulate the entire situation, and I headed up the staircase, and I wasn’t surprised when a second attendant was inside, already pouring the old man a drink and then turned to smile at me with too-white teeth.
“Welcome aboard, sir. I’m Melody. Sara has informed me we have copies of your paperwork, so you can sit back and relax on our short flight this morning.”
“Great,” I said, throwing myself randomly into one of the beige leather chairs with a window view.
I pulled on my seat belt immediately, only to be greeted by Sara with a posh-looking carry-on.
She smoothly slid it under the seat of the chair in front of me, and said, “When we’re at cruising altitude, you’ll find your laptop, iPad, wallet, phone, and some more casual clothes inside.
” She winked at me and handed me a glass.
“Non-alcoholic, no sugar iced tea. This is lorazepam.” Now, there was a small pill bottle with a single, teeny pill in it.
“If you are feeling stressed, you can put that under your tongue, and it will melt fairly instantly. It’s just to take the edge off your nerves, and it might make you nap, which wouldn’t be the worst thing. ”
Wordlessly, I accepted the bottle from her, and deposited it into one of my suit jacket’s pockets.
She could have been lying about what the drug actually was, but at this point, I was getting tired.
Almost to the point where I didn’t care, and that didn’t sound right.
There were things and people in this world I cared about immensely I just couldn’t remember them at the moment.
She reached out and grabbed my iced tea glass seconds before the glass dropped from my limp hand.
Then she leaned in under the pretext I think of wiping up a spill and whispered in my ear, “They made me lace the iced tea with something. Evans has my son. I’m sorry for you, but it’s my son.
I tried something, though. To send you somewhere. ”
“S’ok,” I blurted, before I promptly passed out.
I woke up, sort of, on a stretch of white sand, the temperature a bit low, the winds strong and gusty, making the waves larger than I had usually seen in little coves and smaller beaches like this along the coast. I assumed I was still in Nova Scotia, because the air smelled familiar, like salt water and wild roses, and oh how they bloomed here, beautiful bushes up at the crest of the hill where the small dunes ended and the road began.
The only other person here was a guy who looked around eighteen or a bit older, wearing a crisp white shirt and jeans, sitting on a large rock, looking for all the world like some wild creature who was home, and completely content.
He looked at me, and I heard him say, “Oh great, another one.”
“Another what?” I asked, rolling over and taking off my suit jacket and jettisoning the shoes and socks as well.
“Another you. You’ve been popping in and out for lord only knows how long. Time is funny here.”
“And where is here, exactly?” I asked, noticing the briefest of smiles.
“Well, the others started calling it The Beach at the Edge of the World. Me, I like it’s traditional name: East River Beach. But even that isn’t its real name in the waking world. That’s just what the locals call it.”
Holy shit. I knew that name. Olly, it had to do with Olly. And this guy, who I couldn’t really call a kid, was related to her. I don’t know why I didn’t clock that right away. They had the same eyes, the same shape of face, the same gentle smile that held secrets. What was he hiding, I wondered?
“For starters, we need your name, full name, please, date of birth, and which Earth you are from.”
“Which Earth—”
“Please start with the name? It makes the process a lot simpler if we go in order. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Was that a clipboard and a pen that just manifested from god knows where?
He held it in his lap and said, “You know, I’m dead, so I think I have pretty much all the time there is.
You though, you have things you want to accomplish or find or need.
Or need to find. So we can do this my way, or yours. It’s up to you, really.”
I figured he had a point. “Okay, so my name is Clark James Evans. I was born on June 24, 1994. I don’t know which Earth. Do you want me to give you a general rundown of what it’s like, or something?”
“No, not yet. You’re the twenty-fourth Clark Evans I’ve met, so that’s your world’s designation for now: Earth 24. You’re also the twelfth to get your own huge red cape. Huh. That’s a bit odd, how it’s an even split. Maybe you’re the last Clark I’ll meet.”
“My own...” I trailed off, because yes, though I was unaware of it until a second ago, I was wearing a large red cape which was neatly tucked around the neck of my dress shirt. “What do you think this means?” I whispered, hoping the wind would carry my words, not drown them out.
“That you’re one of the good ones. Worthy.”
“Um, I don’t know how to put this, but why aren’t there twenty-three other Clarks sitting around this beach? How did they leave?” Thomas looked a bit tickled that I’d asked.
“Well, they all took the road, eventually. Some even started hitchhiking. A few of the guys who had capes tried to fly out. Are you going to try to fly?” He looked genuinely amused at this prospect.
“Why the hell would I think I could fly because I’m wearing a red cloth?”
“Well, maybe you’ll meet a Clark or two on the road and you could compare notes about this experience, and they can explain why they thought flying out was possible.”