Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel

by Charlotte Banchi

  The blank look on her face made Mitch think twice about walking in front of the loaded weapon. He didn’t know if she was fully cognizant of her surroundings, or if she even recognized him.

  “Okay if I take a look?” he asked. When Kat nodded her permission, he crossed the room. From the front, Floyd looked as though he were sleeping, but closer inspection of the back of his head told an entirely different story.

  “Crazy nigger bitch blew Floyd’s head off,” Little Carl bleated. He sat erect on the sofa, a thin white rope looped around his wrists. Mitch doubted it would hold for more than two seconds if he really wanted to escape.

  The .45 sounded like an indoor thunderclap. The bullet dug into the sofa, hunks of cushion foam floated in the air. Kat’s face remained impassive, as though her actions were controlled by an outside force.

  “Hey, partner,” Mitch said, hoping his voice and words could shake her out of the trance-like state and back into this reality. And get her finger off the trigger. “That one hit a little close to me.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just gettin’ so damn tired of being called a nigger.”

  Mitch walked over and squatted beside her. “I think you’ve got these boys pretty much in line. How about you hand over your weapon?”

  Kat shook her head.

  He took a deep breath, trying to maintain an even keel. She was so close to the edge she might as well have already jumped off. “What’s next?” he asked, eyes on her trigger finger, anticipating the next twitch. “You plan on taking both these guys out?”

  Her eyes shifted in his direction.

  In the brief flicker of inattention, Little Carl, ropes flying, launched himself across Floyd’s corpse.

  Kat nailed him in mid-air.

  Too late, Mitch rammed his shoulder into her, knocking her sideways. He wrenched the gun from her hand.

  “That’s two,” she said coldly.

  This time Biggers didn’t stop at the door. He knelt beside Little Carl, trying to staunch the blood gushing from his mid-section.

  Lettie Rose flung open the closet and grabbed several boxes. In a few seconds she and the doctor were working together like a well-oiled machine.

  The discarded medical supplies and bloody bandages multiplied rapidly. To Mitch’s untrained eye it seemed they were losing the battle.

  “That’s it,” Biggers said, after a few more moments of frantic activity. “Nothing more to be done for him.”

  Mitch closed his eyes. Two dead men. Make that two dead white men, he thought, killed by a black woman. Jesus H, things had gone wrong. And then some. Nothing made sense to him anymore. The past was fast becoming the future and vice versa. Dear God, he wanted to go home.

  Kat pulled the Arson/Fatality sheet out of her pocket and unfolded it. She looked up and smiled.

  And it frightened him more than anything he’d ever seen.

  “See?” she said, pointing to the paper.

  He leaned over. “See what, partner?” He would rather stare at the damn list for the rest of eternity than look in her dead eyes or see that ghoulish smile again.

  “Everything’s all right again. Lettie Ruth is still alive.”

  “What?”

  “Just look.”

  So he did.

  At first Mitch didn’t understand what he saw. It was true, all the newest entries for April 7 were gone. But Floyd and Little Carl weren’t on the list. Why not? If Kat’s theory was to be believed, she was the eye of the hurricane and that particular hurricane had just blown away two full-grown men. So why didn’t their names show up?

  The list now ended with Louis Smith. Time of death: 06:45 PM.

  Kat looked at her watch. “ It’s 6:44 We can go home in one minute, Mitch,” she said.

  Louis Smith! He’d left him locked in the downstairs closet with Billy Lee. And he hadn’t searched either one. Mitch felt incredibly stupid, of course his father would be carrying—his type always did.

  He jumped up and started running. He took the stairs two at a time, halfway down his foot slipped on the explosion debris and he tumbled to the bottom. Dazed, he lay motionless outside the exam room.

  Inside, the sound of gunfire.

  Back on his feet, he skidded around the corner. Grabbed the skeleton key off the exam table. He fumbled with it, but it wouldn’t fit in the lock. Frustrated, Mitch flung open cupboards and drawers until he found a red handle screwdriver. Returning to the closet he shoved it between the door and the strike plate. The old wood cracked and he yanked the closet open.

  Louis Smith tumbled out. Thrown off balance, Mitch struggled with the body.

  Revolver cradled in the palm of his hand, Billy Lee Mitchell swung.

  Mitch didn’t have time to duck, the blow struck him in the temple and he fell backwards. Through a red curtain he saw his father race from the room.

  * * *

  Lettie Ruth secured the square gauze pad over the stitches in Timothy’s cheek with surgical tape, then leaned over and whispered in his ear, “What are we goin’ to do?” She didn’t want the Gordon’s or Alvin to hear any more than necessary. In fact, they already knew more than she liked.

  Biggers shook his head. “I’m not thinking clear enough just yet.”

  She stole a glance at the three bodies laid out in the exam room floor. “Folks is gonna be looking for those boys,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice.

  He inclined his head toward the waiting area.

  Through the open door she saw Kat lying on the sofa, knees drawn up to her chest. The girl’s eyes were squeezed shut.

  “That one’s not in too good shape either,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s best for now,” Lettie Ruth said. “That child’s faced more than her share of troubles, that’s for sure. How much can a person be expected to bear?”

  Biggers lightly touched his bandaged cheek. “Get me a handful of aspirin and help me into my quarters.”

  “Your quarters? Why?”

  “I’m hurting,” he said as he got to his feet. “And I need to make a few private calls.”

  When she returned from getting him settled, Lettie Ruth found Lamar sitting on the front porch steps. She stepped outside, the heavy rain had moved on a little while ago and now hardly more than a drizzle fell. Everything smelled clean and fresh. All the leaves were shiny green and drops of water clung to the flower petals. She wished all the dirty ugliness inside the clinic could be washed away as easily.

  “Hey, Lamar, what’s goin’ on out here?” she asked, sitting beside him.

  “Just waitin’ on Mr. Mitch.” He pointed to a black Chevy Impala parked down the street. “He told me to stay here ‘cause he was gonna to talk to that lady.”

  Lettie Ruth squinted, but couldn’t make out the woman in the dark. “He give you her name?”

  “Nope.”

  To the best of her knowledge, Mitch didn’t know anyone in Maceyville except the folks in the clinic, Dreama, and Taxi. She was glad Alvin couldn’t be here to see this, he’d surely make a mountain out of a mole hill. Brother would be ranting about time machines and getting everybody all worked up.

  She patted Lamar on the back. “Why don’t you come inside and we’ll put together another birthday cake for you.”

  He leaned over, elbows on his knees. “I don’t feel much like having a birthday no more.”

  “Can’t say I blame you. But maybe if we work at it we can still make something good out of this day.”

  “I reckon.” He squinted through the twilight at the black Impala. “Wonder what they’s talkin’ about for so long.”

  Curiosity overruled her good manners and she started to rise. “Maybe I ought to go see if any thing’s wrong.”

  Lamar shook his head. “Better not, he said stay to here, and he meant it Miss Lettie. He looked real serious, didn’t smile or nothin’.”

  Lettie Ruth sat back down, but never took her eyes off the car. Or the woman inside.

  =THIRTY-THREE=

 
; Mitch rested his head against the car seat and let the rain scented breeze coming through the window cool his face. He could see a few stars peeking through the scattered clouds. Only a light drizzle fell now, the fierce storm had moved on. He hoped the human storm would move through as quickly.

  “I’ve been watching it rain and wondering,” Pamela said.

  “Wondering what?”

  “Wondering why you entered our lives at exactly the right moment. When we needed help.”

  “My grandfather told me when fortune smiles you should always smile back.”

  “That’s a nice piece of homespun wisdom, Han. But it provides little insight.” She turned to face him. “Do you really know Billy Lee? Or did you fabricate the fact to make me more comfortable.”

  “No fabrication, I’ve known him for years. But it was pure luck that I happened to drive by your house earlier.”

  “There’s something special about you, and I can’t explain why I feet that way. From the first moment I trusted you. And given my history with men, that’s an extraordinary feat. You’re helping me and yet ask nothing in return. Why?”

  “Because you need me. You certainly don’t need another man making demands.”

  “Billy Lee demands a lot of things.”

  “How did you end up with him?” This was a question Mitch had never asked his mother, although he’d come close so many times.

  “Well, let’s say Carolyn is older than our marriage.”

  “That’s a good answer,” he said. In fact it’s the best damn explanation he’d ever heard for how a nice woman got stuck with a genuine asshole.

  “Han, you saved our lives today. Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome, m’lady. Now it’s my turn to confess. Things occurred in the clinic this afternoon that will most likely affect your future with Billy Lee.” Right or wrong, he gave her an abridged version of recent events, beginning with Kat’s rape and ending with the three dead bodies in the clinic. He wanted her to know the truth, and not be taken in by the elaborate tale Billy Lee would surely weave.

  “Did he mean to kill Louis?” Pamela asked, after a prolonged silence.

  Mitch shook his head. “Probably not on purpose. I’d guess Billy Lee tried to shoot the lock off and the bullet ricocheted.”

  “And the others? Your friend is the one who—”

  “I’m not saying she did the right thing, but under the circumstances her actions are understandable.”

  “Oh, I think she did the right thing,” Pamela said. “Those men were animals.”

  “Our legal system is set up to take care of men like that,” he argued. “The courts and juries decide—”

  “Not in Alabama, Han. There’s no legal system if the victim is colored. They’ll hang her before they let those boys spend one night in jail.”

  The bitterness in her voice surprised Mitch. He’d never heard his mother speak so forcefully or offer such a strong opinion. “You’re probably right about the jail. But killing them is still stepping over the line. And she killed two men.”

  Pamela’s mouth curved in a tiny cryptic smile. “That was the only way she could guarantee punishment for their crimes. Without the closure she wouldn’t be able to move on in her life. You’d understand if you were a woman, Han.”

  “How so?”

  “Women spend the majority of their lives being told what, where, and when. It begins with our fathers, then a husband, on down to the grocery clerk or the gas station attendant. Men treat us like children—if we’re lucky—or as second class citizens if we’re not so lucky. Han, in this world there are many different kinds of niggers. And being a woman is one of them.”

  “I’d hate to think you’re right.”

  “Someday,” Pamela said. “In some far off future day, men and women will evolve to the point where they’ve learned to appreciate each others strengths.”

  “Does Billy Lee appreciate your strength?” Mitch asked, redirecting the conversation back to the main issue.

  “Not hardly.” She angrily flipped the hair off her shoulder. “All he appreciates is a cold beer. Which I’m supposed to deliver to his hot little hand with a smile and a curtsy.”

  “How much longer are you going to allow him treat you like a nigger?”

  Pamela wouldn’t meet his eyes, she busied her hands by straightening Carolyn’s little pink and blue check dress. Finally she spoke, “While you were inside I thought about what you’d told me, about how your mother waited too long to leave. And the terrible price she paid.” She looked up and captured his cornflower-blue eyes with her own cornflower-blue ones. “So, if you wouldn’t mind driving us to the Greyhound station, Carolyn and I will be leaving Maceyville, Alabama. Tonight.”

  Mitch felt lightheaded, like he’d downed too many shots of whiskey. This was the first time since Lisa had died that he felt this good. “What about clothes? You’ll need the baby’s things.”

  “I keep extra clothes in the trunk for Carolyn, in case of accidents.” She giggled. “But I guess mostly because it really irks Billy Lee.”

  “Stuff from your home?”

  “There’s nothing in the house that can’t be replaced. Don’t worry, Han, we’ll manage.”

  “What about money for the tickets?”

  Pamela grinned. “Money? She rooted around in the diaper bag and pulled out a wad of bills the size of her fist. “Billy Lee never figured out why I fed him beans and cornbread three times a week.”

  Mitch laughed, remembering his mother’s intense dislike for beans and cornbread. In fact, until he’d attended the University of Alabama he’d never tasted cornbread. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the cowboy boot pin he’d given Kat once upon a time. “If it’s all right, I’d like to give Carolyn a present.”

  “Of course it’s all right, Han.”

  He attached the pin to the baby’s dress. Her chubby fingers played with the shiny piece of jewelry. “Someday, when she’s older, tell her the pin is a reminder she may have to kick down a few doors to get what she deserves.”

  * * *

  APRIL 06—SATURDAY—2:00 A.M.

  Mitch never once questioned his decision, and it perplexed him to some degree. He’d expected doubt, regret, possibly even fear to dump all over him. But the only emotions to pay him a call were joy and incredible peace. Apparently convincing Pamela to leave Billy Lee was more than the right decision, it was meant to be.

  In the past year since Lisa’s death, he’d lived like a monk. Celibate and isolated from the world. Nothing and no one waited for him in the year 2000. His grandparents were gone and since the stroke, his mother didn’t recognize him anymore. She wouldn’t miss a son she couldn’t remember.

  Whatever you called it, karma or kismet, the die had been cast. By choosing this path, he’d save one person from a life filled with sadness and regret. And to another he’d give a life. It was a good night.

  Mitch waited to leave until the bus had pulled out of the station and he couldn’t see his mother waving from the back window any longer. He got as far as the parking lot before the reality of his situation hit. Mixed emotions flooded his system. Happiness for his mother and sister’s bright future warred with a strange sense of loss. In a few hours he would permanently change people’s lives, but they would never know.

  And they wouldn’t remember that once upon a time, a ginger-haired man had loved them.

  * * *

  Taxi Devore studied the three bodies several minutes, and then pulled out a tape measure. In a few minutes, his calculations were completed. He turned to Timothy Biggers. “Gonna be a squeeze, but my old car’s got a good size trunk. I reckon we can bend ‘em here and there and shove.”

  Biggers nodded. “You sure about getting involved, Taxi? It could turn out to be a dangerous load.”

  “Being colored is a dangerous load, Dr. Tim. And it ain’t killed me yet.”

  “In that case, we’ll load up in an hour or so, I want to make sure the streets are em
pty.”

  “What about the other folks? They gonna take part in this?”

  Biggers shook his head. “Just you, me, and maybe Mitch if he gets back here in time. Alvin, Pastor Gordon, and Lamar shouldn’t be involved. Same goes for the women.”

  “Lettie and Miss Kat ain’t gonna sit by, they’s not that kind of women.”

  “They’ll sit by if they don’t know find out what’s going on. And I’m not tellin’. Are you?”

  “No, sir. My mouth is shut tight.” Taxi peeked through the blinds. “But somebody’s sashaying up the walk and her mouth ain’t never shut.”

  Biggers hurried out of the room to meet Dreama Simms at the door. “Evening, Dreama.”

  “It’s startin’ to rain again,” she announced, shaking the water off her umbrella.

  “What brings you out this late and in the rain?”

  “Lettie called and said y’all could use a hand cleaning up the messes around here.”

  He stepped onto the porch in an attempt to stop her from entering. “I appreciate the offer, but most all the work is done. We’re goin’ to bed now.”

  Dreama’s eyes narrowed and her hands rose to her hips. “Timothy, me and you can stand on the porch till sunup, and not talk about what you got inside. Or we can take care of business.”

  “You’re not coming inside, Dreama,” Biggers said, his voice hard. “No need for somebody else to—”

  “I came to help.” She ducked under his arm and walked into the foyer. “Now where y’all keeping the bodies?”

  Biggers whirled around and watched open mouthed as Dreama entered the first exam room. “Jesus Christ!” he exploded. “Lettie Ruth! Lettie Ruth, get your butt down here!”

  “Three ugly sons-of-bitches, ain’t they?” Dreama said.

  He saw Lettie Ruth paused at the top of the landing. “Did you call that woman?” he asked.

  “Stop hollerin’ at me.”

  “Get on down here,” Biggers growled.

  “Not ‘til you stop all that hollerin’,” Lettie Ruth said. “You got some temper, Timothy Biggers.”

  “I haven’t lost my temper … yet,” he said. “Now get down here.”