As the tape faded to snow, young Garison and Heather continued to stare at the screen in numb shock. Finally, Heather hit the power button on the TV remote and asked softly, "Could it be?"
"If it's true that the only person you can trust is yourself," young Garison began, then left the sentence hanging. He sat silently for a while, before finally completing, "That was me. I'm sure that was me. If so, then I have to trust myself."
Young Garison turned to Heather and asked, "Was it true? What you said? On the tape, I mean."
She licked her lips nervously and nodded, "Yes, it was. I have never told that story to anyone, not even you. I never even told my brother Henry and I told him everything else about my life."
Trying to lighten the moment, young Garison told her, "The next time we're at one of your family reunions, you better watch over me—or you're going to be short one uncle Steven."
"That's what I said!" Garison breathed in the closet, instantly thankful they hadn't been able to hear him.
Heather had been holding her husband's hand since early in the video. She took his other hand and looked deep into his eyes, "I can't not believe it, Garison. It's not just the story about my uncle the pervert, it's the whole thing. I know that was us on the tape. An us of the future. I'm not sure how, but I know. So what I want to know is: could your machine really do that? If you run your machine today, will it tear a hole in time?"
"I can't see how," he admitted. "But they seem to be convinced that it did. They were watching time crumble around them. They were convinced enough that—we were convinced enough—that I somehow came back in time to keep the experiment from ever happening. Something is so bad that I'm willing to leave you and travel back and give me that tape as a youngster."
"But this is your life's work, Garison. This is the experiment you've worked on all your life."
"I know. And knowing that, I know it would take something incredibly drastic to keep me from going ahead. It would take something drastic for me to want to stop myself, if you see what I mean. It would take something catastrophic to make me leave you. If seeing yourself come back from the future and tell you not to do it isn't drastic enough, I don't know what is."
Heather nodded. She found that her hands were absently rubbing her abdomen and she instantly knew why. With a hint of nervousness (tinged with happy awe) in her voice, Heather remarked, "We had a baby girl, Garison."
"I know. Pretty incredible, isn't it?"
With her hands still on her abdomen, "I know we've talked about it. We've said we will some day. And I look forward to it. It's just so strange to think that, in a way, I've already given birth to a child. It's strange."
"Do you feel—oh, I don't know—" he struggled for the right word or phrase before finishing, "Violated? Like someone did something to your body you didn't know about? Like those nuts that claim they were abducted by space aliens and impregnated?"
"No," she replied disdainfully, yet with a laugh. "I feel almost cheated. Like something really wonderful happened to me and I somehow missed it."
"Well, it hasn't happened yet. You won't be cheated when the day actually arrives."
"I know. I just, I just wish I knew what she was like. Our daughter, I mean. I know I'll find out." She looked up suddenly and said, "Sarah's a pretty name, isn't it?"
He patted her on the knee and said, "Yes it is, Heather. That would be a good name for our little girl. I mean, if we have one." He looked at her tummy, placed a hand on it himself, and asked, "Are you pregnant now?"
Heather looked at his hand and replied, "I think so."
"Really?" he asked with awe. "How long have you known?"
"I'm not sure. I'm just—late. Just a couple weeks late."
In the closet it occurred to Garison that Heather was further along than that when he came back from his trip. So what had changed in time to make Heather ovulate differently—or get pregnant on a different cycle? Would she still have a girl? Would it look like his little Sarah—which he suddenly realized wasn't his little Sarah. He was reminded that he hadn't had relations with Heather until after Sarah's birth, a fact he'd forgotten because for so long he had carried the young Garison's memories with him.
The Garison on the couch kissed Heather and said, "Despite how you feel—about this—I feel weird. To think I was once married to someone else. That I had children in the eighteenth century. That's just too weird. The whole thing's unimaginable but it's even more unimaginable to think I was ever married to anyone other than you."
"So what do we do now?"
Garison took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh as he thought. He finally shrugged and said, "I don't see that we have much choice. We have to take the machine apart."
"Apart? Can't you just not use it?"
"The temptation's too great. I might decide I didn't believe this tape and use it anyway. Or what if someone else found it? Odds are against their even knowing how to turn it on, but there's always that chance as long as it's in tact. No, I have to take it apart."
"But all your work—"
He shrugged, "It's not wasted. I can use the power plant in a thousand different ways. Same with some of the other parts. It's kind of like the atom bomb—or the space program. Lots of great wonders were discovered and have become useful from atomic weapon research. It was the sum of the parts that became such a problem."
She stood up and took his arm. She instructed, "Let's go get some breakfast, first. Then we can come out here and . . . and take the machine apart." He said the last part with a crackle in his voice that belied his stated resolve.
When they had left, Garison came out of his hiding place and stretched. "Well," he mumbled, "I guess that's that. I can go back to San Angelo now and go on with my life. I've got that field trip on Monday, anyway." He sighed heavily, thinking mostly of Heather, and added, "Not much of a life, but I guess I did save the world." He forced a laugh and said, "Maybe I can sue that cartoonist that does 'Cottage & Co' for stealing my name. He is Van Siclen's nephew, after all. I'll claim we met at his uncle's house and he used my name without permission."
He went over and sat in the chair. He was afraid he might have to wait until dark to slip off, but he figured it was better to be safe than sorry. He didn't know what damage could occur if he ran into his younger self now, but he figured it best not to find out. He wondered what sort of damage would happen to his own psyche if he had to converse with Heather.
Garison had dozed off in the chair again when he heard the back door of the house open. He grabbed the lap top and headed for the closet. He had just settled in—as comfortably as possible—when the door to the lab opened. He imagined an aroma of food entering with them and that made him all the hungrier. He wished again that he had brought more candy bars.
He watched through the crack as young Garison went to the time machine and sat down in the "driver's seat". For a fleeting moment he was afraid his younger self would turn the machine on, but the young man held out his hand and said, "Philip's, please."
Heather nodded, knowing how hard this was on her husband, but handed him the screwdriver. It was hard on her, too, as she had labored beside him on it all their married life. He held it over the screw for a moment, as if debating his actions, then lowered it.
Garison held his breath as he watched his younger self put the driver to the screw. His heart almost stopped as he waited for the shaft to turn . . .
Suddenly Garison found himself in a flaming shed. Still clutching the lap top, he looked around in panic and instantly realized where he was. As he started to scramble, his feet became tangled in the ski jacket at his feet. He fell to the floor, but that may have saved him from the smoke. Knowing where the door was, he stood up with a lunge and hit it with his shoulder, falling out into the fresh air.
As he stumbled to crawl away from the blaze, he heard a voice he hadn't heard in twenty seven years cry out in fear, "Garison!"
He looked up to see his wife Sarah running towards him. She dr
opped down beside him and threw her arms around him. Holding him tightly, she said, "I'm so glad you're safe. When they told me your shed was on fire, I thought the worst. Oh! I was so worried!"
Garison couldn't even speak. He lavished his beautiful young wife with kiss after kiss, completely uncaring that such displays were not for public consumption in the eighteenth century. They could haul him away if they wanted; he'd seen Sarah again and that was all that mattered.
Finally, he looked around a bit. He saw Franklin, and Sharif Purdy, and Andrew and Thomas and many of the other townspeople of Mount Vernon. He asked in amazement, "I'm back? I'm really back?"
"Back?" Sarah asked in confusion. "Back from where?"
"The future," he replied. "Can't you tell? My hair's going grey. I'm twenty seven years older than the last time you saw me."
She looked at him strangely and asked, "Did you clonk your head in the shed there, Dear? You look no different to me than you did this morning when you left to come here."
It was his turn to me amazed and confused. He pulled away from her enough to look at his hands. Not only were they the wrinkle free, work hardened hands of his youth, he was wearing the oddest clothes. He looked down at himself and realized he was dressed as he had been the morning he went to destroy the machine—twenty seven years before. He reached up to his head, and found that his hair was long and in a ponytail. He looked at his feet and realized they were tangled not in a ski jacket but in the tarpaulin that had dragged him to the future.
He wondered momentarily why so much had changed but he been able to hold onto the lap top. Then he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He smiled widely, then whispered to Sarah, "Boy have I got a tale for you."
Sarah picked up the lap top computer and asked, "Is this part of it?"
Garison quickly told her, "Slip that under the folds of your dress if you can. That thing might be a little hard to explain in this day and age."
As she slipped the lap top under her skirts, Finneas Franklin—who had been Garison's best man at his wedding to Sarah—asked, "Are you all right there, Garison?"
Garison took Franklin's offered helping hand and stood up. Surprising the friend he hadn't seen in so long with a hug, Garison replied, "I have never felt better in my entire life!"
Chapter Thirty-Two
Garison's Journal
March 16, 2005
Today's the day!
The project I have been working on, seemingly all my life, will finally be brought to fruition! After so long, I can hardly believe I am actually ready. Today, I will travel interdimensionally.
Of course, I did that two days ago. That trip lasted less than two minutes, though, as my batteries ran out of power. That won't happen this time. I have powered the entire machine with the nuclear fusion device I invented a couple years ago. There will no longer be a worry about a power shortage. The battery trip served its purpose, but now it's time to see how she runs in overdrive.
Still, I wonder what is on that tape? Could that really have been me—a me from the future—who gave me that tape eighteen years ago? I used to believe it was, but now I'm not so sure. How did he—I—get there that day? For one thing, my machine isn't a time machine. How else could he have come back to give me the tape if not through the use of a time machine? Will I invent that next?
I've already violated part of his directives, anyway. I wasn't supposed to do anything this morning before I watched the tape, yet here I am writing in this journal. I can never sleep well before big events anyway. So I decided to write in my journal until Heather gets up. I hope she wakes up soon. If she doesn't I may have to just go ahead and be rude and wake her up. I've waited long enough.
I don't know how she can sleep at all. I'm so nervous I couldn't eat breakfast this morning even if the man hadn't told me not to. Of course, I don't see why I can't shower, shave, eat or kiss my wife before watching the tape, anyway. What's the big deal? If you have a time machine, doesn't the concept of urgency get thrown out?
Oh well, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and watch the tape first thing. THEN, I'm taking my machine on the most fantastic ride in history.
I think I hear Heather stirring now, so I'll sign off on this entry for now. I'm already looking forward to tomorrow so I can write about today's experiment.
If that's not her stirring, she soon will be.
Garison popped the first screw out of the control panel of his machine and Heather reached out to stop his hand. She asked quickly, "What are you doing?"
Garison looked down at his hands and replied, "I don't know. But, um, I think I'm taking the machine apart?"
Just then, one of the closet doors in the lab swung open. They both looked up and Heather mumbled something about it not having been closed all the way. She went over to close it, then looked back to Garison and asked, "Why are you taking the machine apart?"
"I don't know." Garison held the screw in one hand and the driver in the other and stared at his hands. He looked up at Heather and said, "I don't know why, but I have an overwhelming urge to take the machine apart and never do the experiment. Almost like some inner voice is saying it's evil or something. Not just the machine, but the experiment, too."
Heather nodded, then looked around the lab. She finally agreed, "I'm getting that same feeling." She looked down at her clothes and found she wasn't really dressed, just wearing her ugly white warm ups. She checked her watch and asked, "Why are we out here at seven fifteen in the morning, anyway? Couldn't sleep before a big event?"
Garison looked around and asked, "Why are we out here at all? Do you remember coming out here?"
She shook her head.
"Neither do I," he told her. He laid down the screwdriver and said, "Let's just go inside and get some breakfast and see if we can figure out what's going on here this morning. This is so weird."
Heather put a hand to her stomach and said, "I'm really not very hungry. It's almost like I've already eaten."
"Me, too, now that you mention it. Well, let's go in and get a couple DPs to drink and see if we can figure this out." He stepped out of the machine and, his hand still on the control panel, told her, "Then I have some sort of foreboding that tells me I have to take this apart. Like something really big relies on it."
"Me, too," Heather nodded, absently rubbing her abdomen but not sure why. She had an idea, but she had been afraid to broach the subject with herself, let along Garison. She took his hand for comfort and they walked out of the lab and over to their house in a massive state of confusion.
Despite the gnawing urge to take the machine apart, Garison stood in his living room just looking out over La Plata Canyon. The snow had melted from some of the open patches in his yard, but it was still pretty thick elsewhere. The mountains across from him were still blanketed above the timber line. He had a momentary desire to delay working with the machine and go skiing at Purgatory—or dodging at Hesperus.
Somehow, though, he knew he had to get rid of the machine. While he knew that fact to be true, it gave him great pain. He had worked so long on it. What could make him want to take it apart now? The word "drastic" popped briefly into his mind, but he wasn't sure why.
Just then, a big brown delivery truck pulled into their driveway, and Garison called to his wife, "Heather? Are you expecting a package?"
"No," she shook her head as she came into the living room, drying her hands after having rinsed the morning's dishes. She looked over his shoulder and saw a man in the familiar but ugly brown uniform of a delivery company come up the sidewalk. "Awfully early in the morning for a parcel delivery, isn't it?"
Garison shrugged and opened the door before the man could knock. He was a young man—barely out of college by his looks—with blonde hair and a prominent adam's apple. And like most delivery people, he looked harried—even at the early hour. He held out a large package and asked, "Garison Fitch?"
Garison nodded in surprise and replied, "Yeah."
The young man handed h
im the package and the electronic clipboard, saying, "Could you sign in that little space there?"
"What am I signing for?"
The young man's adam's apple bobbed as he said, "Package from someone in Mount Vernon, Virginia. Don't know what it is, but it sure is heavy."
"What did you order from Virginia?" Heather asked, eyeing the package with interest. He handed it to her and she found that it was heavy. It also felt solid, not like a cardboard box.
"Nothing. I don't even know anyone in Virginia." Garison shrugged and signed the electronic clipboard.
The young man took it and said, "Thanks. Have a nice day."
"You, too," Garison returned absently. He shut the door and carried the package over to the couch with a look of confused curiosity on his face. It wasn't near either of their birthdays, and Christmas was long gone, so he had no idea what it might be. The return address didn't correspond with anyone they knew, either.
Heather sat down beside him and asked, "You're going to open it, aren't you?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Well, it's not ticking," she pointed out impatiently, "So, go ahead."
Garison tore off the brown paper and found a well built wooden box about one foot square and five inches deep or so. It was old, very old, but well kept. It was built in the old style, with pegs instead of nails or screws. On top of it was a new envelope addressed to "Mister Fitch". Garison opened it and read:
Dear Mister Fitch,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Anthony Dyer and I am the vicar at the Holy Anglican Church of Mount Vernon, Virginia.
Believe it or not, the box now in your possession was left at the vicarage in the year 1797 by a man who was also named Garison Fitch. He was a personage of some report during his day, so there was no doubt as to his identity. Anyway, he left an envelope with the box of specific instructions that was to be opened and read by the presiding vicar on March 11, 2005.
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 2): Saving Time Page 28
