Portal

by Fred Alvrez

  Casey turned to the left to Bessie Brewer’s Rooming House opposite, where she knew that James Earl Ray would be lying in wait with his rifle in room 5B.

  She was almost relieved that she would have no way of stopping him firing that gun. She would hate to be in the position of having to make a decision to stop him or not. Who knew what that would do to the course of history, if it even affected it at all? So many unknowns.

  Regardless, still carrying the MLK book in her hand with her palm over the photo, she started to walk toward the building where the shooter would be setting up his rifle already—she remembered that he was ready hours before MLK would step outside. Casey got to the stairs of the rooming house. Could she walk upstairs? Flat ground was no problem, but what if she fell through the stairs into some sort of no-man’s land that she could never get back from?

  Tentatively, she put one foot on the first step and felt it solid under her foot. Putting weight on her foot, she felt confident that she wouldn’t fall through, and started to climb the stairs. She moved to the end of the hall, to James’ room. Weirdly, there was no noise from her footsteps.

  The door was shut. Casey tried knocking, but even though she could feel her knuckles hitting the wood, no sound was made. Pointless.

  Staring at the door, she willed James to feel her presence and open it. Not that she had any idea what she would do when faced with him. But a morbid fascination drove her to want to experience the whole terrible event, even from the shooter’s point of view.

  After a few minutes of waiting, Casey gave up and walked back down the stairs.

  She returned to a position outside the Lorraine Motel, watching Memphis residents in 1968 go about their daily lives.

  With hours still to go, Casey moved to a bus stop opposite the motel and took a seat. It was even more incredible than attending her aunt and uncle’s wedding. Here she was, transported 10,000 miles from home, and back in time fifty years. She didn’t even want to start thinking about how this was possible.

  People continued to ignore her and buses came and went, dropping off and picking up passengers. Casey looked down to see a penny on the ground, and felt a memento would be the perfect thing to take back with her. She tried lifting the penny, but it wouldn’t budge. No matter what she did, she could not lift it up.

  She looked at her arm. Feeling a strange sensation, she lifted the bandages over her cut with her fingers while still holding her palm over the photo. The cut she got from the broken door had started to heal—or was she imagining it?

  “I don’t believe it.”

  She was sure of it. After half an hour of being in this time and place, her wound had started to heal itself.

  This isn’t possible.

  Her other hand was starting to get sore, as she’d been holding the book the same way with her hand on the photo for so long.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere. She was here to the end.

  Casey sat there at that bus stop, watching people. She saw children riding their bikes, no helmets and not a care in the world. Women walked past her carrying brown paper bags full of groceries.

  Even though she was back in time, life went on. And still she sat, absorbing everything. She might never come here again.

  Something caught her eye to her left. She looked up to see an old Chevy sedan pull into the motel parking lot. The front passenger’s door opened, and Martin Luther King Junior got out of the car.

  Casey sat, stunned. Forty feet away was a man she had only read about. In fact, most people in the world had only read about him. Yet he was here, alive, and very close.

  Like a robot, she stood up from the bus stop and walked toward MLK, carrying her book about him with her palm over the photo. He was walking away from her to the steps to the first floor of the motel, and chatting to someone. She could see him smiling as he looked right at his friend.

  MLK and his group walked up the steps, with Casey following close behind. The door to room 306 opened, and a man in the room welcomed MLK with a huge bear hug. She could hear MLK laughing and pushing the man away.

  Everyone was in high spirits.

  The group piled into the room, and Casey with them. She stood in the corner as they discussed the dinner at a local minister’s house they were going to that night.

  Casey was in awe. So happy she decided to enter this world, she absorbed every word, every movement, every mannerism of Martin Luther King.

  After a few minutes, the group decided to head out to the balcony to get some air.

  She moved out to the balcony, too, to the left of the group.

  The time was drawing near.

  Putting her spare hand up on the balcony rail, she noticed that her wound had healed even more. After nearly two hours in this world, it looked like it was almost totally healed under her bandages. She tore the bandages off with her mouth and let them fall.

  Casey looked over to the rooming house where James Earl Ray was sitting, waiting. She had always wondered why he took so long to take his shot, until she realized there was no clear line of sight—MLK’s group seem to block any assassination attempt.

  No line of sight. So that’s why.

  She didn’t want to be this close, not to what was about to go down.

  Casey walked around the group and back down the stairs to the safety of ‘her’ bus stop.

  She took a seat and waited it out.

  Curiosity overtook her, and she changed position so she could look over to room 5B in the boarding home.

  Slowly, the window in room 5B slid upward.

  It was time.

  She saw a rifle barrel come through the window slightly. She hated that she remembered it was a Remington rifle.

  Casey sat, torn about what to do. Was it worth seeing the assassination of MLK, or was this enough? Was it time to head back?

  She saw MLK and his group joking on the balcony. Some of his friends still blocked the line of sight of the shooter.

  She had had enough. It was time to head back.

  Casey removed her hand from the photo.

  Nothing happened.

  “What the…”

  Casey put her hand back on the photo, then removed it.

  Still nothing happened. No pop, no time travel, no getting away from the assassination.

  “No!”

  She tried again and again, but still she remained in Memphis, 1968.

  Fuck.

  Casey tried to calm herself down. “I can’t be stuck here forever. Please.”

  She looked at her watch. It was almost two hours since she had arrived there. She wanted to go home—even back to the world where she was almost the only person left.

  Over and over, she tried different ways of holding her hand over the photo, sliding up and down and then removing it, but nothing worked.

  Casey, still trying her hand on the photo, overheard those very last words of Martin Luther King Junior.

  “Ben, make sure you play ‘Take My Hand, Precious Lord’ in the meeting tonight. Play it real pretty.”

  Unable to stop herself, Casey looked back to Martin Luther King.

  At 6:01 p.m. in Memphis, a shot rang out.

  She saw Martin Luther King fall to the ground.

  “No! Please, I want to get out of here!”

  Casey stood. People were running toward the motel, shouting and screaming. She could hear a woman crying, louder than she’d ever heard anyone cry in her life.

  Casey ran away from the scene—away to the west to avoid it all.

  She still had her hand over the photo, and removed it, then closed the book.

  After a few hundred yards, she sat on another bus stop seat. She could hear sirens going and people shouting.

  Holding back the tears from both the assassination and her predicament, Casey opened the book and found another page showing MLK’s grave in Atlanta, Georgia. She put her hand over the photo, hoping that at least she’d be away from here.

  Nothing changed.

  She close
d the book again, and sat on the bus stop bench.

  She’d starve to death here, she was sure of it. Waste away with no way to get back to her home world. She’d never try this again, no matter how tempting. That was if she ever actually managed to get back.

  After another hour, Casey opened the book. There was nothing else she could think of—what other possible way would there be to get home?

  She went to the page with the same photo that had got her there in the first place. Angling the book as best she could to get it the same as the first time, Casey again put her palm over the photo.

  She heard a pop and she was back in the Turangi Library.

  “Fuck that. Never again.”

  Casey put the book down on the table as if it were dynamite. She rose up from her chair and walked out to her truck.

  She reached for the door handle and saw that her cut had healed completely.

  So not a complete waste of time, then.

  But still, never again.

  Casey got in her truck and drove away. That was enough history to last a lifetime.

  She drove on, trying not to think of what she’d just witnessed and what could have happened to her if she’d been stuck in 1968.

  Coming around a bend, Casey slammed the brakes on, bringing the car to a stop.

  A man stood in the middle of the highway, waving her down.

  Chapter Ten

  Nathan looked up in horror as a guy a few years older than him held a baseball bat over his head.

  “Who were you with? Where’s the other guy?”

  Nathan couldn’t think who this guy was talking about, then realized it was Kevin he would have heard talking.

  “He’s around the other side of the truck.” Nathan looked, but couldn’t see Kev anywhere.

  The mugger looked up and around. “Hey, you! Come out or your friend gets his head smashed in!”

  Nathan heard Kevin call out.

  “Take our car and go, if that’s what you want! We don’t want any trouble!”

  “Your mate has the right idea. Are the keys in your car? I want it.”

  “They’re in my pocket. Take it and go.” Nathan fished around in his pocket for the car key. “Here. Just leave us alone.”

  Nathan’s assailant took the key, smiling. “Stay down until I’m gone, or else.”

  Thinking of what the or else could be when there wasn’t the threat of getting his head bashed in, Nathan only nodded.

  The car thief walked over to the Tesla and threw his bat over to the passenger’s seat.

  “Nice wheels! Thanks.”

  Kevin wandered over to the car.

  “This your dog? Keep him away from me.”

  “No, not mine. Thought he was yours.”

  The car thief climbed inside the car, then both doors came down. Nathan could see him struggling to get the car going. The gull-wing door opened again.

  “How do you work this thing? Where does the key go?”

  “It stays in your pocket. You press the brake and then go,” Nathan answered.

  The door closed again, but the car didn’t move. Kevin got closer.

  Once again the gull-wing door opened. “Something’s wrong here. You need to come and show me. No funny stuff.”

  Nathan got up off the ground and almost sauntered over to the car. It wasn’t going anywhere with the wrong key.

  He got within ten feet of it and called out, “Now!”

  Kevin flew to the open door and bared his teeth as wide as he could, growling as much as he could muster. The thief went for his baseball bat on the passenger’s seat.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Killer will do whatever I tell him to do.”

  “Killer? It’s a freaking border collie. What’s he going to do, lick me to death?”

  Kevin bared his teeth even more at that. The thief stopped reaching for the bat.

  “Let’s say he’s a special dog. He understands me. He’ll take out your junk if I tell him to. Actually, let me show you. Killer, go for this guy’s junk, but don’t actually bite him.”

  Kevin moved quickly, the guy’s crotch inches from his bared teeth.

  “Okay, okay, I give up! Get him off me!”

  “Killer, let him out of the car but get ready to pounce if he does anything stupid.”

  Kevin backed up a couple of feet, teeth still bared. The thief got slowly out of the car, eyeing Kevin the whole time.

  Nathan pointed down the road, “Okay, start running south. If you look back or do anything but run, just remember dogs can run faster than people.”

  The thief turned and ran, and Kevin and Nathan watched him go.

  After a minute of silence watching him, they both started laughing.

  “Nate.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ever call me Killer again. Or make me get my face into some guy’s crotch. I could tell he hadn’t showered since day one. He stank. And how did you give him the wrong key?”

  Nathan laughed. “I wasn’t sure. One chance in three, I guess. Lucky I still had the other keys with me. Let’s try your idea of driving around the crash. I don’t want to be here any longer.”

  “Ditto to that.”

  Nathan eased the car around the wrecks, sliding a bit with the heavy Tesla but managing to get through. They cruised along the shore of Lake Taupo, looking more beautiful than ever with no traffic around to ruin the view.

  Spotting a rest area on the lakefront, Nathan pulled over. “After that run-in, I think I should start practicing with those guns.”

  “Okay. I wasn’t keen on them, but now I am. Not that they would have helped you with that guy.”

  Nathan nodded. “True, but it would have if I had been wearing that holster with a pistol in it. Looks like we’ve got to be more vigilant. That means there’s that guy and the drivers of the army Land Rovers that we know of that exist now.”

  “Did you realize I could understand him, too? So it’s not just you.”

  Nathan opened his door and got out. The passenger door opened up skyward, and Kevin hopped out.

  “How did you do that, Kev? How did you open the door?”

  “I pushed the button with my claw. It’s not rocket science.”

  “Ah yeah, okay. Well done. Could you have done that before—you know, before all this?”

  “I don’t think so. I can understand a lot more now than I could ever before.”

  Nathan opened the trunk of the Tesla, and took the holster out first. He took his light jacket off and fitted the holster on underneath.

  Grabbing a rifle, Nathan saw how to pop the magazine out. Empty. First challenge, load the clip.

  He grabbed some of the rifle’s bullets and pushed them into the mag, like in the movies.

  “I knew all that Netflix watching would come in handy one day, Kev. Look at me—like a pro!”

  “I’ll reserve judgment until I see you fire that thing.”

  Nathan grabbed a box of rifle ammo and the rifle, and carried them over to a picnic table. Seeing a trash can handy, he looked through it until he found some empty cans of Coke. Perfect.

  “Let the shooting begin.”

  “Nate, how much noise will these guns make? Won’t that bring other people coming?”

  “Not sure—I guess they’d have to know where the noise is coming from first. But yeah, let’s keep an eye out. Don’t want to meet up with another guy like that last one.”

  Lining up the cans, Nathan felt butterflies in his stomach. If anything went wrong with these guns, it wasn’t like he could go to the hospital, or even call a doctor.

  “Kev, can you make sure you stay well away? I want you safe, buddy.”

  “Ahead of you there—I’m staying well back.”

  Picking up the rifle, Nathan surveyed the cans about twenty yards away. He thought this would be a piece of cake. He’d fired a rifle far longer distances in his computer games.

  He lined the cans up on the rifle’s sights, pulled the trigger gently, a
nd started to breathe out—like the snipers did in his games.

  The trigger clicked home, and nothing happened.

  “You sure the safety is off?” called Kevin from ten yards behind him.

  Nathan looked down at the safety. He couldn’t see any red paint, and he knew from his games that red means dead.

  He turned his head, dying to know, and called out.

  “How on earth do you know about the safety catch?”

  “Discovery Channel!”

  Nathan slid the safety catch until he saw red. Locked and loaded.

  He chuckled; he was actually going to get to fire a real gun at last.

  Lining up the first can again, he pulled the trigger gently and slowly, breathing out again. A loud bang sounded and there was a shunt on the rifle; Nathan had shot his first bullet.

  He dropped the rifle slightly, but the can stood proud. Not even close by the look of it.

  Kevin called out again. “Was that one of those test shots?”

  Nathan couldn’t tell if this was sarcasm or not.

  “Yeah, just a test. Here’s the real shot coming up.”

  “Time to earn my man card,” Nathan said under his breath.

  This time he took longer to line the can up in the rifle’s sights. A gentle squeeze on the trigger, a breath in, and a bang was followed quickly by the can shooting into the air.

  “Yes! I has skills!”

  “Well done!” Kev called out. “Keep going.”

  With a hit rate of fifty percent after a half box of bullets, Nathan put the rifle down carefully. Time for the pistol.

  Kevin wandered over, feeling a bit safer.

  “That was some good shooting. Are you going to try the pistol now?”

  “Sure am, buddy. I think if I’m going to carry it around with me, I need to have more practice with it.”

  Kevin looked to the sky. “The day is getting on, though—where will we stay tonight? Remember, I may not be able to talk tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, I’d forgotten about that. Got tied up having fun with the guns. Why don’t we find a JET to camp out in? Even if there isn’t a portal in it tonight, there may be in the morning.”