Because Im the man who created you.
Something tightened around Zacs heart. Like a fist trying to squeeze the life out of him. What the hell is that supposed to mean? he demanded, thoroughly unnerved now by the stranger.
The man smiled slightly as he fished a card from his coat pocket and laid it on the bar. Zac glanced down in spite of himself. Dr. Joseph Von Meter. The address was in the Chestnut Hill area, a historic neighborhood about as far removed from Blue Mondays as one could imagine.
Zac lifted his gaze. Youre a long way from home, old man.
As are you, Zac. You have no idea.
HE CAME BACK THE NEXT NIGHT. And the next two nights after that. It was easy to avoid him on the weekend. The live music of Blue Mondays attracted a noisy crowdaging hippies for the most part and some suburbanites in town for a night of drinking and slumming. Zac kept his distance, allowing the new bartender to wait on the strange old man.
But the place was empty again on Sunday night, and Zac was alone behind the bar when Von Meter showed up, precisely at nine, just like the other nights.
Bored and anxious to close up, Zac had been staring out the window when the limo pulled to the curb in front of the club. A uniformed driver got out and came around to open the back door, then reached a gloved hand down to help his passenger disembark.
Definitely not homeless, Zac thought, watching the old man shuffle through the snow.
The driver waited until his charge was at the door, then he got back in the car and drove off.
A blast of cold air followed Von Meter into the club. He wore the same rumpled suit under the same shabby overcoat with the same hat pulled low over his eyes. He hobbled to the end of the bar and took his usual seat even though the stools closer to the door were unoccupied. Folding his arms on the bar, he bowed his head and waited.
Zacs nerve endings tingled in apprehension as he studied the old mans profile, what he could see of it, and he berated himself for not closing up earlier. He hadnt had a customer all night. The snowstorm had kept everyone home, which was where he should have been hours ago. Had he subconsciously been waiting for Von Meter to show up?
I know a lot about you. Probably more than you know about yourself.
Im the man who created you.
Telling himself he should throw the old goat out and be done with it, Zac walked slowly down the bar until he stood in front of Von Meter. Whatll it be tonight?
Whiskey, the old man rasped.
Zac poured the drink, then slid it across the bar. As the mans wasted fingers closed around the glass, a feeling of déjà vu crept over Zac. Theyd played this scene too many times before.
How long do you plan on keeping this up? he asked abruptly.
The old man set the empty glass on the table and lifted his gaze to Zacs. His eyes were darker than Zac remembered. Dark and cold andsomehow timeless. Until you ask the right question.
Zac lifted an eyebrow. Then why dont you save us both a lot of trouble and tell me what the right question is?
The old man licked his lips, as if savoring the taste of the whiskey. You dont remember much about your past, do you?
I dont remember you, Zac said. But I get the impression you think we know each other. How did you put it? Oh, yeah. Youre the man who created me. Next thing I know, youll be telling me youre my long-lost father or something.
The dark eyes held Zacs gaze. Im not your father. But we are connected.
How?
He didnt answer immediately, but instead slid his glass across the counter for a refill. When Zac complied, the old mans gaze turned enigmatic. Shall I tell you about the woman?
Zacs blood froze and, for a moment, he couldnt speak. Couldnt even breathe. Then he said angrily, What woman? What the hell are you talking about?
The woman you dream about. Shes lovely, isnt she? Ethereal. Ghostlike. Too beautiful to be real.
Enough, Zac thought. Von Meter wasnt just creeping him out now. He was starting to scare him. And, apart from the nightmares, Zac didnt scare easily. How do you know about her?
The old man leaned across the bar. I created her. I put her in your head. She was my gift to you.
You created her, you created me. Who are you, God?
Von Meter merely smiled at Zacs sarcasm and fished another card from his pocket. He laid it on the bar, faceup, and rose shakily to his feet. Memories are a funny thing, Zac. In the right hands, they can be manipulated, suppressed, planted. How can you know whats real? And do you really want to know?
Look, Zac said angrily. I dont know what kind of head games youre trying to play here, but I want no part of it. You come in here again, Ill throw you out. You understand?
I understand everything. And soon you will, too. With that, the old man shambled across the room to the front door and drew it open. Through the eddying snow, Zac caught a glimpse of the limo gliding to the curb, as if the driver had been summoned by a telepathic command. A moment later, they were gone.
FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING, Zac tried to ignore the warning bells clanging inside his head, the gnawing sensation in his gut that told him disaster lurked around the corner. As he got ready to close up, he tried to convince himself that Von Meter was just some weird old guy getting off by messing with his head.
But as the night wore on, so did Zacs uneasiness.
Locking up, he grabbed his coat, then paused on his way out as his gaze lit on the card still lying faceup on the bar. His first instinct was to toss it the way he had the other one, but, changing his mind, he grabbed it and stuffed it into his coat pocket as he headed out the door.
The snow was coming down harder now. Shivering in his lightweight jacket, Zac paused in front of the tattoo parlor next door to watch. Even in the garish lights, the flakes were beautiful. White. Crystalline. Dreamlike. Their delicate beauty reminded him of somethingsomeone
I created her. I put her in your head. She was my gift to you.
Zac tried to conjure an image of the woman now, but suddenly she was more elusive than ever.
Memories are a funny thing, Zac. In the right hands, they can be manipulated, suppressed, planted. How can you know whats real? And do you really want to know?
Ducking his head from the cold, Zac hurried down the street. The wind blowing off the Delaware River was brutal tonight, but luckily, he didnt have far to go. The two-room flat he rented was just at the end of the street.
He was halfway home, lost in thought, when a cab pulled to the curb beside him. As Zac strode past, he could see that the driver was alone in the car. He sat slumped in the seat, arms folded, as if waiting for a fare.
But the streets were deserted.
Except for Zac.
His hands were in his pockets and he fingered the business card hed stuffed in there earlier. He pulled it out now and gazed at the name and address under the streetlight.
Backtracking down the sidewalk, he rapped his knuckles on the drivers window. Hey, you waiting for somebody?
The driver rolled down the glass. Just you, buddy. Where you want to go?
Chestnut Hill. Zac gave the man the address, then asked about the fare. Whistling softly at the amount, he mentally counted the cash he had in his wallet. The trip would take about half of what he had on himhis life savingsbut what the hell? Who needed to eat?
Climbing into the back of the cab, Zac leaned his head against the shabby upholstery, enjoying the warmth from the heater. He must have dozed off because it seemed like only moments later that the driver was rousing him.
Hey, buddy, you awake back there?
Zac sat up and rubbed his eyes. Yeah, Im awake. But he had the disconcerting notion that he had somehow been transported to a strange, new world. The neighborhood was one of those dreamy, Christmas-card-looking places made even more surreal by the swirling snow.
Pretty swanky address, if you dont mind my saying so, the driver observed.
Yeah, Zac thought. And why do I have the feeling Im about to fall down a rabbit hole?
He paid the man, then got out and stood for a moment, gazing around. Von Meters place was a three-story redbrick town house segregated from the street by an ornate wrought-iron fence. The gate had been left ajar, as if in anticipation of Zacs arrival.
He stepped into the courtyard, a frozen wonderland with icicles dripping from a fountain and stone statuary cloaked in snow. If possible the wind was harsher here than on the waterfront, and Zac hurried up the cobblestone walkway to ring the front bell. A uniformed maid promptly answered the door. Yes?
My name is Zac Riley. Im here to see Dr. Von Meter.
He wouldnt have been surprised if the young woman had turned him away, but instead she smiled and curtsied and beckoned him inside the warm house. Please come in, Mr. Riley. Dr. Von Meter is expecting you.
He is?
Why, yes, of course. May I take your coat?
No, I think Ill keep it if you dont mind. Never knew when you might need to make a speedy exit, Zac decided, his gaze taking in the luxurious surroundings.
The foyer was large and spacious with an inlaid wood floor, a magnificent, curving staircase and a domed skylight from which one could watch the clouds by day and the stars by night. Tonight, however, the etched glass was banked with snow, giving Zac a touch of claustrophobia.
The maid led him down a dim hallway to a set of ornate wooden doors, which she drew open after a discreet knock. The room inside was richly furnished in leather and tapestries and floor-to-ceiling bookcases packed with gilded tomes. It smelled of cigar smoke and old secrets.
Von Meter stood at the window, staring out.
Mr. Riley is here to see you, the maid announced softly.
The old man didnt say a word, but a brief nod of his head seemed communication enough for the maid. She motioned Zac inside, then backed out of the room. Only when he heard the doors close did Von Meter finally turn.
He looked different tonight. His hair was a dingy white, like day-old snow, and his face was even leaner than Zac remembered, the frail, taut skin appearing to have the suppleness of parchment.
This is some place, Zac said.
Von Meter smiled faintly. Its old and drafty, but it suits my needs.
Something about the comment made Zac wonder if theyd had a similar conversation before. It beats the dump Im staying in now, he said with a shrug.
Perhaps. The old man walked over to his desk and sat down, then gestured to a chair across from him. But your apartment has its attractions, does it not? Im referring to the young lady in 3C, of course.
The muscles in Zacs stomach tightened. How do you know about her?
The two of you have become quite close in recent weeks. Im afraid that has to end. You cant afford the distraction.
Zac leaped to his feet, the old mans presumption making him suddenly furious. What is this? How do you know about my personal life? How the hell do you know anything about me?
Von Meter remained outwardly complacent. Please try to calm yourself. Everything will be clear to you soon.
He pressed a button on his desk, and, a moment later, the maid opened the door. Yes?
Is Roth still here?
I believe hes in the solarium, sir.
Would you ask him to come in?
Of course.
A moment later, the door opened again, and a tall, well-dressed man with a lean, muscular build strode through. His hair, a strange silvery color, was a striking counterpoint to the black turtleneck he wore, but the most remarkable thing about his appearance was the color of his eyesone blue, one green and both cold as ice.
As their gazes collided, a shiver went up Zacs spine. He wasnt one for making snap judgments, but he had an immediate aversion to the man. In spite of the expensive clothes and carefully styled hair, there was somethingunseemly about his appearance. As if the mans sinister nature lurked just beneath the surface, waiting to suck in the unsuspecting.
A nasty customer, Zac thought, and hed met more than a few in his time.
As if reading his mind, the man smiled. Well, well, well, he said in a voice that might have belonged to the devil himself. It was smooth, oily, decadent. The infamous Zac Riley.
You know me? Zac said with a frown. If their paths had crossed, he was glad that memory hadnt survived.
Perhaps the explanations are best left to Dr. Von Meter, the man suggested.
Yes, perhaps they are, Von Meter agreed. He turned back to Zac. This is Roth Vogel, Zac. Hes here to assist in your briefing, but first, we need to get you settled. We have a room prepared for you upstairs. Ill send someone to your apartment to pack up your things
Like hell you will. Zac shot to his feet. I dont know what kind of scam youre trying to pull, old man, but I dont want any part of it.
He spun, but before he could cross the room, the door slammed shut, apparently of its own volition. He whipped around to find a gun pointed at his chest. His gaze lifted to Vogels and the mans eyes gleamed in anticipation. Zac knew that look. Hed seen it before, on a man whod tried to slit his throat in a dark alley one night for the twenty bucks he had in his wallet. Tried was the operative word.
What the hell is this? he asked through clenched teeth. Some kind of shakedown? I hate to disappoint you, but Ive got about ten bucks in my pocket. You think you can take it, have at it, he challenged Vogel.
Put that thing away, Von Meter barked. There is no need for violence. When Vogel reluctantly complied, the old man said to Zac, I apologize. You arent a prisoner here. Youre free to leave any time you wish.
In that case, hasta la vista. He gave them both a quick salute.
A muscle twitched at the corner of Vogels left eyethe blue oneas if he was having a very hard time suppressing his temper. Or his trigger finger.
A nasty customer indeed, Zac thought as he strode through the doorway and down the hallway to the foyer, expecting to hear, at any moment, the sound of footsteps in hot pursuit. But no one followed him or tried to stop him as he drew open the front door and walked out.
Once on the frosty street, he hailed a taxi, climbed into the back seat, then, before they could drive off, he got out again. Ignoring the drivers indignant curse, Zac returned to the house and rang the bell. The same maid answered the door, and this time Zac let her take his coat. When she showed him to the study, Von Meter was alone once more.
Allow me to apologize again for Roths behavior. He motioned Zac to a seat.
What the hell was that all about? Zac demanded.