A Universe Revealed: Intersecting Worlds, #3

By Eric von Schrader

How do you keep the biggest secret in history, especially when a master spy is snooping around?

 

In A Universe Revealed, Diyami Red Hawk is pursuing a sacred mission to build a new Native American city at the ancient site of Cahokia. But his success is based on a lie. If anyone finds out, will his project come crashing down?

 

For years, Jim Collins, a financial genius and a superb poker player, has been haunted by the mystery of his father, who was "very famous, but you'll never find anyone who has heard of him." When he meets Billy and Carol Boustany, he feels hope for the first time.

 

They introduce him to Diyami, who desperately needs his strategic wisdom after an adversary from the past re-emerges with new threats. Together, Diyami, Jim, Billy, and Carol come up with a plan to defeat the secrets. It brings the Intersecting Worlds trilogy to an astounding conclusion. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: ABSOM Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798985930474

Book preview

Part One: Be My Queen

The Bookstore

The turnout wasn’t bad. On a foggy evening in June 2012, twenty people crowded into the small San Francisco bookstore to hear Carol Boustany read from her alternate history novel, Dispatches From An Imaginary World. She had done five of these events and this was the first on the west coast. She and Billy decided to make a trip out of it; they planned to see a Giants game and spend a few days in the wine country before returning home to St. Louis. While she was reading, Billy was checking out a nearby record store for vinyl LPs by obscure 1980s bands. He had attended all of her previous events, so he could skip this one. They would meet for dinner afterwards.

Carol began with the opening sentences of the book: This is the story of a world that doesn’t exist, but maybe once did. A world where the barrier between reality and imagination is thin and permeable. Where you can wake up on one side of that barrier and fall asleep on the other. She read excerpts from different parts of the book, stories of a fictional city in a fanciful twentieth century. There were heroes and villains, disasters and celebrations, beauty and deceit. The small audience applauded when she finished. One woman stood up and said, When I close my eyes, I can see the places in your book, like they’re real. I would give anything to go there.

Carol chuckled. Thank you very much. So would I.

She sat at a small table to sign books. A handsome older man with bright blue eyes stood in the line. When he handed his book to Carol, she asked Who should I make it out to?

Jim Collins. He paused while she wrote. I’ve waited years for something like your book to come along.

That’s quite a compliment. Thank you.

I especially liked your character, George Adrian Matthews.

He’s one of my favorites too.

He reminded me of my father.

That’s interesting.

My father’s name was James Whittemore Hines.

Carol’s pen stopped in mid-signature. A tiny blotch of ink seeped onto the page as she blinked for a moment.

What did you say?

James Whittemore Hines.

The color drained out of her face. Uhm…the book comes from my weird imagination. It’s just fiction. Nothing more.

Really? I would greatly appreciate it if we could talk.

Not now. She gestured to the line of people behind him.

He handed her a slip of paper. Here’s my number. Call me.

Daisy

Abigail Flowers, known to one and all as Daisy, was putting the final touches on the birthday cake for her fiancé. She squeezed a piping bag to write Happy Birthday, Jim in looping green letters across the white frosted top of the cake. In honor of his success in the financial world, she surrounded the words with green dollar signs. Then she added hearts in red frosting to symbolize her love for him.

Tomorrow, Wednesday, October 30th, 1929, was going to be Jim’s thirty-second birthday. Daisy planned to surprise him with a party at her apartment. All his friends and clients were coming. She told Jim that it would be an intimate evening, just the two of them, and she was confident that he hadn’t gotten wind of her real plan. She knew he would be thrilled by the surprise. Jim loved being the center of attention.

Her secret hope was that he would use the occasion to follow through on the hints he had been dropping for a while—to announce their engagement and make everything official. She could see the champagne glasses raised high by the circle of their smiling guests, as she and Jim stood arm-in-arm in the center. She had ordered a case of the best French bubbly, the kind Jim liked, from the bootlegger.

The phone rang. It was Daisy’s best friend, Eleanor, calling to report on the party decorations she had purchased. She also mentioned the news that another crazy day was happening on Wall Street. Jim will probably be ready for a stiff highball after this. Daisy was preoccupied with the party preparations, so she didn’t turn the radio on.

Later in the day, she called Jim’s office a few times to see what he wanted to do for dinner, but the line was always busy. Evening came and there was still no word from him. The phones at both his office and his apartment rang and rang with no answer. Daisy figured he had flopped into bed after a grueling day and was out like a light.

She called him at home around nine the next morning. She didn’t want to wake him too early if he had had a rough day yesterday. Again, no answer. She tried his office, but no answer there either. Eleanor called. How did Jim hold up yesterday? The papers are calling it ‘Black Tuesday.’ Daisy said she hadn’t heard from him. He’s probably still conked out.

One of Jim’s clients phoned to say he wasn’t coming to the party. I’m ruined, thanks to that bastard. You can wish him happy birthday for me and tell him to go to hell! he said as he slammed down the phone.

Daisy walked to Jim’s apartment, just a few blocks from hers. His car, a dark green Packard roadster, was parked in its usual spot. She rang the bell and knocked on the door. No answer. She used her key to go inside. He wasn’t there. As usual, clothes were strewn around the floor. Jim didn’t care much about keeping his place clean. A half-empty coffee cup was on the kitchen table next to yesterday’s morning paper, open to the financial page. It was covered with Jim’s scribbled notes.

She took a streetcar to the Railway Exchange building in downtown St. Louis, where Jim had his office. Groups of men milled around on the sidewalk. They were all in shock from yesterday’s crash, muttering to themselves and each other. They stepped aside to let Daisy in the door, but otherwise paid no attention to her. She rode the elevator to the sixteenth floor. On the way up, the operator said he hadn’t seen Mr. Hines today. The door to Jim’s office was open. His overcoat and hat hung on the rack. Ribbons of tickertape littered the floor. Daisy noticed the framed print of an English fox hunt on the wall. She had given it to him last Christmas. He loved that picture from the moment he unwrapped it. He pointed to the gentlemen on horseback wearing red coats. I’m going to have what they have—wealth and leisure! Daisy was pleased that her gift was a success. She knew Jim was determined to become wealthy, but she doubted he would ever be a man of leisure. He had far too much restless energy to slow down.

The phone rang. Daisy picked up the receiver. Where the hell have you been, Hines? I want my money! It was Vern Cantwell, one of Jim’s best friends and an important client.

This is Daisy, Dr. Cantwell. Jim’s not here.

Find him, goddammit! What’s going on with my account? I need answers.

Daisy checked the other offices on Jim’s floor, but no one had seen or heard from him since yesterday morning. She went to the cafeteria around the corner where he liked to have lunch. The man behind the counter said Jim hadn’t been in for his usual ham sandwich, either yesterday or today. He saw that Daisy was upset, led her to a booth, and gave her a cup of hot tea. She leafed through a newspaper that was lying on the table. It was full of stories about the stock market crash, including a mention of a distraught New York financier who jumped to his death from a Manhattan skyscraper.

At home that afternoon, Daisy was overwhelmed by fear and worry. She lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. When she heard footsteps in the hall, she sat up with a fleeting moment of hope that it was Jim. But the footsteps continued past her door. She heard murmured greetings as the neighbor across the hall let the visitor in. At six, Eleanor arrived to help Daisy with the party. But she was the only person who showed up all evening. Daisy, wearing a pearl necklace and a slim party dress that showed off her figure, sobbed on the sofa. At nine, Eleanor took down the decorations and tossed the untouched birthday cake into the garbage can.

Over the next two weeks, Daisy searched for Jim every day. She contacted everyone who knew him. She went to all his usual haunts and even put flyers up around the neighborhood. She shuddered as she remembered the newspaper article about the New York financier. Could Jim have done something like that? Throw himself in front of a train or jump off a bridge? She couldn’t imagine it. Not Jim, not her Jim.

She filed a missing person report with the police, but they advised her to be patient. Most people turn up if you give them some time, Miss Flowers. Eventually, after she kept coming to police headquarters day after day, they made inquiries. They interviewed Jim’s clients and his friends at the Racquet Club. Several clients believed that he had run away with their money, He’s probably sitting on a beach somewhere, laughing his ass off. But the bank said that, as far as they could tell, all the money Jim withdrew was lost in disastrous trades as the market collapsed on Black Monday and Black Tuesday.

Daisy often walked the neighborhood to be alone with her pain and loss. Once, as she passed the elegant shops on Maryland Avenue, she sensed Jim’s presence, like he was right behind her and was about to greet her with a hug. For an instant, she felt a tiny glimmer of hope. She turned around, but he wasn’t there.

By Christmas, Jim’s landlord wanted his things out of the apartment so they could rent it to someone else. Daisy and Eleanor took on the sad task of packing up his possessions. There weren’t a lot. Despite all the money Jim made, the apartment was sparsely furnished. A closet full of expensive suits, a nice Victrola, and a humidor of cigars. Daisy wept when she saw the framed photo of herself and Jim at a garden party. He was wearing a straw boater and a crisp white suit and smiling his trademark grin.

She found his appointment book in a dresser drawer. It had the address of his parents, Fred and Martha Hines of Jackson, Mississippi. Jim had never spoken much about them. One night, after several drinks, he angrily dismissed them as small minded, small town people. Jim had left home at sixteen, worked in various jobs in Illinois and Indiana, then joined the army when the war began. An officer he met in France got him a job at a Chicago brokerage house after the war ended. That’s where he learned the investment business. He got tired of working for someone else and moved home to Jackson to start his own firm. That was a big mistake. Despite being a Mississippi native, people didn’t trust him—his time in Chicago made him too much of a city slicker for them. After a year of beating his head against the wall, he came to St. Louis in ’26 to try his luck there. Daisy met him six months later.

She wrote a letter to Jim’s parents to introduce herself and tell them about his disappearance. She got a reply from Martha a week later. They had not heard from him in almost a year. He sent them nice presents every Christmas, but had only come to visit one time since he moved away. Martha was distressed to learn her only child had disappeared. She promised to tell Daisy if she heard from him and assured her that she was praying for Jim every day.

The winter felt colder than usual to Daisy as she grappled with the prospect of life without Jim. On a blustery February afternoon, she wandered along the cobbled stones of the levee below the Eads Bridge, bundled up in the long fur coat Jim had given her. She had this crazy notion that he would step off a riverboat and wrap his arms around her—or that his body might wash up amid the chunks of ice that clogged the frigid Mississippi.

But neither happened. Jim was gone for good.

Abigail

Mommy! Help me. I messed up my picture. Celeste hollered from the second floor. Mrs. Dwight Collins put down her pen at the small desk where she was writing checks to pay the monthly bills. It was already August second and Abigail felt uncomfortable that she hadn’t mailed the checks on the first. Dwight expected things to be done on time. When he had asked her about the bills last evening, she said she had already mailed them. So she absolutely had to put them in the mailbox before he came home this evening. Dwight Junior will help you, she called back. She turned to her ten-year old son who was sprawled on the living room floor, reading a comic book. Go upstairs and draw with your sister.

Do I have to?

Yes. I need to finish these bills.

The boy let out a theatrical sigh and stomped up the stairs.

Just as she turned her attention to the next envelope in her stack, the telephone rang. Will I ever get a moment’s peace?

She went into the front hall of her Lincoln Park townhouse, where the telephone sat on a small, polished wood table. Hello.

Daisy?

This is Abigail Collins.

Did you used to be Daisy Flowers?

That was a long time ago. Who am I speaking to?

Jim.

Who?

Jim Hines. Daisy, don’t you remember me?

Her mind went blank. The thunk, thunk, thunk of the ticking grandfather clock in the hall was the only sound. It sliced the formless mass of the future into thin curls of distinct moments, one second after the other. Those moments gathered around her, like the slices of pastrami that the butcher made as he pushed the spinning blade of the circular saw back and forth across a slab of meat.

Jim? She was bewildered.

Yup, that’s me. Your old pal, Jim. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I hear you’re doing really well. That’s wonderful. I have so much to tell you about what I’ve been up to. ‘Up to no good’ like we used to say in the old days.

She wanted to hang up, to give this slice of time back to the butcher and have him glue it onto the slab again. But returns were not allowed.

I’m here in Chicago, Daisy. It wasn’t easy to find you. I was hoping we could meet for lunch.

It had been years, but Jim acted like not a day had passed. He assumed that Daisy would agree to whatever he said. As always, his instinct was right.

She was too flustered to think straight. Uhm, okay, she stammered.

Perfect! How about the Walnut Room at Marshall Field’s? Noon.

Jim waved when Abigail entered the room. He stood to embrace her as she walked to the table. She extended her hand to make sure he settled for a polite handshake. Except for a touch of gray at the temples, he looked just the same, with his big grin and twinkling blue eyes.

I’m so glad I tracked you down, Daisy. You’re as beautiful as always.

I go by Abigail now.

Well, you’ll always be Daisy to me. How the hell are you?

She gave him the basics: married to Dwight Collins, a lawyer and a great guy, two children, beautiful home, busy with friends and charity work. Jim listened attentively and nodded his approval. You’ve made a nice life for yourself, Daisy. I knew you would.

The waitress arrived to take their orders. Abigail welcomed the brief respite from the torrent of feelings that seeing Jim had unleashed. After the waitress left, she asked Jim if he were married. He shook his head no.

You spoiled me. I’ve never met a woman who could hold a candle to you.

The pain of her long ago loss morphed into anger.

Where in god’s name have you been? Not a peep for sixteen years, then you call me and want to have lunch like we’re best friends?

I’m sorry, Daisy. I couldn’t help it.

Stop calling me Daisy! We were practically engaged and then you disappeared. Poof! Half the people said you stole their money and the rest said you must have killed yourself. I don’t know which was worse!

I had no way to get in touch.

Don’t take me for a fool, Jim. You couldn’t send a postcard?

No I couldn’t. This is hard to explain, but let me try. First of all, I didn’t take one cent from anybody. The crash wiped us all out. However, I did, in a manner of speaking, fall off the roof of my building back in ’29. It was a bad day, a very bad day. Then I woke up in this place where nobody knew me. And they didn’t know anything about the crash, or Lindbergh, or the Great War—nothing.

Abigail flashed a skeptical look.

I’m serious, Daisy. I lie a lot. It comes with the job. But I would never lie to you. You know that.

Where were you? In the land of Oz?

Huh?

You know, The Wizard of Oz, The movie.

Jim shook his head. He had never heard of it. This place was St. Louis, where we lived, but, at the same time, it wasn’t. It was strange as all get out.

C’mon, Jim. That makes no sense. How could there be a place where no one knows anything?

Beats the hell out of me. Over the years, I met a handful of people who had the same experience I did. They were more confused than I was. And I was pretty damned confused.

What did you do?

I played the hand that was dealt to me. Made some money. Got to work on some projects.

What kind of projects?

I’m sort of in charge of building stuff over there. It’s great fun.

You’ve got a lot of nerve talking about fun! Do you know what I went through? How many nights I cried myself to sleep over you?

I thought about you too, Daisy, every day and every night for all these years. But I couldn’t figure out how to come back or send a message. Then, not too long ago, a friend came up with a way. Now I’m here.

He put his hand on top of hers. She pulled back.

You think you can show up out of nowhere after all this time with some cockamamie story and everything will be like it used to be? I have a family! A life!

Of course. I have no right to expect anything from you.

The waitress came with their lunch orders. Neither of them said a word for a few minutes. Jim studied Daisy as they ate. He could hardly believe she was sitting across from him. She was so beautiful and he trusted her completely, unlike the women he had met in the intervening years. With them, he could never tell if they were interested in him or in James Whittemore Hines, the big shot who ran the city. The few times he had let his guard down, he found out it was the latter. So, more than anything, Jim wanted to get Daisy back.

Why don’t you come with me, just for a little bit? When you see this place for yourself, you’ll know I’m not lying or crazy. I swear I’ll get you home in one piece.

He looked at her with warm, imploring eyes. He knew that this was the time to keep his mouth shut. If he said another word, she would turn him down. Abigail, who felt the stirrings of Daisy inside her, mulled over what she should do. Curiosity about Jim and his story rumbled around her mind. Was she ready to walk out of Marshall Field’s and never see him again? Because that’s what would happen if she didn’t take him up on his offer.

Jim, this isn’t a good idea. We shouldn’t even be talking about it.

Two days. Or less. That’s all I’m asking.

She was in agony. Would going with Jim somehow be cheating on Dwight? Maybe not, if she were careful not to let it go too far. She tried to balance the pros and cons like an adult, but it was hopeless. The ocean of feelings about Jim rose up in a wave and smashed the shore of caution and good sense.

Okay. Two days, but not a minute longer.

Jim’s smile glowed brighter.

Fantastic! Let’s go Saturday morning, day after tomorrow. You’ll be back home by Sunday evening.

That’s impossible! I’m supposed to go to Wisconsin with Dwight and the children for the weekend.

Tell them there’s been an emergency. You have to help out an old friend in St. Louis. And that would be true.

Jim, I can’t do this so quickly.

If you don’t do it now, you never will.

Jim was right again. Abigail took a deep breath and, against her better judgment and every principle of marital propriety, she agreed to go on Saturday. That evening, even after hours of rehearsal inside her head, it was excruciating to lie to Dwight. She told him her friend Eleanor was suddenly very sick and had no one to take care of her. He was annoyed. Don’t you remember the Houlihans are coming over for dinner at the cabin on Saturday? Abigail stuck to her story, Eleanor’s having an emergency. Dwight acquiesced and said it would be fine. He would take the kids to the cabin and make excuses to the Houlihans. She knew it was a concession that he wouldn’t easily forget.

In the taxi to Municipal Airport to meet Jim early on Saturday morning, Abigail came close to telling the driver to turn around and take her home. She knew this whole thing was wrong—completely wrong in every way—but the thrill of seeing Jim again and her curiosity about his strange story won the day. He wanted to fly to St. Louis, instead of taking the train. She protested that a plane was too expensive. Jim waved off her concern. He was happy to cover the costs. Flying’s faster. Let’s not waste our time together sitting on a train. Actually, Abigail was nervous. She had never been on an airplane before, but she didn’t want to tell that to Jim. The flight, less than two hours instead of the train’s five, was bumpy. Abigail clenched her armrest most of the way. During one especially bad bout of turbulence, she squeezed Jim’s arm. He patted her hand to reassure her.

When they walked down the stairs, she saw that the tarmac was bustling with military aircraft. Men in uniform were everywhere. I thought you said someone would be here to meet us, she said. There will be, Jim said. Follow me. They walked into the small terminal building for civilian flights, then out a door on the other side. Cars were parked in front, but Jim led her in the other direction, around to the rear of a storage shed. He pulled a silver cigarette case out of his jacket pocket, opened it, and picked out two small white pills. These will take us to the other place. Abigail’s eyes opened wide. This was scarier than the airplane. But there was no turning back now.

Don’t worry. You’ll feel bad for a few seconds, then it will be over. Hold onto your suitcase and grab my hand. Jim made a little toast with the pills and they both swallowed. Daisy’s knees went wobbly and her head began to spin. The next thing she knew, Jim was helping her back to her feet. I hope that wasn’t too hard, he said. They walked around the shed. A long black car was waiting. The uniformed chauffeur got out Welcome home, Mr. Hines. He put the suitcases in the trunk and they drove off. Abigail looked out the window at the airport. Instead of military planes, a line of silver biplane airliners was parked along the runway.

As they drove into the city, Abigail noticed that women on the sidewalks were wearing elaborate, conical hats—a style she had never seen before. Also, new buildings were everywhere, but then she hadn’t been in St. Louis for many years. After months of heartbreak over Jim’s disappearance in ‘29, she accepted a girlfriend’s invitation to share an apartment in Chicago. Within a year, she met Dwight and never looked back.

Do you remember that party we went to on Portland Place back in ’28? Jim asked. How could she forget? Two hundred people and a live jazz orchestra in a massive mansion owned by one of Jim’s clients. I live in that house now. Helluva turn of events.

A few minutes later they turned into Portland Place, the city’s most exclusive street. A policeman on the corner waved them through the gates. Another policeman stood guard in front of the house, a three-story, red brick Georgian with a flat roof. A butler hurried out the front door as Jim and Abigail got out of the car. It’s wonderful to have you home, Mr. Hines. I trust your journey was satisfactory.

Yes, it was, Wilson. This is my friend, Miss Flowers. She’ll be staying in the main guest bedroom.

How many guest bedrooms are there? Abigail asked.

Four or five, Jim said. This big house makes no sense for one person. But I was encouraged to buy it. For entertaining and because this street is well-protected. Concerns about my security.

Why?

Beats me. I’m pretty popular. But people always worry about some damned thing or another.

Inside, the front hall was the size of the entire main floor of Abigail’s house in Chicago. A tall vase with a lush arrangement of flowers stood on a marble-topped table in the center. A broad stairway led to the second floor. Two more servants appeared. One, a young man in a suit, gave Jim a folder with papers. Are any of these urgent? Jim asked. Just the ones on top.

A woman in a starched maid’s uniform asked what Mr. Hines and his guest would like for lunch. How about chicken salad, Daisy? Jim asked. Melba makes the best you’ve ever tasted. She nodded and he held up two fingers for Melba. We’ll be in the dining room in a half hour. The butler carried the suitcases up the stairs as she and Jim followed. Jim showed Abigail her room and pointed out that his was at