Middle Falls Time Travel Series (Book 3): The Death and Life of Dominick Davidner

by Inmon, Shawn

  Dominick thought on that for a few moments, chewing the end of his #2 pencil.

  Nah, that’s crazy. He’s probably just a super smart kid that got dumped here because his parents didn’t know how to handle him.

  At the end of fifth period—Geography—the cadets were hustled off to get their heads buzzed. Much of America was letting their hair grow into flower power haircuts, but at Hartfield Academy, all cadets wore their hair the same way—high and tight.

  Dominick wasn’t all that attached to his curly hair, but he saw nervous tears in at least a few boys as they sat in the chair and watched their hair fall onto the growing pile on the floor.

  The last period of the day was PE, and Dominick was able to let loose and be himself. Being a forty-one year old man in a nine year old’s body didn’t give him any special physical advantage, so he could try his best.

  Mr. Lawson, who stood out from the rest of the instructors at Hartfield in that he wasn’t scarred from war, at least visibly, started them off by running a lap around the quarter mile track. Dominick had run the 440, 880, and mile distances in high school track. He hadn’t been talented enough to run for a college team, but he was better than most.

  When Mr. Lawson said, “Go!” Dominick took flight, legs and arms pumping. When he hit the exit of the first turn, he looked over his shoulder and saw that no one else was close. He smiled to himself and settled into the rhythm of running—feet pounding a beat on the cinder track, the wind whistling over his now close-cropped hair, his breath burning slightly in his chest.

  By the time he sailed across the finish line, no one was close to him. He bent over and put his hands on his knees while he waited for the rest of the boys to cross.

  It feels good to run. To be young again. I wasn’t out of shape, before. I played racquetball, and Emily and I took a lot of walks, but there’s just nothing that can replace the elixir of youth.

  Dominick was surprised to see Michael Hollister as one of the last two to cross the finish line.

  Guess he’s not great at everything.

  Dominick went to Michael and said, “Well, that’s a relief. I thought you were perfect at everything, but I guess not,” then slapped him on the back and ran off to the next exercise, not waiting to see what his reaction would be.

  DOMINICK QUICKLY SETTLED into the routine of Hartfield Academy. Each first year prefect had the privilege of naming what mascot the class would be. Pusser was unimpressed with the physical acumen of the boys in Dominick’s class, and named them the Turtles. He intended it as an insult, but the boys wore the name like a badge of honor.

  The precise schedule and consistent discipline pleased Dominick. Lieutenant Pusser did not. The boy was all bluster and intimidation, leading only by size, strength, and force of will.

  At the end of the first week, Dominick and Pusser had their first confrontation. One of the cadets that Dominick had begun to hang out with, Will Summers, had wet his bed. He was humiliated, and tried to cover it up, but Pusser had noticed it on his morning inspection, and pulled Will out of rank.

  “Bed wetter, eh? Well, we have a solution to that here at Hartfield Academy. Come here, cadet.”

  Pusser yanked the blanket back, exposing the damp, yellow stain to the world.

  The cadets around Summers faded away.

  Pusser pulled the sheet off, compressed it into a ball and turned to Summers. “I said, Come here, cadet.”

  Summers took a half-step toward him, but couldn’t muster anything more.

  Pusser threw the sheet, hitting him in the face. “You will carry this sheet with you, wherever you go today. I will come looking for you, and if you are not carrying it, then you will carry it with you for a week. Understood?”

  Okay, that’s it. I can’t take this crap any more.

  “Lieutenant Pusser, sir, is that really necessary? No one would do this on purpose, and humiliating him doesn’t do any good.”

  Now we’ll see how he responds when someone pushes back. He’s bigger and stronger than me. I’m sure he can take me out, if he wants to. An image of Billy Stitt flashed across his mind. If he does, I can’t fight back. Better to get a black eye or a split lip than get kicked out of here, too.

  Pusser didn’t lash out, though. He walked slowly toward Dominick, smiling broadly. He only stopped when his boots were touching Dominick’s. “Davidner, right?”

  Dominick nodded into Pusser’s chest.

  “Where’s your bunk, cadet?”

  Asshole. He knows very well.

  Without looking away, Dominick pointed toward his bunk.

  “Top or bottom?”

  “Top, sir.”

  Pusser strode to Dominick’s bunk, stripped the green blanket away, pulled the sheet off, crumpled it, and dropped it on the floor. He unzipped his fly and a strong stream of urine splatted onto the sheet. While he was peeing, Pusser looked over his shoulder, made eye contact with Dominick, smiled, and said, “Ahhhh.”

  He delicately picked the sheet up, walked back to Dominick, and shoved it into his chest hard enough to make him take a step backward. Pusser’s urine soaked into his uniform shirt.

  “Now. Anybody else got an opinion about this?”

  The barrack was silent.

  “Good. Now, ladies—“

  Pusser was interrupted by motion behind him. Michael Hollister was pulling his own blanket off, then pulling and dropping the sheet on the ground, just like Pusser had done. He peed on the sheet, picked it up, and joined Dominick and Will. He hadn’t said a word.

  Dominick leaned over and bumped into Hollister’s shoulder. He whispered, “I knew you had it in you.”

  Two other boys—Jimmy Markson and Pete Wemmer followed suit, and then there were five Turtles standing in the middle of the barrack holding urine-soaked sheets.

  I think I’ve found my group.

  Chapter Sixteen

  That night, the five Turtles who had rebelled against Pusser were sent off to wash their laundry.

  Will Summers looked at the other four boys, and said, “This is my fault. Sorry guys.”

  Dominick laid an arm across his shoulders. “It’s no big deal. If we weren’t doing this, what would we be doing? Homework? I’d rather be hanging out with you guys than doing that.”

  “I still feel bad ...”

  “Could have happened to any of us,” Dominick said. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else. I just don’t like bullies.”

  “And that’s exactly what Pusser is—a bully,” Michael said.

  “Yeah, but he’s our bully, right?” Jimmy Markson asked, with a laugh.

  “I guess so,” Dominick said. “We’re stuck with him, right?”

  “Probably,” Michael said. “Even if we got rid of him somehow, whoever we get next might be even worse. Pusser’s a bully, but he’s stupid, so we should be able to manipulate him. Someone else might be smarter.”

  Dominick looked long and hard at Michael. Something about that kid. He doesn’t speak very often, but when he does, I need to pay attention.

  “The genius speaks,” Dominick said. Michael flushed, but Dominick continued, “He’s right. If we can just get Pusser to be more of a human being, that’s probably better than killing him.” He looked around at the other boys with a wink. “Just kidding. He hasn’t done anything bad enough for me to kill him. Yet.”

  OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, the battle between Pusser and the five Turtles of the Yellow Sheet Brigade engaged in a series of running battles. Pusser had the power and the authority, but Dominick, Michael, Will, Jimmy and Pete had ingenuity, daring, and numbers on their side.

  The safest thing to do would have been to retreat and wait for the year to pass. Instead, they short-sheeted Pusser’s bed, covered the toilet in plastic wrap before he used it, and in general made Pusser’s life miserable, mostly without being caught. In return, Pusser gave them an outsized punishment for even the slightest infraction he could find.

  The five of them cleaned more toilet
s, did more deep knee bends, and marched more laps around the track than all the other Turtles combined.

  The final battle between Pusser and the five boys came after they took Pusser’s underwear from his locker and died it a bright red. That night, when Pusser did his nightly check of the barracks and his own footlocker, his face turned the same color as the newly-dyed underwear.

  “Turtles! Attention!”

  One moment, there were Turtles scattered around the barrack—on their bunks, sitting playing checkers, on the pot in the latrine—the next, they were lined up at the foot of their bunks, staring straight ahead.

  Pusser walked up and down the aisle, pausing for long moments in front of Will Summers, and where Michael and Dominick stood. He held the red underwear up like a flag. “Cadets! Some comedian has taken it upon themselves to destroy my personal property. I have put up with your insubordination in the hopes that you would grow a brain somewhere in those empty heads. I believe I have given you too much credit.”

  He stopped and stared directly at Pete Wemmer, who stared straight ahead, expressionless.

  “Here is what we are going to do. We are going to hold you all at attention until the cadet or cadets who are responsible for this steps forward and takes the punishment they’ve got coming. I don’t care if a fly takes a two-pound shit on your eyelid, you do not move while you are at attention. We will stay like this until someone confesses.”

  Michael and Dominick didn’t move their heads, but gave each other the side-eye, which translated as, Oh, shit, we may have gone too far this time.

  Lt. Pusser made a show of retrieving a chair and putting it in the middle of the aisle. He straddled it and said, “I’ve got all night, boys.” Pusser’s face was calm on the surface, but his neck had turned as red as his underwear.

  While being held at attention, none of the boys dared move, but Dominick nonetheless felt their attention on him. Every Turtle knew that when someone challenged Pusser, it was him, or one of the other five that had done it.

  Finally, after fifteen minutes of heavy silence in the barrack, he stood up abruptly and said, “I’d rather punish twenty-four innocent boys than let one guilty boy get away with something,” He walked back up and down the aisle. “So, I guess that’s just what I’m going to do. Here’s how it’s going to happen. Either the little idiot who ruined my personal belongings will step forward and take their punishment like a man, or every Turtle will be out on that track running laps.”

  Even while they were held at attention, that brought a groan from the assembled Turtles. As solid as the Hartfield barracks were, they were swaying a bit from the buffeting winds outside, and the temperature had dropped enough to put frost on the grass. No one wanted to leave the warmth of their bunk.

  Michael glanced over at Dominick again.

  Damn it. I don’t want everyone to have to go out in this.

  Dominick gave the tiniest shrug imaginable, but it still caught Pusser’s eye. He hustled over to stand in front of them.

  “Davidner. Hollister. I should have known. It’s always you two little shits, isn’t it? I’m gonna stick my feet so far up your asses, I can wear you like slippers.”

  Dominick took a deep breath. Looks like I’m going to be outside running laps no matter what, so I might as well take it for the team.

  “It’s not Michael, it’s just me. I thought red was your favorite color, so I was just trying to help you out.”

  Dominick sensed that Michael was about to throw himself into the soup, too, so he warned him off with a glance and a tiny shake of his head. No sense in you suffering too.

  “Davidner, you are making me believe in reincarnation, because no one could get this stupid in one lifetime.”

  You have no idea, Pusser.

  “Do you expect me to believe you managed this all on your lonesome? Because I’m not sure you’re smart enough to wipe your own ass, let alone do something like this.”

  Dominick continued to look straight ahead, expressionless.

  “Laps, Davidner. Lots and lots of laps. You are ruining my perfect evening by making me go outside in this god-awful storm, so I am going to ruin your night by adding a few more laps. It’s colder than a well-digger’s butt who’s wearing steel underwear out there, so I’m going to get bundled up and stay nice and warm. I want you to change into your T-shirt and shorts.”

  “Seriously, Lieutenant?” Dominick asked.

  You, sir, are an asshole. I get wanting to punish us, but this is too much. What happens if I catch pneumonia and die out there? Do I wake up in the same place? A different point in my life? That wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe if I die again, I’ll wake up back in bed with Emily. It’s almost worth the chance.

  Pusser didn’t answer, but strode away and began bundling up in his warmest clothes and overcoat.

  Michael whispered, “This is too much, man. We’ve got to tell him you didn’t do this by yourself.”

  “Sure,” Dominick answered. “Then there can be five of us freezing our testicles off out there, instead of just me. Forget about it. I’ll do it.”

  At least, I hope I can do it.

  Outside, the freezing rain came down sideways. Dominick was soaked to the skin the moment he stepped from the comfort of the barracks.

  The good news is, I should lose all feeling in about five minutes.

  He turned to Pusser, barely visible under the layers, and said, “If I start to see a white light, I’m moving toward it, and you’ll have to drag my dead carcass back into the barracks and explain what happened to my parents.”

  “Boohoo, Davidner. I wish you guys would start thinking about this before you do something stupid. Maybe this will help.”

  Dominick shrugged, then jogged to the edge of the track and started on his first lap. Running will keep the blood circulating, right? Might as well start picking them up and putting them down.

  On his second lap around, Dominick saw the other Turtles had come outside too. He flashed them a grin as he passed, then concentrated on keeping moving.

  As he came around on the third lap, he saw Michael Hollister had dropped his coat and was running in front of him. He caught him by the first corner.

  This kid might be a genius, but he can’t run for shit. He’s gonna slow me down, that’s for sure. But still, it’s good to find a brother out here.

  Dominick slowed his pace, and he and Michael plodded around the track. “Hey, Genius, it’s a lot warmer inside. That’s where you’re supposed to be.” Michael just shrugged. The wind, rain, and freezing cold air in their lungs made conversation impossible, so they just kept moving, splashing from one puddle to another. When they came around again, Will, Pete and Jimmy had dropped their coats and were standing, shivering, waiting for them.

  Dominick shook his head at them, but couldn’t keep from smiling.

  Maybe now that he sees that we are all taking responsibility for what we did, he’ll let us go back inside.

  That was not to be. The Yellow Sheet Brigade pushed on for lap after lap, until whatever joy they had once had at pranking Pusser, whatever unity they had felt at all standing together, was drained away. They plodded on, until finally Pusser stood in the middle of the track, held his hands up, and said, “That’s it. Head inside. And, if any of you ever touch my stuff again, I will rip off your heads and shit down your necks. Got it?”

  The five barely nodded. They headed inside, to the sanctity of the barracks, the warmth of the showers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After nearly freezing while running laps, Dominick and Michael decided that their war against Pusser had run its course. If it continued, they knew something they couldn’t come back from would happen to one of them. Pusser wasn’t one to grant a truce, but over time, as the pranks grew more distant in the rearview mirror, he relaxed and quit punishing the five of them any more than he did the other Turtles.

  In mid-December, Hartfield Academy broke for Christmas. Dominick knew it would be weird returning home. From his
family’s perspective, he had always been part of them, and it was odd for him to have been kept away for so long. To Dominick, he had only been “home” for a few weeks. Life at the Academy was the new normal for him and his stomach was nervous at the thought of returning.

  On December 15th, the stream of cars returned to the academy in mid-morning and continued through the afternoon. Michael Hollister had told Dominick that no one was coming to pick him up, so he’d been put on a bus home early that morning.

  Unlike when the entire family came when he arrived at the Academy, it was just Joe in the car when it pulled to a stop.

  “Hi, Dad,” Dominick said. He waited hesitantly at the curb, unsure of what kind of reaction he was going to get. Things had been very messy at home in the time leading up to his departure to Hartfield.

  His father came around the car and grabbed Dominick in a strong embrace. “Nicky, we’ve missed you, boy.” He pulled Dominick back to look at him and rubbed his hand over the close-cropped hair. “I swear you’ve grown. At least most of you has. No hippies here at Hartfield, eh?”

  “No sir.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “No, sir.”

  Joe held him at arm’s length for a long moment, then smiled, and said, “C’mon, we’ve got a long ride home. Your brother had school today, but your Mom and I both took the day off from work. She’s home baking mincemeat cookies and making a roast for us. Let’s get on the road.”

  It was several hours past dark when they pulled into the driveway at home. His mother met him on the front porch and gave him a smothering hug, followed by the same inspection Joe had given him. “Oh, Nicky, they cut your beautiful hair! And what are they feeding you? You’re skin and bones!”

  “They feed me fine, Mom. All I can eat. But they march us and we do calisthenics every day.” He patted his non-existent stomach and slipped into a James Cagney accent. “Best shape of my life, Ma.”