Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “I see. I guess it would be all right. It has been two weeks now and you said you’ve been doing some research. Have you started forming any conclusions? Do you think I have any brain damage?”

  “Brain damage?” Dr. Bronson smiled. “You certainly do not appear to have brain damage. My diagnosis is that you are suffering from a loss of mnemonic retention as well as a buildup of mnemonic redirection and a juxtaposition of false mnemonic projection.”

  Anne blinked a couple times. “Oh!”

  “So – can we start in Monday?”

  “Monday?” Anne said. “We aren’t scheduled to meet again until Tuesday.”

  “Yes.” Bronson looked a bit embarrassed. “To be truthful with you I expect to obtain this recording machine over the weekend and am anxious to use it. If you are free Monday, I would love to begin.”

  Anne smiled back. “Certainly. At your place I would assume?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen it and it’s quite bulky – not very portable.”

  Ruth’s voice broke in. “Will you be very much longer, Anne?” She was standing near the bottom of the stairs.

  “No. As a matter of fact we’re just finished.” She turned back to Dr. Bronson. “I’m sorry to cut it short today but I do have other business to attend to.”

  Bronson stood. “Certainly. 3:00 on Monday then.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good day then, Mrs. Waring, and good day to you, Mrs. Lamric.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Dr. Bronson Anne said, “What did the admiral say?” James came down the stairs behind his mother.

  Ruth said, “He didn’t come right out and say the Plymouth was sunk but James said he never denied that it was, and that he would keep an eye on the survivor numbers.”

  “Before he would even say that he wanted to know my reason for asking,” James said. “He said it was classified information and he needed more reason than just my curiosity.”

  “What did you end up telling him?”

  James sat down on the sofa where Bronson had been sitting. His mother remained standing. “That I had a friend who had premonitions. Then he wanted to know what other premonitions you’ve had. I then told him about Mussolini’s fall, that you knew that would happen days before and that you know all the details about Italy surrendering in September.”

  “What did he say to that?” Ruth asked.

  “Not much, actually. He mentioned his son who is in the Navy and how his wife awakes at night with terrible premonitions. Fortunately, none of those come true. Actually, he seemed to accept it all pretty well. I think he equated it to having dreams, like his wife.”

  They all went silent. Ruth turned to gaze out the front window. “Anne. Come here, quickly!”

  Anne stepped up next to her and together they watched Doctor Bronson turn off their walkway to stroll down the street.

  When there was nothing but silence for a number of seconds, Nathaniel Bronson quietly stepped away from the front door, went down the walkway and turned right onto the sidewalk. What was it he just heard? This police officer, James, went to some admiral to find out if his friend’s premonition about a ship sinking had come true. Just premonitions the admiral thinks. What if he realizes she is worth more than just a few premonitions, that she is a wealth of information that could be used to build an entire battle strategy?

  Strategy! Would have to build his own strategy, figure out how to handle her slowly until he could convince his authorities to pick her up before the Americans do. Italy surrenders in September. Would have to get those details, somehow, and radio that to the sub. That should get their attention.

  “He was eavesdropping,” Ruth said.

  James came out of his chair and headed for the door.

  “No!” Anne said.

  James stopped at the door and looked at her.

  “No point in confronting him now. I’ll do it next time I see him. And maybe he wasn’t listening. Maybe he was just lingering on the porch. He might have been admiring your flowers, Ruth.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ruth argued. “With the windows and doors open you can sit out on the porch and hear everything that’s said in here. Even if he was admiring the flowers, he heard everything.”

  “But why would he have to eavesdrop? What would he learn that he doesn’t already know, and for what purpose other than helping me and his amnesia research?”

  “I don’t know, Anne, but I don’t like it.” Ruth turned away and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get you some dinner, James, before you go to work.”

  Anne remained standing at the window, looking out at the heat of the South Carolina summer afternoon. James remained standing at the front door, less aware of the heat than of Anne’s proximity. In the light her face was more like a doll, with soft lines, smooth skin, perfect features. He wanted so much to touch that face, caress it with his hands and lips. He breathed deeply, sighed and then realized she had turned her face toward him. Their eyes met, then he dropped his. How long had she been looking at him? Did she see his thoughts, understand his feelings? He suddenly felt hotter than the air around him. He pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the porch.

  The look. The eyes. The same puppy-dog face I saw on Steven in the library so many years ago, which of course never happened. Why do I keep seeing his face, remembering happy times with him, remembering the touch of his body against mine? If I have amnesia, why can I remember so much and in such vivid detail? Is there actually a Steven out there? Where is he? Is he looking for me? If so, where is he looking? Where should I be to be more visible? I had a bag, his bag full of my things. Was I traveling to somewhere, from somewhere? Did I leave him, run away for some reason? But he was a good man, wasn’t he? Worked too much but otherwise a good husband. Why would I run away? Is it me? Am I a schizophrenic, with multiple personalities? Is who I really am buried deep by the dominant personality?

  Anne continued to stare at the space vacated by James.

  That’s the most plausible explanation. I have a split personality. Why haven’t I thought of this before? I wonder if Dr. Bronson has thought of it? Maybe he has and he hasn’t said anything. Maybe the reason for the recording device. Why was he eavesdropping? Maybe to learn more from my conversation with other people? See if my personality changes? Maybe this recording will help. Maybe if he plays it back for me, I would hear something.

  What about this fortune telling thing? What does that have to do with it? Is one of my personalities able to tap into some inner mental power? I don’t remember ever being psychic before. I don’t even remember ever believing in such things. A lot of hokey-pokey is what I said when I first learned of Nostradamus. It’s not hokey-pokey. I’m actually doing it. My dominant personality not only is powerful enough to produce an entire futuristic life in my memory with unbelievable clarity and detail but also can forecast major world events. I know that in a month the Italian government will surrender to the allies but I have no idea what will happen to me tomorrow, or even anybody I know. On July 16, 1945 I know that Robert Oppenheimer will watch the first mushroom cloud rise above the New Mexico desert and say, “I am become deaf, the shatterer of worlds.” How come I don’t know where I will be on that day? And why do I know so much about that very device which creates the mushroom cloud? Is my dominant personality so powerful that it can know these things? It not only knows when things will be invented but even knows how they will work.

  Like air-conditioning.

  Actually, I don’t know when that will be invented but I have a general idea how it works. I remember wondering how people survived in the south without it. A strange memory to have, another obviously created by my dominant personality.

  Poor James.

  He’s infatuated with me, a psycho. I must be careful. I could be dangerous. Anne felt the ring on her left hand. Besides, in my other personality I’m married to Steven, or somebody at least. My dominant personality may be able to create Steven in my mind, and the name Waring for that m
atter, but it cannot create the ring. Maybe I’m not really Anne Waring. Multiple personalities can have multiple names.

  Who am I then if I’m not Anne Waring?

  Can Dr. Bronson do hypnosis? Maybe that’s what he is planning. Can he hypnotize me without any of my personalities knowing it? If he hypnotizes me and my other personality appears and he records it, I’ll be able to hear it. Maybe that’s the answer.

  Chapter 28

  Sunday ~ August 8, 1943

  From previously reported source - Italy will surrender to Allied Forces early September. Same source had knowledge of Mussolini’s fall days before. Am confident as to source’s extreme knowledge, accuracy. Shall continue to observe. Will report any new information in next communications. Please advise.

  After encoding the message, Bronson broke it down to ensure he had made no mistakes, reread it, and then destroyed everything except the coded version.

  3:00. Getting late. Will just be able to make it by 4:30 when the U-boat will be on station. He packed the message into a concealed compartment of his medical bag and went out the door.

  The drive wasn’t all that long. The time involved was made up of stopping and ensuring he wasn’t being followed or observed. Forty-five minutes into the drive he stopped in front of a country store, the last outpost of civilization before he proceeded on down Folly Road, out to the islands and the beach. The store was dark. Bronson turned off his lights and walked around the car as though checking tires. He watched for lights or any movement nearby. When he was certain everything was clear, he proceeded on.

  The only drawback with the location he chose was that weather could make it impossible to get to and a hurricane could flood or wash away his equipment. He took precautions against flooding, sealing it well. A large bush grew against the back of the outhouse. The year before when he bought the place from an old woman who said it wasn’t worth it anymore, he pulled back the branches of the bush with rope and built a watertight compartment onto the outhouse. With the bush set back in place the compartment was virtually invisible, even to someone having the mind to snoop around the property.

  Bronson threw on a heavy parka to protect himself from the bush, pushed under it, unlocked the compartment and removed the equipment. Each piece was individually wrapped to protect it from sand and salt.

  At 4:22 he was set up. He powered up and breathed a sigh of relief, even though he had one spare battery packed with the equipment and one in the car, plus spare tubes. When satisfied everything was operational, he powered down and waited the remaining seven minutes.

  At 4:29 he powered back up. At exactly 4:30 he flipped the button to transmit, keyed in his call-up code, and then listened. At 4:31 he did the same and again at 4:32 and every minute thereafter until finally, at 4:41, he heard the U-boat reply. He knew immediately by the sound it was the U-boat’s code, but to be sure, he broke it anyway. At 4:43 he acknowledged and advised that a message was to follow. When he received the go to transmit, he keyed in his coded message, sent the end signal, and then waited.

  The wait was exceptionally long. He began to sweat, adding to the film of moisture already coating his skin. Did I make a mistake? Will they just send a boat in to pick me up? No! They wouldn’t do that without preplanning. A lot of prep work is involved before making physical contact with American soil. It wasn’t any longer than most of my messages, shorter actually. Maybe they were deciding what to do. The commanding officer probably doesn’t have enough authority to make a decision. He must communicate with headquarters. That might take a month or more. It’ll probably be after Italy surrenders before they will decide if my source is worth pursuing. But they have to send an acknowledgment at least.

  Bronson paced back and forth several times, stepped outside and looked toward the east, toward the beach and breaking surf he couldn’t see or hear. He turned, looking in all directions but could see nothing, hear nothing. He stepped inside the old shack, and sat facing the receiver. He adjusted the volume and the gain, but heard only the background hiss. He decided to send a request for acknowledgment. As he placed his finger on the transmit button, the sound of the long and short clicks started up. He wrote until it stopped and then broke it.

  Observe and make safe contact only to gather additional information. Next report seven days.

  Bronson relaxed. At least it wasn’t an “Observe Only” order. He shut down, then sat at the table and considered how he would kidnap her if the order was given. Drug her of course, but where? How would he do it so that he would not be questioned about her disappearance?

  And what about the baby?

  He hadn’t thought about the baby before. Complicates things. The old woman, Ruth Lamric, would take her in. But would Anne Waring cooperate if separated from her child, or would she cooperate more if she knew her child was safe?

  Bronson suddenly realized there was a glow in the east. He had lingered too long. He stowed the equipment, quickly scanned for any evidence of his presence, and then headed back to Charleston.

  Chapter 29

  Monday ~ August 9, 1943

  When Anne awoke Monday morning, she decided it was time to get out, go somewhere besides down to the park. She and Elizabeth Anne needed clothes. She knew Ruth would give her a hard time because she had been telling her to get out since she had been there. “Not ready,” Anne would say. “Not a good time.”

  “No good time like the present time,” Ruth would say and fuss on about how Anne kept herself cooped up. “The park isn’t enough. Neither is the walk down to Doctor Bronson’s place.”

  Those were the only places Anne had gone, outside of meeting a couple of the neighbors. As far as clothes, all she had were two pairs of dress slacks, a pair of blue jeans and one dress. “You’re such a fine-looking woman,” one neighbor said to her. “Why do you dress like a man?” She only smiled at the mother of two high school age boys. At the first opportunity, she retreated back into the house. After that, if she stepped from the confines of the house for any reason, she wore her dress.

  She was getting tired of the dress.

  Maybe now she was ready.

  Elizabeth Anne certainly was ready; she had only the clothes Ruth dug out of the attic. Ruth washed them well but still, they didn’t smell new. Besides, they weren’t pretty girls’ clothes.

  She picked up Elizabeth Anne and held her out in front of her. “So, how does that work you pretty little thing you?” She rubbed her nose with her own and then watched Elizabeth’s mouth change shape as though she were trying to smile. “How is it that I prefer you to be dressed like a girl but for myself –– no way? Jeans and a T-shirt would be just fine for me. But you, my sweet baby, get to wear a frilly little dress with white or pink shoes and pink tights. We’ll put a little pink ribbon in your hair and you’ll be the queen of the ball.” Dribble bubbled out the corner of Elizabeth Anne’s mouth. Anne wiggled her and continued in her high pitch, this-is-the-way-you-talk-to-a-baby, voice. “You bet your sweetness that’s what we’ll do. Dress you up like a little princess. You’ll be the hit of the town. Why you’re smiling you sweet thing. There it is! I see it! Before you know it you’re going to be giggling and laughing and you’re going to have a googol of admirers. Bet you don’t know what a googol is.”

  Anne suddenly saw that Ruth was standing in the kitchen doorway with a glass of water in her hand. “I guess we’re about ready?”

  Ruth smiled. “What is a googol?”

  Anne laughed. “A very big number. It’s ten raised to the power of one hundred.”

  “Oh! What does that mean?”

  “One followed by one hundred zeros.”

  Ruth looked at her with a blank expression. “I guess I’m ready to go too.” She turned around to return the water glass to the kitchen and hit the doorframe with her hand. She held onto the glass but most of the water sloshed out, soaking the front of her dress. “Darn! Now I’m going to have to go up and change. I just pressed this.”

  “Nonsense,” Anne sai
d. “I’ll just get the blow dryer.”

  “The what?”

  “Blow dyer. Come up with me.” She headed up the stairs with Elizabeth Anne in the crook of one arm. Ruth followed behind.

  In Anne’s room, Ruth watched as she pulled out what looked like a big white handgun with a cord attached. “I haven’t used it since I’ve been here, except once.” She looked at Ruth’s puzzled expression. “Have you never seen one before?”

  “No,” Ruth said slowly. “What exactly is it?”

  “It’s a hair dryer. Many call it a blow dryer. You can use it for anything you need hot air for, like drying your dress.” Anne pushed the plug into a wall socket and pointed the dryer at the wet spot on Ruth’s dress. When she turned it on, Ruth jumped back.

  “What in tarnations?”

  “It’s okay. It’s just hot air.”

  Ruth stepped forward and Anne turned it back on.

  “Where the devil did you get this?”

  “Where I think I got it is part of my – I don’t even know what to call it anymore – confusion or amnesia or whatever. I just have it, that’s all I can really say.”

  In five minutes, the dress was dry and they were heading out the door.

  Together, Anne and Ruth struggled the buggy down the steps. They turned north from the house, walked around the lake down to Calhoun and then proceeded east. Ruth said they should go to Sears and Roebuck first as they had slips on sale for 79¢, and the neighbor lady said there were some new dresses Anne might like.

  The walk was about twenty minutes. Anne tried to decline the hat Ruth offered before they left. “You’re married and should be wearing a hat,” Ruth insisted and practically put it on her head herself. “All right,” Anne said, attempting not to sound indignant. She stood in front of the mirror trying different angles and then said, “Best I can do. Let’s go.” Ruth also gave her a purse into which she placed $80, considered that for a time and added another $20. The list of things she needed kept growing and she wondered if she would be able to carry it all back. $100 limit, she thought to herself. Can’t buy all that much. She wondered how long it would be before she ran out of cash – how long before she had only the gold pieces left. Then what would she do? Cash them in and then what? Maybe she should think about finding a job.