A strange sense of déjà vu crept into her soul.
She saw herself driving the car toward the restaurant, laughing and talking with Jason. He was beside her, his eyes sparkling.
As she pulled into the parking lot, she almost collapsed; the car nearly ran into the cement barrier. Sierra reached for the wheel, and she snapped to life and slammed on the breaks.
Whit cried out. She looked back at him in alarm.
"Are you alright?" she said.
"Just woke up. I was dreaming…."
Her heart heavy, she helped him out of the car, and they headed toward the door, the cement wavering in the heat. She avoided looking directly at the castle, but even out of the corner of her eye, it cut deep into her heart like shards.
Since it was lunch time, it was pretty full, but because it was also a weekday, there were a few tables open.
Connie gravitated toward the table in the corner before she fully realized what she was doing. Then it hit her.
It was the same table she'd sat at with Jason.
It tore her heart to be there, but at the same time, she adored luxuriating in the past. In some way, she felt like Jason was with her. Almost as if he were holding her hand. She didn't want to lose that feeling.
She didn't mention it to Whit and Sierra.. She didn't think she could trust herself to speak of it—it was so deep, thrumming into her soul.
It comforted her, because it seemed to mean that Jason was alive, that he wasn't in distress. Thank you, she prayed. Please comfort Whit too…
She was probably imagining it, but she didn't want to break the spell by questioning it too much.
Sierra reveled in the view; Whit seemed distracted, distant. When the food came, he prayed fervently, his voice catching as he pleaded for Jason's safety. When he looked up, a fierce determination burned in his eyes. So reminiscent of his son's.
They talked of superficial things, avoiding speaking much of Jason or the investigation. But a heaviness lay at the center of it, dragging everything down like increasing gravity.
She only finished two-thirds of her sandwich, although it was divine. Sierra asked her if she wanted some of her French Silk pie, and Connie refused. It looked delicious, but her stomach was knotted too tightly to accept any more food.
By the time she headed over to the castle, the feeling of Jason beside her had faded; their ghosts were walking far ahead, almost subsumed by the shimmering heatwaves. She longed to run after them—tell them to fly home right after this, even though it meant forgoing the glade—but the concrete weighed down her ankles, heat creeping up her legs as if enticing her to melt.
The castle was cool inside; it felt unfamiliar, different people there than before, a different energy, the light tinted slightly copper, hinting at the breath of fall.
Her shoes tapped on the floor, as if she were the only one here, and the rest phantoms. Perhaps people from another age… or perhaps I'm the ghost, drifting here…
What if I'm doomed to walk the earth, always searching, never finding him… panic rose in her chest. She knew where she was going in the end, and that Jason would meet her there. But just the thought of never finding him on earth stabbed her soul.
She leaned against the wall, the stone cool against her shoulder. The heavy mass of the rock and its immense past seeping into her. She leaned her forehead against the corner of the wall.
"Maybe we should sit here," said a distant, familiar voice.
Whit touched her arm, and she startled back into the present. Slowly, she sat down on the wooden bench in the alcove, a narrow passage leading to a darkened room beside them. A shaft of light filtered down from above, slanting toward her.
"I'll go find Demir," said Sierra. "Even without his description, I think I can spot him." She strode away.
Connie wandered in the shaft of light. Above, there was an irregular hole… below, a patch of light that looked like a star. She stood and stepped into the dark, drawn by a magnetic force. Following something—pulling her more powerfully the closer she got.
Immense aching pressure crushed her heart. At the same time, an unfathomable joy glittered through her.
The ruined edge of the castle. Masses of light pouring from the open ceiling, crumbled by bombs long ago, yet a place of calm now…
Longing to go inside the restricted area, she pressed her hands to the boards.
The glimpse of the fantastic view. The doorway to the other room where the fireplace waited for them.
Sinking back into the past, she was lying there on the rug in the sun… and he was her prince, kissing her with abandon— and they were alone in the castle, and he was caressing her skin in the firelight… a past without fear or pain…
"Connie," said Whit softly. "What is it?"
Her eyes clouded. "We went inside— We were dreaming—he said he'd buy me a castle—" She laughed. "And then we lay by the fire… there was so much wonder here… we could stay forever. We'd fill it with life and love—we'd live in the old days, and I am his… he is mine… no matter when." She peered inside again. And thought she saw him, a glimmer out of the corner of her eye.
She tore the board away without even realizing it and barely registered Whit climbing in after her.
The wall melted away—an irregular triangle chiseled out of rock. Boulders tumbling to the waterfall below. White eddies spilling to the vast valley…. Disappearing in the mist. Such power—she could feel it humming into her bones. She pressed her hand to the bare rock, closed her eyes, not caring if she tumbled through the gap.
His hand warmed her palm. She could feel his fingerprints etched there…. as if pressed into the stone like clay.
He kissed her. She leaned into the kiss—
Whit caught her, pulled her away.
Her heart thumped hard.
A bit of dust spilled out into the air in a flash of sparkles.
Her hair flew toward the wind, an invisible swirling current.
"I'm too close here… too close to him…" She looked toward the doorway. "But I can't leave…"
She stepped toward the next doorway, chasing that magical moment when time had stopped.
Whit followed, helpless in the wake of her dreaming.
A throat cleared behind them. An elegant woman stood at the edge of the gap in the boards. She had short blond hair and fierce blue eyes that danced with amusement.
"This is a restricted area," she said casually.
Vague alarm hit Connie; she had known she shouldn't be here. But she'd needed him… his impression so deep in this place because of how grand and romantic it was.
"Sorry about that," said Whit. "We'll leave."
The woman shrugged. "I wouldn't be such a stickler, but this place is unstable. We don't want to close this place down just because someone fell out the window, or through the floor…"
"Why is it still here?" said Whit.
"It's historical," said the woman. "There's actually an interesting story I can tell you, if you come out."
"You won't punish us?" said Connie.
"You seem innocent enough." She stepped through the gap. "I'll have a repair team up here…. make this place more secure. People keep getting through…."
"Are you a tour guide?" said Whit, as he emerged from the room.
"I did do a stint as a tour guide during the summers when I was younger. And I still love immersing in the history of this place and telling it to anyone who'll listen. I'm Trysta, the manager of this property. If there's anything you'd like to know about it, I'm your girl."
It wasn't the castle Connie wanted to know about so much as she wanted to know where Jason was. Could Trysta possibly help her?
"Actually—" Her voice faltered, but she pressed forward. "We're looking for someone. My husband Jason. This is Jason's father, Wh –Mr. Whittaker."
Whit shook her hand. "My son was taken by Yavesh," he said.
"I heard something about that on the news. So you're his family." Sorrow filled her eyes. "I wish I could help you, but I'm not sure if there's anything I can do."
"You know people here?" said Connie. "In Valhad?"
"Our family is something of a fixture here."
Her heart leaped. "Do you know some of the nobility?"
Trysta smiled. "We are nobility. Of a sort."
She'd have to take a leap of faith. "Some of the elite have been enslaving people. They could be connected with Yavesh."
"That's not surprising. The police have been investigating, but they can't get too far…. It's very hard to break through to the elite, because they have protection. The police will keep going around in circles unless they trust some of us enough to ask for our help."
"You could offer help," said Whit.
"That's true. It is hard to go against our own—especially since we don't have concrete evidence. We have a reputation of being straight as an arrow, so any of the dissipated in our ranks won't confide in us. But I could keep my eye out… I could try to get closer to some of them. As distasteful as it would be, I could pretend to sink to their level…" She leaned her chin in her hand.
Footsteps approached. Connie turned to see Sierra and a man she assumed to be Evrim Demir. He was tall with short brown hair, an air of purpose in every movement.
"It's good to finally meet you," said the lieutenant, holding out his hand. She shook it and introduced Whit and Trysta.
"We've met," said Demir as he shook Trysta's hand. "It's been a while, though."
"Since the theft case," said Trysta. "If I can repay you for that—"
"All just part of the job."
"But few do it as well as you. We're fortunate to have you on our side."
"I've told him about our predicament," said Sierra. "He's offered to help with everything we mentioned."
"I'd like to help out as well," said Trysta. "And if I can also repay you this way….all the better."
"What do you have in mind?" said Demir.
"You need help breaking through to the elite. We have our close inner circle, as you know—and I'm pretty sure I can trust them. I won't tell them outright, but I'll ask discreet questions, see if they've seen anything suspicious."
"That could be the break we need."
Desperate hope built in Connie's chest. Perhaps they were getting somewhere after all.
Trysta took them on a private tour of the castle, and they hashed out a basic plan for collaboration. She also sprinkled in some historical facts, especially about World War II. Whit told her about his service. "My grandfather also fought in World War II," she said. "We had to protect our country. That's one reason why I feel such a connection to this place."
"Your ancestors lived here?" said Connie.
A shadow flickered in her eyes, then it was gone. "My family has lived here since before Muldavia was a country. We've traced it quite far back."
"So you're a piece of living history," said Demir.
Trysta laughed. "I suppose you could say that. I'm proud of my roots, but I like to think of myself as modern. I don't hold onto outdated traditions just for the sake of them. And I don't fall into the trap of thinking I'm owed everything just because my family has lived here for generations. Our family has worked hard for what we have. We've sacrificed. It's those leeches that come along and smear us with their own self-degradation that ruin it for the rest of us. I really hope they're in the minority—nobility can be very good at keeping unseemly secrets. Completely frivolous indulgence—which also happens to be extremely damaging to our image. And which preys on innocent people—children, even. I can't tell you how disgusted I am at such behavior, and I apologize on their behalf, because they never will. I'm ashamed to be nobility when they're also a part of it. I hope you don't judge all of us by their heinous conduct."
Whit shook his head. "I only judge people by their own actions. You're not only rejecting their way of life, you're trying to actively work against it. Maybe it'll help root out the poisonous branches."
"Maybe this'll change things for the better—once and for all. And we can move forward as a nation without the deadweight dragging us down."
"In my experience," said Sierra, "there will always be bad apples. The worst of them are the ones who have money and feel entitled by it. Money corrupts—that's just the way of things."
Trysta narrowed her eyes. They headed down a winding stone staircase into the dark. "You doubt my commitment?"
"I'm thankful for it. But I'm not under any illusions. I wouldn't doubt that most nobility, most businessmen as well, are in on this scheme. We're fighting a losing battle—but I'm still going to fight it, because one person saved is worth it. Right now, that person is Jason—and I'm not entertaining any other option than getting him out alive."
"I'm committed as well," said Demir. "I'm a little more optimistic—I know that riches corrupt and put up a nearly impenetrable wall. However, I want to believe that my efforts won't be in vain, and that our country can shed the bad elements, even if it takes a long time. It has gotten better; I've seen it. And now that I'm aware of this problem and its roots, I'm not going to stop until Yavesh is severely reduced or destroyed." He looked at Connie and Whit. "The first step is finding Jason. We know he's with Yavesh; if we find him, we will find clues to catch others as well. Perhaps bring down the entire organization."
"This is one of the worst things to exist," said Whit. "I'd want to fight it and tear it out of Muldavia even if… it hadn't captured my son." His eyes were haunted as they took the last few steps to the basement.
Dungeon was more like it. She hadn't seen this side of the basement before; the dark air seemed to breathe malice.
Trysta turned on the light and illuminated a rather small room, rough and musty. There were only a few old, plain shelves against the wall and a decrepit chair near one of them.
"I thought you'd like to see this," said Trysta. "It's the fruit cellar."
"Nice—fruit cellar," said Demir.
Trysta laughed and headed over to one of the shelves in the middle. Then she pushed on its side and with Whit's help slid it until it revealed a tunnel that curved back into the darkness.
"Wow," said Connie.
"When was this built?" said Whit.
"It may have been here before," said Trysta, "It wasn't in the plans. It was used during World War II to hide people. At one point, the Nazis streamed over the Czech border and nearly took us over. They actually held the castle briefly. They were marching over the Austrian border as well and would have taken us if not for a miracle." She stepped into the tunnel and they followed. Except for Sierra. She peered in but then shook her head, looking rather ashamed. "I don't…do well in small spaces."
Connie's heart flipped over when she realized where she had probably gotten that fear.
"I could stay with you," said Connie.
"I'm fine. Go ahead."
Connie followed Whit, and Trysta used the flashlight on her phone to guide them. Finally they reached a small room. She aimed the flashlight to the right and left, showing its narrow, rectangular shape, carved out of rock. "They hid Jews here for several days," said Trysta. "Sometimes in pitch black. I can't imagine their fear as the Nazis searched the castle…. This is what the tour guides usually get wrong. It was our people that bombed the castle. I think they do it on purpose—they don't want us to look like the 'bad guys' who would bomb our own heritage. But it's actually a more heroic story. We're not victims—we're a proud nation who took back our land. Chased the Nazis out. We would have been overrun if we hadn't advocated for ourselves—we're almost invisible to the rest of the world, a little spot on the map. But it is infinitely important to us. And so we remained a small island, a fortress in the middle of Nazi territory…. Almost overtaken, but proud, holding our muddied, battered heads high. And the rest of the world moved on, and we remembered our greatness even though we're usually forgotten. Of course—not long after the war, we plunged headfirst into communism. Our family had to play along or get snuffed out like the others. We never totally gave in though… unlike the collaborators. We believed too much in a different future, where everyone was free. I think some of the best of us were purged then… a certain amount of playing along was necessary. The ones who couldn't stomach it were killed—including the king. But then, they would have killed him anyway; he was too much the symbol of the old order. He was brave and proud at the end; he didn't cower. He held to his principles and the faith in a free Muldavia."
"You know what happened then?" said Whit.
"My great uncle was there. He was going to be executed as well, but they stayed it at the last minute. The king was shoved against the wall, wearing just a ragged prison uniform. But he held his head high. Then they gunned him down just as he was about to say something—my great uncle said he thought he knew what it was. But he never told me."
"What a hero he was." Immense sorrow weighed down Whit's voice; Connie now knew why.
"He would have been a great king… it's a tragedy his rule was cut short. We had to endure years of oppression. Our business would have grown much more if the state hadn't had control of virtually all production. We managed some on the side, but…."
"What's your business?"
"Food manufacturing. Because it was so essential, we were allowed some nominal control. But we couldn't exactly develop our brand."
"What's it called?"
"Zephyr."
"Beautiful name."
"It's our name." She pressed her hand to her heart.
They headed out of the tunnel. Sierra had disappeared. They found her above, wandering among the armor displays, touching them reverently.
They gathered outside on the lawn; Trysta showed them a less-used path which led down the cliff, overlooking the waterfall. Connie's head spun a bit; she wasn't the greatest with heights. But Sierra grasped her arm and kept her steady until they sat under a little alcove, a natural cave carved into rock. The waterfall roared; they had to speak loudly to be heard. But there was less of a chance anyone could overhear them.
They exchanged information. Demir told them how he'd been tracking the auction organizers, but since they were anonymous, they were slippery.
Whit told of the corrupt police; Demir was in denial because he had a good system and trusted his people. But when Connie gave Viktor's descriptions, he listened closely and said he'd check it out. He couldn't be under any illusions; this wasn't the time to have a blind spot. Anyone could be corrupted with money, he acknowledged. Almost anyone.
Connie also told him what Viktor had said about Jeffrey Locke and Alesya Morven. Demir agreed to look into Locke's contacts and to investigate Morven. Trysta also agreed to look into it from her angle. She knew the Morvens and hadn't suspected them, but she couldn't deny Viktor's testimony.
Trysta said she'd look into some of the former communist collaborators; most of them had not had any consequences other than a slap on the wrist. But they were the people, she said, who didn't have any moral center, and believed they were entitled to anything they could get, and so they were more likely to be protecting Yavesh and benefiting from it.
They all agreed to share information and contact each other when they had something concrete. Then Whit, Sierra and Connie headed back to their car.
"I'd say that was a productive meeting," said Sierra, climbing into the driver's seat.
Connie nodded. It had been good to focus on doing something, rather than focus on what might be happening to Jason… and as much as the past dragged at her, she couldn't let herself be subsumed by ghosts. Help him—even if it's not much—
"It was due to you all this happened," said Whit, looking at Connie. "We wouldn't have met Demir or Trysta otherwise."
"Part of it was because I—broke the rules, going into the restricted area," said Connie as she slid into the back seat.
"Well—good things can come from…questionable things." He sat beside Sierra.
"It was Jason that led me into that room… his past self…."
"I only hope we can get something fruitful from this," said Sierra. "We'll see if Trysta betrays her own kind. Demir seems a good sort, but police have their boundaries as well…. Meanwhile, I've got the freedom to pursue my own path." She started the car and wove it down the mountain road. In Valhad, she parked next to one of the expensive clothing stores. Then she stepped out.
"What is it?" said Whit, out the open window.
She stepped onto the sidewalk. "I've got my own leads to follow. I can't be encumbered by companions. No offense. I work best on my own."
Whit nodded. "How long will you be here?"
"A few hours, a few days, who knows. I'll find my own way back." She waved and strode down the sidewalk.
Connie slid into the driver's seat so Whit wouldn't feel like he had to. She felt rather worn out, but Whit needed rest more than she did.
Connie also felt a little off balance from Sierra's sudden departure and from the meeting—leading to—what? She supposed she had to be patient; the others could find out much more than she could. She longed to be able to find him herself, but she doubted that would be possible. She just didn't have the agent skills needed.
Still—could Jason afford the time it took for even the experts to meander through each clue?
Dear God, please just—let him escape.
"What now?" she asked.
"I'm not sure what our next step is myself. I suppose we should just go back and figure out where we're going from there."
On the way back, Whit looked pensive in the reflection when she glanced at him occasionally. If not for the tension knotting her muscles, she felt like she would have fallen asleep and crashed. As it was, the long, flat stretch of highway nearly lulled her to sleep and she had to mentally pinch herself to keep from nodding off.
"I wish—" said Whit, almost in a whisper, as they passed a small town. "That I could do more. That I could work alongside Sierra—or nearly at her level. I could never have reached her level even on my best days. But now… I can't pretend I'm how I used to be. I was an agent—a good one." He smiled reminiscently. "If I had half the skill I used to have…"
"You sound like Jason."
"He's told me something similar. I think he could get back to how he was before. But I can't go running around the countryside—blending in with every layer of society… I want to dive into the shadows to find my son…. But I know I'd do more harm than good. And so I have to stay back here and—" He shook his head. "At least others are able to look for him. But if I could just—be like I used to—if I could suddenly get all my skills back—I'd be out there, risking everything for him." He took a deep breath. "Maybe I should."
"I don't want to lose you too."
He nodded. "I don't want to leave you. And then—even if I could accomplish a fraction of what I used to— I would probably fall apart along the way. I…almost am now. I'm just being held together by a fraying thread—and it's about to break—" His voice caught. "If I can't accomplish anything to find him, because of how much I need to find him—" He closed his eyes. "My baby boy. So many times I almost lost him. But now—"
The anguish in his eyes broke her heart.
"It'd be even worse than losing Jerry because I'd know—he suffered horribly before the end. Not just torture—I found out that happened to Jerry when he met Ai. But—" He shuddered. "The worst possible. I keep imagining it—it's roaring through my mind all the time and I can't stop it—because I need to be with him, even if it's the worst—It might not be happening… but I can't pretend they aren't hurting him. And I can't avoid knowing what Yavesh is. So I can't comfort myself with believing he's escaped it… when Viktor hasn't. When Ana hasn't…. and the triplets, and Mina and Lexi…"
He looked at Connie. "To me he's just a little child himself—he's this great agent, but he's also a little boy who—came running to me when he fell…" Tears splashed onto his shirt. "I want to gather him in my arms and comfort him, but I can't—he's so far away and I can't even…let him know how much I love him." His voice faltered and he leaned his forehead in his hand again.
She longed to comfort him, but she couldn't trust herself to speak.
The alarm chimed and she jumped.
It was the alarm for low gas. It was only about fifteen minutes to the palace, but she didn't think she could make it that far, so she pulled over at a gas station.
She felt something to drink might help Whit a little, so she went inside. A drink would help her as well, she realized. If only a little.
She grabbed an orange juice for each of them and a bag of chips. Then, at the counter, there was a little rack with some last minute things on it.
One of them was a pregnancy test.
Her vision swam.
She fought against the current of the past.
Yet, something pulled her toward it.
Perhaps it would be a good thing….
Perhaps it would help give her some hope.
At least she could know.
If it was positive, it would give Whit something to look forward to, also….
Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed it, along with some random chocolate bars so she could hide it. She didn't want to tell Whit unless she was sure.
As she walked out, she stuffed it into the bottom of the bag and in the car she handed Whit the orange juice.
Back at the palace, she carried the bag to her room. She flopped onto her bed, the bag on the floor in front of her.
She stared at it, debating whether to open it… or just gobble up the chocolate bars.
When the call to supper came, she still hadn't decided.