Dead to Me

by Dean Wesley Smith

  “Once more,” Holmes said, turning and moving back over to Doctor Serling. “Only this time could you be somewhere near the bridge?”

  Doctor Sterling seemed to think for a minute and then nodded. “Yes, I think I can get us to the boat deck on the port side. That was a deck above where we were on our first visit. That would be close enough for you to move to the port door of the bridge and watch what was happening.”

  Holmes nodded. “That would be satisfactory.”

  Serling went to work. A number of first-class passengers now occupied the deck, staring toward the stern after the retreating wall of ice. But Serling and Frederick paid them no attention, as if they were nothing but harmless ghosts.

  Serling typed in his case and suddenly the night again vanished.

  And just as suddenly returned.

  We now stood on the other side of the ship, on an empty boat deck, slightly closer to the bow.

  Holmes immediately started toward the door of the bridge. I struggled in vain to remove the thought from my mind that I was not only standing here at this moment, but also at two other places on this same ship. It was enough to make a sane man crazy and I was sure that insanity was where I was heading at a speed faster than the ship.

  “You only have one look,” Doctor Frederick said. “We won’t be able to repeat this again.”

  Holmes glanced over his shoulder. “I understand perfectly, Doctor.”

  Just as Holmes stuck his head around the edge of the open bridge door the warning bell rang out through the night air.

  Again we watched as the iceberg loomed closer and closer, only to be swept past the starboard side. Being on this side of the deck I felt less threatened by the entire event. Or possibly I was just growing used to it. Another thought I put quickly out of my mind.

  Holmes never took his head away from the open door to even once glance at the iceberg. As the ship slowed and drifted in the black waters he turned to us. The look on his face was one that I had never seen before. It was almost as if he had seen a true ghost.

  “Holmes, are you all right?” I asked as he rejoined us.

  “I need one more time here,” he said. “Can you get me close enough to the main engines to watch them during the time of the collision?”

  Again Doctor Serling thought for a moment while the cold cut through my coat as if it wasn’t there. I had experienced many cold London nights, but none anywhere near as cold as this.

  “We’ll have to go back five minutes sooner to give you the time,” Doctor Serling said. He worked in the case for what seemed to be a long minute.

  Then again without warning from him the world and the deck and the cold wind vanished. It would at least be courteous for him to give us a moment to prepare.

  This time Doctor Serling had placed us in a fairly narrow hallway lit by electric lamps at intervals along the walls.

  I leaned against the polished wood and took a deep breath of the warm, coal-smelling air. It was a relief to be out of the wind and the cold, but the thought of being inside a ship about to hit an iceberg had me on the edge of a slight panic.

  “Through there and down the circular stairs,” Doctor Serling said, pointing to a wooden door at the end of the hall. “The engine room will be down there. You only have a few minutes.”

  Holmes nodded and didn’t waste a moment striding the distance to the door and disappearing through it.

  I opened my coat to allow the warmer air to flow around my torso. Doctor Serling adjusted a dial inside his case and then sat on the carpeted floor. Doctor Frederick just paced.

  Finally he stopped and turned to me. “Do you think he can solve this?”

  I gave a slight, very half-hearted laugh. “If there is something to solve, I am sure he can. But I do not exactly understand what you are asking of him.” I stared at Doctor Frederick and then said quietly, “If you ponder it, I am not sure you understand either.”

  “We are asking him,” Doctor Frederick said, gesturing at the walls around us, “to simply put history right. This ship belongs on the bottom of the Atlantic. It needs to be there for history to return to normal.”

  I simply watched him as he started his pacing again. I knew it would do no good to remind him of the hundreds of people he said would die tonight if that occurred. In the background we could hear the seemingly distant rumble of the engines and occasionally a noise of a passenger from somewhere nearby. But otherwise the hallway remained silent until a fairly loud scraping and grinding filled the air.

  I held onto a smooth edge of wood paneling and took deep, controlled breaths until the noise stopped. The engines dropped silent and then there was only quiet. Again my mind filled in the comparison between the silence of a graveyard, or the silence of the dead of night, before even the birds are moving.

  Frederick looked at me and I returned his stare saying nothing.

  At the end of the hall the door opened and Holmes rejoined us. “We can go back to Baker Street now,” he said, his voice sounding tired and removed of all energy.

  I glanced first at Holmes and then at the Doctors as they looked at each other puzzled.

  “Did you solve our problem?” Doctor Frederick asked.

  Holmes did nothing but shake his head. “The fire would feel comforting against the chill.”

  After a moment Doctor Serling bent to the case at his feet, made a few adjustments and suddenly the hall was gone, replaced quickly by the familiar surroundings of Baker Street.

  Four

  WITHOUT REMOVING MY heavy coat I bent to the fire and soon had it roaring again, its yellow flame overpowering the lamps.

  I finished and turned to the room. Holmes had removed his coat and was again in his chair. Only it was very clear he was deep in thought. Both our guests understood his mood and both were respecting it. I removed my coat and hung it in its place, then moved back to the chair near the fire. The heat cut into the oppressive cold of the night and the feeling that the ship had been haunted. Haunted by not only our own ghosts, but more by the fact that many people might have died that night. In my years with Holmes and as a doctor I have witnessed many close calls and many deaths. Yet none to my memory had shaken me as much as standing on the deck of that ship tonight.

  Holmes stirred and picked up the book beside him. “Does this book have an account of the collision?”

  Doctor Frederick nodded and Holmes opened the book and went to work studying and quickly reading. We remained silent and I spent the minutes holding my hands out in front of me so that the cold could be forced out by the warmth of the flames. The memory of being on that ship would, in time, fade into a seemingly bad vision and nothing more.

  Finally, Holmes laid the book back down and sighed. “I’m afraid there is nothing I can do to help you gentlemen.”

  “What?” Dr. Serling said. “You mean you won’t help us.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Holmes said. “I said I can’t.”

  “But—” This time it was Dr. Frederick’s turn to stop his companion.

  “Mr. Holmes,” Dr. Frederick said, “Are you saying you do not know what caused the switch in history?”

  “Basically, yes. That is what I am saying.” Holmes patted the book. “The details outlined here are exactly what occurred on that ship, except, of course, the ship we visited tonight didn’t sink. I can think of a thousand factors that would have caused such a difference.”

  “Such as?” Doctor Serling said. He was not disguising the panic and the fear in his voice at all.

  “Such as someone or something turning the iceberg just a fraction of a degree.” He made a helpless gesture. “I would not think such a feat possible, yet I did not think travel through time possible until this evening either.”

  Before either Doctor could say a word Holmes went on. “The switch might have occurred much earlier in the evening. As the Captain ordered the increase in speed, the implementation of the order could have been delayed just a few seconds, which would again allow the iceberg
to be in a slightly different position at the time of the collision, thus making the damage lighter.”

  It was clear that Holmes’s words were being understood by our guests. Finally Doctor Serling sighed. “It was a hope. Nothing more.”

  Doctor Frederick nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. “A crazy stupid hope, at that.”

  Doctor Serling stood and moved to Holmes, who also stood. With an extended hand the Doctor said, “I would like to thank you for your attempt and your time. It was generous of you.”

  Holmes only nodded and shook the Doctor’s hand. Then Doctor Serling turned to me as Doctor Frederick moved to shake Holmes’s hand.

  “Where will you be going?” I asked as he took my extended hand.

  “We left a homing beacon in a hotel room in New York. We will return there and do our best to not influence the future too much.”

  “That seems like a very logical plan of action.”

  He smiled at me. “It would seem we have very few other options at the moment.”

  He turned and moved back to the large case as Doctor Frederick shook my hand and then moved over beside the case.

  Holmes picked up the large book and handed it to him. “You might want this.”

  Doctor Frederick shook his head. “Please keep it as a gift. At this point it is nothing more than a work of fiction.”

  “I will treasure it,” Holmes said and tucked the book under his arm.

  Doctor Serling nodded, reached inside the case and suddenly they were both gone.

  The crackling of the fire was the only sound as I stood staring at the empty place where they had been.

  “Quite something, isn’t it?” Holmes said.

  I turned and watched as Holmes almost dropped into his chair, the exhaustion heavy on his strong shoulders. He laid the book on his lap and stared at it as if it were a monster to be tamed.

  I poured us both a hot coffee and a snifter of brandy and then dropped into the chair across from him. He continued to stare at the cover of the book, not even offering his thanks for the drinks.

  “It seems,” I said, “that the night wore on you as much as it did myself.”

  Holmes only nodded.

  I took a sip of the brandy, letting it warm the deep cold inside. “It is lucky that you did not find the answer to their problem.”

  Holmes looked up at me and for the first time I saw his eyes, watery and burning with an almost insane gaze. “My dear Watson,” he said, his voice low, barely in control, a state that I had never witnessed in Holmes. “I knew exactly what caused the change.”

  “What!” I almost came out of my chair, my coffee spilling a hot stain down my pants.

  He nodded slowly. “I lied to them. Actually the solution was simple.” He tapped the book but made no motion to continue.

  “Please, Holmes. I must know.” I was sitting on the edge of my chair, facing him.

  He grunted and then for the first time reached for his brandy. After a long sip he looked me square in the eye. “It is the knowledge of nightmares.”

  “But they will be my nightmares,” I said.

  He looked at me and then slowly nodded. “I first read the answer in here. It said that at the time of the sighting of the iceberg the First Officer William Murdock ordered the engines ‘full speed astern’ and put the helm ‘hard to starboard.’ Now, such a move would cause the ship to turn to port.”

  I nodded. I knew enough sailing to understand that basic principle.

  “But,” Holmes said,” putting the engines full speed astern made such a huge ship much more difficult to control and thus the turn was just slightly slower. The ship would then strike the iceberg in a direct manner, thus causing enough damage to cause it to flounder.”

  “I am at a loss,” I said. “Is that what happened? Why did the ship stay afloat?”

  “No,” Holmes said. “The engines remained full speed ahead, thus giving the ship just a fraction more ability to maneuver, thus allowing it to only graze the iceberg.”

  “So First Officer Murdock somehow changed his order? But how?”

  Holmes shook his head. “No, he ordered full speed astern just as the book says. When I heard him give that order was when I first knew that our guests were correct. That ship should have sunk that night.” He took another drink from his brandy.

  “That was why you needed to visit the engine room?”

  Holmes nodded. “The man on the telegraph between the bridge and the engine room at that moment was not from our time. He ignored the order and thus saved the ship. And changed the future it would seem.”

  I stared at Holmes. “How could you know he was from a different time?”

  “Simple, really. Just as Doctor Serling wore what he called contact lenses, so did the man on the telegraph in the engine room.”

  I sat staring into my brandy, letting what Holmes had told me sink in. Finally I gathered enough nerve to ask the question I knew Holmes was expecting. “If history really was changed by someone from the future, why didn’t you set it right?”

  Holmes almost laughed. “I had the opportunity to do so. Remember what Doctor Serling told us about there being more than one future from every decision?”

  “Forks in a road,” I said.

  Again the insanity seemed to burn like a flash fire in Holmes eyes as he fought for control. “We are simply on the branch of the road where I did not stop the person from the future.”

  He gulped down the last of his brandy, studied the crystal snifter for a moment and then with all the force he had he threw the glass into the fire where it shattered and sent sparks flying.

  He leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. His hands gripped the large book in a death grip, his knuckles white. Softly he said, “On that other road I stopped that man, doomed a great ship, and killed over fifteen hundred human beings in the process. I know that road exists. I know I walked it.”

  My head was spinning from the very thought of what Holmes had suggested. I took a sip of my brandy and stared at the light reflecting off the shattered fragments of Holmes’s glass. “You mean,” I finally said, “that on that other world we are sitting talking about how you stopped that man and the deaths it caused?”

  Holmes nodded very slowly.

  “But you could have never done that.” I wanted to shake him, wake him from his crazy thoughts.

  He opened his eyes and I saw they were almost empty of energy and life. “My dear Watson. I most certainly could have. And in that other world, on that other road, I most certainly did.”

  He closed his eyes again and sank farther into his chair, as if a huge weight was pushing him down.

  And I finally understood what that weight was. My friend had had the future of the world on his shoulders tonight. More weight than any man should be forced to carry. Even if that man was Sherlock Holmes.

  Also by Dean Wesley Smith

  Cold Poker Gang Mysteries:

  Kill Game

  Cold Call

  Calling Dead

  Bad Beat

  Dead Hand

  Freezeout

  Ace High

  * * *

  Doc Hill Thrillers:

  Dead Money

  The Road Back

  * * *

  The Seeders Universe

  Against Time

  Sector Justice

  Morning Song

  The High Edge

  Star Mist

  Star Rain

  Star Fall

  Starburst

  * * *

  The Thunder Mountain Universe

  Thunder Mountain

  Monumental Summit

  Avalanche Creek

  The Edwards Mansion

  Lake Roosevelt

  Warm Springs

  Melody Ridge

  Grapevine Springs

  The Idanha Hotel

  The Taft Ranch

  * * *

  Smith’s Monthly

  Smith’s Monthly is the innovative brainchild of
USA Today bestselling author Dean Wesley Smith. Comprised of short fiction, nonfiction, poetry and a full-length novel, Smith’s Monthly offers a monthly dose of diverse reading for Smith’s fans and newcomers alike. Subscriptions are available in electronic and trade paperback format. For more information, click here.

  About the Author

  Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, USA Today bestselling writer Dean Wesley Smith published far more than a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres.

  At the moment he produces novels in several major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the Old West, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, a superhero series starring Poker Boy, and a mystery series featuring the retired detectives of the Cold Poker Gang.

  His monthly magazine, Smith’s Monthly, which consists of only his own fiction, premiered in October 2013 and offers readers more than 70,000 words per issue, including a new and original novel every month.

  During his career, Dean also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds. Writing with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch under the name Kathryn Wesley, he wrote the novel for the NBC miniseries The Tenth Kingdom and other books for Hallmark Hall of Fame movies.

  He wrote novels under dozens of pen names in the worlds of comic books and movies, including novelizations of almost a dozen films, from The Final Fantasy to Steel to Rundown.

  Dean also worked as a fiction editor off and on, starting at Pulphouse Publishing, then at VB Tech Journal, then Pocket Books, and now at WMG Publishing, where he and Kristine Kathryn Rusch serve as series editors for the acclaimed Fiction River anthology series.