How will things be if I repair this hole in time?
Garison took the tape he had shown Day and added an addendum to the end. As Heather ran the camera and Day watched, Garison began, "Hello. My name is Garison Fitch. You know that by now. You are me, after all.
"All that you have just watched is true. You have probably guessed that because you have done all the preliminary work on the experiment and recognized all of what I talked about. As you watch this, you are getting ready to make that second run in the machine. The one that sends you—sends me—back in time to the year 1739.
"Don't do it." Garison paused, took a deep breath, then continued, "I repeat, don't do it. Don't turn the machine on, don't get in it, and—by all means—don't engage it. The results are not going to be what you expect.
"What the tape doesn't show you is what's happening now. It's November of 2007 and we believe the world is about to end. It is the machine that is ending it—or, rather, has caused the end. Is causing the end. Whatever. That is why you cannot take the trip.
"Two years ago, March 14, 2005, I experimented with the machine and found myself in the past. I came back and we thought that was the end of it. Unfortunately, it's not. My trip through time—one or both of them, we're not sure—tore a hole in time. As I speak, the hole is getting worse. If allowed to continue, it will destroy time as we know it. And when time is destroyed, space will be as well. You cannot make this trip. It is not interdimensional travel, it is time travel."
Garison went on to detail what had been happing in La Plata Canyon. He even unbuttoned his shirt and peeled back the bandage to show the camera where the stitches had recently been removed from his shoulder. It was still an ugly wound, if not as bad as it had been. He told of the funeral director, the Indian attack, and all the other verifiable events of time travel.
"I don't get it, Garison," Heather said. "You obviously have some intention of sending this back to yourself in an effort to prevent yourself from travelling through time. How are you planning on doing that? We can't build a time machine to send it in because that would just tear another hole. You said that yourself."
"You're right," he nodded. "But I got this idea from Jon's money clip—and the arrow in our door. Objects can pass through these windows and stay on the other side. So what if we make a tape telling me not to make the trip and send it through one of these windows?"
"How do you figure on doing that?" Day asked. He was playing with Sarah and only half listening to what was going on. "Attaching it to an arrow and shooting it blindly into the mist?"
Garison paused, trying to think of how to explain his plan. He finally told them, "Think about that newspaper boy today. He came to your house in January of 1988. Back then, I was living on Third Street in Durango. So we have a tape packaged and ready to mail. We ask the paper boy what year it is—he looks at us like we're insane—then we hand him a package addressed to me at whatever address I am—was—am in that year. He takes it with him, mails the package, and never thinks of it again other than to think he had some kooks on his route that day. I get the package in Durango, watch the tape, and don't make the trip."
Heather looked at him dubiously and asked, "You REALLY think that'll work?"
"Got a better idea?"
Jon shrugged, "Sounds like as good a plan as we've had so far. Especially considering it's the only plan we've had so far. I say it can't hurt to try. You know what they say: 'desparate times' and all that."
Garison nodded and instructed, "What it's going to take is us keeping several of these tapes handy and ready to go. We'll take turns sitting on the front porch and watching for people who are dressed out of period. As soon as we figure what year they're from, we zip off the address—Jon?" he suddenly asked. "Do you have a Typewriter?"
"I've got a printer. It's with my computer in my office, why?"
Garison suggested, "I'll just print up a batch of mailing labels that have my address on them and the year. We'll keep them ready and that way all we'll have to do is just slap one on the package."
"Good thinking," Day nodded. "I think I even have some blank labels we can use. If not, I'll run down to the store and get some."
Heather objected, "We don't want to give this to just anyone from the past, though." At their questioning looks, she pointed out, "It won't do us any good to give it to anyone from before 1975, for instance. Even if they mail it there won't be anyone to receive it."
"Actually," Garison agreed, "We probably ought to not give it to anyone from before, say, 1985. Even if it got to me, I'd probably lose it. I may have been a wunderkind, but I still misplaced things as much as the next little boy."
Heather quipped, "Too bad we can't just leave it with the Anglican Diocese like Sarah did."
"My first wife," Garison explained to Day. He told Heather, "A lot of good ideas only work once."
Heather shrugged in acquiescence but sounded unbelieving as she said, "So we're waiting for someone from between 1985 and February 2005 and hoping they'll take a package to the post office for us? Is that all we need. As Bat used to say, 'Piece of sweat'."
"'No cake'," Garison nodded.
"I wish I'd met this Bat person you two keep talking about," Day injected.
"No you don't," Garison told him.
Heather scowled and corrected, "Yes you do. Bat's the second greatest guy I know." At Garison slight blush, Heather motioned toward the video camera and mused, "I guess a long shot's better than no shot at all."
Garison nodded and had Heather get in front of the camera. She wasn't sure why, but he told her to say what she would tell him before the fateful trip if she had the chance. She shrugged, but told the camera—speaking as if to Garison—why he shouldn't make the trip.
Garison saw that look in her eye that said she'd just had a good idea. Heather turned to her daughter and said, "Sarah, come here for a minute, please?"
The toddler happily walked over and climbed into her mother's lap. She seemed to always be happy and reminded Day of his own granddaughter Emiline. It brought a momentary pang to his heart as he realized he might not see Emiline again in his life. The knowledge that he wouldn't know it if that were the case did not comfort him.
Heather held her daughter tightly, enjoying the feel of her soft skin (and even the pungent smell that told her some business had just been taken care of). Heather told her, "Sarah, say hello to Daddy."
Sarah turned to her father, who was behind the camera, and smiled, "Hello, Daddy." She even threw in a chubby fingered wave. Sarah had proved early on to be quite a ham in front of cameras and would happily fill an entire cassette with her antics if given the chance. She didn't care for TV as a rule, but she could watch herself on it for hours.
Heather smiled and turned to the camera, "Yes, this is our daughter. Garison, if you make that trip, she has no future." Heather looked at her daughter for reassurance, then back at the camera. "Heather—me—I imagine you're probably watching this, too. I helped with the experiments, so I'm sure you are, too. You can't let Garison use his machine again. I know you don't know your daughter, yet, but one day you will. She's the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me—to you—to us. You can't afford to miss out on her. And I can't bare . . . to think of her going through this 'end of time' we are facing."
Sarah squirmed out of her mother's lap, as there was more fun to currently be had playing with Grampa Day, as she had come to call him. Heather watched her go, then turned to the camera and said, "How do you know this isn't just a put on? How do you know we're not just look alikes trying, for some reason, to stop the experiment Garison has dedicated half his life to? I know I'd be wondering that right about now. And you being me—well, you get the idea."
Heather bit her lip for a moment, then said, "I've never told anyone this, not even Garison. But you'll know I'm telling the truth. When I was thirteen years old—" she hesitated as she recalled the painful memory. She had tried forever to forget it, but it wouldn't go away. Now, here she was
dredging it up again. Still, if it saves the world—if it saves Sarah, she thought—it'll be worth it.
Garison looked at her from behind the camera questioningly. He didn't know what she was talking about, but he hated to see her in any kind of pain. He wanted to tell her to stop, but his determination to sew up the rip in time won out. And, he realized Heather was right: they had to prove to themselves (of two years before) that they were who they said they were.
Heather swallowed, then continued painfully, "When I was thirteen, my father's brother Steven was spending the night with us. While I was—while I was taking a bath, he came into the restroom and . . . just stood there. I thought he had just walked in by mistake, but then he just stood there, looking at me. I was—was naked, of course. I tried to cover up, but he pulled my hands away and—and just stared at me."
Tears came from Heather's eyes as she told the camera, "He didn't do anything else. He just looked at me. Then I jerked my arms out of his hands and started crying. He turned and left, and the next morning he was gone. He left a note saying he had to get back to Shreveport for some case he was trying." She paused for a long time, taking deep breaths, then continued with a shaky voice, "I never told anyone. I know other girls have gone through worse, and maybe I should be thankful that nothing more happened, but . . . I took sponge baths for months—going to great lengths not to ever be naked under any circumstances." She forced a chuckle, though it wasn't convincing, as she said, "You know how hard it is to play high school and college ball and not be naked in front of people in a locker room? To this day, I still lock the door when I take a bath if anyone other than Garison is in the house."
Heather put her head in her hands and began sobbing loudly. Garison shut off the camera and came over to her as Jon took Sarah out of the room with the enticement of a snack. Garison nodded a thanks to Jon as he put his good arm around Heather.
"I never knew," Garison said.
With her head against his chest, she said, "I couldn't bear to tell anyone. I mean, he was my uncle. He was married. He's still married. I still see him every now and then—though he hasn't looked me in the eye for fifteen years."
She looked up into her husband's eyes and said, "As time went by, I felt like I couldn't tell anyone. I was a lawyer in a family of lawyers: I was afraid I would crack under the cross examination. Who would believe me, anyway? And what did he really do? That's what I told myself, anyway."
She wiped the tears from her own eyes as she told him, "I used to tell myself it wasn't like he really did anything. I know lots of girls, I've even represented some girls in court, who have gone through far worse at the hands of uncles or even fathers. I told myself I didn't really have anything to complain about. And I told myself it would ruin Uncle Steven's career. Mainly, I told myself anything I could think of that would justify keeping it hidden inside."
She slumped against him and let another flood of tears come. Garison could tell it was a relief to finally let it all out. He held her close and remained silent, knowing instinctively that this was a time to remain silent. Some talking it out might be needed later, but not now. Any talking about it would come on her terms, at her selected time.
Finally, after the sobs had subsided for a while, Heather sat up and rubbed her eyes clear again. They were puffy and blood shot, and Heather certainly didn't look her usual radiant self, but Garison couldn't remember ever loving her more.
She smiled and quipped, "If that doesn't convince her—me—nothing will."
"I can't even imagine how hard it was for you to say that—especially after all these years of being silent." She just shrugged, so he added, "Let's not go to the Dawson family reunion next year."
"Why's that?"
"Because I just might kill your Uncle Steven."
As Garison showed the delivery man where to put the boxes, Jon asked, "You sure you can afford all this? I mean, that's a lot to pay just for a machine that duplicates tapes. We could have hooked your camera into my VCR and made copies."
"Wouldn't be very good picture quality," Heather pointed out.
Garison smiled and shrugged, "I'm not out any money, just plastic."
As the delivery man left, Day said, "But you have to pay for it sometime."
"Not this time," Garison laughed. At Day's questioning look, Garison explained, "One of two things is going to happen before that bill comes due. Either the world is going to end, or we're going to repair time and I never will have made this charge to begin with. Either way, as far as interest payments go, I'm home free."
Day nodded and said, "You have a point there. Kind of a scary one, but a point nonetheless. You know, if you didn't mind running the risk of the end of the world, you could have quite a scam going there. Makes me think I'm going to go get that big screen TV I've always wanted."
As they started pulling the new VCR and dubbing machine out of their respective boxes, Day remembered, "I used to work with a little Italian guy when I was a manager at Penneys. We got to talking about the end of the world one day because some bunch of wackos had said that day was going to be the end of the world. Something about how the planets were going to align that night or something like that. I asked Peter what he would do if he knew for a fact that the world was going to end at midnight—like they said.
"His name was Peter, by the way. He said he would go out and buy him the biggest, fanciest Cadilac he could find. One with lots of leather and a great stereo and the works. Then, he'd go pick up the biggest pizza he could find—loaded down with everything they had. The messier, the better. Then he'd get a six pack of beer and head out to a bluff outside of town where the young folks went to make out. There he planned to sit and eat pizza and drink beer and watch the world end. But I think the part that appealed to him the most was that he could spill stuff all over that brand new Cadilac and it wouldn't matter to anyone."
"Whatever happened to Peter? I mean, I'm assuming the world didn't end that night."
"I think I heard he gave up drinking and entered the priesthood." At their questioning glances, he added, 'Really."
Chapter Nineteen
"Garison?" Heather asked softly. It was late at night and they had gone to bed some time before, though neither could sleep—or so she thought.
"Yeah?"
She rolled over on her side and put her hand on his chest. She liked the feel of his muscles; "strength under control", she thought. Softly, so as not to wake either Sarah or Mister Day, she asked, "What will happen if we succeed?"
"Huh?" he mumbled. He had been fully asleep when she spoke and he was by no means fully awake now. He rubbed his eyes and could just barely see the silhouette of her form against the light from the window. It was a nice form—even in the rather shapeless flannel nightgown.
"If we succeed, if we sew up the holes in time. What then? What happens?"
He turned on the light by the bed and turned to look at her. One side of her hair was pressed to her head, and she was wearing that worn out old flannel nightgown, but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He took her hand and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. She gave him a look that meant, "Out with it."
"I don't know," he finally whispered.
Heather was silent for a long moment, obviously thinking thoughts that troubled her. She finally said, "I'm worried about us, Garison."
"Why?"
"Back before you came back from the past and merged with or became my Garison—or whatever happened—things were different. You and I never actually mentioned divorce, but that was where we might have been heading. We just didn't get along. We didn't communicate well. And you weren't a very strong Christian. Just a church goer, I guess. Anyway, what if we do sew up this hole in time by keeping the trips through time from ever happening? Then that'll mean you never merge with my Garison, won't it?"
"It might," he nodded.
"It might? No words of reassurance? No, 'I'll always love you, Heather'?"
"I will always love you, Heather.
But I can't tell you what will happen. I'd have to lie to do that, and I try to never lie to you. Maybe I won't merge with your Garison." He hesitated and added, "He might not be there to merge with."
"What do you mean?" She looked a little frightened and grabbed the covers with tightly clinched fists. Garison saw in her, for just a second, a frightened little girl.
Garison paused, then explained, "If I don't travel back in time, then I don't marry Sarah. If I don't marry Sarah, then she doesn't have Justin, Henry or Helen. If she doesn't have them, then my father isn't around in 1975 to have me. One thing follows another."
Heather looked at the sheets in disbelief, balling her fists and driving them into the mattress. She finally looked up, her eyes moist, and asked, "You mean if I help you save time, then I kill my husband?"
"Not really," he shrugged. "I would never have been born."
Heather cast a quick glance at the far wall, on the opposite side of which slept their daughter, then looked back at Garison in horror. "But if you are never born, then what about Sarah? What happens to her?"
Garison tried to be matter of fact, but almost choked as he said, "Like me, Sarah never will have existed."
"Sarah?" Heather mumbled, in a voice almost like a low wail. She looked at Garison and, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now, said, "I can't do this, Garison. I can't be a part of anything that will take away my husband and my daughter."
"But—"
"No buts, Garison. I don't care if the alternative is the end of the world, I will not allow you and Sarah to just . . . disappear."
"But you'd never know it," he told her. At her questioning look, he explained, "If this happens—if I cease to have ever existed—you will never know. You'll never know we met; never know a thing about me."
She tried to object, but she knew what he was saying was true. Knowing the truth didn't make it any easier to face, however. After a bit, she asked, "And what about George Washington? And the United States? What about them?"
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 2): Saving Time Page 16
