Young women strutted by, showing a sexy confidence I wasn’t sure I’d ever possessed. I loved the fashion: the drainpipe jeans, the bell bottoms and Capri pants; the bright colors and funky tights; the miniskirts, the long hair and beards, the Afro hairdos and platform shoes.
Wafting from car radios and transistor radios was the music of Frank Sinatra, Marvin Gaye, Simon & Garfunkel and Jefferson Airplane.
I continued walking west, leaving the tourist areas, lost in a panorama of sight and memory, the warm, humid breeze and bright sun entrancing and life-affirming. This once-remembered past appeared more vibrant and real than I recalled or could have ever imagined. Had I sleepwalked through it the first time, hypnotized by commitment, duty and the endless details of intelligence gathering? Had I truly seen the world of 1968 for what it was and how it was unraveling?
When I saw an old glass phone booth, I stopped short, then moved on, with an uncertain stride. I stopped again and glanced back at it over my shoulder. It seemed to call to me. I squinted up into the hot sun, conflicted.
Inside the booth, I closed the folding door. I had the change, a dime. I lowered my gaze, nibbling on my lower lip, noticing a crumpled Butternut candy bar wrapper. Did they even make that candy anymore, in 2018?
I inserted the dime into the coin slot and listened to the “Ding.” I heard the dull droning of the dial tone.
Still unsure, I shut my eyes and massaged them, knowing full well I was going to call. I had to. Even though I’d seen my younger self the day before, I had to prove to myself that I had truly time traveled and that my family and that house were there. Using the rotary dial, I dialed the number I hadn’t called in fifty years. It was time to contact the family I had come to save from certain death.
CHAPTER 19
“Hello?”
It was Paul’s voice. Paul, alive again. It was true. I had time traveled. Until now, I wasn’t entirely certain. It could have been a hallucination or a dream. Maybe I had fallen into a coma before or after time traveling. But I heard Paul. It was Paul’s smooth, baritone voice.
The shakes returned, and a thumping heart. My hand on the receiver shook so violently I nearly dropped the thing. I had no voice although I tried to speak. I tried to say his name, but I heard only a low whisper.
“Hello?” Paul repeated, more loudly. “Hello? Is anybody there?”
When I heard Lyn shout angrily in the background, “Daddy, Lacey took my candy!” I nearly fainted.
Paul hung up.
Once again, I stood on shaky legs, breath coming fast. I managed to yank open the heavy phone booth door and stumble outside into a gust of a breeze. A well-dressed man and woman passed, studying me with concern. Thankfully, they didn’t stop.
I found a coffee shop nearby. I don’t remember where I was or what the name was. I sat at the counter, on one of the eight round yellow swivel stools. Placed between a Heinz ketchup bottle and a glass sugar shaker sat a square tabletop jukebox, its gleaming chrome soft-lit by neon hues. It held my attention for a time while I recovered. I’d forgotten about those. You flipped through the jukebox menu, made a song selection, dropped 10 cents into the coin slot and pressed two buttons—one top letter and one bottom number. Seconds later, the song played.
Studying it was a good distraction while I waited for the coffee and tuna salad sandwich I had ordered. Behind the counter were soda spouts, an ice cream unit and a 1968 calendar with a poster of Elvis Presley, a strand of his gleaming raven hair falling carelessly over his forehead.
On the counter to my left was a vanilla cake, displayed under a large plastic cover. It caught my attention because Lyn loved vanilla cake. Lacey loved donuts. Next to the cake was a plate filled with sugar donuts. I felt the sting of tears as I reached for one, then stopped, feeling foolish, feeling a new bitterness. Why had God, or the fates put this cake and these stupid donuts in my face? Was it just a coincidence?
I averted my damp eyes and reached for the menu.
As I absently ate the sandwich, I grew aware of a woman seated next to me. She was about my age and was reading The Washington Post.
She made a tsk-tsk sound and shook her head. “It’s shameful, all these student riots,” she said, mostly to herself. “Just shameful. What do they hope to gain from all those sit-ins and flag burnings? Awful...”
And then she turned to me, her face all wadded up in irritation. She had lifeless steel gray hair, a doughy white face and sagging dark eyes.
“The world is going crazy. First, they killed President Kennedy, then Martin Luther King, and now everybody else is just going nuts.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said.
The woman jabbed the paper with a finger. “Burning flags,” she said with fresh disdain. “Those young good-for-nothing war protestors are burning flags.”
Not wanting to get drawn into a conversation, I didn’t engage. The woman was lost in her own world and didn’t seem offended. She continued reading, making clucking sounds of outrage.
Outside, I rambled, my energy flagging, legs growing stiff. What was happening? Emotion and fear kept bullying me. If I can’t even sustain a phone call, how am I ever going to meet my younger self face-to-face and explain who I am and why I came?
I could feel my energy rise and fall—spiking up one minute and dropping the next. Then my heart began to pound, and I was short of breath. Obviously, the time travel was playing havoc with my body.
Worried, I glanced about, desperate to spot a taxi. I didn’t think I could make it back to the hotel on my own. Suddenly, the heat seemed stifling, and I gasped for breath. Just when I thought I couldn’t take another step, I felt someone take my arm and hold me up.
Startled, I turned to look at the person. At first, my vision was cloudy, and I strained and blinked. I felt the strength of the man; felt his support. And then my eyes cleared, and his youthful, handsome face came into clear focus. I knew him. But it was impossible. I made a sharp cry of shock and fear as a coldness engulfed me.
It was Alex. Alex Mason from TEMPUS.
CHAPTER 20
I awoke in my hotel room. It was night. A light was on. I struggled awake and managed to push up enough to rest my back against the headboard. I gently wiped my eyes and, slowly, an image of Alex Mason appeared at the foot of my bed. I couldn’t believe it. I kept blinking and staring, frightened, feeling very vulnerable.
“Hello, Charlotte,” Alex said, with no smile, his expression rather solemn. He had the start of a beard and his hair seemed longer. Then I remembered that in the last month or so before I had time traveled, he’d started to let his hair grow.
“I don’t understand,” was all I could say.
He gave me a strange and vivid grin. “No, I don’t suppose you do. It’s a good thing I was following you. You’d be in the hospital now. Maybe even dead.”
“Dead?”
“You were having a heart attack. I managed to get you into a cab and back to the hotel. You were barely conscious when I got you here. I told the doorman you were my grandmother and that you had fainted from the heat. A couple of bellhops helped me get you to bed. I administered a shot to keep you alive, and another shot to help you relax and sleep. I’m surprised you’re awake.”
I shook my head in a slow wonder. “My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. I’m so confused. I don’t know where I am, or what world I’m living in, or even who I am. How did you get here?”
Alex adjusted his broad shoulders. He was dressed in tan khakis and a light blue polo shirt that revealed muscled arms and a wide chest.
I studied his face, a face I’d often felt seemed at war with itself.
“Tell me, Alex. What’s going on?”
“How do you feel?”
“I’ve been better. Am I dying?”
“The shot should do the trick.”
“My heart medication was ruined when I arrived. It was just a useless paste.”
“I’ll leave some medication. It’s quite powerful. As they say,
take as directed, just one tablet a day.”
“And what is this drug?”
“The name? Elliptidine. It will never be marketed to the public.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“It will keep you alive.”
“Why are you here, Alex, and how did you get here?”
He spread his hands. “Magic.”
“Be serious. I need answers. Obviously, you all lied to me… Or maybe I haven’t time travel at all. Maybe this is all some clever drug-induced hallucination or a hologram. Tell me. Tell me now what this is all about.”
He put his opened hand to the side of his temple and saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I’m a highly trained soldier. First and foremost, a soldier who also just happens to be a physicist.”
I felt my left eye twitch. I was scared, and Alex must have seen it in my eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m a good soldier who loves his country and wants the very best for it. Relax and don’t be frightened. I’m not here to hurt you in any way.”
I wasn’t consoled. I waited for more.
Alex continued. “In many ways, you and I are a lot alike. You spent a lifetime sacrificing for your country. You believed in the country and I think you still do. You want the best for it and, if I may be altruistic and expansive, I think that you believe that if our country is better, and good and right, then the rest of the world will follow, and it will become better and good and right. Isn’t that true, Charlotte?”
“I’m listening,” I said.
Alex inhaled a little breath. He paced to the front windows and turned to look at me.
“You have indeed time traveled. This is Saturday, June 1, 1968, 3 a.m.”
“Have you’ve been here since I collapsed? I mean since you brought me here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. The shot I gave you is powerful and experimental. I didn’t know if you’d make it. I want you to make it, Charlotte.”
“Why?”
“So you can complete your mission.”
“How did you get here? Why are you here, Alex?”
Slowly, reluctantly, he moved toward me. He shoved the gray tufted armchair to the side of my bed and eased down, folding his hands in his lap.
“I have a mission too.”
I took in little breaths to stay calm.
“I got here by piggy-backing on top of you, so to speak. I could give you a technical explanation for it, but since you wouldn’t understand, I won’t.”
“Have you done this before?” I asked.
From the ample lamplight, I saw Alex’s eyes drop and then come back up. “We tried.”
“And?
“This is our first success. Charlotte, you are our first success.”
“How many times have you tried?”
“Three.”
“What happened to the other three?”
“Truth?”
I jerked a nod, summoning courage.
“They died.”
There was a glass of water on the night table. I reached, drank half of it and then wriggled my upper body to sit more erect. Alex must have noticed my despondency.
“They all volunteered, Charlotte, just as you did. They knew the risks.”
“Were they all women?”
“One man, two women.”
“Why did I make it… at least this far?”
“You had a mountain of guilt and an unhealthy dose of self-hatred. Once you saw the possibility of changing the past, you were able to transmute successfully those negative qualities into a positive, unshakeable intention. The others were killed by fear, doubt, a weak intention, or a flaw in our technology.”
The room was so very quiet. I heard rain tapping the windows and had the bizarre feeling that Alex and I were the last people alive on Earth.
“Are you religious, Alex?”
The question caught him off guard. He slowly got up, keeping his questioning eyes on me.
“Not particularly. I assume you discussed your religious beliefs with Dr. Stein?”
“Yes… After my family died in the fire, all my childhood beliefs about a compassionate God died with them. Did you know my father was a Presbyterian minister?”
Alex lowered his head. “No, I didn’t.”
I stared down at my old, vein-ridden, wrinkled hands. “You said you had a mission. What is it?”
He moved to the side of my bed, lingered and smiled warmly. He reached and touched my arm with a gentleness that nearly brought tears. Except for Jay taking my arm in the deli, I hadn’t been touched by a man—any man—in years.
“I bet you wonder how I knew where you were. How I found you outside Gill’s Coffee Shop?”
I didn’t speak.
“You have a chip in the back of your neck. I have one too.”
I felt my body heat up. “Then you were watching me?”
“Just for two days. I’m leaving tomorrow on a flight to Los Angeles.”
“Your mission?” I asked.
He nodded. “Let’s talk about the early morning of June 5, 1968.”
Despite the little spasms of pain in my chest; despite the drugs, my reliable, sharp memory would never forget that day. I felt my eyes widen in recognition.
Alex folded his muscular arms. “Yes, Charlotte. That’s my mission. It was another reason you were selected, bad heart and all. Your family died the same day that Bobby Kennedy was shot and killed. We know that 24-year-old Sirhan Bishara Sirhan shot Kennedy. I’m going to Los Angeles to make sure Bobby Kennedy is not killed. My mission is to kill Sirhan Sirhan and let Bobby Kennedy become the 37th President of the United States.”
My body turned ice-cold.
CHAPTER 21
“I think you’ll get a kick out of this place, Charlotte,” Jay said, as we drove along a two-lane asphalt road under glorious, early Saturday afternoon sunshine. We passed rolling fields, alive with colorful wildflowers and a grove of trees. In 2018, this land had been developed with rambling condos and three-story corporate offices, featuring manicured lawns and parking lots.
“We’ll get some gas at a Sunoco Station, and then just across the street is a little beer joint on the left. It has a takeout window for beer and sandwiches, and there are some picnic benches. It’s a lot of fun, and I haven’t been out here in a couple of years.”
I tried to appear enthusiastic, but my mind kept playing back bits and pieces of the conversation I’d had with Alex Mason at three o’clock that morning. My watch said it was 1:20 p.m. Alex was on board a 707, on his way to Los Angeles to complete “his mission.”
“Don’t worry,” Jay said, “We’ll work our way over to Marlow Heights, so you can take a look at the neighborhood.”
Just hearing the name Marlow Heights unnerved me, but I knew I had to go. I had to shake off the emotional storms that kept overwhelming me. As Alex would say, I had to complete my mission. Time was running out.
Jay turned to me. “I know I keep saying it, but I’m glad you decided to come out with me. I was worried about you, Charlotte. When you didn’t answer your phone, I began to imagine all kinds of things. I always did have a fertile imagination.”
“It was good of you to check on me,” I said, sincerely. “And it’s generous of you to chauffeur me around like this.”
“Generous? Charlotte, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I haven’t taken a leisurely drive in… well, I don’t remember when. When I was a boy, after church and our Sunday meal, we would all pile into Dad’s Model T Ford and drive all over the place. They were mostly dirt roads back in those days, of course, and when it rained, whoo-ee, was there mud. Well, on rainy Sundays I guess we didn’t go far. Did you go for Sunday drives?”
I smiled reflectively. “Yes, sometimes. They were simpler times, weren’t they, Jay?”
“Oh, my yes, they were. I just don’t understand much of anything anymore in this country. All the riots and protests… all the anger. What has happened to us?”
Alex hadn’t shown any sign of fatigue. If anything, he seemed enlivened and enthusiastic.
I had managed to leave the bed, belt on a robe and sit on the couch across from him.
“Charlotte, I time traveled so I could change the past and make the future a better place.”
“But there’s no guarantee that after you kill Sirhan Sirhan, Bobby Kennedy will get elected president,” I said, forcefully. “You’ve lived long enough to know there are no guarantees in life. Anything can happen. Even with our best intentions, things can go horribly wrong. I saw it happen many times while working for the NSA.”
Alex appraised me soberly. “I studied every aspect of the 1960s and the possibility of Robert Kennedy becoming president. By the way, did you know that Bobby had to repeat the third grade?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Alex continued. “Well, okay, it is far from a sure bet that RFK would have been nominated, and if nominated, elected. But he was winning most of the primaries at the time and under the old rules of that time, as you know, Charlotte, the bosses still controlled the Democratic Party. Hubert Humphrey, LBJ’s vice president, was the favorite of the bosses. Kennedy was regarded as too radical, but he was counting on Chicago Mayor Richard Daley to help him. And, yes, RFK would face a tough adversary in Richard Nixon in November, but he would have helped lead the United States into a more enlightened era.”
I said, “But Nixon was building a silent majority of white middle-class Americans, scared to death of rioting blacks and the hippie college radicals. I recall it all very well, Alex. I lived in those days and I read the newspapers and saw the intelligence every day. That’s why I worked so many hours. I thought I was helping to save the country, and maybe even the world. I, like many in those days, was committed to saving this country, no matter what it took.”
Alex nodded. “Yes, you were, and it wasn’t your fault that some senseless random fire killed your family. I read the report. The fire inspector said it was most likely caused by an overloaded electrical outlet or extension cord. Electrical fires travel fast. The smoke probably killed your family before the fire.”
Time Sensitive Page 8