Metropolis Pt. 2, page 29
The bloody scene, their lifeless bodies, their disembodied spirits, she fears none of it. Instead, it all seems so clear. Not an ending, but a beginning.
She takes Julian’s hand.
A blinding light comes into view. A familiar voice comes shining through. This feeling inside me. I’ve finally found my life. I’m finally free.
CHAPTER 43
JULY 15, 1999
“OPEN YOUR eyes, Nicholas.”
Nick opened his eyes. “Was I just talking?”
“You were. You said you were free.”
Images of the murder flashed in his mind, but without the pain and regret of the nightmares. “The spirit carries on, doc.”
“You saw Victoria’s murder, then. Your murder.” Beadys’s ledger lay forgotten in his lap.
“No, doc. I saw an old soul become something new.”
Beadys sat back. “You’re mincing words, Nicholas. Is it so hard to admit the source of your trauma?”
Nick sat a moment, looking out the salon window at Metropolis shining across the bay. Then he looked at Dr. Beadys and told him everything he’d seen in the regression.
Beadys, for some reason, didn’t take notes.
When Nick was done, he stood up. “Thank you, Dr. Beadys. You pushed me to do it, and it’s given me my life back. The weight of it is gone. I feel like a brand-new vinyl record, just out of the sleeve.”
“Nicholas,” Beadys said, “you should stay here for a while. Trying to drive, or even be among company, after such a revelation is ill-advised. I’ll have my chef prepare us something special for dinner. We’ll have a drink on the bridge and talk. It would be nice to get to know you better, now that you’re no longer a patient.”
“No can do, doc. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I’m driving straight home to Jen and Billy. They’ve put up with me for far longer than you have. They’re the ones who deserve a nice dinner. Maybe I’ll fix them my famous hot dogs and mac.”
Beadys wrinkled his nose. “I should insist you stay, but I’ve seen how well insisting works with you. My sincerest congratulations to you, Nicholas. Truly. I’m so very happy for you. If you should happen to find yourself in need of further therapy, please don’t be a stranger.”
Nick shook Beadys’s hand and practically ran to his Bronco. He dialed Murphy and asked him to meet him at the studio, and to bring the old “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love, Baby” seventy-eight. He wanted to hang on to that.
Murphy was in the driveway when Nick pulled up to his home. Ms. Kapoor and Ms. Wang were also there, leaning against their Metropolis-marked Subaru wagon. Jen and Billy came out onto the porch, but no farther.
Nick hopped out of his Bronco and came around the front end. “You two have impeccable timing.”
“We’re watchful, Mr. Santori,” Kapoor said.
“And you’re going to have to leave,” Wang added.
Murphy cleared his throat and sidled up next to the two ladies. “Actually, it’s rather fortuitous to see you both again.”
“I don’t recall your name—”
“Murphy, ma’am, but I sure do remember both your names.” He got out his little pocket notebook. “Now, let’s see. Ms. Kapoor, it seems you’ve got some sizeable offshore account holdings, with deposits that line up rather nicely with lost children brought into the foster system. Most of those kids have gone to huge group homes run by folks you drink with socially at the Calcutta Lounge.”
Kapoor opened her mouth and then closed it.
Murphy licked his finger and flipped the notebook page. “And Ms. Wang, there’s some discrepancy on the résumé you filed with CPS. New York University has no record of your Criminal Justice Degree. Now, having been employed by the government, once upon a time—which does go to show that qualifications for government office are wildly overrated—I happen to know that it’s a crime to work for Uncle Sam having falsified employment records. And not to put too fine a point on it, but your own folks think you were at NYU rather than serving a four-year sentence at Ludlow Prison for charity fraud.”
Kapoor and Wang shared a look.
“I’ll tell you what.” Murphy tore the pages out of his notebook and proffered them to the women. “You just leave the Santoris alone, tender your resignations by the end of business today, and we’ll keep these little secrets among us chickens.”
Kapoor turned quickly and walked toward their Subaru. Wang glared at Murphy and then followed her. They started up the wagon and drove away.
As soon as they were gone, Billy bolted down the steps and wrapped himself around Nick’s legs.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Hey, Dad. Are you home for good?”
Nick looked up at Jen. “I am.”
Jen’s eyes brimmed with tears. She walked over and put her arms around his neck. “You got it figured out, did you?”
“I did a hell of a lot more than that. You mind if we take a drive? I’d like to tell you about it.”
Murphy handed Nick the old record. “I’ll leave you to some family time.”
Nick handed the old seventy-eight to Jen and hugged Murphy. “You’re family now, old-timer. Come with us.”
He stowed the record in his studio, then they all piled into the Bronco. He drove them to the old churchyard at the far end of Farbridge Island and led them to Victoria’s grave. The long grass cast thin shadows across her headstone. A cool breeze felt good in the afternoon sun.
They stood around the grave while Nick told them all about Victoria. About Edward and Julian and Bugsy and Cornelius. He didn’t spare any of it.
“That’s what the dreams were about from the beginning,” he said. “I had another life before. It was beautiful sometimes, and other times not so much. But it was mine. And thanks to Murph and Dr. Beadys, I know now how I died, and why I needed to understand what happened. Because the stories about it weren’t true.” He hunkered down in front of Billy. “You helped me figure it out, too, buddy.”
Billy beamed.
It wouldn’t have changed Nick’s feelings if they hadn’t believed him about Victoria, but it felt awfully good that they did.
“So it was Edward all along,” Murphy said. “That’s one hell of a tangled web. I could have put my money on four different names to come up winners, but I’ll be honest, I’d have given Edward the worst odds.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Jen said. “I’m just looking forward to Nick finally coming back to bed.” She winked.
He chuckled. “Easy, tiger. We have one more call to make.”
Jen’s and Billy’s eyes narrowed, like they were trying to sleuth out the answer. Murphy started back to the Bronco, like he already knew. He probably did, the old gumshoe.
Nick drove them back toward the city, but halfway across Farbridge Island he cut north on Route 6 to Cypress Hills Cemetery. Where Emily was buried.
Jen took Nick’s hand. “Nick, are you sure?”
“It’s okay, Jen. Trust me.” He helped her out of the truck.
Nick hadn’t been to Cypress Hills since the funeral. He’d always gone out to Browns Canyon to her marker on Highway 5. But he knew something about death now that he hadn’t known before.
The cemetery grass was neatly manicured. He knelt down in front of her grave and gently tugged Jen and Billy down beside him. Murphy took off his ballcap and knelt with them, wincing a bit as he got down.
“I used to be afraid of dying. Mostly because after Emily passed, I stopped believing in pretty much everything. I just couldn’t make myself believe God would take her away from me. From us. And even after what I’ve learned—my life as Victoria—I don’t have all the answers about what lies beyond our lives. But if I die tomorrow, I’ll be all right because I believe the spirit carries on.”
Jen put her arms around him and hugged him tight.
“Me, too, Dad,” Billy said.
“Me three,” Murphy said. “In spades.”
“The thing is,” Nick continued, “life is too short as it is. So I think we have to make the most of our time together before we move on to whatever comes next.”
“You learned all that in these regressions?” Jen asked.
Nick watched the afternoon sun gleam off his daughter’s grave. “I learned about my life, here and now, by seeing through Victoria’s eyes. I learned . . . I learned that somehow, someway, I’m going to see my little girl again.”
At last, he wept. They all did. Good tears, happy ones. For Victoria and for Emily.
When they stood up to leave, he dug into his pocket, pulled out Emily’s phone, and laid it on her headstone.
Then surrounded by his family, he walked back to his Bronco with peace in his heart.
CHAPTER 44
JANUARY 1, 1940
EDWARD BAYNES stepped off the elevator on the seventy-seventh floor of the tallest skyscraper in Metropolis—the Baynes Enterprises Building—and crossed to the open observation deck. City lights spread in every direction under a clear midnight sky. Steamers, their running lights twinkling, sailed up and down the East and West Rivers. Fresh, cold air blew in from above the city’s pollution.
“You’re on time,” his father said, emerging from the doorway to the Cloud Club, where millionaires were celebrating the turn of the calendar high above the huddled masses.
“You look well, Father.”
Bugsy strolled in behind the old man. “Good to see you, Eddie. Big house left you no worse for wear, huh?”
“Bugs? What the hell?”
“Hey, it’s Mr. Siegel,” Bugsy said. “Or Benjamin to my friends.”
Edward stared at his father for a few seconds. “Father? You’ve always run me down for doing business with—”
Cornelius held up a hand. “Hold your horses, Edward. I’ll make it all plain in a moment. But first, let’s have a toast, shall we?”
A woman in a black evening dress strode in with a tray of crystal glasses of champagne.
“None of that horseshit,” Cornelius told her. “Bring us a bottle of the 1870 Old Forester and be quick about it.”
The woman bustled out, struggling a bit in her high heels, and returned promptly with Old Forester and proper whiskey glasses. They each took a glass—poured three fingers—and raised them.
“To a new triumvirate,” the old man said.
They clinked glasses and drank.
“I hear you stood up well on the inside.” Bugs chuckled. “If I’m honest, I might not have bet that line.”
“Ah, Benjamin,” Edward’s father said, “let’s remember who we’re talking to.”
“Benjamin?” Edward looked at the two men in turn. “You’re using first names?”
“This is my son,” Cornelius continued. “This is the man who saw a problem with the woman who betrayed his trust, with his own brother, too, and did what had to be done.”
“With a little help, right, Eddie?” Bugs clapped his shoulder.
Cornelius strolled to the edge of the observation deck and looked out over Metropolis. “It was more than that, Benjamin. Some ten years ago our boy here came to my home, stood me down when I pointed my Winchester at him, then snuck into my personal safe and left a forged copy of my will and trust.”
Bugsy raised his glass and took another belt. “That’s moxie, right there.”
It was not the conversation or the company Edward had expected.
“So why’d you drop the charges, Father? Why the made-up story about the lawyer misfiling the paperwork? I would have thought you’d let me rot for trying—”
“You’ve been borrowing against that forgery ever since.” His father chuckled.
Edward took hold of the observation rail. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his father so cordial. He locked his knees and prepared for them to throw him off the deck.
“I don’t mind telling you, Eddie”—Bugs tapped Edward’s chest—“I had a guy on tier 3 block 185 willing to bump you off pretty cheap.”
“Which would have been foolish,” Cornelius said, “since my one remaining son had shown he was his father’s heir after all.”
Edward threw back the rest of his drink. “Father? I can explain—”
Cornelius waved it away. “Don’t go weak on me now, Edward. A man has to take a compliment as well as he suffers an insult. I’d given up on you with all your prancing about, preening for the cameras, pandering to voters who don’t understand a damned thing about how this city runs. Best thing that ever happened to you was that trollop taking back up with your brother. Knocked you out of your wing tips, and thank God for that.”
Bugsy signaled for more bourbon. The woman hurried in and refreshed all their glasses.
“You’re not angry?” Edward asked. It seemed too good to be true.
“I was at first. But then the stroke of genius in it hit me.” His father grinned. “It’s exactly what I would have done.”
Edward took another pull of bourbon. “So, what’s with you and Benjamin?”
“Your old man and me go way back, Eddie. I never said nothing, but why would I, huh? Gotta play both sides.”
Cornelius stepped closer. “Benjamin and I tried to put an end to your foolishness more than once, Edward. The zeppelin—”
“But I asked you—”
“And the Broadstreet–Seven train.” Cornelius put a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “The plan was to steal the plates and pin the whole thing on you and Julian. Your failing campaign and my obvious lack of support would have made you smell desperate. Julian’s desperation hardly needed proving. Bugsy was even going to take the stand if it came to it.”
Edward clenched his glass. “You rotten sonofabitch.”
“Easy, son. We’re here to celebrate. Of course, you ass-ended your way out of the derailment on account of your dearly departed brother’s conscience.”
Bugs raised his glass again. “But surviving’s surviving, right, Cornelius?”
“Goddamn right.” Cornelius’s eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t seem to knock you off, son. At first, you survived by luck, and no man will say no to getting lucky. Hell, I won my first steamer by drawing into an inside straight. A sucker’s move, but it worked.”
Bugs arched his brow. “That’s some moxie, right there, too.”
“But you took it in hand after that, Edward. You made hard, dangerous choices to get what you wanted. To make other people pay for trying to take what you believed to be yours. You see, now, don’t you? That’s my blood finally rising up in your veins. The blood of a Baynes man. And by hell does it make me proud.”
Edward wasn’t getting thrown off the building. He wasn’t even being disinherited. He raised his glass. “Then this really is to new beginnings.”
“Politics is child’s play, son. The three of us, working together, will own this city. Trade—legal and illegal—the police, the press, government, the halls of justice, in a year’s time, being mayor will look like diddly-squat compared to the power and influence we’ll command.”
Bugsy came up on the other side of Edward and stared out over Metropolis. “It’s going to be beautiful. And after we’ve got things in hand here, we’ll expand our operations west. Chicago, Vegas, Los Angeles. They’ll never know what hit ’em.”
Edward looked out at the city with his two new partners. “We’ll start by cleaning up loose ends.”
They’d need to button up anything that could tie him to Julian’s and Victoria’s murders, like publicly available copies of his and Julian’s handwriting, but the cops were bought and paid for, so that shouldn’t be a problem.
OCTOBER 1, 1961
Edward jogged up the steps onto the dais in front of the gates to the new Dearborn Stadium. Baynes Enterprises had built the venue for the Metropolis Expressmen Major League Baseball franchise. He stood at the podium, facing thousands of cheering Expressmen fans, photographers, and reporters. To the left a statue was cloaked beneath a black velvet cloth. Ticker tape rained down from building windows behind him. Construction of the stadium had finished just ahead of the post-season, which worked out great since the Expressmen had won home-field advantage for the American League.
Mayor Rudolfo grabbed Edward’s hand and raised it up like a prize-fighter who’d just KO’d the champ. “Edward Baynes, ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted into the mic. “Our city’s finest benefactor, and the man responsible for bringing the October Classic right here to our own backyard!”
The crowd roared again.
“Please, Mr. Baynes,” the mayor said, “everyone wants to hear from the man himself.”
Edward shook Rudolfo’s hand and stepped up to the mic. “Like many of you, I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for my family and friends. We can’t do anything without them, right?”
Cheers and fists thrust into the air.
“My father gave everything to this city. I only wish he’d lived long enough to be here today. He loved a good game, though he liked to bend the rules now and again.”
Laughter rumbled through the crowd.
“He played hard is what I mean. Tough as nails was my old man. And he loved this city almost as much as I do. So I can tell all you fine people today that my old man is looking down at this stadium and he’s rooting with us, because, Metropolis, when the Expressmen win the World Series, it’s for you!”
People threw their hats and kissed each other like they’d won the war. They just needed something to believe in. And he’d committed a considerable amount of his fortune to making sure they had it, all the while keeping Baynes Enterprises growing at the center of it all.
Rudolfo squeezed in next to him at the mic. “Well, this city has a couple of gifts for you, Mr. Baynes.” The mayor ripped the velvet cloth off the statue. It was of Edward himself, shaped as beautifully as the bust of him Victoria had once sculpted.
The crowd went wild, screaming his name and thanking him for building such a beautiful ballpark. When they quieted down, Rudolfo pulled a huge oversized golden key from behind his back and shouted into the mic, “We’d also like to award you, Edward Cornelius Baynes, the key to the city! You are Metropolis’s favorite son. We honor you for your magnanimity, your industry, and your integrity!”
