Middle Falls Time Travel Series, Books 4-6 (Middle Falls Time Travel Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Shawn Inmon

  JD and Bobby both craned their necks, looking for helicopters with loudspeakers. Unsurprisingly, there were none in the sky.

  “No, man, we’ve been sacked out for a few hours. Holy hell.”

  Bobby’s head seemed to clear after a minute. “Wait. How the heck did you find us?”

  “Long story. I stopped by your house, and your mom told me you’d gone up to the Toutle to camp. I had this idea you might not hear the evacuation order, so I decided to come up and get you. But, that’s it for me. I’m outta here now. It makes me nervous. They said it was gonna blow, but I figure it’s not an exact science.”

  Time to shut up, now. I’m a terrible liar. The more I say, the more likely I am to give myself away.

  “Well, don’t be in such a damned hurry,” JD said. “I don’t have a death wish. We’ll come with you.” He glanced at Bobby, who nodded, and started rolling up his sleeping bag.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were hiking back toward the parking lot. Joe glanced at his watch. 3:45. plenty of time before dark. After a mile’s hike, they came to where Merlin and Sapphire were camped. Their site was almost completely broken down.

  “Looks like they must have heard the helicopters,” Bobby said.

  “Umm, yep,” Joe said. I am an absolutely crappy liar. Why add unnecessary details? I should have just let them make up their own mind. Soon enough, they’ll know I was bullshitting them, but by then, they should be safe, at least.

  Merlin saw the three of them and waved. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Found ‘em!”

  Joe nodded, gave him a thumbs-up, and continued walking.

  “You know those people?” JD asked.

  “I just talked to them on the way in to find you guys.”

  Soon enough, they turned the corner and emerged into the parking spot.

  “This is where we part company, boys,” Joe said. “I’ll be cruising in comfort in the Olds from here on out.”

  “Hey,” Bobby said, reaching out with an up-high handshake and a half-hug. “Thanks for coming to get us. We probably would have slept through the whole damned thing.”

  “No biggie. Couldn’t let you guys just die up here. I’ll see ya.”

  JD and Bobby climbed into the truck and this time, they beat Joe out of the parking lot, spraying a little gravel and laughing as they went.

  Joe eased the Olds out onto the Spirit Lake Highway and kept the speedometer at a steady 25 MPH. When he came to the bridge that crossed the Toutle River, he slowed to a roll. He glanced left, where he had once seen death approach. A shudder ran down his spine.

  It was an uneventful trip home, although Joe didn’t really breathe easily until he crossed the bridge over the Columbia and entered into Oregon.

  It was almost ten o’clock when he walked back into his tiny house. When he opened the door, the phone was ringing. He picked up the receiver and said, “Hello?”

  It was JD’s voice on the other end of the line. “What the hell, dude? You just lied to us? Seriously. What the hell. Were you pissed off that we didn’t invite you along, so you wanted to ruin the trip for us? You could have come, you know.”

  Joe sat down at his small kitchen table. He was exhausted. He had known this was coming, but he had no answer.

  “Go to bed, JD. Call me when you wake up in the morning.”

  JD DIDN’T CALL THE next morning, but he did call in the afternoon.

  When Joe tore himself away from the television coverage of the blast to answer the phone, the first thing he heard was, “How did you know? There was no alert. There were no helicopters. That was all BS. So, how did you know?”

  “If there was a believable explanation, I would give it to you, but no matter what I say, I know from experience you’re not going to believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  Joe sighed. He looked at the television, showing the same shot it had been showing all day. A massive plume of ash and steam boiled up from the ruined mountain.

  “Sure. I’ve already lived this life twice before. I knew the mountain was going to blow. Last time when I tried to rescue you, it took me too long to find you, and I got killed too, but I don’t get to just go on. I keep recycling over and over. This time, I made up a story to get you out of there, because otherwise I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “And yet, here you are. If I hadn’t come to get you, where would you be?”

  “I’ll say ‘thank you,’ but this is too damned weird for words. I gotta go.”

  Joe listened to the phone click, then nestled the receiver back into its cradle.

  The final addendum to Joe’s volcanic adventure arrived a few weeks later.

  He didn’t have a mailbox of his own, so Claire always stuck his mail into a plastic bag and left it on his porch. In mid-June, he came home to find a single item in the bag. It was a postcard with a painting of a mighty wizard on the front with a long, flowing beard and a fierce expression.

  When he turned it over, he saw it was addressed to “Joe Heart, General Delivery, Middle Falls, Oregon.”

  Middle Falls is like Cheers, where everybody knows your name, even if it’s misspelled.

  To the right of the name and address were just a few words, written in a majestic scrawl. “Thank you for our lives, and for our children.” It was signed, “Merlin and Sapphire.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  For the rest of the summer and early fall, Joe prepared for his next adventure. Now that he had managed to pull off one rescue—even though he did need a do-over to get it done—he was more hopeful.

  History can be changed.

  To prepare for the next item on his checklist, he listened to his Beatles and John Lennon records ceaselessly, read books about New York City and The Dakota building in particular.

  He sent away for information from the New York Tourism board and silently wished, for the one thousandth time, that Google was around in 1980.

  I could make all the arrangements I needed in an hour online. Instead, it’s taking me months, and I’m still not sure I’m getting everything done.

  He filled a notebook with everything he could remember about what happened that early December evening in 1980. Of course, there was no real research he could do on the event, because it hadn’t happened yet. The eventual assassin was still completely anonymous. Joe remembered that the killer had come from Hawaii, but that information did him no good. He wasn’t the type to preemptively go and attack someone before they had done anything. Things changed from life to life, and he hoped that his trip to New York would be much ado about nothing. Still, he prepared himself for the upcoming battle the best he could.

  When he read a blurb in the November Rolling Stone magazine that had a preview of the upcoming Double Fantasy album, he knew it was time to go. He made his airline reservations, and thanks to the info he got from the Tourism Board, he was able to book a hotel near Central Park called The Empire. It wasn’t cheap—there were no cheap hotels in New York—but it was more affordable than anything else he could find. He constantly had to remind himself that he wasn’t poor, or broke, or in danger of becoming either. He knew his father’s royalties would continue at least until 2004. He just couldn’t break the habit of living as frugally as possible.

  In fact, he lived so inexpensively, that even though he only worked part-time for Stan, he still was making more than he was spending to live. Meanwhile, the royalty checks piled up in the bank, adding on to the proceeds from selling the house.

  There wasn’t much handyman business in the middle of winter, but he let Stan and Claire know that he would be gone for a few weeks, anyway. Over the previous two years, he had grown close with them. He would never presume to call them his adoptive family, but that was Joe, who tried never to assume. Whether he would say it or not, that was what they were, and how they thought of him.

  When it came to the trip, what he told them was mostly the truth—that he was going on a trip to New York Ci
ty because he had always wanted to. He intended to see the Statue of Liberty, visit some of the famous museums, and take a trip to the top of the Empire State building.

  He made no mention of hoping to change a history that hadn’t happened, of course.

  The evening before he left, Claire knocked on his door, which was rare. No matter how Stan teased her about keeping an eye on Joe, she had scrupulously maintained her distance.

  “Come in,” Joe said, a smile lighting his face, as it always did when he saw Claire.

  “I can’t stay,” Claire said. “Stan always thinks I’m bothering you. I brought you a few things for your trip. First,” she said, holding out a small, hardback book, “this is for your plane ride.”

  Joe turned the book over. Its cover was worn smooth and its edges gone soft. The cover read “The Sirens of Titan,” by Kurt Vonnegut. Joe’s eyebrows raised.

  “I love Vonnegut, but haven’t heard of this one.”

  “It’s my personal favorite. I picked it out just for you.”

  “Now, somewhat more mundane, but also more delicious, I have made you some chocolate chip cookies. Airline food is always so awful.”

  Joe accepted the cookies, then hugged Claire. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”

  “Be sure to bring the book back. It’s a library book.”

  “Of course.”

  “And,” she paused and looked deep into his eyes, “be careful.”

  Joe looked innocently at her, until she squinted an ‘I know better’ look at him. “My family has a touch of future vision. I probably should have told you that when you moved in.” She smiled impishly and let herself out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Joe parked his car in the long-term parking lot at Portland International Airport and checked his suitcase. Through three lifetimes, he had never been on an airplane, and his stomach fluttered at the thought of flying. He checked in at his gate hours early, because he had no idea how difficult it would be to get through security. In 1980, there was no security in place, so he was there in short order. He unpacked his book, filched a cookie from the bag, and read.

  The airport was busy, and everyone was hurrying from one place to another, so few paid attention to Joe. It was unusual for him to be around so many people and have no one glance, at least surreptitiously, at his birthmark. It gave him a pleasant feeling of belonging to an anonymous crowd.

  Joe’s flight wasn’t full, and he lucked out and ended up with a window seat with no one sitting beside him. The aisle seat was filled with an older lady who concentrated on a Perry Mason mystery book.

  Joe watched the takeoff out the small window with interest. He felt a small frisson of electricity when the plane’s wheels left the runway and realized he was up in the air for the first time. Soon enough, though, the plane passed through the thick cloud cover typical of a Pacific Northwest December day. The only difference to Joe was, he was looking down on those clouds, instead of up.

  He once again pulled The Sirens of Titan out of his backpack and found the baggie with the chocolate chip cookies. He took two out and offered one to the older lady one seat over.

  She glanced at him, seeming to notice him for the first time. Because of how he was sitting, she could only see the right side of his face, so there was no pity in her expression.

  “Ma’am? Would you like a cookie?”

  “Those aren’t one of those cookies made with marijuana, are they?”

  Joe laughed. “No, ma’am. My landlady made them for me. I’m sure they’ve just got the regular ingredients in them.”

  “Well, I’ll have to pass, then,” she said, with a crinkly smile.

  Gotta remember not to judge a book by its cover.

  Joe spent the rest of the flight lost in Vonnegut’s story of Malachi Constant, Winston Niles Rumfoord, and the Church of God the Utterly Indifferent.

  He changed planes in Chicago and boarded his second plane already feeling like a more-seasoned traveler. He sat at his gate in O’Hare, people-watching and ruminating.

  An entire lifetime spent as a virtual hermit, and this travel stuff isn’t all that hard. I missed out on everything, too afraid to take the first step out of my door.

  Joe landed at JFK, and managed to find his way to baggage claim without too much difficulty. Once he had his suitcase, he asked a man pushing a cart piled high with luggage what the best way to get to New York was. The man was an old black gentleman dressed in a gray uniform. He laughed at the question.

  “You’re in New York, son. What part of New York are you trying to get to?”

  “The Empire Hotel. I think it’s close to Central park.”

  “Yessir, it is. You’ve got two choices. You can catch the subway into town, get off and catch a quick cab ride over to the Empire, or you can just find a cab here. The subway and cab ride will be cheaper, but catching a cab from here will be easier. What do you prefer?”

  Joe leaned in, conspiratorially, and said, “You probably can’t tell, but I’m a tourist, and I’ve never been to New York before.”

  The man roared with laughter and said, “No sir, you’re right, I couldn’t tell. If you’ve got the funds, I think we’ll do better to get you a cab straight from here.”

  “I do.” Joe had two hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills in his pocket. He had another thousand dollars in American Express Traveler’s Checks in his wallet, and a hundred dollar bill folded up and stuck in his shoe, just in case he lost the rest. He had seen the movie The Out-of-Towners just before he left, and he was aware of the way the city swallowed the unwary.

  “Come with me, young sir, and I will help you find someone who will take care of you.”

  The man led Joe out of the airport and into the cold night air. He approached another man, also wearing a uniform—this one tan with gold accents.

  “Frank,” the first man said, “This young man is an innocent abroad. Will you help him find a good, safe ride to his hotel? He’s heading for the Empire.”

  Frank looked Joe up and down, smiled, and said, “Sure will, Charles.”

  Charles smiled, patted Joe on the shoulder, and turned away.

  “Wait,” Joe said, digging in his pocket. He came out with his roll of twenties, took one off the roll and handed it to Charles.

  “Oh, no, son, that’s way too much. A buck would be a little too much, but a twenty is out of the question, unless your last name is Rockefeller.”

  “It’s all I have.”

  “Let me give you a couple of tips instead, then,” Charles said. “One, don’t flash that wad around, or someone will want it more than you do, and try to take it from you. Two, buy a pack of gum as soon as you can, and keep a pocketful of singles. That’s all you need.”

  Charles turned and hurried back into the airport.

  Joe turned back to the man Charles had called Frank and saw that he had summoned a cab to the curb.

  As Joe climbed in, Frank said, “You be careful out there in the city. Not everyone is as kind as Charles is. You’ll need to watch out for yourself.” He winked at Joe and lifted his suitcase in after him. He leaned his head in and said, “Empire, please, and take the direct route,” then closed the door.

  I am a babe in the woods, and everyone around me can see it. I’ve gotta wise up.

  Joe rode through what felt like endless lanes of traffic while rain fell so heavily the cab’s wipers could barely keep up. After what felt like an exceptionally long trip that nearly lulled him asleep, they pulled into a small driveway in front of a hotel with a red neon sign over it that read, “Empire.”

  “Fifteen-fifteen,” the cabbie said. Those were the first words he had spoken since Joe had climbed in the cab.

  Joe handed him the same twenty he had tried to give to Charles back at the airport. He said, “Keep the change,” and slid out of the cab, carrying his backpack and suitcase. Inside, the Empire was nice, if not opulent. In his imagination, he had expected a huge lobby with glittery chandeliers, but inst
ead found a quieter environment and very little wasted space.

  It was nearly midnight by the time he arrived at the hotel, so there was no line to check in. He was able to sign the register and catch the elevator up to his room in less than ten minutes. The hallways of the Empire had thick, red carpeting with a gold pattern worked through. He turned the key, stepped inside his room and closed the door behind him. He felt like he could breathe easy for the first time since he had stepped off the plane.

  The room was small. If he hadn’t lived in a studio apartment, Joe might even have judged it as tiny. A twin bed, a small nightstand, and a dresser with a television on it were the only furnishings, and still the room felt cramped. He lifted his suitcase onto the bed, then pushed open the door to the bathroom. If the room was tiny, the bathroom was miniscule.

  Good thing there’s only me, because two people would never fit in here, I don’t think.

  A window looked out of his room, directly onto another building that wasn’t more than a few feet away. He went to pull the curtains shut and noticed that his window looked directly into another apartment building no more than twenty feet away. A large woman sat in her underwear in front of the television. She glanced at Joe, then turned her attention back to the TV.

  Joe pulled the curtains shut. I am not in Middle Falls anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joe opened the curtains the next morning to find the same slate-gray sky he had flown through the night before. The curtains were still pulled wide in the apartment across from him, but the woman was gone.

  Joe realized that, aside from Claire’s cookies and a single airline meal on the way to Chicago, he hadn’t had a bite to eat since he had left home. He was famished.

  He tucked his traveler’s checks into the dresser drawer next to his bed and folded all but forty dollars once again into the arch of his foot, then put his socks and shoes on.