I popped directly onto the platform in St. Pancras International Terminal, which just so happened to be the boarding station for the Eurostar. I’d read numerous times about the train and the construction of the Chunnel and felt that this final adventure would be the perfect crescendo in my evasion of Hauser.
As I moved through the crowd along the platform, I had a heightened awareness for Hauser’s presence. Realizing that spotting him in a crowd of so many people would be futile, I relaxed and stood alongside the multitude of people waiting to board the supersonic train to France.
Ten minutes later, boarding had completed and the train was about to depart. Not having a paid seat, I simply mingled about the cabin until all the passengers took their seats. As the train began to inch forward, I found a vacant seat on the aisle and sat down next to a woman, speaking what I believed to be French, on her cell phone.
As the time passed, so did the city. The congestion of row houses gave way to single, freestanding homes, which in turn gave way to farms and fields. An hour and a half later, the train dipped into the ground and began burrowing through the tunnel under the English Channel. After another thirty minutes, I felt confident that I had effectively eluded Hauser’s trace. I had a final destination in mind, but I wasn’t prepared to go there just yet. I had one last stop to make before I was confident that I’d avoided his monocle for good. A moment later I jumped from two hundred feet beneath the surface of the water to nearly a quarter mile above the city streets of New York.
I stood on the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building, the observation deck, and stepped outside. I’d visited the building numerous times through the years, having a great love of the height and view. I walked around the entire perimeter, pausing momentarily at each face to look out across the vast city. Even though I’d been up there a dozen times, the view from the top was still awe-inspiring.
After some time I found a vacant bench near the north entrance and sat. I wondered how long I should wait for Hauser before making my final move. Ten minutes? Half an hour? Longer? I had no idea. I waited until it felt right.
After nearly ninety minutes of people-watching, I was quite pleased that Hauser had not been able to follow me. I stood up and stretched before making one last lap around the observation deck. Satisfied that I wasn’t followed, I jumped to what would hopefully be my last destination for the foreseeable future.
Chapter 7
Many years had passed since I’d last stepped foot into the long-forgotten mountain cabin. When I was growing up, my dad and grandpa would take me up there to camp and fish almost every summer. After Granddad passed away, Dad and I sort of just stopped coming. Then, after my own father passed on, I got word that he’d left the two-hundred-acre mountain property to some nature conservatory with the express consent that no commercial development would ever occur on the parcel. He wanted it left as pristine and unabused as he’d found it years earlier. That had been twelve years ago, and I’d only taken Cyndi up to the cabin once to share some of my history with her. Because of my family, the conservatory manager granted me use of the place anytime I wanted, and assured me that because of the remote location, it remained virtually unchanged, following my dad’s request.
Now, as I stood on the front step, my heart pounded from the anxiety caused by the passage of time. Memories came flooding back as I lifted a rusted watering can from the windowsill and grabbed an old skeleton key. Sliding it into the keyhole, I hoped that the lock mechanism wasn’t decayed. I twisted the key gently yet firm enough to throw the tumblers. A second later there was an audible click. I returned the key to the window ledge and stepped inside.
As I looked about the one-room cabin, memories continued to flow. Dust and cobwebs covered nearly every inch of the inside, but I didn’t mind. I found a broom and dustpan in the pantry cabinet and got to work cleaning.
After an hour’s effort, I had removed most of the visible grime from the walls and ceilings and dusted everything as best I could. In the process, I reminisced about the numerous days that I’d spent there in my youth.
With the sun quickly plunging behind the adjacent mountain range, I decided a fire was in order. Even though I was mostly dead, I still got the occasional chills.
With relatively little effort, I had a fire roaring in the open fireplace, thanks to the extremely dry kindling I found in the corner. As I kneeled on the floor in front of the heat, I felt the bulge of Calvin’s soul box in my pocket. I withdrew it and turned the box over in my hands, wondering what I should do. The worst part about my decision was that I knew Hauser was right. I knew that neither he nor I had the right to decide who lives or who dies. I was playing God. But as these regretful thoughts spilled from my subconscious, images of the happy couple in the maternity ward crowded my mind’s eye. Confusion quickly turned to anger, and I threw the soul box into the fireplace.
“There. I guess I’ve answered that question,” I said as the flames flared high around the wooden box.
I moved away from the fire and settled into the dilapidated sofa at the side of the room. I extended my legs out to relax and stared at the amber glow. The longer I gazed at the dancing flames, the less aware I was of my surroundings. As time crawled along, so did the shadows across the floor. I retraced the events of my day, thinking about all the places that I’d visited in such haste. I quickly concluded that all of that jumping and landing really wore me out. Before I could stop myself, I was drifting to sleep.
The faint glow of the moonlight cast eerie shadows along the floor. I wondered how that could be as the room was fully lighted by multiple ceiling fixtures above.
“Quick, Jack. Take my hand,” Cyndi demanded as she closed her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth.
“It’s almost over, Cyn. Just another ten seconds,” I assured her.
She squeezed my hand tightly, cutting off the circulation to my fingers. I remained strong for her support, but the pain was nearly enough to make me cry out as well. Finally, with the contraction subsiding, Cyndi released her death grip and opened her eyes.
“My God, that one was the worst,” she said.
As if on cue, the doctor stepped into our birthing room and proceeded to hunker down between Cyndi’s legs to perform a cervical exam. Peeking over the bed cloth, his piercing eyes looked at me first and then at Cyndi. A sudden sense of familiarity came over me, but I couldn’t quite place where I had seen him before. Strangely, this was not our regular doctor, but I was not about to question it in the eleventh hour. I wanted the pain to go away for Cyndi. I wanted my new child.
“Your husband is quite right, Mrs. Duffy. It’s almost time, and it’ll be over quite soon, I assure you,” said the doctor.
“Do you hear that, sweetheart? We’re about ready,” I said as I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Now, take my hand again, and squeeze as hard as you want. I’ll share your pain, because I love you.”
Cyndi’s weary eyes rolled back momentarily and she smiled. She took my hand and tugged on my arm slightly before replying, “I love you too, babe.”
“Well then, shall we begin?” asked the doctor. “I need you to push, Cyndi. And when I tell you, I need you to push hard.”
Cyndi pinched her eyes closed but nodded in agreement.
“Now, Cyndi, push for ten seconds.”
With a guttural squeal emanating from her lips, Cyndi followed the doctor’s instructions. After ten seconds, she released her downward pressure and breathed in and out, rhythmically, as we were taught in Lamaze class. After a short pause, the doctor spoke sternly.