Winston Chase- The Complete Trilogy

by Bodhi St John

  With a full belly and the lull of the road, Winston succumbed to his exhaustion. Maybe he would call it “jump lag” and make a bunch of memes about it if time travel ever caught on…

  Winston awoke with a start and batted at the hand shaking him.

  “Whoa, it’s all right,” said Theo. “We’re there.”

  Theo. Right.

  “Is this it?” Theo asked.

  Winston looked around, realizing that only a trace of twilight remained in the eastern sky. Rain drenched the windows of Theo’s Ford in long rivulets. It was hard to see into their surroundings, but Winston made out a cement curb before them in the bright beam of their headlights. Running parallel to this, he spied a sidewalk abutted by a wide swath of clumpy mud. More details emerged: Strewn sheets of cut plywood and 2x4 beams lay in the dirt. The skeletal frames of five houses stood along the block, all with untiled roofs and no windows or siding. At the end of the block near the end of their headlights’ range stood a squat, black obelisk bearing the white-lettered words SCHOLLS GROVE. That was Alyssa’s neighborhood. Which meant…

  Winston counted house lots. Yes. The structure across the street on his left was her home. Or would be someday.

  He nodded and indicated the building. Without doors, the open front entrance and garage seemed dark and menacing.

  “All right, then,” said Theo. “Good luck, I guess. Roads allowing, I might even make it back home in time for a date tonight.”

  Winston gave him a small grin. “Really?”

  Theo sniffed. “No need to be so surprised. Once people forgot about my trespassing charge after the bridge, Vince Lane went back to being a respectable, liked citizen.”

  “Are you two serious?”

  Theo blinked and fussed as if some speck of dust had landed in his eye. “Ah, well. She’s quite nice, but…probably not. We’ll see.”

  Winston could tell that he had cracked open a large can of worms. Perhaps another time.

  “Well, I hope you have a good time,” he said. “Meanwhile…I guess I have plans, too. Gotta go.”

  “Good luck, Winston.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for the ride — oh, and the cash.” He patted his jeans pocket to make sure the wad of bills was still there.

  Theo smiled. “Seemed the least I could do after all of your stock tips to watch for.”

  “My stock…?” Winston frowned, unable to come up with when he might have said such things.

  “Self-sealing plastic bags,” said Theo with a wry grin. “Appliance makers with gadgets that might displace manual can openers. The brands on your clothes. And, of course, whatever a Google is.”

  Winston laughed. “Well played, sir. You remember the details for getting Shade?”

  “October 7, 2013. Three o’ clock, in front of the Tillamook Fred Meyer. Prepay a taxi service to take Shade to Portland. Put it in my will if I have to.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  Theo shrugged and only said, “Be careful.”

  “Maybe I’ll get to look you up again sometime.”

  “I’m sure,” Theo quipped with a grin. “You’ll probably need another ride next week.”

  Winston got out of the car, feeling the rain and chill immediately start sinking into his skin. He should have put on the coat he’d bought in Tillamook, but he didn’t plan on being out here that long. Once he was through the mud and leaving tracks inside the doorway, he turned and waved to Theo. He barely made out the movement of Theo’s wave in reply. The Ford drove away into the night.

  “Right,” Winston said. He could feel the tug of air from the front doorway to the back, icy on his face and neck. Rain spattered and dripped all around the building. The irrational, superstitious caveman in Winston’s brain wondered if there might be an attacker or even worse monster waiting just around one of the dark plywood walls.

  Winston shook himself.

  You’re just tired and spooked. Get a grip. Stop being a six year old.

  To Winston’s right, a wooden stairway, still without a railing, hugged the wall. The front living room lay to his left, adorned only with a central pile of buckets, hand tools, and an open tarp covered in bits of scrap wood. Taking extra care in the gloom, Winston kept his shoulder to the wall and ascended the stairway.

  He had never been in Alyssa’s house before — for countless reasons, all of them stupid — but he knew very well which room was hers from the outside. Upper level, street-facing, on the far left.

  At the top of the stairs, Winston paused to get his bearings. Without finished walls, everything felt like a jumble of boards and beams. It was like being inside a Jenga game built by drunk people. The world was all right angles, but nothing made sense, and one space merged into the next without clear borders. From where he stood, Winston could see from one end of the house to the other, with only a few electrical cables strung through the framed walls to break up the monotony. Winston found it very disorienting but also fascinating. It was a glimpse into how something worked and came to be.

  Fortunately, even though he wasn’t sure which walls separated rooms, the hallway was easy to determine from the clear path along the floor. Winston followed it back to what he guessed was the doorway to the last room. Taking up Little e and the two chrono pieces, Winston got to work.

  The Alpha Machine wanted to snap him back into his present, but he resisted the pull. He needed to back up a little before that, to the morning after his accidental drop from the freighter into the Columbia River. Friday the fourth at about 7:00, when she would be getting ready for school. But what if the Alpha Machine blocked that time, as well? How far back would he have to go to avoid a conflict with his other self?

  Luckily, the controls stayed green. Whatever was making the device so fickle had either fixed itself or was taking a temporary break from hating him. Either way, Winston knew he didn’t have long. The march of events in his present weren’t stopping for anything.

  In his second reality, Winston could see almost nothing but white. It took him a second to realize he was staring at a closed door and blank wall.

  “Idiot,” he mumbled.

  Winston was about to step through the framed doorway in 1966 so that he could see into Alyssa’s room in 2013, but he paused. He realized that, in a sense, he would be a ghostly intruder in this dreary, damp building. What if she was writing in her diary or getting dressed or anything else he shouldn’t see? No matter the reasons, he was being a creepy stalker. He tried to cover his eyes, but he had no spectral body to block his view.

  “Ugh,” he whispered. “In advance…I’m sorry.”

  Winston stepped through the doorway.

  Now he could see Alyssa. She sat — fully dressed, thank God — before a laptop computer at a small white desk. Her room was covered in black and white decor, everything from the bed covers to the music posters to the zebra-pattern rug. He could tell from the expression on Alyssa’s face that she was mad about whatever she was reading. She stood suddenly, jabbed a finger at the screen, and talked to it as if the computer could listen.

  Winston wished he could hear what she was saying. And then he could.

  Idiot, he thought. Again.

  He needed to learn to trust the Alpha Machine and let it be an extension of his mind. Obviously, the two were linked.

  “—amazing, and I can’t wait to study math with you,” Alyssa said.

  Oh, no. She was reading the email he’d sent from the freighter.

  “Yeah, you can’t wait,” she sneered. “But here we are…waiting.”

  Oof.

  She paced the floor in front of her desk, once coming so close that, had Winston actually been there, he could have reached out and brushed her arm. Or her hair.

  Back in his physical form, Winston swallowed thickly.

  “Stupid moron!” she said, breaking his reverie.

  Yeah, guilty as charged.

  Why would she ever be interested in him? Part alien, painfully shy, hunted by the FBI. How would dinner
with the family go? Oh, today was fine at school, Mr. Bauman. I got beat up, my butt glowed a bright blue, and now people are trying to kill me. Can you please pass the potatoes and let me date your daughter?

  Nevertheless, Winston couldn’t help but imagine them dating through high school, maybe into college. Studying together every night. Watching videos. Maybe more? Could it be possible?

  Winston sighed and walked through the room when Alyssa returned to her screen. He took up position behind her, figuring that not appearing right in her line of sight might be best.

  “I can’t wait to put my hands around your throat and squeeze,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Shoot me now, Winston thought, then he mentally bore down on the Alpha Machine. The world went white and, a moment later, as reality solidified, Alyssa’s room returned in full detail.

  She spun around somewhat awkwardly, one hand on her chair, the other coming up near her head, as if she already knew that she intended to pummel him. A strangled, high-pitched noise came from her throat. Winston tried to smile reassuringly as he unconvincingly moved the still-spinning Alpha Machine behind his back.

  “I hope you were kidding about the throat squeezing,” he said.

  38

  Supper and Separation

  The time Winston spent in the Cartlandia men’s room may not have been the longest thirty minutes of his life, but they were definitely the smelliest. On a bustling weekend evening, with the setting sun now peeking out from the tail end of a rain front and temperatures up to hoodie levels, Cartlandia was packed. People flocked from around the tri-met area to this otherwise unremarkable triangular lot in southeast Portland. Over two dozen food carts, everything from the Coop Chicken and Waffles to Shade’s beloved Voodoo Doughnut, lined the property. With the Blue Room Bar crammed against one corner and a covered seating pavilion in another, the area hummed with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and people stuffing their faces. Naturally, plenty of these people needed to use the restroom, and, as Winston sat fully dressed on one toilet in a narrow stall, he could only shake his head and stifle his gagging.

  Still, he would rather be in here and avoid the risk of surveillance cameras covering the public space. He wanted to give authorities the least possible time to see him in the open. At 5:59, he finally washed his hands and left, careful to keep his hoodie pulled up and as far forward over his face as possible. No sooner was Winston free from the acrid smell of urinal pucks than he deeply inhaled the delicious scents of Vietnamese noodles, deep-fried pastries, Indian curry, Lebanese kabobs, and so much more. After the mad dashing about Tillamook’s woodlands and the emotional roller coaster of visiting Alyssa, this moment of utter Portland calm was exactly what he craved. It wasn’t home, but it was blissfully close.

  He spotted Shade’s orange hoodie right where he expected, at the counter for the Rock House Grill. As he approached, Winston heard him ask for a “monster” cooked rare. That would be the twelve-dollar double meat and cheese with ham, fried eggs, and bacon. Winston stood beside him and nudged his friend’s elbow.

  “What? Not the four-patty King Kong?”

  “Oh, hey,” Shade said as if they’d only just parted ways. “I’m mean, if you wanna go big, let’s split the Apocalypse Now.”

  “One,” said Winston, “I don’t have fifty bucks to spare. Two, I just came from the restroom, and my appetite’s not quite that big. You mind if I just tack on another Godzilla like yours, only medium?”

  Shade handed the teller a pair of twenty-dollar bills as he asked for two large Mountain Dews, left a two-dollar tip, and pocketed the rest.

  “Glad to see you found some money,” Winston said. “How was the taxi from Tillamook?”

  Shade blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. “So…so…long. You couldn’t have got me a limo?”

  “Without me? That is so rude.”

  “I hate you.”

  The grin on Winston’s lips turned to open wonder as he spotted a man emerging from the crowd, approaching them with long, confident strides.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Shade. “Surprise!”

  Winston felt an instant of immeasurable surprise and relief as he recognized Agent Smith’s bouncy brown curls.

  Winston rushed to meet him, unsure whether to shake hands or hug the man, or how to do either since the man’s hands were full of food.

  “Agent Smith! I am so glad you’re OK! I don’t know why, but…you saved my life.”

  “Please call me Vern,” he said, smiling. “I helped because…well, that’s my job.”

  Fortune favored them with an empty table in the crowded pavilion, and they sat down with their dinners. Smith poked at a bowl of Japanese soba noodles with a side of Korean ribs — a bold move considering his polo and slacks.

  Once Winston had a few mouthfuls of Godzilla the Monster Burger swimming in his stomach, he asked Smith the inevitable question.

  “I thought you were dead back on that river dock. What happened?”

  Smith raised an eyebrow and considered his food. “I was in bad shape. Bledsoe had me in a secure medical facility, but…calls were made. I was released in Bledsoe’s absence.”

  “Phone calls by…?” Winston prompted.

  “By Management. My primary employer.”

  Winston and Shade traded blank stares.

  “I haven’t gotten the 4-1-1, either,” said Shade to Winston. Then, to Smith, he asked, “What’s Management?”

  “A dark-ops group under the Homeland Security umbrella, but it operates outside of groups like the FBI and CIA,” said Smith. “Bledsoe works for Management. I was recruited from the FBI about six months ago. When Bledsoe landed in the States, two agents were assigned to help him. Management made sure that I was one.”

  “Only you stopped helping him,” said Winston.

  Smith smiled ruefully and said around a bite of ribs, “My official assignment was to help him. My real assignment was to keep an eye on him and prevent him from doing anything…‘damaging’ was the word they used.”

  Winston nibbled thoughtfully at the end of his straw. “You said you were in bad shape. And you looked practically dead the last time I saw you. But you seem fine now.”

  Smith nodded. “Management sent in a couple of doctors. They ran a bunch of scans on me for an hour or so, pumped me full of IVs, and six hours later I felt like a new man.”

  Winston wasn’t sure how much information to convey. “Did they say what they gave you?”

  “It wasn’t QVs, if that’s what you’re asking,” Smith said. In response to Winston’s surprise about the agent’s knowledge, Smith added, “I was briefed on Bledsoe’s lab, but they wouldn’t tell me any more.”

  Regardless of the specifics, Smith was here now and apparently on their side, although Winston hadn’t entirely ruled out the possibility that Smith might still be a plant from the FBI placed here to infiltrate the group and capture them all later.

  As if reading Winston’s mind, Smith said, “I don’t exactly know what you’re doing. I don’t know what was in the can under that doughnut shop. I don’t know how Bledsoe electrocuted me with his bare hands. And that’s fine. I don’t need to know. But now I understand why Management wanted me to watch him. If stopping Bledsoe means helping you, then so be it.”

  Winston gave Shade a silent, inquisitive glance. Shade never broke stride in his chewing, but he gave Winston a small nod of approval.

  All right, then. If Smith cleared Shade’s paranoia filter, then he was willing to trust the man.

  “However,” said Smith as he poked his fork at Shade, “you and I still need to have words about your tree house.”

  Shade swallowed his bite of burger, but it went down badly. He choked slightly and had to take several long drinks.

  “Anyway,” said Winston. “We’ve got four hours until the meeting time at Council Crest. Last time I met Bledsoe, it…did not go well. I don’t want to repeat that.”

  “Mm!” Smith dabbed a napkin at his mouth and he
ld up one finger for attention. “So, I have a little good news for you. Bledsoe has been disavowed by Management. Cut off. He has no more FBI support. They’re not stopping him, which I find confusing, but they’re not helping him anymore, either. Except for Agent Lynch, who apparently was also disavowed this afternoon.”

  “I wonder if he loses all his paid vacation days,” said Shade.

  “Probably not his first concern,” said Smith as he gazed at Winston. “Lynch retrieved your mother from her Portland holding facility this morning.”

  Winston leaned back and shook his head. “Of course he did.”

  “It doesn’t change anything,” said Shade. “The plan was always to meet them at Council Crest, get your mom, and crush Bledsoe, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, let’s do that. Although…” Shade grimaced. “You know, there’s nothing keeping him from hiring help. You could be walking into an ambush.”

  Winston thought it over. “Doesn’t seem his style. He likes to do everything himself. It’s like he doesn’t need anybody else.”

  “I agree,” said Smith. “Whatever he’s up to, he’s keeping the number of people involved as low as possible. Plus, his accounts are now frozen, so he’s going to have a hard time coming up with that sort of money on short notice. I’m sure he has some offshore accounts and other stashes, but Management is remarkably resourceful. I’d say the odds are he and Lynch will be alone.”

  “Well…here’s what you may not know,” Winston said. “Bledsoe took the geoviewer from me. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it means he can probably see and hear anywhere, including us right here.”