“I saw you talking to him,” said the black-haired girl. “What were you talking about?”
The paramedics rushed through the door, and the women both stepped forward to see what they would do. Neil moved away, slipping out into the casino.
Mr. March had the data. He had profiles on people, including Mr. Gallo. There must have been more to this. Maybe he had made a mistake with the names of the girls, and it was other girls he had murdered. Or maybe the letter from Brandy to her roommate was written by Gallo himself, meant to keep anyone from suspecting that the girl was dead. The black-haired girl didn’t say that she had regular contact with the other two girls. It was only someone’s word that they had happily moved on.
He walked fast through the casino, past the card tables and through the rows of jangling, ringing slot machines until he was outside, blinking in the bright light of day.
Chapter 6
December 25, 1863 and June 14, 1961
New Orleans, Louisiana
Seamus rowed the small boat out into the Mississippi and opened the wheeled trunk containing the time-ripping device. The thing was still crude, just a rectangular housing containing its components and a tiny vial of bluish liquid that he had harvested from all of the tiny mechanical Mardi Gras toys Oren had invented. A brass sphere sat on top of the machine, and various knobs, dials and buttons ran along a control panel. Some day, he would like to add a few artistic touches, just to make the machine look nicer, but for now, it just needed to get him to 1961 and back again.
He checked and double-checked the coordinates, turning the appropriate knobs and sliding the panels on the brass sphere to the corresponding locations, just as he had taught Hazel to do. When he was satisfied that the panels were properly configured to amplify and direct the signal and the coordinates were correct, he waited for a synchronicity. Ships had traveled past this location on the Mississippi for centuries, and one, surely, would be passing in 1961.
This location existed at a soft spot, an unstable area of time that he and Hazel monitored regularly to ensure that it remained safely closed. There were a number of such spots throughout New Orleans, caused by the time rips Oren McCullen had created with his engines. Seamus had created the original rip to 1961 by using some of the power that was intended for McCullen’s monstrous machine that had destroyed much of the city. Unable to generate such power again, he was dependent upon the soft spot in time to make a doorway.
After nine torturous minutes, the air shimmered. And then, at the center of the shimmering area, the light changed. It was brighter, which meant that the time on the other side of the doorway must be closer to noon. On this side, it was still morning. He rowed with all his strength, sliding through the opening, and then he pulled in the oars and shut down the device as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to take a chance on anyone else coming or going through the time rip.
As he floated, he checked the readings on the time rip: 1961. Excellent. The rip was also unstable on this side, just as it had been in his own time. That meant that the doorway might shift, and without his equipment, it might take years to find a way back. He needed to hurry.
Seamus rowed the tiny boat to the bank, hopped out and, fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea, pulled it the rest of the way onto shore. He latched the wheeled trunk and turned to take in New Orleans in 1961. He had done it!
He felt sick again, as if he might vomit, and he paused for a moment to breathe deeply. His head hurt, and the world tilted and whirled. He fell to his knees, grabbing onto the trunk, and then, when he had recovered, he rose. He remembered that Miss Sanchez had experienced similar symptoms upon her arrival in his world. Well, she had weathered them, and so would he.
He thought of Hazel for a moment, how she would have clapped and been so glad that he had succeeded. But he had to leave her behind. Traveling in this way was dangerous, and he would not risk her safety. Besides, he planned to return to her very soon.
The time machine was heavy, but not unmanageable, and he dragged it up the riverbank to the cement sidewalk. Miss Sanchez had described many things of her world, and although she was from 2015 and this was 1961, he could identify the automobiles, the paved roads and the men without hats. Excellent.
Now, to find Miss Sanchez. He pulled off his bowler, so as to blend in with the locals. He had not come unprepared. In his pocket were a few pieces of gold jewelry, and gold would work as currency, once converted.
He stopped a man. “Excuse me, but where can I trade gold for money?”
“You mean a pawn shop?”
He hesitated. “Yes?”
“Up this street, right on the next and it’s on the far corner.”
Seamus thanked him and turned to go, almost running into a small woman standing in his way. She smiled at him but did not move aside. She was older, with grey streaked hair and wore loose trousers and leather boots.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” she asked, and when Seamus looked her full in the face, she broke out laughing.
“Hazel?” No. How could it be her? But though age had changed her face, he knew her.
“The very same. May I ask what brings you here?”
“I’m here for Miss Sanchez, of course. Why else would I be here?”
“Just checking. It isn’t as if this is the first time you’ve come through town. Well, for you I suppose it is the first time.”
He rubbed his eyes and swallowed. The nausea was intensifying, and he felt dizzy.
“You’ll get more used to that,” said Hazel. “With time, your body adjusts and you won’t feel so bad when you travel.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” He muttered and tried to swallow. His mouth was dry and the implications of meeting an older Hazel raced through his mind. He wanted to ask her a hundred questions, but he knew his time was limited and he needed to find Miss Sanchez. He took a deep breath. “Do you know where Miss Sanchez is?”
“I do. She’s at LSU Medical Center. She and McCullen are both alive, though Miss Sanchez was unconscious for days. I’ve been posing as her aunt and the doctor says she’ll recover.”
“Then take me to her. I need to get her back to our time. My time. And then work on getting her back home.”
“That’s my Professor,” she said. “I know how you can be when you get fixated on an idea. I have a car this way.”
She led him to a long, lavender automobile with no top. He made a circle around it, and then studied the interior controls.
“It’s a Buick Electra, and you can study it later,” said Hazel, unlocking the trunk. Seamus put the time machine inside while Hazel slipped into the driver’s seat. “Hop in.”
He seated himself, and Hazel pulled a safety belt across his lap and latched it. Then she started the car and drove. If he had felt sick before, it was nothing compared to the sensation of barreling down the streets of New Orleans at this pace. The scenery was a sickening blur and the air roared past his ears.
“Do slow down!” he said.
“I’m going the speed limit,” she said in an offended tone. “Do you want me to put the top up?”
He leaned forward and held his head in his hands, wondering if he was going to vomit all over the inside of Hazel’s automobile, but he felt her reduce their velocity and take turns more slowly. When she stopped the car, he looked up.
“It’s our house,” he said.
“It’s still in my name, well, after some legal maneuvering it is. According to city hall, there have been a number of mothers and daughters going by the same name for the last century. I live here, for now.”
“Why did you bring me here? I need to get to the hospital immediately. Miss Sanchez is there.”
“And she’s receiving the best medical care this time has to offer. I know her doctor, very well, in fact. And he’s looking after her.”
“That’s well and good, but I can’t get her home unless I can get both of us back to my time and my laboratory.”
Hazel pulled the time machine out of the car and rolled it up the front walk, essentially forcing him to follow her. The house had been repainted, and the plants were different. But it was unmistakably their home.
“And that’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “What you need to do is to take McCullen with you and leave Miss Sanchez here.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Far from it. Come on in.”
He wasn’t sure what he ought to do, turn on his heel and find the hospital? He knew where Mercy Hospital was in his world, but not this LSU Medical Center. And Hazel wasn’t a flighty or silly person. She would not mislead him. He followed her inside.
“I’ll make this fast, seeing as there’s not much time,” she said. “You came yesterday. A future you. To deliver a time machine. It’s in the attic, and Miss Sanchez is going to use it to get back to you in 1863. McCullen, on the other hand, needs to go with you, that is, current you, back to 1863.”
He waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. “Is that all?” he asked.
“Yes. That’s all.”
“And how do I know you’re correct? How do I know that if I leave Miss Sanchez here, she’ll come back?”
“Because in eight minutes, Oren McCullen is going to knock on our front door.”
“Show me this machine upstairs.”
“No, sir. You know how Neil—Mr. Grey—wouldn’t tell us about his time machine but kept insisting that you’d figure out a way to make one? He couldn’t show it to you because if you saw it and looked inside, then you’d never invent it. You’d just recreate what you had seen.”
“And how is that problematic?”
“Because then the information, the device itself, has no stable origin and its existence forms an unstable time loop. You invent it by imitating what you had already seen, and then see it because you invented it. If you invent it on your own, then the machine has a stable origin.”
“So what happens when there’s an unstable time loop? How is that so bad?”
“Bad things happen. You know how you and I went around closing up those time rips in New Orleans? That was child’s play. Us messing with time destabilizes entire worlds. So we need to be careful and not create any unnecessary instabilities.”
She dragged the time machine into the kitchen, which had completely transformed in the last century. There was a white ceramic sink with a shiny spigot, a stove that didn’t seem to burn wood and a large rounded white cupboard, five feet tall with a small upper door and a larger lower door. Hazel opened it and pulled out a pitcher. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please,” he said, and as she poured tea and added ice cubes, he explored the kitchen. She explained the refrigerator and freezer, showed him the stove and then the telephone. He remembered Miss Sanchez describing things, but seeing them was something else entirely. He wanted to try placing a phone call, but the doorbell rang.
“You ought to get that,” said Hazel.
“I’m not going to take McCullen with me, and I’m not leaving Felicia behind, no matter what that lying snake says to me. Do you remember, he wanted a war? He tried to destroy the city. I’m leaving.” He went for the time machine, thinking he could take it out the back kitchen door and avoid McCullen.
“Now you listen to me!” Hazel pointed a finger into his chest. She was still small, but the years had not taken anything from her. Instead, age had made her more formidable. “I remember every single thing that McCullen did. I was right there next to you. I did what you said, and we made that time rip and lost Miss Sanchez. And now you listen to me. I’ve been traveling for a long time, a very long time. And I understand the way instabilities work, and the way to fix them. And I know our personal histories. Miss Sanchez will come to you, I promise.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I can.”
She left the kitchen, and the doorbell rang again. Seamus went to answer it, and just as Hazel had predicted, Oren McCullen, his former friend, partner and cellmate, stood on the doorstep.
“Oren,” said Seamus. “Why are you here?”
“Are you going to invite me in?” said McCullen. He was dressed in modern clothing, but he had the tired, puffy-eyed look of someone who had been in the hospital recently. His nose was darkly bruised and a red line on his lip showed that it had been split. For Seamus, six years had passed. For McCullen, it had only been a few days.
“No, you can’t come in,” said Seamus. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”
“I came to find you.”
That was strange. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“Either you’d come for Miss Sanchez or you wouldn’t. And I know you. You’ll move heaven and earth if a woman or a helpless child is involved. I thought you’d show up at the hospital. But then I noticed that this woman was claiming to be Miss Sanchez’s aunt, and I knew that couldn’t be true. I got her phone number from the hospital. Then I had the telephone operator give me the related address, and lo and behold, it was your old address.”
“So this is a social visit?”
“Don’t be daft. I’m here because this isn’t my world. I fell through that shimmering doorway from my world to yours in 1947, and though I’m closer to my own time here than in your time, this is an entirely different world, so it’s no use to me.”
“So you came to me for help.” Seamus gave him a smug look, happy that, for once, he had the upper hand. His time machine was inside, and here McCullen was, stranded without him.
“I did,” said McCullen. “I can help you as well.”
Seamus laughed. “Help me? You’re here, penniless and homeless in some strange world, and you’re going to help me?”
“I know how the little blue vial inside my engines works. I know how to punch holes to other universes and use the matter from there as a catalyst.”
“You know how to make engines that explode and make unstable time rips. If you know so much, then invent your own machine and go back to your own world.”
“It’s what I intended to do, but I’m not currently able to do so.”
Seamus knew he was hiding something. McCullen was resilient and resourceful. He took control of situations and turned them to his advantage. If he could make a machine in 1857, then why not in 1961?
“There’s something else you’re not telling me,” Seamus said.
“I had just hoped we could work together.”
“No lies, Oren. Or I’ll slam this door right in your face. I’ve no patience for this.”
McCullen sighed, and Seamus imagined him in the hospital, injured and alone. He also remembered their time together in Mountjoy Prison, and later years when they shared a laboratory as professors at Tulane University. Whatever they may have shared, it was over, and McCullen was a villain of the blackest kind. Seamus could not forget or forgive.
“Please, Seamus. I came through when I was only twenty. I was in Ireland, at one of Epona’s temples. She’s our horse goddess. It was a naturally occurring time rip, and I can only assume it closed itself. I tried to get back, but to no avail.”
“But if you thought you could find a way to go back home with my machine, why didn’t you come to me before?”
“You didn’t have a time machine before. You were just an inventor of engines and gadgetry.”
Fair enough, Seamus thought. But there had to be something else. Seamus paused, looking at McCullen and then into the distance, not encouraging him to elaborate but simply waiting. He ought to break the man’s nose, but his curiosity as to why McCullen had come to him was stronger than his anger.
“And the person who was supposed to fetch
me didn’t do so,” sighed McCullen.
“Person, what person?”
“His name is Mr. March, and he’s left me here, stranded in this world for days without coming for me.”
“Is he some kind of time traveler too?” Seamus asked.
Seamus thought that time must be getting a wee bit crowded. McCullen had no knowledge of the man, Mr. Neil Grey, who had given Seamus some modest assistance when Miss Sanchez had come into his world. But Seamus had not heard of this March person.
“He’s a time traveler, of a sort,” said McCullen. Seamus knew he was hiding something, he knew his old partner well enough for that. And he also could tell that McCullen had been humbled. It was killing him to admit to being wrong.
“And?”
“And, he helped with the engine design. He didn’t do it to rip any time holes. It was simply assistance with the blue vials, with the catalyst that made the engines able to produce so much power.”
“And this man was supposed to find you and help you?”
“I thought he would. Since he can travel between worlds, he promised me that he’d take me back to my own world, if I wanted to go. But I was having such a grand time in old New Orleans.”
“Smashing it up and starting wars.”
McCullen opened his hands and shrugged, as if to say, “What of it?”
Seamus continued. “And you thought he’d fetch you when you found yourself here?”
“I did.”
“So you were betrayed by someone you trusted, eh? A partner?” Seamus crossed his arms.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I have to admit that I am. A little. Yes. You had a person you trusted, and he left you high and dry. You reap what you sow, old friend.”
McCullen looked away, and Seamus felt an instant of pity for the man.
“He used me, Seamus.”
“Used you. How?”
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 33