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

by Inmon, Shawn

  “Usually, we realize these things too late, Charles said, glancing up at the digital clock that could be read from anywhere in his living room. “It’s almost time again. I don’t think I ever tell you thank you enough. For believing me. For giving me everything you do. I am sad to know that in a few minutes I will remember everything about you and I will once again just be the odd man down the hall to you.”

  “We’ll get through it. We always do.”

  “You don’t have to stay. I’m sure it’s not pleasant, watching me tip over dead.”

  “I am not leaving you.”

  Charles nodded. Closed his eyes.

  Waited.

  The song faded away and the needle was playing nothing but the record label.

  The only other sound was Moondog’s breathing.

  Charles opened one eye.

  The digital clock read 10:46.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  MOONDOG LEANED TOWARD Charles. “So, it’s not very precise then?”

  Charles was frozen in place, not wanting to move for fear of pitching over dead.

  “No, it is precise.”

  “Then why are you here? Has this ever happened before?”

  “Yes. Well, no. I thought it had happened once, but it was when we were in New York and it was just a time zone issue. I still died right on schedule.”

  “Then how are you still here?”

  Charles raised one tentative hand and held it in front of his face. “I have absolutely no idea. No idea why, no idea for how long.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Charles and Moondog sat in near-silence, waiting to see what would happen.

  What happened was nothing, and then more nothing.

  Charles continued to breathe in and out.

  When the digital clock read 11:00, Charles turned to Moondog and said, “You must be exhausted—it’s well past your bedtime. You should go home and get some rest. Will you do me a favor, though? Whenever you wake up this afternoon or this evening, will you come check on me and see if I’m still alive? I’ll give you a key.”

  “Of course.” Moondog looked at Charles with a sense of wonder. “I’ve been preparing myself for the fact that you’ll be gone. I was really going to miss you. So glad you’re still here.”

  Moondog left, closing the door softly behind him. Charles heard him lock the door from the outside, then unlock it and relock it.

  Charles smiled. A single tear leaked from his right eye and ran down his face.

  He stood up and walked around his apartment, touching the kitchen counter, the fabric of his couch, the cool of the window.

  “I have never been here, before,” he mumbled to himself. “Uncharted territory.” He looked outside at the leaves blowing around on the street below. “Good.”

  Charles suddenly felt like he was going to collapse and braced for the worst. He hurried to the bedroom and laid down face first.

  He wasn’t dying, though. He was simply exhausted.

  When Charles opened his eyes, it was dark both outside and in his condo. A dark form lurked at the end of his bed.

  “Oh thank God,” the form said. “I thought you were dead after all.”

  “Moondog?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Charles leaned across and turned on his bedside lamp, illuminating Moondog in all his tie-dyed, bearded glory. The worried expression on Moondog’s face was replaced by a brilliant smile.

  “Hey, you’ve gotta be hungry, man. Come on over to my place and I’ll rustle us up something. We can talk about what all this means.”

  “I’ll be right over. I want to take a shower and feel human again.”

  An hour later, the two of them sat down to a mushroom and cheese omelet with homemade hash browns.

  “You haven’t taught me how to make these,” Charles said, forking a bite of hash browns into his mouth. “They’re so good. Crunchy on the outside, perfect on the inside.”

  “Well, unless something changes, we should have plenty of time now. I’ll show you the secrets to all my recipes.”

  “Have you ever thought about getting a job?”

  “No, not really. When I inherited the money from my father, I sat down with a financial planner and he helped me put a plan together with very conservative investments so that I could essentially live off the interest and earnings without having to add new money to it. I figured that if I didn’t have to work, I wouldn’t.”

  Charles nodded, nibbled a bite of omelet.

  “But, don’t you ever get bored just sitting here in your condo all day? Doing the same things over and over?”

  “You are a fine one to talk to me about doing the same things over and over.”

  “Agreed. But, I’m changing. And, if this is real, and I did live past 10:45 this morning, I’m going to change some more. I have a project in mind, but I would need your help.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “A project that would entail a lot of work, a lot of hours, would probably exhaust us both, but in the end would pay us absolutely nothing.”

  “You are a terrible salesman, Charles.”

  “When I talked you into going to New York with me, you said I was a good salesman.”

  “That was a different Moondog entirely.”

  Moondog put his fork down and looked intently at Charles.

  “I can see something in your eyes. You’ve got a plan. Do I have any chance of resisting it?”

  “Truthfully, yes. I won’t harass you about it. If you don’t want to do it, I completely understand. If someone had approached me about it back in my first life, I never would have given it a second thought. And to your perspective, you are on your first life.”

  “I notice you haven’t told me what it is yet.”

  “I’m still pulling everything together in my mind. I’m not sure I’ve got enough money to make it happen.”

  An idea hit Charles like a bolt of lightning.

  “Oh. I just realized that I told Graystone that I was dying. I guess I am going to have to tell them I did not die after all.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see you’ve made a total recovery.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to go back to work, too. I don’t have nearly enough money to live on the rest of my life—especially if I want to fund this project.”

  “And again, I’ll note you haven’t told me what this project is.”

  “Assuming I don’t drop dead in the near future, I want to open a restaurant.”

  Moondog blinked. He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, then said, “That’s pretty much the last thing I ever thought I’d hear from you.”

  “It gets better. I want to open a restaurant and not charge anything for the food. I want to feed people who are hungry.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  THE NEXT DAY—NOVEMBER 1, 1988—was a busy day for Charles.

  For the first time in more than a hundred years, Charles was completely in the dark about what the weather was going to be like. He found that rather exhilarating.

  Charles dressed in his normal Graystone uniform and was waiting outside Vic Stander’s office before Vic even arrived.

  When Vic got there a minute before 9:00, he glanced at Charles, then did a double take. “Hello, Charles! You look remarkably well.” The subtext of what he said was: I never expected to see you again.

  “I’ve had an unlikely recovery. The fatality rate for pancreatic cancer is 97 percent. But of course, what that means is that three people out of every hundred survive. I am one of the lucky ones.”

  “Well, how wonderful. Do you want to come back to work already?” The subtext of what he said was: I have no idea what to do with you.

  “Not yet. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about today. I’d like to take a leave of absence for a month.”

  “Of course, of course. I’ll push the paperwork through myself. Don’t worry about it. The subtext of what he said was: Thank goodness. I don’t have to figure o
ut what to do with you today, then.

  “Thank you, Vic. I’ll be in touch.”

  Charles left Vic’s office and took the stairs up another story, to the executive offices. A woman sat behind a large, polished wooden desk. She was young, pretty, and tough. She controlled access to everyone at the Vice-President level and above, and she was no pushover.

  “Can I see Mr. Graystone?” Charles asked.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I think he might be willing to see me.”

  The young woman looked at him as if to say, And why would that be? But she smiled and said, “Have a seat. I’ll contact his assistant. Who may I say wants to see him?”

  “Charles Waters.”

  Charles took a seat and looked at the massive fish tank that took up one entire wall. He spent a few minutes wondering about what it cost to heat, clean, and maintain a tank of that size. He was startled out of his reverie by a deep voice saying, “Hello, Charles!”

  It was Mr. Graystone himself.

  The woman who stood guard, watched with interest, hoping to see what was so special about this unimpressive man.

  “Mrs. Graystone and I were so saddened to hear of your illness. We sent you a card. I hope it arrived safely.”

  Charles realized that he had gotten out of the habit of checking his mail. “I’m sure it did, sir.”

  The unlikelihood of that answer whizzed right by Mr. Graystone.

  “Can I talk with you in your office?”

  “Of course, my boy. I must say, after what I heard about your diagnosis, I am very pleased to see you looking so well.”

  Graystone laid a gentle hand on Charles’ shoulder and led him to a massive corner office that took up almost half of the front of the third floor.

  “Please, come in, come in. Have a seat. Can I have Pamela get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you. I only need a few minutes of your time.”

  Mr. Graystone sat down on his side of the immense mahogany desk, steepled his fingers and said, “Proceed.”

  “I’ve gotten some news that my cancer appears to be in remission.”

  Graystone nodded vigorously, as though he had already guessed that by Charles’ appearance.

  “Nearly dying has changed my perspective on many things.”

  “It does that, doesn’t it?” Graystone chipped in.

  “I’ve asked Vic in HR for a month’s leave of absence. He said he would take care of it for me.”

  “Absolutely. Take as long as you need.”

  “Thank you, sir. Here’s what I need from you, though. While I was ill, I took to taking walks around Middle Falls, trying to build up my stamina. On these walks, I ran into a number of people who were homeless, struggling, and hungry.”

  “We make a monthly donation to the food bank for that very reason.”

  “I’d like to do something a little different. I’d like to start a restaurant that will offer to feed people who need it at no charge. However, I’m not a wealthy man. I’m not asking for anything from Graystone, aside from working with me on my schedule.”

  Graystone leaned back, fingers still steepled in front of him. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’d like to have some time to work on this project, but I will still need my income to live. I’m wondering if I could work out of the office on most days—just coming in to pick up my work and to drop off my finished projects. I would work as hard as I ever do, but I could do it around the hours I need to get my project off the ground.”

  “You’ve been with us a long time, Charles. I wouldn’t even consider this for most people, but you are not most people. I’ll bring this up with the board. They’ll be worried about setting a bad precedent, but I’ll give you my recommendation.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Charles stood to leave.

  “Where are you getting the funding for this restaurant of yours?”

  “From my own finances, sir. My savings.”

  Graystone nodded, then reached into his middle drawer. He pulled out a ledger checkbook, plucked a pen from the gold holder, wrote for a moment and signed his name with a flourish.

  “Here. This will get you started. We need more new ideas like this in our community.”

  Charles looked at the check. It was made out to him in the amount of ten thousand dollars.

  CHARLES WATERS WAS never one to take things for granted. If something could be examined, explored, verified, or over-thought, he was the man for the job.

  To that end, he made an appointment with Dr. Masin, who was rather surprised to see him, especially looking as healthy as he was.

  Sitting in the same office where he had received bad news so many times, Charles received word of the miraculous.

  “I’ll admit I’ve never seen anything like this.” Dr. Masin was leafing through a sheaf of papers, one by one. They all told the same story.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would say that these test results are a completely different person than what I saw a month ago. There is absolutely no sign of any cancer, anywhere in your body. I am very pleased, although I do not know how it happened.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Masin,” Charles said, shaking his hand. “I feel great.”

  “As you should. I’d like to schedule a follow-up with you in three months.”

  “Of course.”

  Charles softly closed Dr. Masin’s office door behind him, nodded at his nurse and lightly jogged down the stairs.

  Outside, there were new people coming and going. There was no car alarm, and no distracted Jaguar driver.

  It was a new day.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  AFTER LEAVING DR. MASIN’S office, Charles drove straight to the shut-up restaurant by Thomas Weaver’s office. He jotted the number down, then walked to a payphone. He dropped a quarter in the slot and dialed.

  “Green Valley Real Estate, can I help you?”

  “I am looking at a property downtown that has a sign in the window with this number. Can you tell me who I need to speak to?”

  “Do you have the address?”

  “No.”

  “One moment please, I’ll connect you.”

  The phone buzzed in Charles’ ear, then, “This is Rebecca Wright. Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking at what looks to be an abandoned restaurant downtown. I’m wondering – is it for sale, or for lease?”

  Charles could hear the woman flipping pages, likely looking for the long-forgotten listing.

  “Oh, yes, the Good Morning Café. That property is owned by the woman who owns that building, and she is looking to lease it, not sell it.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “Are you interested in leasing it?”

  “That’s why I want to see it.”

  “I’m tied up here at the office until 4:00, but I could meet you there at 5:00 if you’d like.”

  “That will be fine,” Charles said. He left her his name and home number and hung up.

  He stepped out of the phone booth and looked up into the November sky. Clouds were gathering and it started to rain.

  Charles smiled. It was so good to not know what was coming.

  He waited until 4:30, then knocked on Moondog’s door.

  When a rather sleepy looking Moondog opened the door, Charles said, “Good morning. I have an appointment to look at our new restaurant in half an hour. Do you want to go with me?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course! We all have choices. That’s what makes life so good.” Charles reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the check from Mr. Graystone. “And, look at this.”

  Moondog squinted blearily at the check, then rubbed his eyes. “You must be some sort of magician, Charles, to get that kind of money out of one of the city fathers.”

  “I never even knew he knew who I was, until I went to a send-off party a few lifetimes back. He said so many nice things about me; I thought he might be amenable to help us. I didn’t e
xpect this, though. It was very kind of him.”

  “Come on in,” Moondog said, stepping back from the door. “Why don’t you put some tea on for us, I’ll jump in the shower real quick, and we can take it to go.”

  Thirty minutes later, they pulled up in front of the darkened café. Moondog had showered and was reinforced with a quick cup of tea on the way.

  Charles was simply excited.

  An attractive woman in her mid-thirties stood in front of the door, out of the wind. She waved when she saw Charles looking in her direction.

  After the introductions all around, she opened the door and the smell of a long-closed space whooshed out to greet them.

  “Ack,” Rebecca said, ingesting the smell and dust. “My apologies. It’s been shuttered for a while now.”

  “How long, exactly?”

  Rebecca opened the folder in her hand and ran her finger down a form. “Well! Um, it looks like it’s been sitting here for three years now, waiting for the right person.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “I’m sorry, but there is no power in here. I’m sorry it’s so dark.”

  “No problem. We brought flashlights,” Charles said, clicking one on and handing the other to Moondog.

  They spent twenty minutes poking and prodding around the place, raising a small dust cloud everywhere they went. There was a decent-sized storage room in the back and the kitchen was fully equipped, if somewhat decrepit.

  “It’s possible that the landlord would be willing to pay to have it remodeled if you signed say, a five year lease.”

  Charles took out a piece of graph paper and a fifty-foot measuring tape and handed one end of it to Moondog.

  Half an hour later, even in the near-total darkness, he had managed to sketch the restaurant to scale. He also wrote down the brand and model numbers of all the appliances and made notes about which tables, stools, and chairs were in need of repair.

  Finally, he turned to Rebecca. “Thank you, ma’am, for meeting us here. I’ll be in touch with you very soon.”

  On the trip back to the condo, Charles talked non-stop. He analyzed square footage, what the average lease per square foot had been on the last two years in Middle Falls, what the repair costs would likely be, how much of that could be replaced by sweat equity, and a dozen other trains of thought.