Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel

by Charlotte Banchi

  * * *

  Alvin Rayson hung up the receiver and turned to the four people relaxing in the waiting room. “We got trouble brewing at Pastor Gordon’s,” he said.

  Timothy Biggers was first on his feet. “How long ‘til it boils over?”

  “Pastor said they passed by his place four times already. He figures we got ten or fifteen minutes till they stop.”

  “Let me lock and load.”

  Rayson held up his hand. “Pastor says no guns this time, doctor. He wants to talk it down.”

  Biggers snorted. “Talk it down? Alvin, those boys wouldn’t be messin’ round there if they didn’t want to do some damage.”

  “I know. But Pastor Gordon said he’s got an idea of what to do. We’re supposed to come over to his house and park on the street. And, Dr. Tim, he said to tell you special, ‘don’t bring that rifle of yours, and no side arms, or the shotgun you keep in the closet’.”

  “You’ve delivered the message, Alvin. You can go to Heaven with a clear conscious,” Biggers said, getting up off the sofa. “Excuse me, but I need to get my things together.” He disappeared into his apartment.

  Moments later Rayson heard the whack as the bolt chambered a round from a fresh ammo clip into the M-1 Garand.

  Lettie Ruth peeked out the window, her face troubled. “Is Pastor expecting problems to spill over our way?”

  “He didn’t say, but I’d guess most will happen on his street this time,” Rayson said.

  “Mind if I come along?” Mitch asked. “I handle myself pretty well around trouble. Maybe I can help cool things off.”

  “I know one thing for sure,” Kat declared. “I ain’t stayin’ here.”

  “Now, Miss Kat,” Rayson said. “You don’t need to be steppin’ into this.”

  “Why not? When it comes to trouble, I’m as good as that one,” Kat said, pointing a finger at Mitch.

  Rayson stepped closer and placed both hands on her shoulders. “This ain’t the time for you to be pulling no attitude on me, girl.”

  Kat dissolved into laughter. “Judas Priest, it’s the same old line, except now I’m hearing it before I was born.” Her own comment sent her into another fit of laughter and she collapsed on the sofa.

  “Is she all right?” Rayson stared at her, wondering if he should call the doctor.

  “She’ll be okay,” Mitch said, as he jerked Kat to her feet. “She just needs to rest. All this excitement is making her talk crazy.”

  “You hear him, Mitch?” She giggled. “Did you hear?”

  “I heard him,” he said. “Everybody heard everything, Kathleen.”

  She looked at Alvin, then at Lettie Ruth, suspicion filled their faces. “Everybody?”

  Mitch nodded.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mitch said.

  She faked swooned and grabbed Mitch’s arm. “I need to lie down,” she said, staggering drunkenly toward the hall, dragging him along with her.

  “Don’t leave without me,” Mitch called over his shoulder.

  Rayson watched until they’d disappeared up the staircase. “Some mighty strange goings on around here,” he said quietly. “You starting to see what I been talkin’ about, Sister? How things don’t fit?”

  “Some.” Lettie Ruth waited a beat. “But the girl is not at her best tonight. Could be those things she’s sayin’ only sound crazy on account of—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “On account of nothing. You heard it, same as I did.”

  “But it didn’t make sense, Alvin. How could she hear you tell her something before she was born?”

  “Have you looked at Kat? I mean taken a real good look at her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you see?”

  “A pretty woman.”

  “Quit hedging, Lettie Ruth. Don’t pretend you don’t see that girl wearing my eyes and wearing my dimples?”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Well, I reckon hers are a little bit like yours. I guess.”

  “If I was to have a girl child someday, you think she might look like Kat?”

  “Alvin Rayson, are you talking about that time machine book again?”

  “I’m talking about what my daughter might look like.”

  The feeling he and Kat were related had been growing in him all day. So many of her mannerisms—the way she moved her hand or used certain phrases—were his way of doing things. Dolores’ way of doing things. Kat’s eye color and dimples, that kind of sameness only ran in families. In some mysterious fashion, he believed this woman to be the child he’d have one day. The how or why she’d turned up at this particular time remained a mystery. But she’d come for a reason.

  “Well, she’s got enough attitude to be your child,” Lettie Ruth said.

  Alvin Rayson smiled, his dimples digging deep holes in his cheeks.

  * * *

  “Folks is here, daddy.” Lamar stepped from behind the kudzu and waved to Virgil as he raced across the yard. All along Webster Avenue, the cars were parking bumper to bumper.

  Pastor Gordon stood behind his son, hands resting on his shoulders. “Praise God,” he whispered.

  “Amen. Hey there, Virgil,” Lamar said, as his cousin climbed the porch steps.

  “Hey, Lamar. Evening, Uncle Jackson.”

  “Here’s what I want y’all to do,” Pastor Gordon said. “I expect those white boys to be comin’ our way again. And soon as they do, you and Virgil run inside and squeeze down behind the ice box.”

  “Daddy,” Lamar protested. “I’m not hidin’ in the house like a girl.”

  “No, you’ll be in the house ‘cause I told you to be in the house.”

  “But I can help. I’m near as big as you.”

  Pastor Gordon stared into Lamar’s eyes. “You’ve already been a big help. Without your sharp eyes I’d never known about that truck. I’m gonna need you in the days to come, son. I don’t want to lose my secret weapon in our first battle.”

  Lamar kicked at the rough plank flooring of the porch. He didn’t want to be hunkered down behind no ice box when the truck came back. No matter what Daddy said, it was still hiding. His thirteenth birthday would be here on Friday, the day after tomorrow, and to the Jewish people a boy turning thirteen meant he’d become a man. He wished he was Jewish. He bet none of their boys would be cowering behind no ice box tonight.

  * * *

  Mitch and Timothy Biggers rode in the back seat. Alvin, Lettie Ruth and Kat in the front.

  No amount of talking could convince Kat to stay at the clinic. This was her first chance since the rape to take a step toward regaining control of her life. Besides, she was trained for confrontational situations. In fact, she and Mitch were the only professionals in the bunch. Everyone else had a boat load of courage and good hearts, but they didn’t know jack about dealing with the bottom feeders.

  Biggers tapped her shoulder. “You real sure you know how to use that weapon?” he asked, referring to the .44-caliber Colt Anaconda he’d loaned her.

  This was the third time he’d asked the same question in as many blocks. And for the third time she responded, “I’m an expert shot, Timothy. Tell him, Mitch.”

  “She’s an expert shot, Timothy.”

  “See my trigger finger?” She wiggled her right index finger in the air. “No bandages.”

  “I’ve never seen so many cars,” Lettie Ruth commented as they turned up Webster Avenue.

  “I told you, Pastor Gordon has a plan,” Rayson said, as they fell in line behind three cars inching along. “He told me if the street got used up, to pull into the empty driveways.”

  “I suggest you do something mighty fast, Alvin,” Biggers said. “The headlights comin’ this direction are too high to be mounted on a sedan.”

  They were forced to wait until the Ford in front pulled into a drive, but before Rayson got the car in gear Kat, Mitch, and the doctor jumped out. He watched as they darted across the street heading for the Gordon’s house. All three sure loo
ked like they knew what they were doing. Timothy Biggers carried his rifle muzzle up, reminding Alvin of a World War II recruiting poster. Mitch and Kat’s hands dropped to their sides as they cut between two parked cars, but he caught a brief metallic flicker when they trotted underneath the streetlight.

  * * *

  “Kat, you sure as hell better know how to use that Colt,” Biggers whispered once they reached the safety of the shadows next to the house.

  “Take care of your own ass and don’t be worryin’ so much about mine, Timothy,” Kat snapped.

  A curly head poked out of the window. “Hey, Miss Kat, Dr. Tim,” whispered Virgil. “Y’all come to help Uncle Jackson?”

  Lamar shoved his cousin out of the way and stuck his head out the window so far he nearly lost his balance. “You ought to be someplace else, Miss Kat, things don’t look good around here tonight.”

  “I’ll be fine, Lamar, don’t you worry.”

  Biggers leaned a shoulder against the ship-lap siding next to the window. “What y’all supposed to be doing ‘bout now? I don’t think your daddy’s want you boys hanging out the windows.”

  “We gonna help fight,” Lamar announced.

  “Going kick white butts,” Virgil yelled over Lamar’s shoulder.

  “Is that so?” Biggers handed Kat his rifle. “Y’all boys move on out of my way.” He used his arms to pull himself over the window sill. Once inside he turned and stuck his hand out the open space. “My rifle, if you will, Miss Kat.”

  “You gonna stay in there?” she asked, transferring the weapon to its owner.

  “My young soldiers and I will battle from this position,” he said.

  “Good idea, could get a little dicey in there. If y’all need backup, give me a call.”

  Biggers nodded and disappeared inside, she heard him giving orders for the boys to move to the rear of the house.

  Mitch crept to the corner. Kat followed his lead. Crouched beside the house and hidden from the street by a tangle of honeysuckle, she laid her gun down long enough to rip the splint off her left hand. She flexed her fingers, it hurt some, but the slight ache wouldn’t slow her down. She picked up the Colt revolver she’d borrowed from Biggers, and rechecked the cylinder.

  “Good to go, partner?” Mitch whispered.

  When she saw the stake-bed truck coming down the street the white-hot flame of panic erupted in her chest and traveled up her spine.

  They’ll see me.

  The trembling began with her hands. The gun fell to the ground.

  “Kat?” The voice faint.

  They’ll see me. An emotion beyond fear ruled her mind and body. Kat crawled into the glowing mist surrounding the honeysuckle bush. The roaring in her ears grew louder with each heartbeat, drowning out all sounds. Deaf and blinded by absolute terror, she curled in a ball, seeking invisibility.

  Hands on her shoulders. White Hands. She clawed at them, desperate to keep the hands from touching her again.

  =TWENTY-FOUR=

  Mitch didn’t know what he should do. The Gordon’s front yard was about to fill up with Kluxers and his partner huddled in the shadows. Every time he tried to touch her she fought like a feral animal. He feared if tried to force it that she would flip out and attract unwanted attention from the KKK members.

  He eased toward the rear of Pastor Gordon’s house, closer to the window Biggers had climbed through earlier. He tapped the gun barrel on the glass.

  The window slid open, Biggers stuck his head out. “Problems?” he whispered.

  Mitch nodded. “Kat’s having a big time panic attack. She’s curled up in the bushes and won’t let me touch her.”

  “Hold on.” His head disappeared. After a brief conversation with Lamar and Virgil, the doctor climbed out the window.

  * * *

  The pickup skidded to a stop in the middle of the street. Nine hooded men in white robes piled out carrying baseball bats and chains. Unable to reach the preacher’s yard directly, they clambered over the cars parked bumper-to-bumper along Webster Avenue.

  Pastor Jackson Gordon, five-foot five-inches and of slight build, waited for them on the second step, Bible in hand. “Evening,” he said, once all nine men stood in his yard.

  “Hear you been keepin’ a jigaboo bitch here at your place,” the mob leader said. “One who got herself all beat up.”

  “Got no woman here,” Gordon answered.

  “Hand her over,” the leader demanded.

  The preacher moved off the steps and into the yard. “Got no woman here.”

  “We know that nigger bitch been at your house,” a man in the back of the crowd shouted.

  “Seen her with that boy of yours,” another voice called out.

  “Yeah, and we don’t plan on wasting no more time,” the leader said. “Hand her over, preacher man.”

  “Got no woman here,” Gordon repeated.

  “You keepin’ all that nigger for yourself, boy?” asked the man in back.

  Their rumbling grew louder and more angry.

  The leader moved closer, swinging the heavy chain in a tight circle, with each arc it struck the ground, kicking up a dust cloud.

  * * *

  “There’s too many jackasses around here right now to try moving her inside,” Timothy Biggers whispered.

  Mitch agreed; any form of physical contact with Kat was out of the question. Especially since the doctor hadn’t had any better luck with Kat. In fact, he seemed to have made matters worse, because if they so much as twitched a finger now, she flailed wildly in the air. Sooner or later, all this activity in the shadows would be noticed.

  “We’ll have to screen her from the yard,” Mitch said. “I don’t want her to see those robes … and I sure as hell don’t want them to see her.”

  “We may end up on the defensive,” Biggers said, studying their position.

  “Damn it,” Mitch muttered, his attention diverted as the mob leader closed in on Pastor Gordon. “That’s Billy Lee.”

  “Billy Lee Mitchell?” Biggers asked, peering intently through the bushes. “You know him?”

  “He’s a relative.”

  Biggers grunted. “Nice family tree you got.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You sure it’s him?”

  “Do bears shit in the woods, doc? That robe can’t hide his voice. Or his swagger.”

  “Or his brass knuckles,” Biggers added, pointing to the glint off Billy Lee’s hand. “Saw him rip a fellow’s face open with those once.”

  “I guarantee he won’t rip anyone open tonight.”

  “If we have to shoot him will it cause family problems?”

  “You might say that.”

  * * *

  The klan members insults grew louder and more pointed as the hooded men moved into position, forming a semicircle around the preacher. The air crackled with anger. And fear.

  Billy Lee Mitchell rattled his chain. “What kind of fertilizer you want us to make out of that pup of yours?”

  Pastor Gordon remained silent.

  “I put fifty pounds of coon babies on my cotton last year and doubled the crop,” one man said.

  “I mixed mine in with the hog slop. Got the best damn hams in the state of Alabama,” another commented.

  Billy Lee turned his back on Gordon and addressed his men, “This is by-God America, and we’re by-God Americans. I say we take a vote.” The men hollered in agreement.

  “Who’s for piccaninny cotton fertilizer?” he asked.

  A robust “Yes!” erupted.

  “Nigger boy hog slop?”

  The crowed erupted, cheering and whistling.

  “Guess that’s the winner. Looks like your boy’s going to be chopped up for the hogs, Preacher Man. Or…” He paused dramatically, then raised his hood slightly and spit a wad of tobacco on Gordon’s shoes. “Or … you could just make it easy on yourself and hand over the woman.”

  “Got no woman here,” Gordon stated again.

  Billy Lee swung the
chain.

  The side of the preacher’s head and neck burst open, releasing a flood of red. In seconds, his white shirt was saturated. The Bible in his hand was blood slick, but he stayed on his feet, his face passive.

  “You got shit for brains, Sambo?” someone in the mob shouted.

  “Give us the woman,” Billy Lee growled.

  “Got no wom—”

  “That’s the last fucking time those words is gonna come out of your mouth.” Billy Lee swung the chain at the preacher’s legs until Gordon collapsed.

  Pastor Gordon struggled to his knees and slowly raised the dripping Bible above his head.

  On his signal, Webster Avenue lit up like the Fourth of July. Every porch light, inside house light and car headlight along the street clicked on. Radios and television sets were turned full volume. Outside, automobile horns and car radios blared.

  The hooded men turned in circles, confused and stunned by the light and cacophonous noise, then moved closer together. A pack of scared dogs.

  Billy Lee whipped around, the dirt clung to the hem of his white robe. “A little bit of racket ain’t gonna scare us off, nigger.” He swung his chain, repeatedly striking the preacher until Gordon fell face forward on the ground.

  As though someone had pulled the plug, the sound ceased. The nine men spread apart, murmuring and kicking up a mini-dust storm as they milled around the front yard.

  Billy Lee bent over and shook Gordon’s shoulder. “Where’s the woman?”

  “Got no woman here.”

  “Kick the living shit out of him, Billy Lee,” the man in back shouted.

  “Goddamn it!” Billy Lee exploded. “No names.”

  “Aww hell, these damn niggers don’t care about no names. Half of ‘em can’t read or write.”

  “And they’re deaf as bats.”

  “Just shut it up,” Billy Lee said.

  Pastor Gordon raised his head slightly until he could see the circle of men. “I can read, and I can write,” he said. “And I’m good at remembering too.”

  Billy Lee viciously kicked at the preacher’s ribs until his head dropped again.

  * * *

  “We’ve got to do something,” Mitch whispered. “They’ll kill him.”