Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  Anne sat staring at the newspapers and magazines she had already gone through, and the stack she had yet to tackle. The more she read, the weirder it all got. She had a very good picture of what was happening in Europe, but then she already knew most of it. What she didn’t know before were some of the minor details. But she also knew a lot more than what these news reports were saying. So much was left out. But, of course she knew that too. It wasn’t like Vietnam where we were made aware of every bloody loss, if the press could get to it. This war, this Second World War, was before the drive for freedom of the press, freedom of information. People were spared the bloody, gory details. Keep them thinking we’re winning. Tell them only the good stuff. Keep the country behind the war effort.

  But this is 1943. There’s no such thing as the Vietnam War.

  There was a lot about the Pacific front, islands and beachheads, but she had studied the European theater, so the Pacific wasn’t nearly as familiar.

  Anne looked up at the nurse who walked in.

  “Officer Lamric is here to see you, Mrs. Waring.”

  Anne sighed and wondered if he had discovered anything. Elizabeth Anne was asleep in the nursery, much to her displeasure. She ran her fingers through her hair, which she painstakingly brushed out earlier in the morning with the brush that was in the bag, the brush she recently purchased at J.C. Penney’s in Northwoods Mall. “Okay,” she said to the nurse and set the open magazine aside. “Just give me a minute.” The nurse left and Anne picked up the brush. Just as earlier, she stared at it for a time, remembering walking through the department store, sampling a perfume, running her hand across a lacy nightgown, and then looking at a display of back-to-school fashions. She remembered scoffing at that because it was still only early July. Again she had the vision of looking around a freestanding display of combs and hair brushes until she found one that felt exactly right, the one she was now holding in her hand. But this was 1943, not 1987. There’s no Northwoods Mall. She sighed, pulled the brush through her hair and then reached for her bathrobe. It still lay where she left it when she lifted it from the bag; the bag that magically showed up the day before with the, ‘I love you and I’m sorry,’ note attached to it. Even the bathrobe solicited memories. Steven gave it to her for Christmas; one of the things she pointed out at Belk, again in Northwoods Mall, which he actually remembered. It hadn’t fit her since April. She slipped her arms through the sleeves; loosely tied it closed and stuck her hands into the pockets.

  “Mrs. Waring.”

  Anne looked up at the huge Charleston Police Officer filling the doorway. At the same time her hand closed around what she immediately knew to be... her watch! She pulled it out and looked at it. When it was obvious nothing more was coming from the officer after the, ‘Mrs. Waring,’ Anne said, “Have you ever heard of a company by the name of Casio, Officer Lamric? C – A – S – I – O.”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “Humph!” Even more confused, she dropped the watch back into her pocket. “Do you have any good news for me? Have you solved my mystery?”

  “Well... ah... no... ah... may I come in?” He fiddled with his hat.

  “Of course. Sit down.”

  James pulled the extra chair near to the table and the two of them sat down. “I was wondering... ah... how you are... ah... doing. Have you remembered anything else?”

  “I’m doing fine, Mr. Lamric. I‘ve remembered all kinds of things, but it only deepens the mystery.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I read about the war and find myself saying to myself, ‘I knew that.’”

  “So, you are very well read.”

  “Yes, but there’s something deep down in here,” she placed her hand on her head then moved it to her left breast, “or is it here, which tells me I know what is going to happen, and it’s not just fantasizing. I think I truly know. I’m also sure I can prove it.”

  James was listening to her and at the same time thinking how beautiful she looked in her bathrobe and plain white nightgown. Her long hair was brushed and sparkled when she moved her head. And then she touched her hair and then moved her hand to her breast. When he realized his eyes had followed the hand and then lingered about the shape under her hand, he straightened himself up, looked away and then forced his eyes back to her face, to the statement she just made. “Ah... you can prove it? What exactly is it you would be able to prove?”

  “That I can accurately predict what is going to happen. That what I remember is not only what has happened but also what will happen. That I’m not crazy.” She paused and then her voice softened. “My instinct tells me I can trust you, Mr. Lamric. I can trust that you won’t have me committed somewhere, trust that you won’t walk away and abandon me. It seems you and Doctor Bronson are the only two I can talk to, but Doctor Bronson is more like a therapist. You’ve actually taken things I’ve told you and gone out looking, and not finding anything, didn’t come back and laugh or call me a looney tunes.”

  “Looney tunes?”

  Anne held up her hands. “Never mind. Probably after your time.” She laughed. “That’s weird. Normally one would say, ‘Before your time.’ I didn’t even realize it until after I said it. After your time. Hmm! Interesting way of looking at it.

  “So, anyway, today is July 19. That’s the only thing that matches my memory. Today is Monday. That’s wrong. It should be Sunday. The calendar in my head says it should be Sunday, July 19, nineteen...” Anne reflected on saying 1987.

  “July 19... 19?” James questioned.

  “Yes. In six days, July 25, Mussolini will be dismissed by the Fascist Grand Council and then arrested by the king who appoints Marshal Badoglio as the new prime minister. It still won’t be until September 3 before Italy surrenders, but that will be in secret. Then on September 8 it will be announced and the Italian military will surrender.”

  James only looked at her, his mouth hanging open.

  “That’s what my head, my memory or forward vision, whatever it is, tells me. If this does not come to pass then I’ll welcome a padded room somewhere.”

  “You believe you can predict the future?”

  “It’s the only explanation I have. As a matter of fact it’s the only thing I know. Some who claim to be able to forecast future events say they have flashes or daytime visions and such. It’s not an occasional flash to me. It’s constant.” She reflected for a moment. “It’s as though I’ve already lived it all or it has already happened and I’ve read about it. I told you I attended school in Boston. That’s where I gained all the knowledge I have about what will happen, except that I learned it in history classes. You know what that means, Mr. Lamric? History is what has already happened. I can now look forward at it because somehow I’ve already looked back at it. I know it doesn’t make sense.” Anne looked at Officer Lamric’s doubting face. “I know it won’t prove anything, but ask me something about the future, not personal stuff, but newsworthy stuff which would be of interest to the entire country.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, how about war events, battles, presidents, inventions. I don’t care. Anything.”

  “Okay. Will we win this war?”

  “Of course. Defeating Japan will be the end. We are currently developing a new weapon, a bomb that can destroy an entire city. We use only two, destroying Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan. Germany will have been already defeated, but not with the new weapon. We, meaning the Allies, will wear Hitler down until he takes his own life. The Third Reich will then collapse.

  “Heck with the questions. I’ll tell you that Roosevelt will be reelected for a fourth term; however, he will die on April 12, 1945. Harry Truman will see the war end and be elected to serve again in 1948. General Eisenhower, currently Commander of all Allied Armies in Europe, will win the presidency in 1952 and again in 1956. He will be relieved by John Kennedy, our all-time youngest president. Unfortunately Kennedy will be assassinated in 1963.

  “I could go on for another twenty years,
but it all proves nothing. I guess what I said about Mussolini is the best I can do.” She went silent for a few seconds. “Oh, we, Allied Forces, that is, are raiding Rome right now, as we speak. Palermo, Sicily will fall to Allied Forces in three days, and Roosevelt will announce the end of coffee rationing on July 28. How could I possibly know all that?”

  James looked at the stacks of magazines and newspapers. “Someone with a bit of insight could deduce things from all the news reports and articles.”

  “With 100 percent accuracy? War is unpredictable. How could I possibly conclude from all this that Mussolini’s Fascist Grand Council will revolt against him and that King Victor Emmanuel III, who was turned into nothing more than the bearer of the crown by Mussolini, could also revolt and take charge? Sure, maybe I could guess something like that might happen with all the effort we are going through to convince the Italian people to turn away from Germany. There’s a lot of dissatisfaction with Mussolini, but how could I know how he would be taken out, on exactly what day. And how could I know that he would be replaced by Marshal Pietro Badoglio, and then be able to tell you exactly what day the Armistice would be signed and the fact that it will be kept a secret for another five days? Do you think Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin have it all planned out, a day-by-day play book with a chiseled out time-line and then leave it laying about for anyone to look at?”

  “So you say the war will still last another two years?”

  “May 7, 1945 Germany will surrender. Five months later, September 2, Japan’s General Yoshijiro Umazu will surrender to General MacArthur. Total fatalities figures will be upwards of sixty million.”

  “People!” James stood.

  “I’m not making any of this up.” Anne’s voice rose a level.

  “I’m not thinking that you are.”

  “But you think I’m crazy in any case, and you’re getting ready to flee this room inhabited by the crazy woman.”

  “I really don’t know what to think. I believe that you believe.”

  Anne looked up at the ceiling and screamed, “That’s exactly what people say to someone they think is crazy. Just humor them. Right? ‘I believe that you believe.’ Well, that certainly is reassuring.”

  A nurse stepped into the room and looked from Anne to Officer Lamric. “Is everything all right?”

  Anne realized only then that she had raised her voice, that she was probably heard over the entire floor. “I’m sorry. Yes, everything is fine. I just got a little excited.” She also realized she was on her feet. She didn’t even remember getting out of her chair. She grinned at the nurse. “I’m fine now. Hope I didn’t disturb anyone.”

  Another nurse looked in over the first nurse’s shoulder, then they both turned and disappeared. Anne looked at James. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lamric. Here I am trying to convince you, and myself by the way, that I’m not crazy and I go on like a mad woman.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Did I really get that loud?”

  James nodded his head.

  “How much do you think was heard?”

  “Nothing that you should worry about.”

  Anne relaxed and sat back down. “Anyway, Mr. Lamric, I have all these facts in my head and the only thing it all does is keep me confused. None of this lines up with my memories of myself.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Anne started to say that the last thing she remembered before waking up in the barracks was 1987. It was one thing to say you could foresee the future. It was quite another to imply you lived in the future, and that you traveled back in time. Ridiculous. “It means...” A time traveler? Crazy as hell. I start saying something like that and they’ll take Elizabeth Anne away from me. Then what would I do? Nothing. I would just turn into a vegetable.

  “Means what?” James asked.

  I’ve said way too much already. I need to accept what is and cease all this nonsense. Be glad for my health and the health of Elizabeth Anne.

  “Mrs. Waring.”

  Anne looked at Officer Lamric.

  “Memories of yourself. You started to say what you meant by that.”

  “Oh, right... ah... nothing. I think it means I’m tired. This amnesia is playing games with my exhausted mind. I just need to ignore all these crazy thoughts.” She looked at Officer Lamric, who was looking at her. A very handsome man, she thought, and then pulled her eyes away from his, immediately feeling she was being unfaithful to Steven, and then wondered if there was a Steven. “You’ll forget everything I just said about Mussolini and Roosevelt dying and all that stuff, won’t you?” She looked sideways at him.

  “I’ll try if you will not call yourself crazy. I think amnesia is a fair enough term.”

  “All right. I’m not a crazy person. I’m an amnesia person.” He laughed and then she laughed. “What I should be doing instead of spending all my time reading is figuring out what I’m going to do once I leave. Where am I going to go?”

  “Oh!” He said. “That’s the main reason I came.”

  Anne turned directly at him. “I thought you said you haven’t found anything?”

  “No, I haven’t. It’s just that... well, I must confess that I confided to my mother about your situation and...”

  “And what?”

  “She’s asked that I extend to you her invitation for you to come stay with us... or ah... her.”

  Anne smiled and looked down at her hands. “Tell her, thank you, but I don’t really think so. I’ll figure something out.”

  “She also said she would not take no for an answer.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “She asked that I give this to you.”

  She took the envelope. “Mrs. Waring,” was written neatly on the outside. She looked up at him and he backed up to his chair.

  “I’ll tell you that I’m not entirely in favor of the idea.”

  “You live with her, don’t you?” Anne asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You worry for her that she is inviting a crazy woman, not only into her home, but your home as well.”

  “No, no. That’s not it. I really don’t think you’re crazy.”

  “Ah huh.” Anne eased her finger under the flap and tore the envelope open. “Don’t worry. I really have no intention of invading your home. I like my independence and have enough money, even after the hospital bill, of which I have asked about, to rent myself a place. I see ads in the newspaper. So, you should feel relieved.”

  Lamric didn’t say anything.

  “You and I are in agreement. I know my reason. What is yours?” She pulled the single sheet of paper from the envelope and read:

  Dear Anne:

  We have not met, yet I find it comfortable to call you Anne rather then Mrs. Waring. James has told me much about you and your unfortunate circumstances. I already feel as though I’ve known you for years, and as I would do for any old friend who needs help, I open my home to you and your beautiful baby daughter, Elizabeth Anne.

  I’m sure you are reluctant to accept an invitation from someone you do not know, but consider what other alternatives you have available to you. Actually, you do know me. You know my son and through him you know me.

  Anne looked up. “Tell me about your mother, James Lamric. Where is your father?”

  After Officer Lamric left, Anne thought more about Mrs. Lamric’s offer. Where else would she go? Homeless and crazy, and with a baby. It was not only her best option, but apparently her only option. She again felt the watch in her bathrobe pocket. It was just another non-fitting shape in a puzzle with half the pieces missing. She cycled through the buttons on the watch, finding that the countdown timer was still set to thirty minutes. She remembered using it when she was making a pie for Steven a few weeks back. She was afraid she wouldn’t hear the oven timer from upstairs.

  Another non-fitting piece to the puzzle.

  She walked down to the nurses’ station to check the time, and then returned to her room. The watch was an hour off. She reset the time and dropped
it back into her pocket.

  Chapter 16

  Sunday ~ July 19, 1987

  James and Steven sat in silence for a time. The only sounds were that of the air conditioner kicking on and the cool air blowing out the vents.

  “So, the baby, ah, Elizabeth Anne,” Steven was sitting on the sofa with the book of baby names in his lap, “my daughter, was born July 17,” he looked at James for several seconds, “1943.” His face took on serious thought lines. “That would make her 44 years old now.”

  James wrestled long over this meeting, and for the last five years, alone. His mother’s last words before slipping permanently away on that cold February night in 1982, were, “Tell Anne I love her.” Thirty-nine years and still his mother felt for Anne as if she were her own daughter who she talked to only the day before. James looked down at his hands, understood his mother’s feelings, felt the equivalently strong love for Anne and felt guilty sitting in front of her husband. So many times in the last few days he shook off the guilt, convincing himself that there was nothing to be guilty of. We cannot control our feelings, the psychologists say, only our actions over those feelings. And now, as an old man, there was nothing he should feel guilty about. James continued studying his hands.

  “Where is she?” Steven said, “or, where are they now?”

  Think before speaking, James reminded himself, and then speak carefully. He swallowed and then gulped a bit of orange juice. “Let’s see. It’s the nineteenth, Monday morning. They would still be in Roper Hospital.”

  “No! No!” Steven said impatiently. “Where are they today, now?”

  James took a deep breath, settled his body back into the easy chair and said those three words that haunted him for more than four decades. “I don’t know.”

  Steven laid the book aside. “I guess I don’t understand, Mr. Lamric. What does, ‘I don’t know’ mean?”

  James looked at Anne’s bridal picture that Steven had hung back on the wall. “Well, she arrived. Elizabeth Anne was born. She settled into a new life and waited for you to take them back. Then they disappeared.”