by Geoff North
“Were you smoking up here?”
“I was--I thought I’d put it out…”
“My God, Hugh, you could’ve burned the house down.”
Her look of disappointment, that wide-eyed stare of incomprehensible shock stung him as much as the blisters already forming on her swollen fingers must have pained her. “I’ve been trying to quit…I didn’t want you and dad to know yet.”
So much for not trying to alter history.
He could’ve died decades before he was supposed to, and taken his mother with him. “I’m so sorry, mom.”
“You’re sorry? You make it sound like you’ve been smoking for years. You’re only thirteen years old!”
Should I tell her the truth now? No…She’d probably slap me across the face if I told a whopper like that.
“Well? How long has this been going on? Have you been stealing from your father?”
“Well maybe just a bit, in the beginning.” He heard her groan, watched as she rolled her eyes upward. Could he possibly upset her any further? “I swear mom, I’ll never smoke again…I swear it.”
Her next words were like a blow to the gut.
“If you have to smoke, please do it downstairs in front of the rest of us.”
She’d left him a note once in his first life when he was fifteen. He’d come home from school and found it on his drawing desk, next to an empty pack of cigarettes he’d forgotten to throw away. He remembered it word for word. ‘If you have to smoke, please do it downstairs in front of the rest of us. We don’t want you burning the house down.’
History sometimes had a cruel way of repeating itself, a wicked sense of humor.
“I feel terrible what I did. I know it’s all my fault, and--
“Of course it’s all your fault! Who else can you blame it on?”
“I was just so godda-- I was so darned mad at Gordo for what he did.”
There was a look on her face that made Hugh feel not all was lost. “What did your brother do this time?” She asked gently.
Hugh picked a few of the ruined comic books off the floor and handed them to her. He remembered the condition of her hands. “Sorry.” He spread one open on the bed, slightly embarrassed to show her the pornographic cartoons, but determined to get Gordo in trouble.
“Gordon did that?” She looked repulsed.
Hugh should’ve felt satisfied, but instead he felt guiltier. Hadn’t he hurt her enough today? Was it really necessary to twist the knife further?
I’ve gone too far…again.
“There’s more, mom. I mean there’s more bad stuff that I did.” It was time for him to clean up his act. “I got so worked up, that I went into his room and wrecked all his stuff.”
“Oh Hugh,” was all she said. He followed her into his brother’s room and watched her try to take it all in.
“I know I shouldn’t have done it, I just kinda lost it after I saw what he did to my comics.”
She stood silently for a full minute, her eyes distant. Hugh stepped back when she finally spoke. “I want you to go downstairs and get the broom.”
“Oh, for sure,” he answered quickly. “I’ll clean the whole thing up myself, even my room. I’ll wash the walls and--,”
“Shut up.”
Hugh shut up. He’d never heard her say that before.
“Just shut your mouth and listen. Get the broom and something to sweep this entire mess into. I want it so clean in here that no one will ever suspect it’s been vandalized.” She paused and looked at a dark spot on the bed. She sniffed the air and grimaced. “Did you pee on here?”
Hugh nodded and opened the top dresser drawer. “I went on his shirts too.”
She slapped his face and cried out with the pain it caused. Hugh remained quiet, his face turned down to the floor. “How could you be filled with so much hate…over a bunch of comic books?”
He didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t have an answer for himself.
“Hurry up, before Gordon and your father get home. I’ll tell him I took all his awards away as punishment for ruining your books.” She started downstairs, Hugh followed at a safe distance.
“Won’t you have to give them all back after a while? What’re you going to say then?”
She stopped halfway down and spun around. “For Christ’s sake, Hugh! You almost burnt the house down! How am I going to explain that and all the rest of…of this mess to your father? Let me worry about the rest later. Throw those dirty shirts away as well, strip his bed down and take the blankets to the laundry room. I want you to grab fresh sheets and remake his bed when you’re finished cleaning.”
“Why are you doing this for me, mom? I should tell everyone the truth.”
“I’m not doing this for you; I’m doing it for your father. He’s very proud of Gordon’s accomplishments.” Wish I could say he was proud of yours, her face told him. “You can explain about the smoking and the fire, I won’t help you out there.”
She went into the bathroom and turned on the cold water tap with her elbow. He watched shamefully as the water cascaded over her red hands. She shuddered with the relief it offered, but started weeping uncontrollably. What hurt more, he wondered? The burnt skin or the broken heart?
Hugh left her there and went to find the broom. Their father had never laid a hand on any of his children. He hoped this time that he would.
***
His father didn’t hit him, and Hugh quit smoking once and for all. It was either quit or move into the barn. That was his choice, and Hugh knew it was no joke. As it turned out, only a small stack of comic books had been wrecked, less than a dozen in all. The upstairs smelled of smoke for a couple of weeks, but the rift the missing trophies had caused between his parents lasted a lot longer. Hugh desperately wanted to tell his father the truth. His mother stuck to her story however, and he had no choice but to go along with it. The trophies were gone, and that was the end of that. Gordo took it out on his brother with more than one beating. Hugh didn’t mind, in fact he took it like the man he should’ve been.
He had finally got the message. Hugh became a better kid, a better man, a better person. He quit daydreaming (with great difficulty) about nailing teenage girls. The love for his daughters, the longing he felt inside for them overcame the raging hormones.
By the beginning of September, things were looking up. Hugh started grade seven with a whole new outlook on life. He now believed history was like a river that flowed through time and space. It ran a steady, constant course forward. Minute details, small events occurring on any given day could be altered, and in fact would be altered if someone with prior knowledge tinkered with the flow. All rivers run downstream, but not all rivers are identical, the flow never constant. There were back eddies, shallow shores and deep under currents. Rivers ran at different speeds, some travelled relatively straight while others forked and curved erratically. All Hugh had to do was stay somewhere in the middle of the stream, mindful of the flash floods that could alter events drastically, and the droughts and freezes that could make reliving it all seem so terribly long and boring.
With this new and improved attitude, Hugh set out to make a difference in the lives of those around him. He would center less on himself, and concentrate on helping others where he knew he could.
Hugh set out to save the life of Herbert McDonald. The story went that Thomas Nelson had murdered Mrs. McDonald’s husband in the fall of 1977. It had never been proven, and the authorities hadn’t even bothered to investigate the possibility. All the evidence suggested it had been a suicide, and contrary to the coffee shop gossip, that’s where the case ended. Mr. McDonald’s pharmaceutical business had failed, as had his marriage, and in an act of despair the fifty-four-year old had stepped off the edge of a bridge, into a pile of discarded railway ties and boulders a hundred and fifty feet below.
Or had he?
Hugh believed there was more truth in the stories told around town than in any police reports. He was determined to stop t
he murder from taking place, and if he ended up looking like a hero in the process, that would be okay too. Besides, where would he buy his comic books if the pharmacy shut down?
He would need help.
Hugh ran to catch up to Bob Richards after school on Friday, September the 9th. “Hey Bob, ol’ buddy, wait up! What’re you doing this weekend?”
Bob stopped on the sidewalk and waited for his friend. “Not much, might go see that new Star Wars movie tomorrow night.” The movie had been out for months, but little towns like Braedon didn’t get new releases until they were anything but new.
Hugh laughed. “Wait for the DVD, I got a better idea.”
“DVD?”
“I was thinking of camping out near the old train bridge.”
“Been awhile since we went camping,” Bob said. The two had been in Boy Scouts and had done their fair share of sleeping under the stars. “I guess I could see the movie next weekend. You wanna head out this evening and make it a two-nighter?”
Hugh didn’t even want to go for one night. He’d come to detest sleeping outdoors after having to do it so many times with his own children. “Nah, I’ve got some other stuff to do tonight. I thought we could set out first thing in the morning. Besides, it gets pretty chilly this time of year. Probably wouldn’t want to do more than one night anyway.”
Bob’s eyes began to gleam. “Maybe I could sneak Rhonda along too.”
“No frickin’ girls, Bob, guys only.”
“You gonna try and take advantage of me?”
“Very funny. Billy’s coming too.”
“Threesome?”
“Quit being an asshole. You wanna come or not?”
“Yeah, sure I’ll come,” Bob said with a laugh. He hit Hugh in the shoulder a little too hard. “Maybe I’ll even steal a bottle of the old man’s rye. We could get good and hammered.”
“When did you start drinking?”
“It’s nothing major, me and my brother like to have a few shots now and then, you know, just for kicks.”
Hugh was still rubbing his sore shoulder. “Whatever turns your crank, but no cigarettes.”
“The Three Stooges. We’ll have a blast.”
He didn’t want to take Bob at all. He’d grown to dislike him even more in this second life. But his strength and speed may be needed, Hugh figured. He didn’t want to face what was to come with only the asthmatic Billy Parton at his side.
“Yeah, a real blast.”
Murder, as they would all soon learn, can be a very complicated business.
Chapter 13
It rained most of Saturday morning, and Hugh had worried they’d have to cancel their adventure. Fortunately, the clouds cleared in early afternoon, and shortly after four, Hugh’s dad dropped the three boys off a few miles outside the southwest end of town. They hiked the next two and a half miles down into a scenic valley where the Braedon River meandered its way into the larger Assiniboine River. The sun was warm on their faces but the air was cool, everything around them was a carpet of damp orange, brown, and grey.
“I should’ve stayed home,” Billy whined. He wiped his runny nose clean on the sleeve of his jacket. “How the hell are we ever gonna get a fire started in this crap?”
“Where there’s a will,” Hugh answered holding up a small mason jar half-filled with diesel. His first instinct would’ve been to sneak the fuel, but he’d been honest with his father and asked permission. He wanted to prove he could be trusted again when it came to fire. His father had agreed, warily. But instead of gasoline as Hugh had intended, his father told him it had to be diesel fuel. It wasn’t near as flammable.
“And if that doesn’t work, this will.” Bob produced an uncracked, forty ounce bottle of Jack Daniels from his backpack.
Hugh wanted to say what a fine sipping whiskey it was. He kept quiet instead, and led the little group further on. They met up with the Assiniboine, a muddy, roiling brute, four times the width of the Braedon. Onwards the three walked, cracking jokes and talking about girls until a sharp turn to the northwest revealed the expansive structure off in the distance.
It was a mass of black iron girders held up across the half-mile wide valley by a dozen main supports. The Assiniboine, as big a river as you would find on the prairies, looked like a stream running two hundred feet beneath.
“Now that’s a fucking bridge,” Billy said.
Hugh grinned at his friend. “You’ve seen it before.”
“Yeah, but still…I haven’t been out here in years. You know how things appear bigger when you’re a little kid? That thing looks even bigger. We should do this more often.”
Bob shook the stolen liquor at him. “You wanted to go home a little while ago. I’ll give the first one who climbs all the way to the top the first chug. Deal?”
Hugh had no desire to drink anything but hot chocolate. And there was no way in hell he was climbing the bridge. It was another promise he’d made willingly to his father.
“I forgot to bring my inhaler,” Billy offered.
“It’s not Mount Everest, nimrod. You won’t need oxygen.”
Hugh had the sudden urge to smack Bob’s face in with the square end of the whiskey bottle.
Arrogant little shit. I’d like to see how funny he is with most of his teeth knocked out.
Billy shook his head adamantly. “No way, nada, ain’t gonna happen.”
Hugh threw the tent bag onto the ground. “We’ll set up camp here.”
“But we’re still a mile from the bridge,” Bob complained. “I thought we were going to set up right beneath it.”
Hugh had planned for this. If they camped too close to the bridge, old man Nelson would surely spot them when the time came. He probably wouldn’t even try to push Mr. McDonald off the edge if he knew someone was below. That would have been the best course of action, but Hugh wanted to know what had actually happened on that fateful day. Had there been a murder, or had it been suicide? What if it had just been an accident? A simple misstep, a shoe caught beneath a rail?
I’m not here to witness it; I’m here to prevent it.
“Right here,” he repeated, and pointed to the ridge they’d just hiked around. “That hill will shelter us a bit from the wind. We can check out the bridge tomorrow.”
Billy nodded enthusiastically this time.
“Whatever,” Bob said. He took a long swig from the bottle and tried his best not to wince afterward. “Guess the first shot’s for me.”
Within fifteen minutes Hugh and Billy had successfully put up the tent, Bob had scrounged a few armloads of semi-dry wood and doused a good sized pile of it with most of the diesel. He lit a match to it and jumped back. Blue flame flickered slowly and then the whole thing caught on, throwing up a cloud of black smoke.
“Easier than doing it the old fashioned way, but man does that stink,” Bob said, waving the air in front of his face. He sat back on a half-rotted tree trunk and took a second, smaller sip from the bottle. “You fellas care to join me now?”
“Maybe you should slow down on that,” Hugh said. He wanted Bob to remain at his clear-headed, athletic best. He wouldn’t be any good to them if he was puking sick the next day.
Billy spread an old, patched blanket on the ground and stretched out comfortably in front of the fire. He motioned for Bob to hand him the bottle. He took a swig and coughed. “What’s up with you these days, Hugh?” He finally managed to ask. “You’re always so serious…you never want to have any fun.”
“The campout was my idea, wasn’t it?”
“You know what I mean,” he offered him the bottle. “The last few months you’ve become a real goody-two-shoes. You don’t drink, you don’t smoke, you don’t even talk about girls that much.”
Hugh grabbed the bottle and was sorely tempted to pour the rest out onto the ground. “Just listen to the two of you! You’re thirteen years old! Why do you need to be involved with all that crap at your age?” He sounded like a lecturing adult, but he couldn’t help himself. H
e wished he was still ten years old. All kids cared about at that age were playing and candy. Teenagers were a confused jumble of hormones, sensitive ego, and mindless rebellion. He’d had enough of it to last three or four lifetimes. And then there were his teenage children to think about. Did boys think about his daughters like that? Was Colton pounding back stolen booze with his friends somewhere in the future? Mourning the death of his father?
Oh, to hell with it.
He took three long swallows from the bottle. The other boys stared at him with wide-eyed expectation. Where was the red face? Where was the coughing fit? Hugh smiled coolly. The liquor burned through his chest, but he knew how to drink and he wasn’t about to give these two grinning idiots the satisfaction of seeing him hurt.
“Holy shit!” Bob finally said taking the bottle from him and tucking it into his backpack. “Maybe I should save some for tonight.”
Hugh was grateful to see it put away. If the two spaced out the remainder over the next twelve hours or so, it wouldn’t create much of a problem. “Sorry for snapping like that, guys. I just don’t see any good reason to get totally shit-faced. What do we even need that stuff for?”
Billy rolled his eyes. “What do you wanna do next? Play hide and seek?”
Hide and seek had been his first taste of this second life. The next time they played it, the stakes would be much higher. “How about a good ghost story?”
“Gotta wait for it to get dark before that,” Bob pointed out.
Hugh looked at the sun hanging low in the sky, fat, orange, and oblong. It would sink below the horizon in a few more minutes. “It’s close enough, besides, this one may take some time to tell.”
Billy threw a few more damp sticks to the fire and settled back onto his blanket. “This should be good.”
“It’s a story about a guy who lives in the year 2011 that travels back in time.”
“So what’s 2011 like?” Billy asked. “They got an outpost on the moon yet? Any cities on Mars?”
“This sounds more like science fiction,” said Bob. “I should’ve stayed in Braedon and gone to that movie.”
