Now, Then, and Everywhen (Chronos Origins)

by Rysa Walker

  When Frank Sinatra performed at the Paramount Theater in the 1940s, dozens of girls swooned. A generation later, it was Elvis. Then came the Beatles, where first aid workers were bombarded with fainting fans at nearly every performance.

  The latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine may provide some answers as to why. The researchers examined forty girls, between the ages of eleven and seventeen, who attended a New Kids on the Block show. While many have chalked this up to mass hysteria, the researchers noted a variety of physiological symptoms, including low blood sugar, exhaustion, and hyperventilation, which is often brought on by screaming. The brain doesn’t receive enough oxygen, which can reduce carbon-dioxide levels and induce fainting.

  Researchers acknowledge that more study is needed, since this does not explain all cases of mass fainting. The most notable instance was a Beatles concert in 1966, where approximately 10 percent of those in attendance briefly lost consciousness in the middle of the show. Most were young women, but numerous adults, including some security personnel, were also affected.

  ∞29∞

  TYSON

  MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

  AUGUST 19, 1966

  I stand at the edge of the balcony behind the stage, scanning the masses pouring in through the doors at the front of the auditorium. Looking for a girl in a bright-orange dress, with an even brighter smile, coming in with her sister and her friends. I need that one last bit of confirmation to put a stake through the heart of the other memory, where it seemed like she was dead inside and only going through the motions.

  What I see instead is Billy Meeks and his two friends at one of the front entrances. Bulldog—I know he has a name, but I can’t remember it—has a bag flung over one shoulder. Even from this distance, it looks suspicious. But the security guards at the door either aren’t expected to scan the bags as people come in or else aren’t taking their jobs very seriously. Billy shows one of them his ticket, and the guard motions toward the section of balcony one over from where I’m standing. Then he points them back into the corridor, where there’s a flight of stairs leading to the upper concourse.

  I take one last look at the entrance. I already know Toni is okay. One of my dueling memories says I saw her barely an hour ago—at least from her perspective—standing outside the drugstore. There’s really nothing I need to confirm. Might as well quit lying to myself and just admit that I want to see her again, and this may well be my last chance.

  But I need to focus.

  Meeks and his buddies come up through the entrance tunnel a couple of minutes later. He spots me and I head over to break the news. I’m not entirely sure whether they’ll view it as good news or bad. Probably a mixed bag.

  “Nice hat,” Billy says, nodding toward the policeman’s cap that all of the temporary security guards were given at our briefing earlier to make sure we could be spotted easily in the crowd.

  “Thanks. Crocker’s a liar. I followed his map, and when that turned out to be useless, I searched the whole damn balcony. There’s nothing here.”

  “You’re sure?” Billy asks.

  “Yep. Feel free to poke around yourself if you want, but you might want to do it quickly. Seats are going to start filling up soon. There will even be people sitting in this section.”

  As I’m saying it, I remember that this is something I know only due to viewing the area through the stable points. But they don’t have a clue. They probably think all eighty-plus people working security tonight were given detailed seating charts of every section of the Coliseum.

  Billy sinks down into one of the chairs. “That settles it, then. If he didn’t keep up his end of the bargain, then I can’t be expected to keep up mine, now can I?”

  I’m pretty sure his remarks are aimed more at his friends than at me, but I say, “I think he was pulling your leg. Just trying to see if he could get a rise out of you.”

  The thin kid says, “Something about him felt off to me anyway. I told Billy maybe he was a cop. One of those undercover guys with the FBI, trying to get more information for those HUAC hearings.”

  Bulldog snorts. “Crocker’s not a cop. I’ve seen him at three rallies. Gimme the map. I’m gonna check it out myself. Come on, Jesse.”

  I hand him the map. Bulldog stares at the spot on the map oh-so-cleverly marked with an X, looks around to get his bearings, and then takes off. The thin kid looks like he’d really rather stay in his seat, but he follows. I get the sense he’s been following orders for many years.

  “I’d have done it,” Billy says once they’re gone. “I’d have kept my word.”

  “Not a big deal. Like I said before, United Klans isn’t too crazy about people makin’ a big stink right now, anyway. There are gonna be over twelve thousand people in here tonight. And I’ve had a chance to look the place over more carefully now. There are no exits from this level that don’t go past at least a few guards.”

  “Why’d you tell Crocker we’d do it, then?”

  “I didn’t,” I tell him, smiling grimly. “I said if he left the weapon, which I didn’t really think he’d do. If we could find it, which I didn’t, and your buddies won’t, either. And finally, if I thought we’d have a decent chance of getting out alive, which I don’t, now that I’m inside the place. The only thing I agreed to do was consider it. Anyway, you’re heading off to college soon, right? You really want something like this on your record?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Me going off to college is part of the reason I said I’d do it. I’m tired of catchin’ shit from Turley and the others.”

  “You mean Bulldog over there?”

  Billy smiles. “Yeah. You’re not the first to call him that. Anyway, he’s enlisting next month. Says he’d rather get it over with. Have some say in his assignment, you know? But he’s sure he’ll end up in ’Nam, and he never misses the chance to tell me it must be nice to have a coward deferment—his term. Uncle Lenny doesn’t call it that, but he thinks the same thing. He fought in Korea and always says it teaches you more than college. Anyway, Turley said if he was goin’ over there to defend the country, least I could do was defend it back home. And he’s right. We got a war right here that’s every bit as important.”

  I start to say something in character, but at this point, I’m ready to be done with all of them. The gun isn’t here for them to use, and I’m better off combing the auditorium, looking for Saul and whoever else might be here, than babysitting a trio of delinquents. If it weren’t for the fact that somebody needs to launch that cherry bomb at Lennon in order to keep the timeline on track, I’d be tempted to turn the whole lot of them in.

  “Yeah, well, that’s bullshit, Billy. Maybe the best way for you to defend the country is to become a doctor. A scientist who cures cancer. The guy who teaches the kid who cures cancer. No matter how much you disagree with the man, killing John Lennon isn’t going to make you a hero or save the country from anything. Enlist if you want, but don’t let some numb-nuts bully shame you into doing stupid things that could land your ass in jail.”

  Billy looks a little surprised, but his two friends are back, so he doesn’t respond.

  “It’s not there,” Bulldog says.

  I raise my eyebrows sarcastically. “No shit. I’ve got places to be to keep my cover.”

  I tell them I’ll check back later. But, to be honest, I don’t think I will.

  I spend the next two hours doing pretty much the same thing as the other guards. Walk around the auditorium. Hang out by the fence a bit. Go outside for a smoke break. Visually inspect rows of mostly kids who are more or less enthusiastically listening to the opening acts while they wait for the Beatles to play. The key difference is that the others are looking for pot or alcohol. I’m looking for purple rays of light.

  The plan is for me to meet Madi at 10:20 in section N-North, which is where Saul and Alisa will blink in shortly thereafter. Richard will be joining me. We tried to think of some distraction for Katherine, but it turned out not to be necessary.
She told Richard she was going over to sit with some of the other women journalists near the press box and scan from that direction for a bit.

  What’s bugging me, though, is the direction of the shot. It hasn’t changed. Someone will shoot Lennon from this side—the south side—of the auditorium at 10:38. It’s entirely possible that it’s Crocker, or that Saul simply comes over to this section.

  At 10:18, as I’m making my way over, I see Saul leaving the men’s room in the lower concourse, heading toward the north side of the building. Rich is supposed to meet me at the midpoint in two minutes. I tap my earpiece and tell him I’m following Saul, but as I pass the men’s room door, someone yanks me backward and inside. His elbow wraps around my neck, pinning my arm against his chest.

  “What’d you do with my gun, asshole? That thing cost me nearly fifty bucks.”

  “Don’t have it,” I manage to squeak out. “It wasn’t there.”

  I try to reach for my own gun, but Crocker squeezes tighter. He’s got a good four inches on me, and maybe seventy pounds. Unfortunately, more of those pounds seem to be muscle than I would have expected from looking at him, and with him pulling up on my neck, the best I can do at this point is flail and hope I land a solid kick. I tuck my chin into his arm, trying to keep a little space open for air, and manage to do little more than knock the cap off my head. The noise from the auditorium increases by an order of magnitude as I struggle with him, and then I hear the opening bars of “Rock and Roll Music.”

  Is this really about the stupid gun, or has Crocker clued in to the fact that I’m CHRONOS?

  The instant that thought enters my mind, I feel something sliding upward between Crocker’s chest and my back. Crocker must feel it, too, because he freezes and then his head jerks backward. He loosens his grip on my neck, and I pull the gun as I slip to the floor.

  Richard yanks again on the leather cord that holds his CHRONOS key, and Crocker drops to his knees. “Might want to get a chain for this thing,” Rich says.

  “Yeah.” I swallow hard, rubbing my throat. “If someone yanked it really hard, you might pop out of sight, just like Bailey did.”

  There’s a flash of recognition in the man’s eyes. Surprise, too, so I guess his attack really was about a stupid gun that wouldn’t even cost a dollar in our time if you adjusted for inflation.

  I grab the police hat off the floor. “Yeah. You know who Bailey is, don’t you?”

  Rich twists the cord again, and the metal case surrounding his medallion presses into Crocker’s neck.

  Three boys come running into the restroom, laughing. The oldest is maybe sixteen. All three of them come to a skidding stop when they see the gun and my hat.

  “He tried to sell me pot,” Rich says, “so I called security. Go find another place to pee.”

  The kids back out of the doorway, eyes wide. I grin at Rich. “I think you’re kind of getting into this.”

  “Maybe,” Rich says. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “Can’t shoot him in cold blood. Anyway, I want him to take a message back. I know you’re not worried about the stupid gun,” I tell Crocker. “You’re worried about losing the damn style points for your team. We’re onto your asses. Tell Saul he’s going to lose The Game this time. He’s not quite the chess master he thinks he is. In fact, he and Campbell are both going to lose. This isn’t your chessboard.”

  In the auditorium, the band moves on to the next song, “She’s a Woman.” I keep the gun pointed at Crocker as Rich loosens his hold on the cord and the key drops back down to Crocker’s chest. As Rich backs toward the door, Crocker looks up and gives a mirthless laugh.

  “If you think Saul is going to back off after he and Campbell have invested this much time, this much money, to breach that barrier—well, you don’t know them, do you? Guns are cheap. Real easy to get inside, too, once you have a stable point set. And that kid is itching to prove himself.”

  I back out of the restroom, and Rich and I take off running to the south side, where Billy and his friends were sitting. As we head upstairs, I glance down at my watch. 10:26.

  Tapping my eardisk, I call Madi. It makes a connection, but I can’t hear her. So I leave a message. “Problem on this end. Be there as soon as I can.” I have no clue whether she can hear me over the crowd noise.

  This section isn’t nearly as packed as the ground floor, but teenyboppers still clog the arteries at the front of the balcony, trying to get a closer look at their idols, even if it’s only at their backs. The security briefing I attended today told the guards not to allow dancing, crowding into the aisles, or pressing up against the gates, and that they should arrest anyone breaking the rules, but I’ve only seen a couple of people dragged out. The main strategy I’m seeing with security personnel is sticking their fingers in their ears, because even though some have earplugs, the noise level is torture.

  I shift course and begin running through one of the upper rows, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. Rich follows behind me. He says something that I can’t make out and then points across the auditorium. I can’t see Madi, but she’s probably behind the kids who are standing up. I see Katherine, though, right near the entrance tunnel. I’m not sure whether this is good or bad, but I have to focus on the main objective. I just wish I knew whether that means finding Saul or finding Billy.

  The song ends, and the band barely pauses for applause. There’s little point, since it’s nonstop screaming. George just steps to the microphone, and they begin “If I Needed Someone.” That’s the song that was playing when the cherry bomb was tossed onto the stage back in the other timeline. I want to check the key to see if it still shows Lennon being shot at 10:38, but I can’t risk stopping.

  When I turn back to see where Rich is, I spot them. Not Billy and his friends, but five purple lights, seated in the very back row.

  Watching.

  One of them seems to be watching me, but they don’t move to intercept us. They just sit there.

  Rich sees them, too. “Go!” he screams into my ear. “You’re in uniform. Get Lennon offstage. I’ll keep looking for the shooter. I can stun him, at least.”

  He doesn’t have a clue what the Klan guys look like, aside from my mention of the one favoring a bulldog. But most of the audience is female, and they’re hopefully the only ones he’ll see carrying a gun. I mouth the words good luck, and he gives me a thumbs-up.

  I glance at the two closest entrance tunnels. Getting to either of them will take too long. I go to the edge of the balcony and drop about two meters down to the mezzanine level, then work my way down to the main floor and begin pushing through the crowd, watching the balcony above me as I go. The purple lights remain exactly where they were. Rich continues squeezing through the rows of stadium chairs, moving toward the entrance tunnel that juts up into the balcony sections. One section over, the three young Klan members are now on the mezzanine level. Billy and Bulldog look like they’re arguing.

  A popping noise, audible over the roar, causes me to look over to the north side. I don’t see Saul and Alisa, but Madi is standing on the aisle stairway. Crocker, who is directly behind her, dives forward, and they fall. And then, at almost the same instant, everyone in that section of the auditorium and half of the one next to it crumples to the ground.

  I keep pushing forward, elbowing my way through a sea of screaming girls. The band starts the next song, “Day Tripper,” which is also the standard CHRONOS nickname for people doing a one-day jump.

  Glancing up, I see Bulldog snatch the gun from Billy and head to the railing, just as I reach the fence around the stage. I tell the guard at the end that I heard a gun go off, and that I think it was in N-North. And then I hop the fence and run to the stage.

  I tackle Lennon, taking the mic down with us, just as two shots ring out in rapid succession. Turning my head, I see a body tumble from the mezzanine. Billy stands at the railing. The thin kid, whose name I never did catch, is next to him, so the body that fell must be Bulldo
g.

  The next minute or so is a blur. I help Lennon up and he thanks me. I’m not sure how the band continues after that, but after saying a few words to the audience, they do. They launch into “I Feel Fine,” and you can actually hear the music now. The gunfire seems to have doused the frantic shrieking like a spray of cold water. There are still a few screams, and quite a few of the attendees are in tears, but the noise level is down by almost half.

  First aid workers rush down the aisle toward the kid sprawled on the floor, who is, unbelievably, trying to sit up. His shoulder is bleeding, so I think he took at least one bullet. A gun that looks exactly like the one we saw Saul with is in his hand.

  I’m on the steps when the time shift hits, and I barely make it to the bottom before collapsing. Several of the other guards look around nervously, probably thinking I’ve been shot, too, and wondering why they didn’t hear it. I tell one of them it’s just a panic attack, before realizing that’s not really a thing people say in 1966.

  And despite the nausea that grips me, it’s not panic I’m feeling. It’s relief.

  The five purple lights in the balcony are now gone.

  Two guards, one about my age and the other one in his forties, help me up. I’m pretty sure they’re taking me to the first aid station, and I’m completely sure that I’m going to have a hard time answering any questions they have. Girls reach out toward me, and there’s a chorus of thank-yous as we pass by. Just as we reach the exit into the lower concourse, though, I hear a familiar voice call my name.

  I turn to see Antoinette Robinson behind me, looking perfectly lovely in her bright-orange dress. Her smile is a bit perplexed, though. “I thought you were going to the thing at Ellis Auditorium.”

  “No. I got called into work.” Which is a truly stupid answer in an era without mobile phones. Or for someone supposedly passing through on his way back to college.

  One of the two guards tugs at my arm, but I shake him off. “I’ll meet you at first aid.” They both back off, but the older one’s lip curls into a sneer as he stares at Toni.