Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “Mrs. Chetta.”

  Annie looked up at the officer. She noticed his name tag for the first time and for a spit-second a spark of recognition streaked through her brain.

  “I need you to come around and sit in the front seat,” he told her.

  As she exited and he closed the door, whatever spark she had began to dim. She blinked a couple of times trying to recall it, but like a dream it was soon as though it never occurred. He held the passenger door open and she got in. As he walked around she noted that everyone else was gone: the ambulances, the coroner, the wrecker, the convertible, the other police cars, and Mrs. Dexter and child. All that was left was this lone Boston police officer and some people analyzing the damage to the building.

  After the officer climbed in behind the wheel he turned to her and said, “Okay, Mrs. Chetta. Tell me what happened.”

  When the police officer first approached her and asked her name she had made a snap decision to not give it to him, neither her married nor maiden name. She told him instead that she was Mrs. Chetta. She had immediately chided herself for revealing she was married but it was too late. She added her actual first name, Elizabeth.

  “I didn’t see the accident.” She’d rehearsed it in different versions in her head and had decided to stay as close to the truth as she could, with a few adjustments. “I was walking down the side of the building, on my way to meet my grandfather, when I heard the crash. I came running and found him on the ground next to the woman who died. I thought they were both in the accident, but then realized he was trying to help her, CPR or something. I could tell by the way her head was twisted and her vacant eyes, that she was dead. I checked on the woman in the car. She was breathing but her face was in the airbag. I thought she might suffocate so I moved her back in her seat. I then returned to my grandfather and tried to pull him away. I was going to go find a phone and then a guy ran out from somewhere and said he’d called the police.”

  “Mrs. Dexter says you struck him.”

  “Struck who? The man who called the police?”

  He looked at her like he was peering over the top of reading glasses except that he was not wearing glasses. “No. The man you say was your grandfather.”

  “I didn’t strike my grandfather!” She forced what she hoped was the right amount of shock in her voice. “I grabbed his face to get his attention. He was overly intent on saving the woman on the ground, who, as I already stated, was quite obviously gone.”

  “What was your business downtown at 8:00 on a Saturday morning?”

  Annie wanted to say that as far as she knew this was a free country and if she wanted to be downtown on a Saturday morning she didn’t need a reason. Something told her that would not be the smartest thing to say. “I was to meet my grandfather. We were going to have breakfast together.”

  “I need to see your driver’s license.”

  “I don’t have it with me.”

  “Any form of identification, then.”

  Annie suddenly realized the corner she was in. “Sorry. I don’t have anything.”

  He wrote something in his notebook and then without stopping or looking up he said, “Where is your grandfather?”

  Annie was prepared for that. “He was pretty upset. He said he had to walk for a while and that he’d meet me later at the Granary Burying Ground.”

  “Lost his appetite for breakfast?”

  Annie didn’t bother answering that.

  “What is your address?”

  “I’m not from around here. I’m from Montana.”

  “Address in Montana, then.”

  “2313 North Flathead Street, Kalispell.” Annie was proud of herself for inventing a plausible address.

  “Zip?” the officer said.

  Annie opened her mouth and then closed it. She couldn’t just make something up. She had to at least be close. Damn! She closed her eyes and started scanning the website for Grizzly Ranch, looking for contact information. Yes! There it was. “5-9-9-1-2,” she blurted out. It was the zip code for Columbia Falls, but he wouldn’t know the difference. She opened her eyes. He was staring at her.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Took me a minute to recall it.”

  “Phone number?”

  She was ready with that, having pulled the area code from her memory at the same time as the zip code. She recited it, followed by seven random numbers.

  “Where are you staying here in Boston?” he asked.

  “I’m not. Just passing through. Reason I was meeting my grandfather.”

  “Where did you stay last night?”

  It took her a second to come up with something and she was sure that little bit of pause killed whatever credibility she had left. But confessing the truth was not an option. “I slept on the bus.”

  He nodded his head and wrote in his notebook. “I suppose you’re going to tell me all your luggage, along with your identification is in a locker at the bus depot?”

  “What’s so strange about that? Certainly don’t want to carry it all around with me.”

  “Hmm.” He wrote some more. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  He looked at her. “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be twenty next month.”

  “When where you born?”

  “July 18 . . .” She almost said 1987. After another eternal pause she said, “1967.”

  The look he gave her again across the top of his non-existent reading glasses was beginning to irritate her. “You sure about that?” he said.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Why are you asking me all these questions? I didn’t witness the accident and I didn’t slap my grandfather. If he was here he’d tell you that.”

  “Good point,” he said and closed his notebook. “We’ll go ask him.”

  As he shifted the car to drive Annie glanced down at the door handle. She could jump out now and run for it. What were the chances she could evade a manhunt long enough to return to 2007?

  The door lock clicked and she jumped.

  “I wouldn’t even think about it,” he said.

  “I wasn’t,” she said and then shut her mouth. She was coiled like a cat ready to jump out of its skin. Relax. What’s the worst that can happen?

  Oh, God. She didn’t even want to think down that road.

  “If you were born in July of 1967,” the officer said as he navigated the Boston streets, “you’d be 8-years-old. I’d be wanting to amend that statement if I were you.”

  “Fifty-seven!” Annie quickly corrected and then immediately followed with, “Fifty-six! Sorry. I’m nervous. I was born in 1956.”

  “Okay. So far I’ve got you as 18, 19, and 8. Do you want to go for 17?”

  Annie glared at him. “Do I look like I’m 17?”

  “Young lady, I’ve had a 14-year-old pass for 20. Nothing surprises me. If you are 17 I could treat you as a run-a-way.”

  “I’m not a run-a-way! I’m almost 20 and I’m married.” She held up her left hand to display her ring and remembered that she had removed it more than a month ago. The mark of it was almost gone. She let her hand drop onto her lap. “My husband died.”

  He parked the patrol car at the gates of the Granary Burial Grounds. “I’m very sorry,” he said and unlocked the doors.

  “You believe me?”

  “It’s probably the only thing you’ve said that I do believe. Now let’s go find your mysterious grandfather.”

  Chapter 71

  July 3, 1976

  The officer held the door for her as though they’d arrived at the prom and he was doing his gentlemanly duties. She slid out and he took her arm, but not like his date; more like his prisoner. She considered mentioning that he was illegally parked and then thought better of it. He guided her through the gates and into the Granary Burying Grounds.

  “Okay, Mrs. Chetta. Where were you going to meet?” he said.

  Annie glanced toward the north gate, the exit onto Tremont Place, look
ed at her watch and then dropped her gaze to her feet.

  “Show me the key to the bus depot locker.”

  She shook her head and looked up at him, again noticing his name badge.

  Worley!

  She immediately turned away to hide her shock. Oh . . . my . . . God! She steeled herself and turned back.

  She analyzed his face and then reached into her memory for the image of a younger Officer Worley talking to her through her open car window and then again later in the foyer of her home. They were the same blue eyes. The face was a bit different but the eyes gave him away. The female office had called him Jeff.

  “What?”

  She realized her mouth was open, and she was staring at him. “Sorry,” she said and looked back down at her feet. What did this mean? A coincidence?

  I am here to ensure that history occurs as it was written.

  The voice in her head was her mother’s, even though she had never heard her mother’s voice. But she had heard her, hadn’t she? She was with her mother for her first four months. Still, that has to be my voice mimicking my mother. The words are those which my mother said to James Lamric and which were repeated to me sixteen years later, or sixty years later in his case.

  She lifted her gaze back to Officer Worley. “Do you have a son named Jeff?”

  His mouth turned harder than it already was. “Yes, I do. He’s seventeen. Do you know him?”

  Annie considered that for a moment. That would make Jeff 47-years-old in 2007. The Jeff Worley she knew, the Cambridge police officer who stopped her because she was driving erratic and later came to her house because of Mrs. Williams’ complaint, couldn’t have been much more than 25. So, what history am I here to ensure happens? Apparently Grandfather—despite what he may have thought—came to ensure my grandmother was killed. The implications of that swirled through her mind until she shoved it into a compartment for later analysis. Why did I go back to visit Tony? What else did I do besides fix my words? What did I set in motion? She shoved that into a compartment.

  What am I here to do? Was it simply to rescue Grandfather after he fulfilled his destiny? Is that what this all is . . . destiny?

  Officer Worley’s blue eyes snapped back into focus and a picture formed in Annie’s inner eye. She cleared her throat. “He’ll have a son and he’ll call him Jeff. Jeff Junior will become a police officer like you, like his grandfather.”

  “Really,” he said.

  Annie expected he would try to humor her; instead, the tone was condescending. Why would it be anything else? Why did she tell him those things anyway? What did she think it would accomplish? Did she think he’d suddenly let her go in light of gaining insight about his future grandson?

  For the second time Annie’s gaze drifted to the exit that spilled onto Tremont Place, to the spot where she was to be picked up. She looked at her watch and wondered again whose time they would go by. It was five minutes to the hour by hers.

  Officer Worley clamped onto her arm once more and said, “Let’s walk.”

  “Ouch!” she complained and tried to pull away. His grip became tighter. “Okay! Okay!” He eased up but didn’t let go. They started walking. “Where’re we going?”

  He guided her along the pathways, saying nothing. When they arrived at the gate that looked out over the end of Tremont Place, he halted. “This seems to be where your interest lies. Is this where you’re to meet your grandfather, or are you meeting someone else?”

  Annie looked up the dark lane, completely covered in shadow, and then turned her back to it. She pretended she was looking for something out in the graveyard hoping to pull his attention away from the bubble of light that could appear in—she looked at her watch again—one minute.

  “Who are we meeting?” Worley asked. “Is it your partner?”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “Your so called grandfather was your mark. Your scam got interrupted by the accident and instead of just walking away you continued to try to carry it off. You’re now trying to lie your way out of it. I don’t know how old you really are but you’re no smarter than a 15-year-old kid.”She shook her head. “No!”

  “Come on, Elizabeth Chetta, or whatever your name is. What was your scam? Who’s your partner?”

  “There is no partner,” she argued. “There is no scam. I’m not lying.”

  “You’re saying you did arrive by bus this morning from Montana and that was your grandfather and you’re meeting him here?”

  Annie opened her mouth and then clamped it shut. She considered waiting until the event call began and then breaking away and running. The surprise could give her a couple of seconds to get settled in the circle. By the time he caught up with her and then stopped short to assess the situation, which she hoped he would, stability would be achieved and she’d be pulled forward to her own time. Unfortunately it would create another witness. That would be three. No one was going to believe the homeless person. Annie could tell by the look on the woman’s face, the one who watched Grandfather disappear, that she was too busy questioning her own sanity to divulge what she thought she saw to anyone but her shrink. This cop, however, was an entirely different witness. He was credible.

  From the corner of her eye she could tell he wasn’t falling for her what’s-really-important-is-in-the-graveyard ruse, so Annie turned to look back up the lane. Nothing was happening. Maybe Grandfather didn’t tell them, or maybe he was unable to tell them because he was delirious or unconscious or . . . dead.

  For a second she couldn’t breathe. Her chin dropped to her chest. What if he died in the wormhole? Several scenarios raced around in her head and they all ended the same, with her wandering the city begging for food. She started to cry.

  “What’s that?”

  Annie looked up in response to Officer Worley’s question. In the shadows of the buildings there came a glow of light. Hope rose up in her and without another thought about her plan, she sprang. Whether Worley had anticipated the move or had extremely fast reaction time, Annie didn’t know, but he had an iron grip on her wrist and she was nearly yanked off her feet. She struggled to break free but before she could get anywhere he had her handcuffed to the fence.

  “No!” Annie cried. “No! No! Nooooo . . .” Helpless, she watched through the wrought iron fence as the glow of the event waited for her.

  “What is that?” Worley demanded. When Annie said nothing he said, “Tell me what the hell that is, Mrs. Chetta.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me,” she said. It’s so secret that if I told you I’d have to kill you, passed through her mind but she didn’t think he was up for MIT “Top Secret” humor.

  Suddenly there was a movement. The pile of rags that pointed her to the graveyard when she first arrived, the pile of rags that became the first witness, rose. Most of the rags fell aside and the form of a person moved across the lane and flopped down in the middle of the bubble of light.

  “Oh, nooooo!” Annie said, then pressed her head to the bars of the fence and watched as her world continued to crumble around her.

  The bubble of light flared and then went out. The homeless person was gone.

  Officer Worley called someone on his radio. Annie said, “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” The radio crackled a response.

  “Why not?”

  “No one will believe you and I’ll deny everything you claim.” She pulled herself to her full height and turned to look at him. She wiped at her face with the back of her free hand. “I’ll appear rational. You’ll appear a tad crazy.”

  The radio crackled again and he lifted it to his face. He keyed it and then let it go. He looked down the lane. Nothing more moved in the shadows. A large panel truck passed by on the cross street at the far end. He keyed the radio, gave his call number and said, “Belay that last.” Two seconds later the radio acknowledged his transmission.

  Without another word Officer Worley unlocked the handcuffs from the fence and, using it like a very short leash, led
Annie out the gate and down the lane until they arrived at the place from where the homeless person disappeared. He looked between there and the rags, which turned out to be a soiled and discolored army blanket and a patchwork quilt that had seen much better days. He turned her around to face him.

  “You’d better start talking to me or you’re going to wind up behind bars.”

  “On what grounds; an accessory to the disappearance of a homeless person?”

  “You are a person of interest in a homicide. I’m thinking you pushed that woman in front of the car, maybe caused the woman driving the car to lose control. That’d be enough for a day or two.”

  “She had a stroke,” Annie said.

  “You know this how?”

  “I just know things. She’ll die in the hospital at 9:47.” That statement surprised even her, having forgotten until just that moment when it popped into her mind’s eye that her grandfather had showed her a newspaper article about the accident when she was fifteen.

  He just stared at her.

  “Don’t you have to go notify the next of kin or something?” Annie said.

  “Others are doing that. Tell me what happened here.”

  Annie started to open her mouth with another comment to sidetrack him when she suddenly noticed that Officer Worley was staring at her chest. She looked down. Somewhere along the way she had spilt something on her sweatshirt and the stain, along with fragments of food, adhered to the material. Above the food, over her left breast, was a transparent sphere in the middle of which floated a cube on each visible side of which was the famous formula, E=MC2. Around the top part of the outside of the sphere were the words “Official” and then “New England in Pursuit of Excellence in Math & Science.” Around the bottom was a partial date, December 15. The year was covered by the particle of the dried food. By the time Annie realized what he was looking at, it was too late. He’d reached out with a finger and flicked the dried particle away. Underneath was the year, 2006.

  Chapter 72

  July 3, 1976

  Annie’s mind raced for an explanation; it was a practical joke or the designer accidentally keyed 2006 instead of 1976. “That gets a lot of notice, believe you me,” she said, forcing a smile that turned into a grin. “The math and science committee had this crazy idea to emphasis how far ahead of the nation we were. They decided to date everything 2006, three decades you see, clean into the next century. When people wore the shirt they’d be advertising how far ahead New England was.” Annie closed her mouth, realizing how fast she was talking. She took a breath and said much slower, “It didn’t work very well. Everyone thought it was a printing error and made New England look stupid.”