CHAPTER 7: LAW OF UNITY
"Everything is linked, either directly or indirectly, to everything else."
December 24th, Christmas Eve, 1978—Carl's POV
"Sometimes entropy wins out, that's your excuse Tom?! You're a Wizard, Tom, I've seen you prove it—isn't it your responsibility to protect Life? Save him!"
"B-but Carl! Come on, come away with me. There's nothing either of us can do now and the police will think…"
"Is that what you're scared of? Getting caught? Then you better start running Tom!"
"I'm not leaving you Carl! I'm not leaving you…"
"Anthony, my brother... he was only eight years old Tom! Why'd it have to be him?! Why can't you bring him back?"
"Carl! The gun's here! It's a set up! Please, just come with me and I promise I'll make everything okay again…"
"He's dead Tom—dead!"
"I know, Carl, I know but please leave him here! I don't think your family could bear it if they lost another child... Come with me Carl, and I promise that somehow... Somehow I'll make it right..."
December 25th, Christmas Day, 1978—Carl's POV
Click.
"…love waits there in San Francisco, above the blue and windy sea. When I come home to you, San Francisco, your golden sun will shine for me…"
Carl awakes to the city that never sleeps.
"…and that was Frank Sinatra's oldie but goodie 'I Left My Heart In San Francisco,' which, of course, as every New Yorker realizes, is completely false. Next is…"
He yawns and wakes to sunlight streaming in through white shuttered windows. There are finely painted blue walls and a picture of the Madonna and Child hanging watchfully over him. There are satin sheets and a quilt knitted with the utmost love and care.
Carl blinks against reclaiming sleep when he hears the sound of his father's booming laughter from downstairs.
His father had walked out on their family two months ago.
He starts when he feels the other side of the bed shift and a hand—a woman's hand—comes to rest on his bare chest. Shocked, he looks over and sees an old childhood friend smiling at him, whispering something that looked suspiciously like 'I love you.'
This childhood friend had become a prostitute and died early on in life.
It's then he realizes something is terribly, terribly wrong.
How am I alive? is his first thought.
"CJ! CJ! CJ!" There came a clamor of squealing from behind a then closed—now flung wide open—bedroom door. Before he can blink, there are three heavy weights on a bed meant for only two that now holds five.
His three younger brothers, bright and carefree, were squirming to get under the covers with him: Raymond, Edmond, and Anthony.
Anthony?!
Carl swallows hard.
He had fallen asleep at Tom's place in San Francisco, California. Tom, who was desperately trying to stop the bleeding from Carl's bullet wounds with every spell in the Manual...
But he had failed. Carl was sure of it.
He should be dead.
So why is he still alive?
Only, this isn't his life…
For one, his family has never owned a house half as nice as this one. The photographs facing him from all corners of the room have always before been in stuffy, falling apart apartments, only used to cover holes and peeling paint—not in pristine frames set upon polished oak furniture.
He grabs a picture from the nearest nightstand and squints at it in shock.
He and his family have never vacationed in Hawaii either!
Except, yes they had! Last summer when Carl was accepted into NYU…
No, no wait, he's struggling in his sophomore year of high school, being held back because he can't read…
He can damn well read! He's never had a problem with it… has he?
His father's uproarious laughter catches his attention again.
His father never laughs.
"CJ! Come oooooooooon!" Edmond whines.
"We can't open presents until you get up!" Raymond chimes in.
"Presents?" Carl whispers dumbfounded.
"Well, duh! It is Christmas." Anthony looks at him like he'd lost it, which maybe he has.
Real presents at Christmastime, this was new too.
It's Anthony he looks at the hardest. Anthony is the Romeo family's second youngest.
Anthony had died yesterday.
"We can't come down if we don't get dressed. And if we don't come down, you won't get to open your presents..." Cecilia intones reasonably from where she stands next to the bed, sending a flurry of children racing back down the stairs followed by a slamming door.
He looks at her, she's still smiling, and he realizes she's only clothed in sheets.
Carl's eyebrows rise at that, especially once he realizes that he, too, is in a less than decent state himself.
The whole situation is just wrong!
He remembers clearly now. The night before…
Anthony had been shot. Carl killed a man. Tom had taken him away.
Everything's going to be all right now Carl, Tom had said.
Carl hadn't believed him then.
Tom, what'd you do? He thinks now desperately.
It's rather difficult to explain the terrifying experience of being in a place you've never been before, yet remember having grown up there your entire life. The indescribable sensation of having memory upon memory bombard you was... impossible to describe.
Carl is no longer Carl.
Instead the two have merged into one—an eighteen year old Carl now opening presents with his family on Christmas Day, right out of a Norman Rockwell illustration.
These memories vied against different memories of his childhood. They were the complete opposite of what had happened to Carl growing up and none involved Tom.
He can't ever remember Tom being here, in this reality…
No one should have to live two lives.
"Carl?" Little Anthony questions him, looking at him curiously.
Carl snaps out of it, realizing he's been staring at his little brother for quite some time now and making him uncomfortable.
"Sorry Anthy, I'm just tired. In fact, if nobody objects, I'd like to go lie down …"
"Sure son, you feeling okay?" Carl's father asks at the same time his mother chimes in with, "You're not coming down with anything are you?"
"Oh no, just didn't get enough rest last night."
"I wonder why…" His older brother Jonas says suggestively, looking at Cecilia.
A few 'whoops' and snickers spread across the room from Jonas, his Uncle Tony, and his father as his mother hushes the family half-heartedly. The kids just look confused.
Carl groans.
"Enough of that you!" Cecilia chastises the older members of the family. "Go on honey, we'll still be here when you wake up."
Carl suppresses a moan.
"An hour at most, I promise," he says as he waves amiably to his 'family' while climbing the stairs.
He stops as he passes by a full body-length mirror.
Dark hair, high cheekbones, and clear gray eyes stare back at him.
There's no more pretending this isn't him.
As soon as he hits the mattress he lets out that moan.
Tom, Carl thinks again in desperation, what have you done?
Turning to lie on his back, he tries to take inventory of the situation.
He still has four brothers: Jonas, Raymond, Anthony, and Edmond.
He still has his father Pasqual Romeo, mother Luigia Romeo, Grandmother Saveria Mariana, and his uncle, Tony Romeo.
In this setting they are a nice Italian Catholic family.
It's almost too perfect.
Carl swallows hard when he thinks of the engagement ring he'd seen on Cecilia's hand and the state of dress he'd been in this morning.
The sounds of Christmas with his family wafts up through the floorboards.
He cringes.
Carl doesn't know where to go from here.
He has his little brother back, just like Tom had promised, but he also has a sinking feeling inside.
What does it take to foil death?
What is the price?
Tom, please don't let it be that you killed yourself…
The thought angers Carl like no other. And he knows anger is a stage of mourning.
He hasn't mourned Tom, he hasn't felt the need to, until now.
Carl wakes with a jolt and a thought:
Tom…why'd you leave me?
The dream had been a memory of a reality, his reality, once upon a time—before he came to this seemingly perfect world. Was Tom really gone here? Or did he still exist somewhere, as clueless about Carl as Carl should be about him?
Carl has to find out, he decides.
He'll use his contacts at NYU to see if Tom's attending school there. And if that doesn't work...
Slowly he stretches and gets out of bed, trying to figure out an excuse for wanting to go to San Francisco so urgently.
As he walks down the stairs he can see that all the presents have been opened and the floor is a messy array of wrapping paper and bows.
"CJ!" Anthony looks up from where he has been playing with his new rocking horse and authentic cowboy hat. He seems to hesitate between staying on the horse and getting down to see his big brother.
"CJ! You forgot to open your present!" Anthony says, as though it's unheard of.
"It's from all of us, dear." Carl's mother enters the room, carrying a cup of hot cocoa which she hands to Carl. Carl drinks gratefully, there's nothing like her homemade hot chocolate. He searches for a place to sit down and lands on a soft sofa as the rest of his family clambers in.
He expects a box with extravagant wrappings, like the rest that littered the room. Instead what he gets is a card.
'To Carl' it reads on the front.
Carefully, he stuffs his thumb underneath the envelope's flap and breaks it open.
It's a Hallmark card. It's covered prettily in reds and greens and has a large family very much like his gathering around a Christmas Feast.
The poem written inside went: Though throughout the year we may be apart, we are always together in our hearts—especially at Christmastime!
And it's signed simply: We hope you have fun with these! We love you Carl! ~your family
Upturning the envelope, a pair of tickets fall out—plane tickets actually to… Carl squints…
San Francisco!
"Impossible," Carl breathes. "How…how did you know?"
"Why, it's all you've been talking about for months now Carl! How could we not know?" His father laughs.
"I think it's a wonderful place to vacation—and to pick out a wedding dress to bring home!"
"Ma!" Cecelia intones.
"It's just a suggestion, dear. Are you sure you're feeling alright Carl? You look rather pale…"
And his throat's dry too as Carl tries to swallow the lump that has formed there.
He's supposed to get married?!
Carl shakes it off. What's important is that here's his chance.
"Thank you ma, everyone," he gives her a hug.
Soon after that it's time for Christmas dinner. Carl is surprised at how easily he's able to fit in, without anyone noticing he's different. His memories of this lifetime are pristine. How that's possible he doesn't know.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of wedding talk over coffee and a roaring fireplace, he bid everyone good night.
He found falling asleep was not easy with a girl hanging on to him so tight.
Tom's arms were stronger.
The thought angers Carl for some reason. Tom had always held Carl too close, too tight, never giving him room to breathe. Carl tries to preserve that anger. To forget that he never wanted that room, never asked for it, and that even if his actions never reflected it the fact is he kept Tom just as close
Tom, who had held him as he died, tried to push his Life force into Carl. He'd been begging Carl to stay...
He'd been selfish and Carl hated him for it.
But Carl couldn't think about that now, not without upsetting Cecelia.
Cecelia. His anger ebbs as he wonders where she had come from. In this life she's a childhood friend. In the other life she was…
She had been a childhood friend, up to the point where her parents died and she was kicked to the streets with no welfare. She'd run away from her foster home, became a prostitute, and died early on. That's what happened.
Carl shivers. It seems Tom saved not only Anthony that night.
Somehow, Tom had changed the world...
It isn't enough.
He has to find Tom.
If he had A Wizard's Companion right now, he'd have the conviction to become a Wizard and save Tom.
And with that last yearning thought, Carl slept.
The airport is, as always, crowded. Normally Carl's one of a few who doesn't mind the traffic, the long lines, the security check, and the boarding process. He has patience to spare.
Today he's yelling like hell with the rest of them.
"Come on! Move it!"
Cecelia takes his hand and pats it gently. "We'll get there when we get there," she says.
"The sooner, the better!" Carl shouts at her unpleasantly.
"Why are we going in the first place?" she shouts back.
Carl hates to break her heart.
"We're going to find a friend."
"What kind of 'friend?'" She's talking low now but Carl hears every word.
"A boy who's a friend," he reassures her like the coward he is, not brave enough to break the marriage off there and then.
"Oh," Cecelia whispers. "That's something else then."
They're finally allowed to board and Carl waits anxiously for takeoff. He won't be satisfied when he reaches San Francisco. He won't rest until he finds Tom's old house.
Hoping to God there's a Tom in it.
"My God," Cecilia whispers in awe, looking at the scene before them. "You never said your friend was rich—or that he lived in a Victorian house! Much less a 'Painted Lady'!"
"A what?"
Cecelia digs the book she'd been reading on the airplane out of her purse and shows it to him. Painted Ladies - San Francisco's Resplendent Victorians.
"They're houses that are colorful—and usually have more than just one color on them—blues, yellows, reds, oranges... They're done in the Victorian style, two stories, which is why they're called…"
"I don't care what they're called! I just know Tom lived—lives—here! Somewhere between 712–720 Steiner St."
"That's a lot of houses to canvas Carl; can't you just call him and ask him which one?"
"No!" Carl grounds out in frustration, "I can't."
Cecelia stares at him.
He softens his tone for her. "I don't even know if he's here right now, we're sort of a surprise." He explains. "I just know we're supposed to ask for his father, Thomas Bernard Swale, Sr. And it's not that many houses…"