An Era Apart

Excerpt

Chapter One

The ringing jerked her awake.

Tracy Richardson opened a tired eye and looked at the alarm clock. 9:30 a.m. Who would be awake this early on a Sunday morning?

"I have your father." As if coming from a far away place, the voice was muffled, the words ominous.

"Sorry?" she asked, wondering if this strange call was meant as a threat of some kind.

"You heard me. Bring me my Christmas gift or he dies."

November was a bit early for Christmas presents. The last tendrils of sleep drifted away, leaving her clear-headed. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play with me. Do as I say."

"Who are you?"

The line went dead. Bemused, Tracy sat up in bed. That ridiculous phone call had to be a joke, but who would playing such a prank on her? Timothy? Not likely. Since their break-up six months ago, he was taking his 'best friend' role very seriously. He wouldn't do something so rash.

Who then? The list of her friends was pretty short. She couldn't see Josh or Terry trying to trick her. Not in that fashion anyway.

Getting out of bed, she opened the drapes on unexpected good weather for this time of year. A blue sky engulfed the county of San Francisco, sunshine flooding the streets in a lover's embrace. She showered and dressed in jeans, plain T-shirt, and sneakers, thinking she could ask Timothy to have lunch with her at Scoma's.

Breakfast was out of the question, as it had been for the past twenty years. Ever since her first day at primary school, she had never been able to swallow solid food at that time of day. Back then, she was too young to understand primary school was the first step toward adulthood yet she must have felt it somehow. Since that particular event, she had ignored all nutritionists' advice and was happy enough with an orange juice and a black coffee. No sugar, thank you.

It was such a beautiful day. She could walk to her father's place, just to check if he was all right. No point in calling him first; he never answered. She'd nagged him about that, time and time again, but to no avail. Always busy on a special project. His house on Bonita Street was only a mile away, and the walk would do her good: crisp, fishy smells from the Marina caressing her nose, an onshore breeze lifting her hair, the sun warming her skin from the November cold. Sausalito must be the best place in the world to live.

At 302 Bonita Street, Tracy rang the bell. She'd been born in this house, one of the largest in a wealthy residential area. She still loved this Victorian mansion, although she had been ecstatic when William Richardson bought her a condo on Main Street: a cozy, charming place to get away from the painful memories of her mother's death.

As usual, her father didn't answer the door, so she used her spare key to let herself in. No need. The door was unlocked. The living room had been ransacked. The beautiful furniture hacked to pieces, the couch and armchairs torn to leathery strips, the wall screen shattered, the floor littered with books, papers, and broken trinkets.

Tracy stepped gingerly into the living room, avoiding the shards scattered on the floor. Someone had devastated her home. The intruder could still be in the place. She ought to be careful, but she had larger concerns. She tore through the whole house, calling for her father. From the ground floor to the attic, each room had been turned upside down.

Who had done this? Why? Where was her Dad?

In the master bedroom, his clothes were strewn about in uneven piles. She found his favorite shirt and saw red stains on the collar. Was he hurt? On closer examination, she spotted more stains on the carpet. Fresh blood. Something bad had happened here not long ago, something linked to whomever had called earlier. The intruder had spoken with her, possibly from this very room, and abducted her father. Which meant he was alive. She felt sure he was alive.

Tracy didn't call the police. She trusted her Dad, trusted him with her life. From early childhood, he'd repeated the same words. If you see anything out of the ordinary, don't call for help. Open my secret box.

He had always been an enigmatic man, even when his wife was alive. He was a brilliant scientist, but nobody ever knew where his mind was. Only that he was making money out of his inventions. He would disappear for days, and then come back as if he had just gone out for a loaf of bread. Or lock himself up in his study, sometimes without food or sleep for forty-eight hours. Or spend meals with his family without uttering a single word, lost in his own thoughts.

His wife accepted his peculiar behavior because he was kind and honest, also because she loved him. At first, Tracy was much bitterer than her mother, even angry when he forgot Christmas, Thanksgiving, or Graduation Day. Oddly enough, he had never missed any of her birthdays until she was at least fifteen. He would tell her fantastic stories of magical and ancient worlds, taking her deep into his wildest fantasies. She forgave him. In time, she learned to live with the man William was.

What she was seeing today was definitely out of the ordinary. She went to find the box. She raced down the stairs, two at a time, to the ground floor. Then she was out the back door to the garden, all the way past the big swimming pool.

Tracy got a shovel from the shed and started digging behind the willow tree. She might not have been able to pinpoint the precise location, but the soil had been turned over in a recent past. That was as good a clue as any. In a matter of seconds, the shovel hit something. Down on her knees, Tracy unearthed a small metallic box. Brushing dirt away, she held it with a kind of reverence.

She paused over it. What might her father have hidden in this box? This box he'd told her about all her life.

She lifted the lid with care. Two items lay inside, a silver necklace and a folded piece of paper with her name on it. She covered the hole with fresh soil and went back to the house, the box in her hand. She needed to sit to read the letter.

Beloved daughter,

An affectionate smile spread across Tracy's face. Who could write 'beloved daughter' but her Dad? He talked in an old-fashioned way sometimes, as if he were born a century earlier. He knew all about the past, starting with their complete family history, from the first William Richardson's arrival in Sausalito in 1838. History, mythology, and science were his passions, whereas Tracy lived in the present and couldn't even imagine the lives of her grandparents, dead before her birth.The past was past.

If you read these words, the worst has come to pass. Believe me when I say that I have always done my best to protect you and your mother, God rest her soul. I'm afraid I have failed. Now, my fate and the fates of many others are in your hands. I am sorry about that, and I wish things had turned out differently.

He was as cryptic as ever. Protect his family? What from? Big, ugly, slimy aliens raiding the planet?

The necklace is yours. From now on, please wear it at all times. Do not give it away, and do not lose it.

Gosh, he could be so patronizing. She was twenty-five years old, not a little girl. She was an artist, on the verge of becoming appreciated, and she ran her art gallery with great professionalism. She wasn't going to lose a plain necklace that he could buy by the thousands.

But being a good girl, she slipped it around her neck, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine. Or maybe her sudden apprehension came from her father's words.

Go to my study, remove the blue carpet, and step back. On the inside of the study door, below the handle, you'll see a small circle. Turn it three times to the right and twice to the left. You'll hear the clicks.

Shrugging, Tracy walked the hallways. Whatever you want, Dad. The study was torn apart like the rest of the house, but Tracy followed the instructions. On the fifth click, there was a low sound like a quiet rumble. The wooden floor seemed to shift and slide, revealing an opening. Surprised and amazed at her father's genius, she peered into the hole. A few steps. Darkness. Silence.

The light switch to the basement is on the wall, underthe trap door. Go down. At the foot of the stairs, use the gray lever on your right to close the entrance.

She hadn't known there was a basement in this house. Had never thought about it. Never asked the question. She switched the light on, climbed the few steps down, and threw the lever. Another low rumble and she was locked in the basement. The room was large, covering half the house, and high enough to stand, probably built against the hill.

It looked like a lab, sparkling clean and futuristic. Several computers surrounded a man-sized, black thing in the center. What could it be? A shower cubicle? What was the point of her Dad designing an avant-garde shower in the basement? Looking at it, she was reminded of the telepods in the old movie The Fly starring Jeff Goldblum.

Use the main computer to access my latest project. I filed it under the name "Everett". Maybe I shouldn't have gone down that avenue of research, but it isn't too late to make things right. I truly need your help. So if you are willing, my dearest girl, start the "Everett" program. Whatever you decide to do, remember that I love you very much.

The whole thing was freaking her out now. Whenever she had been in need of guidance, Tracy had turned to Dad. She wasn't supposed to be a parental figure. Not yet.

The name Everett rang a faint bell, but she couldn't place it. Did it matter? Her father was in danger, maybe hurt. From what he'd said, she could help him, so she would. End of story. On the computer, she easily initiated the Everett program. Her Dad had made sure she would be able to follow him wherever he was.

Step in the telepod. Once inside, turn the red switch, the door will shut automatically. Enter your mother's date of birth to activate the program. Then press the green square twice.

He had seen the movie. Despite her dismay, Tracy had to smile at the thought of her father enjoying a science-fiction film.

Please, don't be afraid. I have conducted experiments on my device at least a hundred times, and I assure you that it's completely safe.

Easy to say, Dad, easy to say.

Her feet were already taking her towards the structure that wasn't a harmless, avant-garde shower. Once more, she followed his instructions. The door shut behind her, soundlessly, efficiently. Blind to the world, she felt trapped in the metallic structure. Not even a small part made of glass to see outside, only a bright light overhead. She entered the code, her hand shaking. Despite her father's reassuring words, she was scared, couldn't help it.

On the brink of the unknown, she read the last lines.

Whatever happens, you and your mother will always be in my heart. Don't ever forget that. I love you. Dad.

P.S. Trust Garrett.

Who was Garrett? The name didn't mean anything to her. A friend of his? A bit late for conjecture. Finger on the green square, Tracy closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and pressed it twice.

Nothing happened.