Middle Falls Time Travel Series (Book 12): The Many Short Lives of Charles Waters

by Inmon, Shawn

  The back cover blurb promised a story of a man who died and woke up at an earlier point in his life, only to die and be reincarnated again.

  Charles’ heart pumped quicker.

  Someone understands. This has happened to someone else.

  The young woman, who Moondog greeted as Elizabeth, reappeared from behind the curtain. “I’ve been saving this copy of Farnham’s Freehold for you. We don’t get this in very often.”

  “Wonderful!” Moondog said, accepting the book and placing it on top of the stack of books he had under his chin. “You are my pusher of all things literary.”

  “A rare compliment.”

  Moondog looked at Charles, who still seemed a little dazzled by the book he held in his hand. “Find something? Here, toss it on my pile and I’ll get it for you. Do you want to look around some more? I’m sure Elizabeth’s got a whole section of those thrillers you like to read.”

  Elizabeth nodded confirmation, but Charles said, “No, just this. I think this is all I need.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  BACK IN THE CIVIC, darkness had settled over Middle Falls. Charles turned the key, but made no move to go anywhere. Instead, he reached into the backseat, where Moondog had put the paper bag with all his new-to-him books and riffled through it until he found Replay.

  “Look,” Charles said. He reached up and turned on the dome light. “Read the back cover. It’s me!”

  Moondog took a moment and read, squinting in the semi-darkness.

  “Sounds like you, all right. But, what does it mean?”

  “It means I’m not the only one going through this!”

  Moondog turned the book so the spine was facing toward Charles. He pointed to the fine print at the bottom. “It says ‘Fiction.’ I’m not sure it means anything other than an author with a good imagination.” Moondog opened the book and looked at the copyright date inside. “Hmm. Published in 1986. Pretty unusual for a book this new to be in this store. Maybe you are meant to have it.”

  Charles took the book and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “I’m going to read it and find out. What are the odds that someone made up a story that’s exactly like my life?”

  “Before I met you, I’d have said, ‘zero,’ that’s for sure. But you are opening my eyes to all kinds of possibilities. Me, and all the other Moondogs you leave in your wake. Are you hungry?”

  Charles glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, isn’t it? We’ve had a full day exploring. Maybe we should head home. I can make us an omelet.”

  “As much as I would enjoy that, I have a different idea. Let’s go to Artie’s.”

  “The hamburger stand?”

  “I hear the disdain dripping off your words, but you’re not allowed to knock it until you’ve tried it. Remember, you didn’t think much of the other places I’ve recommended, but you’ve ended up with a magnificent painting and a book you’ve apparently been looking for over many lifetimes. I can’t promise an Artie burger will change your life, but it will change your hunger.”

  “I am open to all changes. I am open to all changes.” Charles chanted it over and over like a newfound mantra. “Okay, at least I know where this one is. I’ve been driving past it as long as I’ve lived here.”

  Charles pulled the Civic into Artie’s parking lot. The tall neon sign was an oasis of light in the darkness.

  “What now?” Do we go inside?” Charles eyed the small seating area.

  “Up to you. We can go in if you want, but most people just order and eat in their car.”

  “I’ve never eaten anything in this car.”

  “You are open to changes, you are open to changes,” Moondog chanted.

  “Fine, fine,” Charles said, peering at the glowing menu. “Not a lot of choices here, are there?”

  “Doesn’t need to be. Just order us two Artie’s burger baskets and two chocolate shakes.”

  “Chocolate shakes?”

  “What, are you worried about your girlish figure? You’re gonna be dead in a couple of weeks, live a little.”

  Charles poked the red button below the menu that read, ‘Order here.’ A few seconds later, a woman’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Welcome to Artie’s. What can I get you?”

  Charles cleared his throat and said, “Yes, umm... Can I get two Artie’s burger baskets and two chocolate shakes?”

  “You bet, need anything else?”

  Charles wanted to answer that he didn’t need all that, but instead said, “That’s all, thank you.”

  The rest of the Artie’s parking lot was nearly empty. There was an old pickup truck and a small Chevrolet four-door parked in one corner, but Charles surmised those belonged to the people who were keeping Artie’s open this late on a weeknight.

  The whole front of Artie’s was glass, so Charles and Moondog watched the young man on the grill, making their food. The woman who had taken their order was bustling around, filling ketchup bottles and salt and pepper shakers, getting ready for the next day.

  Five minutes later, she backed through the front door with their food on a tray.

  “Roll your window down,” Moondog said. “About three-quarters. Not all the way.”

  Charles did as instructed and the woman approached the driver’s side window with a smile. She was tall and pretty, with red hair and an easy smile. Her name tag identified her as Nellie. “Here you go,’ she said, placing the rubber tips on the underside of the tray on the car window. “Six dollars and fifty-two cents.”

  Moondog was ready. He handed a ten dollar bill across and said, “Keep the change.”

  “Yes, sir. Always nice when the last customer of the day is as nice as you. Thank you! Blink your lights when you’re done, and I’ll run out and pick up your tray.”

  Charles handed a plastic basket with a hamburger and fries in it to Moondog, along with a paper to-go cup with the shake.

  Moondog eyed him. “Go on, try it.”

  Charles hesitated, but picked up the hamburger off the tray and took a tentative bite. He chewed the small bite his normal thirty-seven times, but as soon as he swallowed, he took a much bigger bite.

  Moondog didn’t say anything, just smiled to himself.

  A few minutes later, the neon sign overhead turned off and the parking lot was lit only by the row of overhead lights that ran across the front of the building.

  Charles had demolished the hamburger and finally took a drink of the shake. His eyes lit up. “It’s like cake batter, but better.”

  “There’s a reason Artie’s has been here since 1952, you know. Other places come and go, but Artie’s is forever.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve been here and missing this all these years.”

  “That can be said about a lot of things, can’t it?”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  THE NEXT FEW WEEKS passed easily. Each day, Charles and Moondog went out and explored more of their hometown and always found new experiences in store.

  Charles gave up his need for a constantly repeating daily schedule. Moondog gave up his need to be constantly surrounded by the same four walls.

  The difference was that Charles could take the lessons he had learned in this life forward into the next life with him. Moondog, meanwhile, at least from Charles’ perspective, would be right back where he had met him on the night of the fire when he saw him again.

  Charles spent the first few days after visiting The Prints and the Pauper reading Replay. He was both exhilarated and disappointed by the read.

  The story was tense and wonderful, but as Moondog had surmised, it was a work of fiction; not a thinly disguised retelling of someone’s life who was going through what Charles was going through. There were differences in the way the fictional world of Replay worked. For one thing, each time the hero of that story started over, he found himself a little closer to his death. At first, it was only a day or two further along. Eventually, those big leaps in the story made him realize a time would come when he would run
out of lives.

  Charles, on the other hand, had become accustomed to the metronome-like regularity of his lives—opening his eyes at 2:32 p.m. on October 6th and perishing at 10:45 a.m. on Halloween morning.

  And so, Replay became another alley Charles walked down, looking for answers, only to find none.

  As his rendezvous with death approached, Charles felt something he had not for many years over many lifetimes: regret.

  He had enjoyed having Moondog live with him, and he had come to look forward to each new daily adventure. He also became more and more concerned with the world he was leaving behind. Over all his many lives, Charles had never given a thought to what happened to everything he left behind.

  A week before Halloween, he decided to do something about it. He looked through the yellow pages and called a number for a local attorney.

  “Law office,” the woman’s voice answered on the other end of the line.

  “Do you do estate planning?”

  “Of course. Would you like to set an appointment?”

  “Yes. Do you have anything this afternoon?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you have any openings this afternoon?”

  “We’re scheduling appointments for next month.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said, hanging up.

  He had the same conversation with two other attorney’s offices.

  On his fourth try, the voice on the other end of the line said, “Thomas Weaver.”

  “I need to talk to someone about a will.”

  “Happy to help. When would you like an appointment?”

  “This afternoon.”

  Thomas Weaver laughed a little. “People aren’t usually in such a hurry to tackle estate planning.”

  “I just found out I’m dying. I have pancreatic cancer. I’m not a wealthy man, but I do have some assets I’d like to pass on.”

  “Of course. I apologize. I didn’t mean to appear flippant. Why don’t you come into my office this afternoon at two? What’s your name?”

  “Charles Waters.”

  “Do you need my address?”

  “No, it’s here in the yellow pages. I’ll see you there.”

  Charles called a momentary hiatus in his Middle Falls adventuring with Moondog, but did leave early enough to stop at Artie’s for another burger basket and chocolate shake.

  Thomas Weaver’s law office was a modest affair—a small storefront on main street. When Charles walked in, there was no secretary behind the desk, but the door to an inner office was open.

  A disembodied voice issued from the back office. “Mr. Waters?” It was soon followed by a head sticking out from around a corner. Charles could see the head belonged to a young man, not yet thirty, with unruly hair and a tie pulled askew. “Sorry for my appearance,” Weaver said, attempting to straighten his tie. “I’ve been researching case history all afternoon and I lost track of time. Come in, sit down.”

  Weaver’s office wasn’t large, nor was it particularly well-appointed. It gave off a just-getting-started vibe, which suited Charles fine. What he needed was simple enough.

  Thomas Weaver indicated a chair on the other side of his desk. “Please, sit down.” He cast an appraising glance at Charles, who did not look at all sick. “Very sorry to hear about your illness. My condolences.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it.”

  That brought Weaver up short and he narrowed his eyes, looking to see if there was subtext in the comment. Finding none, he said, “Tell me what you need today.”

  “I have a few assets I need to distribute on my death. I own my condominium free and clear. I have a 401K, a few stocks and bonds, and $63,251 in my savings account.”

  Thomas Weaver made a few notes, then said, “And have you decided how you would like to have these assets allocated?”

  “Of course. I want all my final bills settled, then all remaining assets to be given to Mark Masterson. I have a funeral plan already in place, so there shouldn’t be any additional expense there.”

  Weaver jotted the name down and said, “I’ll need to set another appointment with you to get account numbers and the like. Would you like to do that tomorrow? I understand time is critical here.”

  Charles lifted his briefcase onto his lap and pulled out a file folder. He set it on Weaver’s desk.

  “You’ll find a full accounting of my assets and debts here. Please give me a call if there’s anything I’ve forgotten.”

  “I wish all my clients were as organized as you are,” Weaver said, flipping through the paperwork. “Everything seems to be in order. I can prepare what you need in a couple of days. Would you be able to come in on Thursday and sign?”

  Walking out of the law offices, Charles felt a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying lift off him. Knowing that all the details were handled for his passing brought him a peace he hadn’t known he needed until he had it.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  AS MUCH AS MOONDOG believed the things Charles told him, he had a hard time believing that Charles would die at precisely 10:45 a.m. on Halloween morning. Charles looked healthy and relatively fit. He wasn’t ready to start in the defensive backfield for the Seahawks, but he also didn’t look ready to keel over.

  Still and all, Charles knew it was coming.

  For the first time since he had first traveled through time, Charles was regretful to leave a life behind.

  On the day before Halloween, Moondog convinced Charles to do two things: eat one last burger basket at Artie’s and stay up all night with him. The first suggestion took no convincing at all. The second one did.

  “If you’re going to die in the morning, why sleep tonight?” Moondog said. And, “You can sleep when you’re dead, right?”

  So, they had dinner at Artie’s and Charles stayed up all night.

  The contractor had been working steadily on restoring Moondog’s condo, but it was obvious that it would be some time before it was habitable again.

  Sometime after midnight, they walked through the unit.

  Every scrap of carpet had been pulled out and most of the drywall had been removed. The kitchen itself had been torn down to the studs and Moondog had designed a new layout. His few possessions that hadn’t been smoke damaged sat in the middle of the floor with a protective tarp over them.

  Moondog swept an arm around the half-finished condo. “Whaddya think?”

  “I think it looks like you’ll be staying in my place for quite some time after I’m gone.” Charles eyes clouded over. “And I think in ten hours, I’m going to die and your condo will look exactly like it did before the fire, and you won’t know me.”

  Moondog laid a consoling hand on Charles shoulder. “I know, and that sucks, brother. But just like in this life, come over on that first day and tell me your story. You know I will believe you.”

  Moondog picked up the rest of his record collection and carried it over to Charles’ condo. “Why don’t you put some water on to heat and I’ll pick us out some music.”

  Charles looked around the kitchen, making a shopping list of things he would need to buy on his first day back.

  “Oh and hey! When you wake up, will you tell me not to forget the oil on the stove? I like the way the remodel is going, but I can do it without burning the place down.”

  “That’s odd, isn’t it? I’ve lived that first day so often, and in all those lives, you never set fire to your kitchen. I wonder why this time?”

  The opening notes of Here Comes the Sun played over the stereo speakers.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the fates decided we needed another push to know each other better. I’d still prefer you warn me to get my head out of my behind when you see me again.”

  When the teapot whistled, Moondog took over the tea-making preparations. In this lifetime, Charles had learned to make chicken noodle soup, how to bake a perfect potato, and how to make a delicious dip using sour cream, mayo, and beau monde. He still hadn’t attempted making tea yet.<
br />
  Moondog carried the cups of tea into the living room and the two of them sat staring into the darkness. When Abbey Road finished playing, Moondog decided it was a Beatle kind of night and put Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band on to play.

  When he returned to the couch, he saw that Charles was holding a manila envelope in his hand.

  Charles tossed it onto the coffee table. “I want you to have that. I’ve attached a business card for my lawyer, Thomas Weaver. He’s young and just getting started, but none of this was complex.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s my will. I’m leaving everything to you.”

  “That’s so kind, but I don’t need it.”

  Charles held a hand up to stop his protests. “I know you don’t need it, but in a few hours, I’m not going to need it either. If I die intestate—without a will—the great state of Oregon will end up deciding where my assets go.”

  Charles waved a dismissive hand at the will.

  “It’s not a great deal of money, less than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars altogether. Still, I’d rather have you decide what happens with that money than the government. They’ve never impressed me with their financial astuteness.”

  “All right, what would you like me to do with it?”

  Charles shrugged. “You can keep it, if you’d like. Or, if you see someone who needs help, use it to give them a hand up. Or, you can donate it all to a charity if you want. There’s no strings attached.”

  It seemed like they had covered all their business, then, so Moondog kept switching out Beatles albums, moving from back to front through their discography.

  When Rubber Soul was finished, the eastern horizon lightened.

  By the time Meet the Beatles played, it was 9:00 a.m.

  “How about an omelet, then?” Moondog asked.

  “Go ahead,” Charles answered. “I never eat on this day. I just don’t feel like it.”

  “I’m sure this day is always hard for you. I’m sorry.”