Daniel
Daniel had been following the women nearly half an hour. The trees in the park were still covered in buds, the leaves not yet matured. The sun was out, but the chill in the wind made him wish he had gloves.
"Terrifying to imagine it could happen so quickly." The woman's coat reached past her knees to black stockings and modest shoes. The wheels of the pram crunched along the gravel path.
"But is the doctor sure?" asked the second woman, similarly dressed with a baby carriage of her own. "They didn't find him right away. He could have been choked by an intruder or scared to death at the sight of a ghost." Her voice took on an anticipatory tone. "Strange things happen during full moons."
The first woman laughed. "Flo, you're a scream. What happened to old Mr. Simpson was the flu. Plain and simple." She turned to her friend and scrunched up her nose. "But yes, he was found days after he died. Stench was something awful, they say."
"My lady says it was Spanish Influenza that took him down. She ordered the maid soak all the baby clothes in bleach because Mr. Simpson had delivered the weekly order from the butcher to the house only three days before he took sick."
The first nanny turned to her friend and nodded solemnly.
Daniel squinted at her profile. The voice was completely wrong, but the complexion and curve of her chin was so like Mary's.
He continued walking behind them, slowly increasing his speed so he could eavesdrop some more. He was supposed to be making his way to the theatre, but earlier this girl had crossed his path pushing the baby carriage and Daniel had been so sure it was Mary.
"Oh! I forgot to tell you—" Her smile disappeared when she caught Daniel staring.
He dropped his gaze to the ground, suddenly self-conscious of his appearance. The pea coat, although not exactly fashionable for the early twentieth century, was plain enough for him to blend in, but the eyepatch was a menacing touch. He brought up his right hand and pulled down his wool cap, trying to hide his face.
"Come along, Flo," the first nanny urged. "Strange things happen in broad daylight as well."
Daniel kept his focus on the pathway. The hurried sound of the pram's wheels grew faint as the nannies made haste, disappearing around the nearest corner. Their hushed gossip made his ears burn and heart ache.
Since the fire he'd only seen Mary in his dreams, but here in the past, she was everywhere; a small shoulder just out of reach, a long wave of brown hair under a hat, the hint of a smile behind a gloved hand.
He'd fooled himself into thinking it would be that easy to find her. And if it had been Mary, his logic interrupted, what was he supposed to say?
His earlier optimism was waning as a heaviness settled on his shoulders. He shivered despite the afternoon sun. Daniel glanced around; blossoms were opening, robins were making nests, and blades of bright green were poking through the brownish landscape of the park.
Spring was coming.
Daniel laughed bitterly to himself. "See what's coming up this spring at Willard's," he said.
Willard's. James D. Willard, Esq.
Blinking hard, he tried to focus his attention on orientating himself. His brain felt fuzzy. The edges of the world began to blur. "You're not dreaming," he whispered, coaxing himself on.
He was wasting time.
Time.
How much did he have? A week? One day? One hour?
Only one person knew the answer—The Great Magnifico.
Needing reassurance, he took out the letter. He gently unfolded the brittle, yellowed parchment, taking special care not to drop the black and white photograph tucked inside.
Dear Daniel, April 18, 1918
You can save them.
He repeated that phrase inside his head as he read over the specific instructions. It seemed so simple; find the theatre and give The Great Magnifico the letter from Mr. Willard. That's all he had to do.
Simple.
The letter continued,
To give them a future you must find them in the past. I cannot explain further than this. All will be revealed in time. I look forward to seeing you again.
Daniel refolded the paper and slipped it back inside his coat pocket. Apparently he and Mr. Willard were on good terms.
"Impossible," he whispered. However, Daniel knew better than anyone that impossible was just a word. Pressing his lips in a hard line, he pushed away the logic. He didn't have to understand; he needed to believe.
He examined the black and white photograph again. The stamp, MacPherson & Son, was on the back along with the date, April 17, 1918. Daniel flipped over the picture, concentrating on the details. He was posing with the magician, their arms around each other's shoulders, smiling into the camera.
Impossible.
A light static played inside his head. "Shut up," he murmured, shutting the door on his doubt. He tucked away the photograph and made his way to the southern part of the park, exiting at Columbus Circle.
Daniel felt inside his pockets. He had no tokens for the subway, only the pocket watch. He gave it a little pat for good luck. It would be a long walk.
He headed south down 8th Avenue trying not to stare into the face of every young girl who passed him on the sidewalk, hoping to see Mary.
The traffic was teeming with all sorts of transportation; carriages, old-fashioned cars he'd only seen in museums and black and white movies, and streetcars following tracks built into the ground with a cable attached above. There was even a street-washer machine being pulled by two horses. The sidewalk was full of people and it struck Daniel that everyone was wearing a hat. The men, the woman, even some of the children.
He was nudged in the elbow as a little boy ran past him, the bright red patch sewn clumsily on the side of his cap. Most people, Daniel noticed, walked in pairs or groups. There were no cell phones or headphones. Instead, people were talking to each other.
Among all the conversations and smiles, he felt alone. There was only one other person in the world who felt his pain—Blanche. A stab of guilt hit Daniel unexpectedly.
He'd left things cold and unsettled between them. He was so clouded with grief that he couldn't make amends. And now he was in another time, walking toward his only hope. Maybe he should have taken Blanche with him. For the first time he considered what might be happening back in the present.
What would Alice do when no one could find him?
Daniel stumbled, catching himself before he tripped again. The nausea he'd felt when he first arrived was creeping back. Blackness spread into his visual periphery. He stopped and doubled over, hands on his knees. Waves of disorientation washed over him. He tried to push the nausea back down, but it grew stronger. He spied a narrow alley across the street.
Desperately dodging the horse and buggies, he slipped inside the dark, foul-smelling space. With one hand against the brick wall, he staggered to the end of the alley. Daniel lowered himself to his knees, then everything went black.
***
It was her voice that woke him.
"Come back for me," Mary whispered against his ear.
"Always," Daniel replied.
Willard's foyer softly glowed with Christmas decorations. He kissed her goodbye, then made his way up the stairs and unlocked the main door. When he turned back for one last glance, the look of curiosity across her face made him pause.
Mary twirled her hair, then looked down the aisle toward the security office. Her mouth spread into a grin. "I think I just figured something out," she beamed. "I'll show you when you get back."
She disappeared down the aisle and into the shadows. Daniel craned his neck around the door, waiting for her to reappear. His heart began to smash against his ribs.
"Mary!" he screamed. "Wait, come back!"
A tremendous roar echoed from the shadows. A huge wall of flames pushed forward, engulfing the entire floor. The glass counters lining the Jewelry Department buckled and exploded into a thousand shards. Displays melted.
He heard their screams. All of them. Oscar, Hope, Petey, Ruth Ann, Jonathan, and Mary. An incredible heaviness pulled him down. Daniel seeped into the very earth. It grew cold. Something gritty pressed into his check. A brick wall came into focus.
Daniel pushed himself up. He sat with his back against the alley wall and ran a hand through his hair a few times. Although familiar, the nightmare had different variations. Sometimes they were lined up at the foyer where the marble steps began, palms pressed against the invisible barrier with the fire raging behind them. Sometimes they stayed human and collapsed when the smoke filled their lungs and suffocated them. Other times, they would turn mannequin at the very last second with Daniel trapped on the other side of the door, forced to watch as the heat took effect, singeing their hair and melting their faces.
And the nightmares continued. Each version more horrific than the last.
He wondered, all those weeks in the burn unit, if knowing exactly how they died would be better than him imagining all the ways it could have happened.
He hoped they were together in the end.
Except for Ms. Stanley. He hoped she was rotting in hell.
After setting the fire, he knew she'd died near the entrance, the video recorder practically melted into her hands. All her elaborate scheming had been to free her brother, Mr. Travis—to prove he wasn't crazy.
It was pointless. Crazy or not, Mr. Travis was dangerous and belonged in jail.
Daniel frowned. Where or when was Mr. Travis? Had he come back in time with him or was he wandering around the museum grounds in the future, still screaming his vengeful threats?
The sound of horses braying from the street caught his attention.
He had to focus. He couldn't waste time worrying about Mr. Travis.
Daniel checked his watch and realized he'd been passed out for nearly an hour. He gently wound his father's watch a few times. The action seemed archaic and yet familiar at the same time.
He stood with care, making sure he wasn't going to be sick or pass out again. Resolving to leave the lingering traces of the nightmare in the alley, he ventured back to the street, intent on one mission—making it to the theatre.
He pulled up the collar of his coat and walked with his head down, mindful of the occasional stares. He stopped a few times, marvelling at the streetcars and police officers with billy clubs tucked into their belts, patrolling the bustling sidewalk.
When he finally reached West 18th, blisters had taken hold on both of Daniel's heels. He ignored the pain and kept looking at the numbers on the buildings, knowing he was getting closer. He had the address memorized, of course. He'd circled it in his black notebook last year.
It felt much longer.
He'd been walking down West 18th a year ago, his black notebook tucked away, searching for the toy store that began with the letter V—a toy store that held the key to a childhood memory of his mother.
Only when he was across the street, standing under an awning, staring at the front of Willard's, had it all become clearer. The brass door handles of the main entrance would part and come together as shoppers entered the store, a W continually split into two V's.
And now, one year later—or rather, almost one hundred years earlier—Daniel found himself standing in the same spot, staring across the street.
His heart pounded painfully. He hadn't realized how much he missed the store itself. The last time he saw Willard's it was a dirty graveyard-like landscape of concrete blocks and rusted rebar poking out like bones.
But here it was, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, beautiful and glorious. All that was missing were the long display windows and flags flying at the top with the iconic W symbol.
Daniel crossed the street to the main entrance. There were two blue doors trimmed in gold. Beside the entrance, a poster was framed in lights. Daniel recognized it as the one he'd stared at so many nights in the secret apartment. The one that was hiding the quote from The Time Machine.
A man with wild eyes peered back from the poster. He had mounds of dark curly hair and a goatee. The words The Great Magnifico were elegantly swirled under the face. His portrait was flanked by two smaller pictures of beautiful women in pose, wearing sparkling blue costumes and feathered headpieces.
Daniel held his breath and made a quick wish.
Please.
With a shaking hand, he opened the door and walked inside.
I hope you enjoyed this sample of FINAL SALE. The entire book is now available as ebook and paperback https://a.co/d/hjdJi38