Previous Chapter | First Chapter
I’ll shoot anyone who comes near us.
A field outside of Philadelphia. Dusk. Late August of 1917. Maxim standing, legs wide, his shirt unbuttoned, a pistol outstretched in one hand, body turned sideways. Black eyes narrowed, lasering in on the gun’s sight.
Bullets fired. Bullseyes. He lowered the gun. Grinned. That smile made her insides flip over. The young Theda Evora, who tossed her dark hair over one shoulder, did not yet know her innocence was like the honeysuckle petals that dropped in white silence all around them. The word murder was not yet etched in stone but a wildly thrown threat that rolled under the seats of the coffee houses. She didn’t know that the hammer and chisel were tapping to the beat of a changing world.
Remember…he wrapped Russian around the English words and the sound was the last century’s forgotten music... Never waver. Never hesitate. Your mind is iron. Iron sharpens iron. You make up your mind that you’re going to shoot, you shoot.
The double doors of the Arcade that banged closed behind Theda and Violet, catching the hem of Violet’s coat and causing her to yelp. Ignoring the coat and Violet’s protests, Theda pulled her in the direction of the parked Martin Wasp. If they could get inside the car, they’d be safe. Jackson had tossed Billy like a ragdoll in the back of the Arcade and she didn’t want to guess what was happening to Private William Rankin. Jackson is beating the ever-living hell out of him. Good. They sidestepped around a small crowd gathered on the curb, all heads watching something across the wide street, the same street where she saw a man murdered on their first night in Fort Riley.
She stopped, holding Violet’s hand tight like a mother would a toddler who was determined to run. Oh no. Five soldiers crowded the yellow car and the one who had been leaning down to the driver’s window straightened up. That horrible Peterson. From the first night.
Peterson opened the driver’s door and Mr. Conlin slowly got out, both gloved hands raised to his shoulders. Violet started to speak but Theda shushed her with a sharp hiss. She jerked her head in both directions. Jackson was nowhere to be seen.
Conlin turned toward the car’s hood and his eyes scanned the crowd and then locked with hers. Her shook his head in one decisive snap, then jutted his chin out. No, it said. Go.
“Theda, what…”
“Come on.” She spied a narrow alleyway next to the theater where she had met Mr. Conlin for the first time. The marquee had changed from Cleopatra to Hearts of the World.
She yanked Violet into the alleyway, which wasn’t much wider than her shoulders, invoking a claustrophobia like she hadn’t felt since panicking in a boardwalk funhouse when she was ten years-old.
“Theodora, STOP!”
Theda halted so fast that Violet smashed into her back. “Ow!” Violet wrenched her hand away and touched her nose. “That was Jackson!” Violet hissed. “In the jewelry store. But he’s dead!”
“Not anymore.” Theda unbuttoned the middle button on her coat and reached inside, pulling the little pistol from the holster.
“Theda…” Violet sputtered over the gun. “What…”
“It’s alright,” she put the pistol back and loosened her coat in case she had to get to it fast. “We can’t stop now. Let’s go.” Theda glanced over her sister’s shoulder and froze.
A man stood halfway between the women and the street entrance. Snow burst through the alley riding on a static gust, and the white frenzy overlay blurred the figure’s black overcoat into an iron gray. A dark fedora shadowed his face.
Theda began to shake, a tremble that coursed through her nervous system. The snow blew like an insect swarm around the figure. An overwhelming sense of knowing came to her, but it wasn’t in that old parlor game of déjà vu. This knowing felt like her entire body was tuned to a different frequency.
“Theda!” Violet grabbed Theda’s hat, meaning to get her attention but pulling it down over one eye. Theda tore her head away and ripped the hat off, her hair tumbling past her shoulders.
The alley was empty.
Her breath heaved and she willed her wild thoughts to halt. She turned to Violet who was trembling with the cold and terror. I’m responsible for her. I will keep her safe if it’s the last thing I do.
She gently took Violet’s delicate hand in her firm one. “Listen to me,” she said softly but with urgency. She shuffled backwards and Violet allowed herself to be pulled forward. “Right now, you must do as I say. Trust me. If only this once.” She faced forward and they made their way through the passageway.
“Where are we going?” Violet huffed and in the next moment they were expelled from the narrow confines of the alley into the cavernous, trash-strewn secret space behind Army City where the perfect rectangular buildings vomited their waste. The wind curled into pieces of trash that eddied into tiny tornados. The screams of the sirens over the great walls grew thin as if they were playing through reeds and not blaring horns attached to military police vehicles.
“A door, Theda. There!” Violet pointed to the back of the theater where indeed a door was propped slightly open by a stick.
An internal force pressed her to find a way out of Army City through the back alleys, but without Mr. Conlin and the car and the heavy snow fall, navigating unfamiliar roads and walkways while avoiding police entanglement would be near impossible. She nodded and they entered the door. The inky darkness stunned them into momentary blindness.
“Theda,” Violet whispered. “I’m cold.”
“I know.” She wrapped her arm around Violet’s skinny shoulders and squeezed.
Her eyes adjusted to the ochre light from overhead bulbs coated with dust and gossamer cobwebs. It was a tiny room littered with cigarette butts and empty beer bottles. The flicker crew must knock down a few in between pictures. A dark hallway led to the interior of the building and down at the end of it, the flickering flashes strobed to upbeat piano music. It’s the back of the screen. It’s behind the picture.
“Can we hide here? At least until we can contact Mother and Father?” Violet asked.
Theda moved her sister away from the door and into the hallway. Yes, they could hide, but then what? They were sitting ducks, cornered. If Jackson were looking for her, he’d never find her here. Then something that Maxim had said came back to her. Hide where everyone can see you.
“Let’s see if we can sneak into the back seats,” Theda threaded her fingers through Violet’s shaking ones. “When the flicker ends, we’ll walk out with the crowd.”
“Theda, what is happening?”
“Just trust me.”
Cigarette smoke hazed the air and baritone laughter from the hallway. They froze, and Theda was about to turn back from a great distance, she heard the sirens. Keep going.
“Come on,” she whispered, and they stepped out of the hallway and into the vast two-story area behind the screen.
The face of Lillian Gish, like a goddess appearing on Earth, filled the screen… talking…crying…pouting…and the soldier tilting her head back to kiss….
A small set of stairs led up to the stage and a man stood with his back to them. He dropped his hand and flicked the ash from a long brown cigarette and a plume of smoke circled his bowler hat. He was a burly man in a black vest and white shirt. He turned to them.
“Ladies! How’d you get lost back here?” He chuckled. “The picture’s back that way!” He jerked his thumb toward the screen.
“Oh, these are my sisters,” the other man said, standing up from where he had been sitting on the steps. He tapped his fedora up.
It was Cyril.
It was him. In the alley. His right hand was shoved deep in the pocket of his long black overcoat. A weapon.One side of his mouth rose, his bad teeth half shaded. “How lucky am I that my beautiful sisters were able to meet me here after I delivered Hearts of the World! Tell me, doesn’t my sister here resemble Lillian Gish? The same beauty?” He gestured toward Violet and delivered a drooping wink at Theda. Around his eye was a muddy yellow-green bruise.
“She’s a beauty, alright,” the man dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his heel. “Got to go relieve the piano player. Don’t even know his name but what I do know is that he’s so offbeat he sounds like scrambled eggs. Nice chattin’ with you.” He left.
Theda released her sister’s hand and moved in front of her. “I’ll scream,” she said.
Cyril shrugged. “Go ahead. You got a whole theater full of saviors on the other side of this screen. But then what?”
Theda stepped backwards, Violet clutched her coat and, in her fright, pulled it painfully tight around her neck.
Cyril held up a hand. Theda’s eyes flickered to the other hand in his pocket. Slowly, as if time were irrelevant, his hand emerged lightly holding a little silver pistol. A small groan escaped Violet’s throat. “Who is this?” she asked.
“Look,” he gently laid the pistol on the stairs and raised both hands. “Just relax, girlie. And ease up on your little sis. She and I need to talk.”
“Talk to you about what?” Theda spat. “The men in the cellar? What you did to Jackson?”
He scoffed. “That’s done. Can’t say I want to run into Jackson again, frankly. Probably took Billy’s head off when he yanked him out back. Can’t blame him,” he laughed. “I don’t care about Jackson. I want to offer you a deal.”
When Theda didn’t answer, he sighed and sat down again, in reach of the pistol. He clasped his hands together in front of him as if he were going to suggest a prayer.
“They’re after you,” he said simply. That first night in at the army dance, he had had a country accent. Now, he spoke plainly. It’s like Jackson. Just like Jackson.
“If you think they won’t get you, you’re delusional,” he went on. “Peterson’s out there right now, putting the cuffs on Patrick Conlin. But Jackson’ll get him out of that hot mess. Jackson’s good like that.” He winked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Those boys sold you some story, I bet. Rogue doctor. Gotta catch him before he does the world wrong.” He waved his hands and let them drop again, laughing. “They want you.”
Theda shook her head. “For what? I’m nobody! I have nothing to do with this!”
“But your father does.” She froze. “He’s the guy. The one they came quite a long way to find. The one who could make a deadly flu…or end one. It’s his knowledge they want. And they’ll use you to get to him.”
“How do you know?” She stepped toward him. Violet let go of the back of her coat. She stood directly in front of him, eyes locked. “Where are you from?”
He raised his eyebrows toward a bewildered Violet. “Let’s just say a long time from now,” he whispered. “Did they tell you that part?”
She nodded.
“If they have you, then daddy will do whatever they say. But that doesn’t have to happen. You come with me now and I’ll take you to your father. And your mother. A family reunion.” He smiled tightly.
Theda held his gaze for a long second, then turned toward Violet. She was dressed impeccably, as always. Cream colored coat and matching hat. High-heeled traveling boots with thin heels. We can’t run. Not with her dressed like that. We’ll get as far as the door and he’ll have us. But what if he’s telling the truth?
“What about Thrax?”
“There is no Thrax,” he raised his eyebrows until they disappeared under the hat. “That’s the best part! I gotta hand it to those guys for fabricating such a u-nique story. Those guys want Dr. Harold Evora. And the two most valuable bargaining chips are his two daughters.”
Theda’s head swam. No. They weren’t lying. They couldn’t be.
“You can say no,” he went on. “And that’s fine. I’ll walk away and pretend like I never saw you and you can take your chances with Peterson and his merry men. But if you come with me, you will get your family back.” He stood. “But you make up your mind now. I have a car outside right at the curb. We’ll get right in and go and no one will be the wiser.”
If I can get to Father, that’s all that matters. He and Mother. And Violet is safe. That’s all that matters.
She nodded her head slowly. “Let’s go,” she said.
"Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire" - title of Theda's autobiography.
Another great chapter Alison. Love this story. - Jim