“You're paranoid.” I disagreed. Cautious, not paranoid, but I let it pass. They were cops, no doubt. In my old life, having a cop behind me at a red light gave me butterflies. Having them invade this world shifted my strategy for escape into high gear.
She watched me go through the motions for lunch, but I could ignore her more easily than forget why I worried about two guys who just had breakfast. I worked faster than I needed to, and then told her I'd be out back having a smoke.
I poked my head out into the alley and checked for unwanted guests. No one, nothing. I took a deep drag, then sat in the chair I'd salvaged from a dumpster ages ago. As alleys go, this one was pretty usual, except cleaner. The trash guys around here are careful. Never have seen that before. And I make a point of picking up the occasional flotsam and jetsam that drifts back here. Linda would appreciate how neat I've become.
For eight years, I've compared what I had been doing and where I'd been with the same time here. Although I've been tempted, I've avoided any contact with the people from my old life. On the bad days, I hold myself back because I've already messed up their lives, not just mine. And the damage to them is nothing compared to what I had set loose on the rest of the world. That's why I expected that eventually I would be found. President McCain wanted me strung up to the nearest tree. At least that's what he'd allowed his vice-president to say. She meant it, even if he didn't.
After an uneventful lunch crowd, I finished up and went home, stopping at the ATM to grab the cash I'd need until the end of the week. I stashed the bills in my pants pocket, not in my wallet, ever. Over the years, I've learned some of the tricks of the street. Check to see if anyone's watching. Never have a lot of cash, but always have some.
That's when I spotted them. As I walked to my car, the guy who watched me in the shop sat in the passenger's seat as they went past. His quick glance gave away his pretending not to notice. My chest tightened and my pulse raced. I watched until the car turned out of sight a few blocks down. By the time I reached home, my nerves had calmed, and I had my plan ready.
Over the years, I had collected backpacks. In the car trunk, ready for escape, I had a few changes of clothes, extra toiletries, only the necessities. My small apartment didn't have room for me to be a hoarder, so packing the rest would require little time or effort. I hadn't planned to leave yet, but when I went to work in the morning, I could choose to vanish or not. Some of my old life had remained, like this lesson from Tom Andrews—always be prepared and always do the unexpected. Caution had served me well, just not soon enough to have kept me from being here. I had originally planned to fix things and just go home. The portal had been my friend. Not this time. I've found it easier to blend in, chameleon-like, where I wouldn't be a curiosity. After a few years out west, I'd come back to where I pretended to be just another East Coast guy going to work, going home. Some days, I hoped to be caught, just to end the monotony.
We restocked on Saturdays since most customers worked nearby and spent the weekend at home. My job included ordering supplies for the next week, which allowed time to analyze my predicament. This world wasn't real, at least not for me. I had no relationships, no friends, not even an occasional one-nighter. “Solitary Man” ran through my head, a tune that would remain until a new one could replace it. Elections were over, Christmas just around the corner.
Early on, years ago, I'd driven to my parents' house on Christmas morning, and watched my brother and his family greeted at the front door. Although tempted to walk up, I drove to Riverboro instead. By late afternoon, I left, when my house, and Ashley's house, remained empty and quiet, shells of what they would have been. I never went back.
After orders had been placed and my late breakfast crowd had departed for Saturdays unknown, Cindy dragged out her holiday decorations. I had been a minimalist when putting up lights meant extra unnecessary work. Linda and I agreed that just the two of us didn't need it. I wonder if she'd decorate for TJ. This year, in that life, he had just had his first birthday. Or does he even exist, if I've been here all this time? I never have figured out the various permutations of time travel possibilities.
“Are you gonna help?” Cindy called, as she pulled a big box from the storage room.
“I hadn't planned on it.”
“Change your plans.” I abandoned my to-do list and carried the box to the dining area and at her direction began untangling the multi-colored twinkle lights.
“You know I have things to do, Cindy.”
“Yeah, and one of them is helping me with the decorating.”
“It's almost lunch time and I'm not set up.”
“No one's here. You have time.”
“This crowd won't care.”
“I do. I love Christmas.” A smile, seldom seen by me from this hard-bitten, tough-talking woman, changed her face.
“You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Smile. It takes ten years off.”
“Just do the lights.” But the smile returned.
In the year plus I'd been here, we hadn't talked much about anything personal. I certainly didn't want to share, that California concept I'd run away from years ago. I'd guessed her to be in her 50s, and probably not bad looking at a younger age. A little wrinkling, a little gray mixed into the brown. And being on her feet all day, a pretty nice figure held up by shapely legs. I guessed she'd had a rough time of it. But I'd never asked. That would have meant letting down my guard. Thanks, Tom. Caution. I know.
She caught me staring as I unwound the tangles. “What are you looking at?”
“Knots,” I lied. “You know, you can get new lights for three bucks per hundred at the market. This is stupid. Why don't I go get some new ones. And when you put them away, wind them and wrap them. You won't have this mess next year.”
“Will you get them after lunch, then? We can decorate this afternoon.”
I don't know what possessed me, but I told her I would. Maybe eight years was softening my resolve, or just my need for human contact. “Just no music.”
The Portal at the End of the Storm - Chapter 2
ASHLEY
NOVEMBER 27
Jane said that I'd been hard on Linda. I was, and on her mother, Emily, for not telling us everything before this mess got completely out of hand. I told Jane that both her life and mine had been upside down for the past six months because of them.
“You know that's not fair, Ash,” Jane said.
“Maybe not entirely. But a lot. Jane, I love you. And I love Fritz and Linda like family. More. I can't believe I can't find him. Yesterday, I randomly followed each of the nine books to where he'd paperclipped. Today, only the ones I think he would have chosen. Tomorrow night, I want to go in the exact order he left the books on the desk.”
“Do you think you know where he went?”
“My brain says he went to find Robert E. Lee. But inside the portal, that doesn't feel right. Like the portal is trying to tell me to look somewhere else. Classes are going to be relaxing compared to this.”
That's how I felt. At first, I sensed Fritz's pain. I know what damage the months without Linda and TJ have done. He'd begun smoking again, up to pack a day, and he had bought a whole case of Jack to just get through the long nights. I tried to reason with him, then bully him. He's one stubborn cuss when he makes up his mind to be. Kind of like me.
But right now, with Jane watching me, I'm angry, really angry, at Fritz. He took off into the portal. He had to know that I'd come after him, but if he wanted me find him, he wouldn't have made it so hard. I'm angry because he took the easy way. And left me to sort out the chaos.
“I'm going to try to talk to General Lee tomorrow. Maybe he can give me some advice like he gave Fritz way back when. Or maybe he's seen him. Jane, I hope I can find him soon. I want to marry you. I've waited for years and I'm tired of waiting.”
She grinned at me. “Ash, we've only known each other a little more than a year.” Her dark eyes sparkled, li
ke in a fairytale movie.
“I've wanted to marry you for my whole life,” I said. “I just had to find you first.” I took her hand and squeezed. She did what came so naturally. She reached to the leather satchel hanging on the chair, and took out a yellow pad. “So you're going to record all my romantic sayings?”
“No.” She scowled, intending to make me laugh. “Those are recorded. You know I have the house bugged.” Then I did laugh. “Ash, I think we should have a record of as much detail as possible in case this takes longer than you think.”
“Let me write it. As I go through, you can ask questions to get to the least important, most miniscule factoid you can conjure. You know, government at its best.”
She jerked toward me and I sat back, dodging what I expected to be a right cross that never came. Shaking her head, she said, “While you're writing, I'll make dinner. But before you start, would you do my back? It's itching like the devil, enough that scratching it would feel good even if I opened the cuts. I could get bloody.” More than a month after her abduction and rescue from the barn, the wounds hadn't healed completely. A recurring image, finding her in the barn with those knife slices down her back, remained as palpable to me as I'm sure they were to her.
“Sure,” I said, and followed her to the bedroom.
By the time I started writing, I desperately needed a shower and food. But the shower could wait. While Jane reheated whatever we had in the fridge, I took the stack of books and made a list of titles in the order I visited Fritz's clipped selections.
The first stop had been Kitty Hawk. McCullough's book. It had been a fun read, but stepping inside its pages enlightened me about how to proceed.
“Here's another one, Wilbur.” The younger dark-haired man pointed at me as I walked into their work shed.
“What do you want?” I answered him as abruptly as he had asked.
“I'm looking for someone. And he's been here. Have you seen him?”
“Would I be correct if I said the name Russell?” Wilbur asked, nodding to his brother.
“I think you already know the answer is yes.” I asked when he'd been there.
“Who are you?” Orville asked.
“My name is Ashley Gilbert. Fritz is my friend and he's lost.”
“He acted fairly certain of his location when he came here,” Wilbur said. “He had a lot to say this time.”
“This time?”
“I met him a few years ago in Dayton. When he left, he walked into a glowing rectangle. When he showed up here, we three spent a few hours talking about what he said would be accomplished here.”
Orville said, “It's out there, Will.”
Orville had tried to look busy, but he stood in the shed opening looking at the fluorescent rectangle. I told them that Fritz and I had found a way to travel through time and space. They both laughed, not at my statement but at the idea that they were about to change the world through flight. I understood the irony.
“How could he be lost, Mr. Gilbert? He came here, just as you have. And he left through your portal. As I presume will you.”
I asked again when Fritz had visited.
“What's it been now, Will? Nine, no ten days?” Wilbur nodded. “Why is finding him so important to you?”
I'd never put it into words before. Fritz and I had just meshed right from the start, my first day at Riverboro High. We'd just talked between classes, like we'd known each other forever.
“I'm the butter to his bread. He's the salt to my pepper.” I looked at the workshop. “I'm his propeller, and he's my wings. Alone we work fine. Together we soar.” I glanced at the brothers. “I'm his Wilbur, and he's my Orville.” I hesitated at their grins, and asked, “Which of you has the best sense of humor?”
Wilbur stiffened, his lips forming a thin, taut line. Orville shrugged. I waited. They answered at the same time.
“Orville,” said Wilbur.
“I do,” said his brother, and they both laughed.
“In that case, I'm his Orville and he's my Wilbur.”
“Mr. Gilbert?” Wilbur asked. “The moon. Does man reach the moon? Mr. Russell said we did.”
I asked him if he'd read Jules Verne. He shook his head.
“Not too far in the future from now,” I told him. “On July 20th in the year 1969, a man named Neil Armstrong had been the first, will be the first, to set foot on the moon's surface. But, what's as exciting is that we had the communication technology to be able to watch it right here on earth. The future, gentlemen, is astounding,” I said, “and you are an important part of the foundation we will build on. Now, I have to go. Having met you is a great honor. I have given you a gift, a glimpse of the future. Use the knowledge judiciously.”
When I finished the first story, I checked the time. Already nine o'clock. Tomorrow school would begin again, with the final push to Christmas vacation. Jane asked me where I'd been.
“Chatting with Orville and Wilbur. No wonder Fritz wants to use the portal.” I pushed the pad across the table. “Here.” She pushed it back.
“Ash, you have to find him. The portal may be fun, but it's destroying our friends' lives. So keep writing. Where did you go next?”
“Germany. Of all the places Fritz could go, he went to see Hitler in prison in 1924. That's when he wrote Mein Kampf. Fritz paperclipped the one picture of Hitler in his cell.”
Jane asked me why Fritz would pick Hitler. Curiosity more than anything, I told her. For a brief moment, I could visualize Fritz with a gun, one step inside the portal, a quick shot. Hitler would be dead, and he would be gone. A shiver ran down my back.
“What's wrong?” Jane asked.
“I wonder if Fritz considered shooting him?”
“He would know he'd create cataclysmic changes. He wouldn't take that chance.”
“Jane, I'm not so sure. I honestly don't know what he would do. His state of mind is nothing like anything I've ever seen. Just leaving, giving up. It's not like him at all.”
“Did Hitler see you?”
“No. I looked and left in less than five seconds.”
“You should write that as part of your description. In case things change, it'll be a place to look and see if he's the reason.”
I told her I really needed a shower. When she asked me to describe Hitler, I said I only saw his back, but from the photos, his anger lived on the surface. Dead eyes. No joy beneath. I expected his cell would be like we see in American prison documentaries. Instead I had seen a fairly large room with a large window, which swung open to the inside.
“Why was he in prison?” she asked.
“In 1923, the Nazis tried to overthrow the government. History books call the attack the Beer Hall Putsch. I need to read more about it, but Fritz said that besides writing the book, Hitler learned a strategic lesson, which he used effectively. From that point, he used the political system to bring the Nazis to power. They became a force the government couldn't ignore. So the German president appointed Hitler as chancellor. He rose to power preying on the fears of the people.”
“Write that all down. If nothing else, it's a good start on a book. Then get a shower. You're pretty ripe.” Her eyes beamed at me and I finished recording my notes quickly.
Monday morning came too soon. Jane had a meeting with Colonel Mitchell about closing down the secret airport now that the elections were over. I suggested that they might want to delay closing it until the president left office. “He may still be a target. Richter, I mean Koppler, hasn't been put away.”
“I agree, Ash, but the president is beginning to wind down everything, so he's ready to hand over the keys on January 20.”
“If you talk to him, tell him I still have a bet I expect to win.” She chuckled and kissed my cheek on her way out the door. I had only a few minutes to gather my thoughts and my lessons. The stack of books called to me, so I took the remaining seven to the car, along with my game plan for the day.
After homeroom ended, the day should have been busy, bu
t I pulled the plug. For each class, I assigned different writing projects, long enough that they couldn't finish it in class, so it would carry over as their homework. While each class wrote, so did I.
I paid close attention to the next book, General Longstreet's memoir, the one Lee had told Fritz he had asked Longstreet to write. I had stepped through no more than three feet from the general. I had barely enough time to look around. His binoculars were aimed at a wide field covered in smoke, and he didn't hear me come through. Loud, repetitious cannon fire didn't distract the two soldiers running toward me. As I took a step toward the portal, General Lee stepped through the door onto the porch. I didn't wait to make contact. With all the smoke, and so little wind, I don't know how anyone could see anything, but the woods teemed with men preparing. Pickett's Charge would soon follow.
By the end of the first period, I had completed my description of five seconds at Gettysburg, and had started making notes on the next book, Professor Guelzo's history of the battle. Fritz pursuing Lee made sense to me because Fritz said that book read like a novel, one of the best he had ever read. I found out right away I wasn't prepared for my next visit to the past.
Fritz had clipped the pages where the Confederates had retreated from Gettysburg, and camped at the banks of the Potomac in a downpour. If Fritz had been here, I think he would have left quickly. On the heights, the Union army formed up, with the chance to put an end to the Army of Northern Virginia, with its back to the swollen river. Lee's army had escaped, so I had no reason to get any wetter.
“Mr. Gilbert.” Yanked back to the present, I wiped the imagined and remembered rain from my forehead. Jay Bennett had his hand up.
“Are you done, Jay?”
“Not yet, but do you know when Mr. Russell will be back? We want to get started on the tournament. We're already falling behind.”
Susan added, “And we were supposed to help Delport High set up their own tournament.”
Storm Surge (Quantum Touch Book 5) Page 35
