Looking Backward from the Tricentennial

Chapter Seven

Julian stared out his bedroom window at the Washington Monument. Illuminated by the afternoon sun, it drew his memory to the violence he'd experienced there a few days earlier. Other than Reverend Shaver's survival, he knew almost nothing about how things had turned out. How many innocent people had been hurt? Had Edith Bartlett been among them, perhaps targeted by the red-bearded ringleader for trying to warn him?

The whole incident still seemed surreal. Had he really killed three people? It had been unlike all the video games he'd played, the first-person shooters like Call of Duty. Julian felt his index finger twitch, recalling how he'd traded shots with the man on the stage and somehow prevailed. An intangible quality surrounded the memory. There had been no planning, no premeditation, only an instinctive reaction to unfolding events. Only afterward did he realize how close he'd come to dying.

His mind replayed his movements with the pole. Julian's arms experienced the vibration as it connected with the boyish gunman's skull, first knocking him down, and then the second hit that halted the man's movements for all time. He tried to remember if he'd ever taken a life before: insects of course, and mice indirectly with traps and poison. Again, he heard Edith call for him, "Julian! Look out!" What had she thought when she'd seen him shot?

A light knock at the door jolted him back to reality. Ray peered in. "Hey, Julian. Dinner's about ready." Julian thanked his host absentmindedly and promised to join him in a few minutes.

He glanced back at the computer display projected in the air in front of him. Ray had provided him with his own digital tablet and set him up to browse the internet, which he hoped would help him get a better sense of what was going on in the world. There was a small charge to read each of the news stories, and since he hadn't been assigned a Treasury account yet, Ray had logged into his own in the browser.

The headlines were exotically mundane. An earthquake in South America had killed hundreds; while the name of the country wasn't one he recognized, the specifics of the disaster could have been plucked from his own time. The Department of Justice had blocked a proposed merger between two tech companies—again, whose names he'd never heard of. And a musician was concluding a farewell tour before entering rehab.

On impulse, Julian entered Edith Bartlett's name into the search field. As thousands of results appeared, he exhaled softly. Whatever information about Edith was out there, he wasn't going to find it at this moment, although he was confident answers existed.

In the kitchen, a young woman sat at the table, and he remembered meeting her three days earlier. It was Idabee, Ray's daughter, and she greeted him cheerfully. "Julian, hi!" Her smile stretched across her lean face, hair closely cropped on the side with tight natural curls rising a finger's length at the top. "How are you?"

Julian shrugged. "Fine, as far as I know." He surveyed the room; the open concept took advantage of bountiful light from the large windows on the far wall. A countertop ran most of the length of the west wall, and a window in front of the kitchen sink revealed the sun beginning its nightly descent.

At the large island, across from the sink, Ray was removing three steaks from the stove. "Smells good in here," Julian said. "Can I help with anything?"

Ray grinned. "Thanks... I think your digestive system is ready for a full meal now, so I thought we'd make an occasion out of it." He gestured toward the far end of the room. "You could grab steak sauce and sour cream from the fridge."

"I'm giving my own digestive system a break after this," Idabee said to Julian, "and starting a fast. It's always nice to share a last meal with family and friends."

Julian nodded absentmindedly as he looked around the kitchen for the refrigerator, not seeing the large appliance he was expecting. "Sure," he replied to his host, "if you can point it out."