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

by Shawn Inmon

  He asked Claire for a referral to a local doctor and made an appointment with him for a follow-up in two weeks. Joe was hoping the cast would come off then. Stan advised Joe to have the doctor be extra careful in removing the cast. Not because he might hurt him, but because among the signatures on it were those of John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

  Joe had laughed. “What, are we gonna find a way to display this stinky old thing?”

  “Damned straight, I am,” Stan had answered, and Joe had no doubt he would do so.

  Word spread through Middle Falls that the hometown hero had returned, and soon enough, the reporter for the local Middle Falls Gazette phoned for an interview. Joe put her off and put her off, but she was persistent. He finally gave in and agreed to let her come by his small house.

  When she arrived, she had a photographer in tow. Joe had been reticent to be in photos all his life—all he ever saw was his birthmark—but decided it was a new life, and time for new choices. The photographer had Joe sit at his kitchen table and moved around him like a fashion photographer, taking pictures of him at all angles.

  That done, the photographer left, and the reporter—Shannon Harris—sat down to interview Joe. Joe, meanwhile, busied himself in his kitchen, making coffee, asking how Shannon liked her coffee, and pouring the coffee. Many coffee-related activities that meant he didn’t have to sit down and bare his soul to this attractive reporter.

  Maybe I should just blow her mind and tell her the truth. That I flew to New York because I knew John was going to be killed, and I know Reagan will be elected President next, and A Flock Of Seagulls aren’t going to have any more hits. That last might be self-evident, though.

  Shannon Harris was twenty-eight years old, with brownish-red hair that fell loosely at her shoulders. She wore retro cat’s-eye glasses that marked her as still young enough to have a little fashion rebel in her. The rest of her outfit, though, fit the conservative, small-town reporter mold.

  When Joe finally finished fidgeting in the kitchen and sat down opposite her, Shannon met his eyes with steady frankness. She readied her notebook and asked, “What made you go to New York?”

  “What, no fluff questions to get me warmed up? What was my first pet, or who’s my personal hero?”

  “Would you want to read the answers to those questions?”

  Joe laughed. “You’ve got me there, but I wouldn’t want to read about somebody like me, period.”

  “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. We’ve been getting heat at the paper all week for not having an interview with you already. You’re the most fascinating thing to happen to Middle Falls since the mayor’s wife caught him in bed with another man and shot him.” She took her glasses off and stared at him. “Well, all right, you’re not quite that interesting. But, as these things go, you’re pretty hot news around here.”

  “A fifteen minute conversation with me should dissuade you from that notion.”

  Shannon took a deep breath. “Back to the question. Why did you go to New York?”

  “Because I wanted to see the Statue of Liberty.”

  Shannon frowned. “And what did you think of Lady Liberty?”

  “Never saw it.”

  Shannon put her pen and pad down and fixed Joe with a baleful glare. “Look, Joe. It’s hard being the only woman reporter at a small town paper. It’s doubly hard when you’re the only reporter under thirty at a small town paper. I had to fight to get this interview. If you just blow me off and give me smart aleck answers, I’ll never get another big assignment. You don’t know me, and you don’t owe me anything, but how about if we drop the act and just talk to each other?”

  You know what, Shannon Harris? I would love to just talk with you. You are a lovely woman, and even though you’re not as old as I am, you’re not a teenage girl, either. I’d like to take you out for coffee, or to see a movie, or to just stay in and grill you a steak. But, how likely are you to agree to any of those things?

  “Fair enough. I’ll do my best.”

  Or maybe I should say, I’ll do my best to tell you a story you can print, and believe.

  “One more time, then. Why did you go to New York?”

  “My mom passed away a few years ago. She was only forty-four. She never went anywhere. She never saw anything. She stayed here in Middle Falls and raised me, which I am grateful for. At the same time, I feel awful that she never got to experience life. So, I decided that whenever I could, I would travel, and see things. New York was the first place on my list, and it was quite an adventure.”

  “That it was. As I’m sitting here with you, your left arm is still in a cast from a gunshot you suffered saving the life of John Lennon. What can you tell me about that?”

  Excellent question, Shannon. What can I tell you about that?

  “First of all, it wasn’t me who saved Mr. Lennon. That was Scott Mckenzie, who was smart enough to disappear before all the reporters converged on him.” Joe blew on his coffee, took a sip. “When I first got to New York, I went for a walk around Central Park, because my hotel was right across the street from it. On my walk, I happened on this old building that looked interesting. There were people gathered on the sidewalk outside, like they were waiting for something.”

  “And that was the Dakota, right?”

  “Right, where a whole bunch of famous people live, which is what caused the crowds to gather. While I was there, I got lucky and saw John Lennon as he was leaving for a recording session. That was so cool, I hung around for a few hours, hoping to see him again. Just as I was getting ready to leave, a limo pulled up and John and Yoko got out. I was pretty star-struck—the most famous person I’d ever met before was J.P. Patches, when he came to open the new supermarket.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes a little at him, and he liked her all the more for it.

  “Anyway, I was just hanging around, watching John Lennon, when I saw this guy pull a gun out and aim it at him. I didn’t even think about it, I just pushed John out of the way and ran at the guy.”

  “And that’s when he shot you.”

  “Yep,” Joe said, hoisting his cast an inch off the table.

  “You say, ‘John,’ as in ‘John Lennon’ the same way I might say ‘Jim the butcher.’ Would you say you’re close to him now? Friends?”

  “John and Yoko were so kind to me. They were just like regular people to me, not celebrities. It wasn’t what I expected. But, from the moment I got shot until now, nothing has been like anything I’ve ever experienced.”

  Shannon dug around through Joe’s life for another half hour, then asked a few background questions, and was finished.

  “Thank you, for taking this seriously and giving me honest answers.”

  If only I could. Then, you’d have a scoop. I can see the headline now: Middle Falls Time Travelers Saves John Lennon. And what would be next after that? Nothing good.

  “No problem.”

  Shannon folded up her notebook and stood to leave.

  It’s now or never.

  “Shannon, I know we just met, and I know I look like I’m a little younger than you—“

  “You are a lot younger than me.”

  “Right. But, anyway, I was wondering if you would go out with me sometime? Maybe dinner?”

  Shannon looked at him. Contemplated him. She shook her head, but handed him her business card. “I’ll tell you what. Let me get my story written and published, then give me a few weeks and give me a call. I wouldn’t date a story source, but once this blows over a little bit, you won’t be that anymore, unless you’re planning on saving any more rock stars.”

  Joe shook his head.

  “So, call me in a couple of months. Maybe you’ll get a different answer, then.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  In April, the clouds parted and spring arrived in Middle Falls. There was the occasional surcease in the barrage of rain, and on a few days the sun actually came out. The residents of Middle Falls emerged from their houses, blinking at the strange, shinin
g object in the sky.

  On April 12, 1981, two events occurred which greatly impacted Joe Hart, although the happenings were separated by more than three thousand miles.

  The first happened exceptionally early on that date—less than an hour after midnight. On a lonely stretch of highway outside of Middle Falls, a ’67 Camaro went off the road and smashed into a boulder. The driver of the car, JD McManus, died when his chest was crushed by the steering wheel. The passenger, Robert “Bobby” Stuckey, was thrown free from the vehicle and suffered a broken neck. The medical examiner said both were killed instantly. The first officer to respond to the scene reported smelling alcohol and marijuana in the car. As there were no other casualties or serious property damage, the question of driving under the influence was never pursued.

  The second event happened on the other side of the United States, in the Dakota apartments. John Winston Ono Lennon suffered a massive heart attack and was dead before Yoko could pick up the phone to call for help. He was rushed to St. Luke’s, where doctors once again did their best to revive him. He was pronounced dead at 4:59 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time.

  JOE HART LEARNED OF the twin tragedies in the reverse order in which they occurred. He was in his tiny home and had just prepared a dinner of pork chops and asparagus for himself. As he often did, he turned on the television to watch the evening news as he ate. There was only one story the newscast was focusing on—the death of John Lennon.

  More than once, the broadcast replayed the footage they had of John at the Dakota on the night of the assassination attempt.

  Joe pushed his dinner plate away untouched.

  Oh my God, no. Oh, John. Oh, Yoko.

  Joe’s chin dropped to his chest.

  Please let this be wrong. We saved you, John.

  He walked across the room to his telephone and dialed the number that rang into the apartment in the Dakota, but put it down before it even rang.

  I remember what all the chaos was like when I was in the hospital, and I had people protecting me from it all. I don’t want to add to that noise. Later. I’ll call her later.

  Joe turned the television up and sat numbly on the couch, watching as the newscast look for any new angle to announce. They showed clips of John, Paul, George, and Ringo, arriving on the tarmac at JFK in 1964, waving exuberantly at the crowd gathered to greet them. They showed John—older, thinner—in concert with Elton John in New York. Finally, they showed Yoko, stunned and shell-shocked, emerging from St. Luke’s in an eerie echo of the same scene in Joe’s first life.

  Does this have something to do with me? Did I save John, just so he could die a few months later? Or, more likely, was he somehow fated to die, no matter what anyone did, and this is the culmination of that? Is this whole life for naught? Can I not make changes?

  These thoughts swirled around Joe’s mind as the television regurgitated the same scenes over and over. A snake eating its own tail.

  A quiet knock on his door brought Joe out of his reverie. Joe opened the door and saw it was Claire, her face pinched with worry.

  She took one look at Joe and said, “Oh, Joe, I can see it on your face. You already know, don’t you?”

  “About John? Yeah, I just turned on the news and saw it.”

  “John?”

  “John Lennon. He just died of a heart attack in New York.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, this is a dark and ominous day.”

  Joe was pulled from his sadness by the expression on Claire’s face. “That’s what you meant, right? That John had died?”

  Claire gave a half-shake of her head, then said, “Let’s sit down on the couch. I have terrible news, and there’s no way to soften the blow.”

  “What? What else could it be?”

  “Your friends JD and Bobby—such sweet boys—were killed in a car accident early this morning.”

  Joe shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. I just saw them last night. They were going to the bowling alley and asked if I wanted to come along.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but they’re gone now, Joe. Oh, this is so horrible. I’m sorry I have to be the messenger with this awful news.”

  Claire wrapped Joe in a comforting hug, but there was little comfort for him.

  It feels like everything I’ve done in this lifetime—saving JD and Bobby, saving John Lennon, is for nothing. It can’t be a coincidence that they both died on the same day. The universe is trying to tell me something. But what?

  “Why don’t you come over and sit with us tonight? I don’t want you here all alone.”

  Joe nodded absently, then said, “Maybe. I need to call and leave a message for Yoko, and I’ve got to go see JD and Bobby’s parents. They’re devastated, I’m sure. There’s nothing I can do to make it less devastating for them, but I have to try.”

  “Well, we’ll be home all night. Stop in any time the lights are on. Maybe your visit to their parents could wait until tomorrow.”

  Joe nodded, but didn’t commit. Claire patted his hand, laid a hand on his shoulder, then let herself out.

  The wave of emotion Joe had been holding inside burst out and he broke down is hiccupping sobs.

  For John. For JD. For Bobby.

  For a wasted life.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As he had once done for a lifetime, Joe Hart retreated to the safety of his home and did his best to stay there. He called Debbie at the animal center and told her he wouldn’t be able to be in for a few more months. He ate only what he had on hand until he faced the prospect of a dinner of fish sticks and pancakes. That finally drove him out of his house and to Safeway to restock.

  Unlike his first life, Joe didn’t lock the world out forever. Eventually, he started having dinner with Stan and Claire once a week.

  He finally managed to get through to Yoko and they shared tears over the phone. Before they hung up, Yoko told him that John had indeed recorded Rodrigo Hart’s Forever for You.

  “He had meant for it to be on the next album, but it was the only song he finished. I’m going to make sure it’s released as a single. That’s what John would have wanted.”

  Joe hung up, promising to stay in touch and wondering if they would.

  What in the world do we have in common, other than John, who is gone now?

  With Bobby and JD dead, he found himself at a loss for friends once again.

  Where does a twenty year old guy go to make friends? I make a lot of friends at the shelter, but those are all of the four-legged variety. In a few more months, I’ll be old enough to go into the bars in town, but that doesn’t interest me. I remember playing a game of Dungeons and Dragons with a few of the guys in high school. Maybe I should look up some of them.

  In the end, he did none of those things, but he did start to leave his house again. One sunny Tuesday afternoon in late May, he packed himself a lunch and drove the Olds over to Whitfield Park. He spread a blanket out and sat down with his sandwiches and his book. Since Claire had reminded him that Kurt Vonnegut had a lot of other books he hadn’t read, he had been reading his way through his catalog. At the moment, he was reading Breakfast of Champions.

  Joe spent a nice few hours quietly reading and soaking up the sun, trying to refill his depleted supply of Vitamin D.

  Eventually, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds and Joe grabbed his brown bag and blanket and headed back to the Oldsmobile. He dropped the blanket in the trunk and unlocked the driver’s side door, but didn’t climb in. He felt a sudden urge—almost a psychic push—to go for a walk around the park.

  He locked the door and set out to walk a lap around the outer edge.

  Exercise won’t hurt me. Haven’t gotten a lot of that since I got shot. It’s time to get moving again.

  The cast on his left arm had been removed, but his left arm didn’t look normal, still. When the cast first came off, the atrophied arm inside look like it belonged to a much smaller person. Physical therapy had helped that, but it was still scrawnier than his right, and the scar
from the shot and surgeries would never go away.

  Sitting in the doctor’s office, examining the arm for the first time, he had said, “What’s one more scar, anyway?”

  Joe set out at a good pace and was halfway around the park when he passed a series of three park benches. They were all empty, except for the middle one. That bench was occupied by a young woman with straight, dishwater blonde hair. As Joe approached her, something tugged at his memory, as though he almost—but not quite—recognized her.

  When Joe was just a few feet away, the woman said, “Hello, Joe.”

  Joe slowed, then stopped, doing his best to retrieve where he had seen her before.

  “Hi,” he said, uncertainty showing in his voice. “I feel like we went to school together?”

  The woman laughed, scooted over, and patted the bench beside her. “Come on, sit down. Let’s talk.”

  “I feel embarrassed that I can’t quite place you,” Joe said, perching on the edge of the bench as though he might want to make a quick getaway. The woman was dressed oddly, especially for Middle Falls. She was wearing a long white robe the color of pale moonlight on snow. The robe shimmered and seemed to move even when she sat still.

  “I’m Carrie,” the woman said.

  Joe snapped his fingers. “Yes! That’s it! You were a couple of years ahead of me in school.” A sudden thought jumped into his mind. Before he could stop himself, he said, “But, wait. Weren’t you...” He couldn’t force himself to finish the sentence.

  “Murdered? Yes, in your first life, I was. That’s why, when you were restarted, no version of me was present here.”

  “And, just like that, I don’t understand what the heck you mean. Restarted?”

  “When you died in 2004 and woke up back in 1978.”

  Joe’s mouth fell slightly open. “How...”