Page 42 of The Marigold Trail
I t was the same nauseating experience as the first time. Blacking out. My eyes become weighted and too heavy, as if I’d need a crowbar to pry them open. The feeling continues until the spiraling and dizziness stop and I’m able to glance at my surroundings.
It’s Pops’ closet, but I immediately know I’ve left an era and I’m back to his modern-day hideout.
When I slip out from behind the curtain of dress shirts, I’m met with a vista of plush white carpet that happens to be more modernly aesthetically pleasing than before. I feel my sneakers sink into the softness of the floor as I set out in search of the others. Has anything changed? How long was I gone?
I survey the hallway wall hangings and framed photos and find that the living room seems to be in the same form as it was before I first departed Non-80s-Land.
“Atta! Is it really you?” Marcie runs toward me as I enter a more modern version of my grandparents’ kitchen. She has peppered-hair and a face full of wrinkles. I don’t know who is more shocked, me or her. The look on her face, as she about tosses her breakfast rolls up into the air, tells me we both weren’t expecting to run into each other. “Hold on, stay right there. Do not move. I must call your mother. There’s been a missing person report filed on you. Where have you been all week?”
She’s shaking and frantically moving her feet, so much so that she looks as if she’s running in place. Her expression says she’s just seen a ghost but relief washes over her quickly when she pulls me into a hug.
It’s only been a week in Non-80s-Land?
“I’m calling her now,” she says mid-hug, squeezing me tighter, dialing behind my back and resting the phone between her ear and my shoulder.
Ben shows up thirty minutes later on his bike in uniform ready to fire a week’s worth of questions at me. The news of my reappearance has spread quickly within the family-friend circle and Ben was able to get here the fastest. He volunteers to drive me out to see my Mom in Fort Collins.
He approaches me with his arms at his waist, one hand gently grazing the gun at his holster. Goosebumps travel up my forearms as his eyes drag from my face, down my body, and back up to my face. His gaze is different from Eighties Ben, more intense and his chocolate-brown eyes burn with a murderous glare.
“Where have you been?” He lays into me and I expect him to use the sparring move he uses during friendly tiffs but instead he wraps me in his arms, squeezes me tight and looks at me as if I’ll disappear in his arms any second. “Thank heavens, Atta. I was convinced Agent Maser had done something to you. Your family and I…we searched for days.” His hold feels different than Eighties Ben. He’s not emanating that boyfriend warmth and despite our bodies touching, I can feel his brotherly distance. Yet somehow I still covet this version of him even more. “The department helped too. I hounded Kenny every day you were missing and every day he questioned me about your disappearance as if he was trying to play mind games with me. I was so scared he…they…that Marigold had taken you.”
“They didn’t take me,” I say. Disappointment floods through me hearing Marigold’s name mentioned in this time period.
This is not the news I want to hear.
He pauses to take another look at me. “Where were you this whole time and why is your hair like that?” he asks. By the way he says it I can tell he’s not impressed by my voluminous waves. I peek over his shoulder at the mirror to find a familiar set of oncoming crow’s feet around my eyes and I manage a smile back at the living room mirror taking in my oversized teal t-shirt, bold lined biker shorts and frivolous curls that come with an ample amount of bounce—my outfit hasn’t changed at all since the track meet in Non-80s-Land. “And what are you wearing?”
“I tried to come back to you,” I say, then pause. I’m not sure how to explain what I’d undergone and I wasn’t sure I should try. The shock of actually having a successful time travel experience shakes my ability to attempt even a fake explanation for my outdated appearance or my time away.
“What happened in your grandpa’s closet? I passed out after the wall socket burst and you were gone when I woke up.” He releases me from his hug. My lack of explanation is only met with more questions from him.
“I don’t know,” I say. It’s the only explanation I can give.
“You must know. You’ve been gone for an entire week. All of Denver’s been looking for you and you left your mom and grandparents without an explanation. You wouldn’t do something like that unless you were coerced.” His beautiful brown eyes stare into mine, accessing the sincerity of what I’m about to say next.
“I don’t know where I was or how I got there to be honest,” I say.
If I was going to tell him, I’d have to wait for the right time and ease into it slowly. I wasn’t about to reveal time travel to the man who called me crazy after a brief stint of believing Bigfoot was real—I mean who am I to say he is or not? If that was my explanation for leaving this world for a week he’d think I’d happened upon a field of psychedelic mushrooms and copiously partook during my time away.
“Where is there? If you think you can’t say because you’re being threatened you still have to tell me. Who took you?”
“No one took me. I just left. For a week. Let’s focus on something else. Is Agent Maser still a part of Marigold?” I ask. If I’m to acknowledge that my plan—to have Mr. Jacobson learn of the mountain explosion and solve the Marigold issue from the past—has failed, then I must confirm it one more time.
“You would do that to all of us? Just leave without telling anyone. No contact to the point that we would have a search and rescue team out looking for you? I know the Marigold thing is taxing but you have to be out of your mind to do this to us and yes, Atta…he’s very much still a part of Marigold.”
I’m not sure how to get back into Ben’s good graces. After all, lying is the best option with time traveling cases. But my whereabouts over the last week are lesser in comparison to the issue that Marigold is still around. This affects everything. Our safety. Our futures.
I was naive to think I could change history through time travel—naive to think our discovery in the mountain would be enough for Mr. Jacobson to resolve the Marigold issue from the past.
Nothing has been solved from my eighties-alternate-universe efforts. I breathe a heavy sigh of defeat and begin pacing the room deep in thought about how to proceed from here.
“Are you safe? Has Agent Maser been threatening you while I was away?” I ask, focusing on the questions I want answered.
“No Atta, he’s been busy wondering where you took off to. He probably thinks you up and ran after being threatened with the USB knowledge. I’m not sure what he’ll do now that you’re back.” His face bleeds frustration but he seems to be pushing a calmer tone, likely because he’s concerned for my mental state. I only shake my head in agreement.
Ben does the responsible thing and notifies the authorities that I’ve resurfaced before driving back to Diana’s place in Fort Collins where my mother is waiting for me.
“I had an emergency therapy session scheduled! You’re here and I don’t need it anymore. But look at you honey! You’re going to need that emergency therapy session,” Mom says using a drip of humor to subdue a week’s worth of panic when we arrive.
Diana and my mother embrace me with impressive force, well before I have the chance to hop off of Ben’s bike. Once they grab hold of me, they don’t let go of me for the rest of the night. I’m pestered with hugs and questions too difficult to answer until early in the morning.
A few hours later, I’m awoken by Ben who wants me to get dressed and ride with him to the east side of the state.
“I have something to show you,” he says. I know he’s hoping for me to explain more about my whereabouts but the sun hasn’t even made its appearance at this hour. My work mode has been turned off for about a month—my time, not theirs—and I find it difficult to open more than one eye.
An hour later we arrive at the site of my last investigation. The same chemical plant explosion site that Ben blasted through the week before I'd left this universe. He'd chased a man through my tape, uncovering a mutilated body in the process. I hadn't been back to the site since it had been placed under review.
“I discovered something about the chemical substance left behind at your scene,” Ben says as he slows the motorcycle to a stop. The sun has just begun to rise and we hop off the bike taking in the narrow mountainside scenery. “It’s a MaG compound.”
Ben knows about MaG? If so, does he know about the MaG compound and its relationship with Marigold?
“I haven’t been able to figure out exactly which MaG compound it is since there are many different types. But I discovered something.” This must be his attempt at trying to give me some hope that we have a chance. That he hasn’t gone all week without trying to find something that could stand against Marigold.
We walk a few steps onto the site when he says, “A Marigold member owns this land. There's gray powder here and I also found DNA on the corpse that belongs to a local officer."
Gray powder? That’s not the color of the MaG compound I know.
“How were you able to find all of that out?” I ask. His emphasis on the MaG compound being gray and therefore not the only compound of that nature but a compound under an umbrella of MaG compounds takes up most of the space in my mind.
“After you disappeared, Maser switched his focus to trying to find you. I’ve been able to get away and search this site.”
If what he said is true, I've happened across not one, but two sites that have held a MaG compound, both of which exploded. The orange powdered MaG substance in the mountains where we witnessed Bennett Mine explode on the west side of Denver and now the gray MaG substance on the east side of the state.
In the short amount of time I was able to work the chemical plant case I had only discovered a barrel full of copper wire. But Ben identified a MaG compound on site?
Ben points out the various landmarks where he was able to collect evidence before testing the DNA and powdery substances. I follow along but become lost in thought over the fact that both MaG compounds become explosive around certain elements.
The gray MaG compound must have been the cause of the explosion in my last case—the one under review, the scene Ben and I are currently discussing. And it was clear the orange powdery MaG substance was, in part, the cause of the explosion at Bennett Mine.
The question now pestering my mind is did Marigold intend for the sites storing MaG compound to explode? Were they keen on sweeping both explosions under the rug because they couldn’t control the dangerous substance from unexpected chemical reactions?
Ben proposes the connection of Marigold and the containment of this case as the sun continues to rise in the distance, lighting the sky with an icy blue glow. An orange sphere floats above the desert floor and a few glowing pink shadows dance behind it. I'm convinced it's debris from the morning sun until the glowing orbs turn into flashing siren lights.
The siren’s blare envelopes us swiftly. Ben turns toward the oncoming officers as they park their vehicles just a few yards away. He steps forward and motions for me to stay put.
Ben seems to comprehend something I don’t and starts sprinting toward the shadows. I follow behind, acutely aware of my slothlike speed in comparison at this unholy hour.
Before I’m able to get a good look at the three obscure faces approaching, I feel something hit me from behind. My heart lurches into my throat and I’m temporarily knocked off balance so much so that it’s impossible for me to take a defensive position. When I attempt to, I feel the stab of thin metal at my wrists, a long piece of cloth being wrapped tightly around my eyelids, and I feel my freedom being stripped from me in an instant, fifty miles outside of Denver in the middle of nowhere east towards Kansas.
I wake up with my back against two sturdy shoulder blades to find that Ben and I are alone in a room leaning against each other. I feel his finger continuously tapping the side of my neck.
"Atta, Atta, wake up. Are you okay?" he says. Panic racks his voice.
"There’s a strap over her mouth. She can't answer you," a voice that’s not Ben’s says. Recognition makes my insides churn. That voice is eerily familiar.
The covering is removed from my face and I'm able to see my captors. Agent Kenny Maser and a man with a familiar set of eyes stand in front of us. It’s not hard to recognize him even with the dark wrinkles and peppery-hair.
Unlike Ben, I’m able to recognize most of the people in the room. At the edge of the warehouse stand Robert Schills and his assistant Deanna Hurley. Their backs are turned so that I receive only a partial view of their profiles and a man—recognizable from that unnerving USB video—stands to the side, a few feet away from them, on the phone.
I’m not sure how scared I should be of that man but the man next to Agent Maser, the man who stands just an arm's reach away, strikes a terror in me that no amount of calming exercises could cure.
An older delineation of Officer Berrett is rendered before me. And though I know he’s not a painting, I wish he was. Everything about this picture terrifies me. He stands next to Kenny with a wad of duct tape and zip ties. The Officer Berrett, the Golden police officer from my eighties universe who prodded me to come chase the flowers with him all while sporting an aggressive eighties mullet and a much younger complexion.
"We have some things we need to discuss," Agent Maser begins. They've yet to remove the strap from my mouth, blocking my ability to speak out.
"Let me introduce you to Officer Borgin Berrett, my father." Officer Berrett nods as if to welcome us kindly. It doesn't matter his approach, handcuffs and zip ties make this a terrifying ambush. I jog my memory thinking about how this family relation was more than just a coincidence.
The little boy at our family dinner with Officer Berrett in 80s-Landia. Was that Kenny?
“Let’s start with an introduction. Back there we have Marigold’s founder Robert Schills, his assistant Deanna Hurley, and Jonathan,” Kenny continues. “All of whom wanted to meet with the two people who’ve recently come across Marigold. You see, within Marigold we like to keep things under wraps and you both know more than you should. Do you have any intention to share the things you’ve seen?” Agent Maser asks.
I shake my head no. My mouth can’t betray me but my eyes might slip. I want to scream at them. Swear at them. Tell them we will fight them head on. Agent Kenny Maser had made an appearance in my alternate universe. Agent Maser and Officer Berrett’s relationship made this even more frightening than I thought possible.
Ben doesn’t make a sound. Is he shaking his head in silence as well? My worry trails to the person in front of me. Does Officer Berrett recognize me? Is that even possible across the weird barrier between these two worlds I’ve been traversing?
Nothing had changed at all with the Marigold situation, despite my efforts to tip off Mr. Jacobson about the mountain explosion near the Marigold Company’s headquarters. Throughout the course of a week in Non-80s-Land, the only thing that had been altered was the level of danger I was in. Did that mean there’s no overlap between the eighties universe and this one? If no progress could be made from the eighties then it would be far-fetched to think Officer Berrett could recognize me from the eighties. Wouldn’t it?
“Good. Now that you know your place, you have some explaining to do,” Officer Berrett chimes in. He ends it there and waits for his son to continue.
"Agent Brown recently made some discoveries. Discoveries I cannot ignore," Agent Maser continues.
"I told you both there would be consequences if you spoke of what you saw on that USB. I told you your lives would be at stake if you dug any further. Did you know Ben continued looking into your chemical plant explosion case after it had been put on pause, Agent Suarez? Did you also know he's now knee-deep in another one of Marigold's operations. You get involved in one of our murders and you get one of two choices. Ben, I think you know which one I'm talking about. As for you, Agent Suarez, it's time to decide your punishment. We need to talk about why you've been missing."
Without a glint of recognition in his eyes, Officer Berrett walks over and rips the cloth strap from my mouth.
"Start talking," he says.
The End