Slideways

by Jeffrey Grode

  “Brandon?” Jack asked. “Why?” His forehead furrowed.

  She didn’t blink. “Besides being my boyfriend? He’s smart, strong, and a good man to have at our back. We need him.”

  “Done,” Ben said. “But that’s it. We have to keep this on the down low with everyone else.”

  Jack looked ill.

  “Agreed,” Lori said. “You guys wait at the reservoir. I’ll tell Brandon. We’ll meet you there after sundown.” She turned to Ben. “Here, take my phone.” She wore a pink smartphone attached with a Velcro armband. “Use it if you need to call your parents.”

  “Thanks, again. I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

  “Yes, you are.” She smiled and jogged away down the trail.

  As they hiked toward the reservoir, Jack remained quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben stopped.

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.” Ben nudged him. “Something to do with Lori?”

  Jack began to pace on the trail. “Yea. Seeing her on Earth and listening to her yak about her boyfriend, Brandon, seemed surreal. I’m leaving for Pitt and my Lori has two more years of high school. Odds are I’ll lose her to some dude back home. Maybe even to someone I know. Balls up, it feels like it’s already happened here.” He stopped and looked at Ben. “Sorry, Bro. I’m being stupid.”

  “No, no. I understand.” Ben sighed. “I just met your Lori last night. She seemed smart and nice. Maybe you should just try to be her friend, no matter what happens.”

  Jack looked at him with new eyes. “Good advice.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So what’s been bugging you?”

  Ben scrunched his face. “When?”

  “Back at your house with your Mom, and again when you seemed really sad about something.”

  Ben sighed. “It’s my fault Jack died. My parents never want to talk about it, but I think they blame me too. I’m such a fuckup. Sometimes I wonder if Jack hates me.”

  Jack turned to him. “I forgive you.”

  Ben’s eyes snapped up. “What?”

  “If I was your brother. I’d say ‘I forgive you for everything. You were just trying to help Kipper. I chose to save you. Nothing was your fault.”

  Ben frowned at him. He picked up an egg sized rock, hurled it into the woods, and heard it bounce off a tree. “Nice try, but you’re not him. You can’t forgive me.”

  Jack looked ill again. “I know. Hoped it might help. I need forgiveness too.”

  They walked in silence toward the reservoir.

  Patrick gunned the brown sedan from the forest road onto the highway and headed towards Carmichael. He hoped the CSD vehicle didn’t have a tracking device, but if it did, it might appear as if Agent Chandler was returning home. At least the car had generic plates—government plates would have made him more conspicuous.

  As the kilometers clicked off on his dash, he thought of the day’s harsh events. He hadn’t killed anyone since his tour in Vietnam. Time and experience didn’t make killing any easier. He felt sick about the outcome, but he survived. Was he at war with Terra? He didn’t think so. Was he at war with a couple of CSD agents who beat him and threatened to kill him? Yes, but he didn’t start the war.

  Did Chandler or Hoss have families? He should assume the worst. There were consequences to dangerous actions, often never considered in the heat of battle. Only the living could mourn their mistakes. He still remembered the hateful eyes of the villagers, when his patrol had moved through what was left of a Viet Cong village.

  Patrick’s mind drifted as he thought about Carmichael. In another world, the city was his home, a place where he met and fell in love with his sweetheart, Miss Betty. Memories of her smile, especially the day he’d rented a pony for Patty’s fifth birthday, had sustained him through years of loneliness. Carmichael had been a good place to live, love, and someday die, but not yet. Not while Ben and Jack were still in danger.

  He sighed. Having built this marvelous bridge between two worlds, had put his family at risk. Here lay the paradox for any scientist—discoveries created to help humankind could also be misused for power, money, or war. Do the benefits outweigh the risk? He was no judge. Was he to blame for what might happen? No. Science was neutral. The secrets of life existed to be found. If people misused his discoveries, then they were to blame.

  The road ahead became surrounded on both sides with dense hardwood trees. The forest canopy grew together high over the road like interlaced fingers, and created a living tunnel of green. Gaps in the canopy allowed alternating patches of light and shade to wash over him.

  A large buck appeared in the center of the road and froze when it saw the brown sedan. Patrick jerked the steering wheel left and then right to avoid collision. His heart fluttered inside his chest.

  He pulled over on the narrow dirt shoulder and took a breather. In the rear view mirror, he watched the buck swish his white tail. Seven deer, a mix of does and fawns, crossed the road behind him.

  His Betty would have said, “Pay attention before you get us both killed!” She was often right. Random events were too often discounted. Surprises could get you killed. The rest of the drive he watched the road, but thought about what, or who, he might find at Albert’s house.

  Chapter 37

  John watched the Pirates game from Patrick’s brown leather recliner in Earth’s Carmichael house. Bootsie purred in his lap. The Pirates led the Orioles 3-2, however, the Pirate’s bullpen was flagging. The O’s had the bases loaded with Adam Jones at bat. John fidgeted in his seat, not in anticipation of the next pitch, but because of the hope his son, or sons, might return.

  Thank God Ben was alive, but Jack? The FBI had expanded their search, yet he felt there was little he could do as the FBI’s ‘house guest’. Two agents alternated patrols between the woods and the cellar. One Sheriff’s deputy stood post at the bottom of the drive, while another hung out with John in the living room.

  Deputy Sawmill lounged in the matching recliner and let his socks breathe. He worked on his fourth can of Iron City beer. “Relax, John. The FBI doesn’t expect any more trouble here since they shut down the beacon.”

  John shifted in the recliner. “What about the intruders?”

  Bootsie jumped to the floor and whipped her tail.

  “Everything burned in the warehouse fire. The intruders are dead and the FBI found no evidence of enemy soldiers, UniZol employees, or any other assets left behind.”

  “Sam, I’m worried about my boy.”

  “FBI’s searching,” Sawmill said. “They’ll let us know as soon as they find him.”

  John thought Sam was a decent man, and didn’t want to cross him. He considered ducking out, but where would he go? Home? He’d called Patty and she seemed all right. She told him to stay put, but he thought it best not to mention Patrick’s death or Jack’s mysterious reappearance. Not over the phone. He expected her to be frantic about Ben, but she didn’t seem surprised to hear Ben had been spotted. Why was that?

  Bootsie sat down on the carpet and stared at him as if she were waiting for something.

  John scratched his head. Oh. Patty wasn’t surprised . . . because she’d already seen him! Of course he’d go home if he could.

  When the FBI had asked him if he recognized the room in Ben’s video, he told them no, because it didn’t make sense. The room had been Jack’s, but before he helped Patty paint the walls and hang shelves for the memorabilia. Did Ben have a reason to stay hidden? Was Miller holding back information?

  The FBI never told him what Patrick’s equipment actually did, but he heard them refer to it as the ‘beacon’. Though he hadn’t been allowed back into the cellar, Lovitsky’s video had shown him enough.

  As a Sci-Fi fan, John had watched all of the original Star Trek episode reruns as a kid. He understood the concept of teleportation. Patrick’s machine didn’t beam something from ‘point A to point B.’ Instead, it seemed to attach ‘point A to point B’ via a communicatio
n signal, and then open a door. And a dog jumped through.

  John ran his fingers through his hair. The beacon provided the communication signal, but there must be a second device - like a garage door opener. Ben must have access to the second device, as did the intruders . . . something like the watch he pointed at the FBI through the window. Had Ben used such a device to escape his kidnappers? All the more reason for the FBI to want to find Ben. They couldn’t fully contain the breach without the opener.

  John grew more concerned about Ben’s safety, but the background noise in his head whispered Jack-Jack-Jack. No one could, or would, explain that. He didn’t trust Miller, or the FBI, since they drew down on his son. Fear makes for bad choices, but fortunately, they hadn’t fired their weapons.

  A memory of Spock with a goatee flashed through his mind. He recalled a specific Star Trek episode - one where a teleportation misfire beamed Captain Kirk onto a barbarian starship Enterprise in a parallel universe. The barbarous Kirk doppelganger was transported to the civilized crew on the original ship. Two Kirks. Two Jacks? No, his Jack had died. Had Ben found his brother’s doppelganger? Oh. Two Patricks might explain a few discrepancies. One with a tattoo and one without. He bit his lower lip. Was any of this real? I need to talk to Ben.

  Sawmill looked drowsy and fell asleep. John snuck upstairs and used his cellphone to call Ben’s. The phone went straight to voicemail. His chest tightened when he heard his son’s recorded voice. “Ben. I hope you’re alright. Call my cell when you can. Love you, and keep your head down.”

  John ground his teeth and began to pace. He tried both Patty’s and Patrick’s cells, but each went to voicemail. Sitting down on the top step, he dialed one more number.

  “Louis, how are you?”

  “Laid up in the hospital, Cuz. The nurses are taking care of me, but the Pirates need help. Any luck finding Ben?”

  “Not yet.”

  A groggy Sawmill stood at the bottom of the stairs with his hands on his hips. “Who you talking to, John?”

  “Louis.”

  “Tell that goldbricker to get better soon. We could use his help around here along with another six pack.” Sawmill said, as he turned back toward the kitchen.

  As Ben and Jack hiked the last half mile toward the reservoir, Ben couldn’t keep silent. “We’ll find our grandfathers and bring them home. I promise.” He met Jack’s eyes.

  Jack nodded “We’ll make it happen. We have help now. Brandon’s a good guy. Right? Same as back home?”

  “Pretty close. Some things are different.”

  “Yea, I know he’s with Lori here, but what about Trudy?”

  Ben sighed. “I don’t know her well, but I asked her to homecoming.”

  “Whoa. You asked Trudy? Is there a Ruth here too?”

  “Yea. But she’s not my friend.”

  “Cowshit!” Jack said. “You couldn’t get enough of Ruth from Terra.”

  Ben smiled. “Yea, you’re right. I enjoyed every minute, until she found out I lied.” He rubbed his face. “She’s sweet, but here her doppelganger goes by Rouge. She is Ruth-less. Beware, Bro.” He told Jack about the incident with Vince, and how Rouge had treated him at the party and meant to embarrass him.

  “That’s messed up, but maybe she’s just trying to be funny and made a mistake. Have you spoken with her since?”

  Ben nodded. “Yea, after church, but I couldn’t talk. My parents were around.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Should I try to talk to Vince too?”

  Jack shook his head. “He sounds like a stupid fuckbanger. I would’ve been proud if my brother wore my jersey.”

  Ben laughed. “If you visited Vince as Jack’s ghost, pissed about the jersey, you would scare the shit out of him.”

  Jack smirked for a moment, then knit his eyebrows together. “So Brandon and Lori are really tight?”

  Here it comes. Jack had given Lori the hungry puppy dog look earlier. The same look I hid from her for years. The thought of Brandon and Lori as a couple tore at Ben sometimes. How could he blame Jack for feeling the same way? She was Jack’s girlfriend on Terra.

  “Yep. They’re real tight. You’ll see them tonight.”

  “Cool.” Jack kept his eyes on the trail.

  Jack remained quiet as they walked to the crest of the hill. The park and reservoir lay before them. Above, a blue sky with scattered clouds dappled the forest canopy of maple and oak trees with transient shadows. They heard children’s laughter below. Several families played on the swings and a jungle gym between the woods and the water. The afternoon grew late.

  Jack stopped. “Let’s be careful and camp just outside the park—somewhere we can keep watch from this ridge. Back home, I know a good place where the ground’s flat and covered with moss.”

  Ben shifted the weight of the pack on his shoulders. “Sounds good.”

  Jack led him forty yards to the right and just behind the ridge - a perfect spot for surveillance. Large maple trees spread out behind them shading a soft, dry, carpet of moss. They spread their sleeping bags on the ground and sat down. Ben tossed Jack a bottle of water.

  “Plastic?” Jack read the label, shrugged, and drank. He glanced at Ben. “Am I the same as your brother, Jack? Or am I a little different?”

  “Same,” Ben said, without any hesitation. “What about me?” Ben asked. “Am I the same?” He held his breath.

  “No.” Jack shook his head slowly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was much better looking. Girls actually liked him.” Jack kept a straight face until he saw Ben blush, then smiled.

  Ben smirked. “Oh Yea?” He pulled down his collar. “This hickey says you’re full of shit.”

  “You’re right about that, Bro. I was just busting sack.”

  Ben nodded. He pulled the portal watch from around his neck and handed it to Jack. He spent the rest of the afternoon showing him how it worked.

  Patrick drove the smaller byways toward Carmichael. The country tasted fresh in his lungs. He passed through a few small towns he remembered from Earth, and others he’d never seen before. Some had been renamed.

  An advertisement for UniZol caught his eye in the small town of Kipichee, The caption above a picture of a smiling mother, father, son, and daughter read: Live a better life through applied science. The advertisement didn’t describe the product, but he assumed it might be related to implants. Everyone wanted to be happy, right?

  Patrick still wanted to find his wife, somehow, before he passed on to the afterlife, or nothingness. Would he ever hold her hand again? His eyes glazed over and he hit a pothole. The car jounced and his fingers ached. He held the wheel too tightly. Breathe. Eventually his thoughts turned to Carmichael and Miss Betsy. He looked forward to seeing her too.

  When he arrived in Carmichael, he parked the brown sedan in Holy Redeemer Hospital’s high-rise parking lot, one level below the top. He wiped the car for prints, cleaned up as much of the blood as possible, and left a note on the dashboard - Be right back. Chandler.

  Patrick retrieved his suitcase, locked the car, and kept the keys. He walked out to the street, and caught the city trolley to Albert’s house. The familiar buildings, homes, brooks, and trees along the way made him feel at home.

  When he arrived at his stop along Route 99, he stood one hundred yards from Betsy’s mailbox. Instead of walking up to the driveway, he cut through the woods bordering Albert’s property.

  He hiked up the hill, around the rocks, and through the softwood pines, avoiding the poison ivy that clung to the scrub oaks. At the edge of the woods and near the house, he stopped, looked, and listened for any signs of Miss Betsy or visitors. Seeing none, he hurried across the open field of grass and onto the deck.

  He lifted the blue pot, found the key, and went into the house through the back door. Closed curtains hid the afternoon sun and made the kitchen seem quiet, lifeless, and dark. He tiptoed through the house to determine if he was alone, but kept quiet enough
to avoid CSD listeners.

  Slowly, cautiously, Patrick opened the door to the cellar. His fingers flipped on the light switch, and he descended the stairs. The equipment he’d previously seen through Albert’s portal had been removed. The heavy-duty metal tables were left behind, along with some random nuts and bolts lying beneath. An aluminum stepladder lay against the wall, and an unused kitty litter box sat in the corner.

  Patrick walked over to the furnace, looked up, and scanned the rafters. He couldn’t see any indication of a false panel. His pulse beat a tiny rhythm in his neck. Where is it?

  He retrieved the stepladder and set it behind the furnace. Once up the ladder, he saw a nail protruding one-half inch from the wooden joist between the cinder block basement wall and floor above. Patrick pulled on the nail and an 8x8 inch wooden panel lifted from the wall. A small compartment lay within.

  After setting the wooden panel on top of the furnace, he took another step up the ladder and peered into the dark compartment. Inside he found a small flashlight and a stack of file folders. The first file read Classified TOP SECRET by order of the Commonwealth. Patrick shook his head. Albert would have known better than to take these documents home. Inside, he found a white paper written by Dr. Dugan describing a prototype 30 kilowatt crystalline laser weapon. No wonder they’re after him.

  Patrick frowned. Where’s the watch battery? He pulled the stack of classified folders out and set them on the floor. After climbing the ladder, he shone the flashlight into the darker recess of the compartment and discovered another black pouch and a framed photograph.

  His heart rate quickened as he loosened the pouch drawstrings and found the specialized batteries and a sealed envelope labeled instructions. Finally! He put the batteries and the envelope back into the pouch, stuffed the pouch into his jacket pocket, and shone the light upon the photograph.

  A younger version of himself, correction Albert, posed with Katerina in her Junior Prom dress. Patrick remembered a onetime fix-up date with this girl, but he’d never asked her out again. Shortly after, he’d found the courage to ask Betty out for a movie and fell in love.