by Bob Avey
At a convenience store along the route, he pulled off the road and called in, telling his supervisor that he was taking the day off. After that, he called Susan. He hadn’t lied to her, but even the thought of keeping secrets didn’t sit well with him.
She answered on the second ring. “Martin?”
“Yeah, there’s something we need to talk about. Some weird things happened after the appointment.”
“You got it over with now, Martin. That’s what matters. Just let it go, okay? I’ll talk to you later. I have a lot to do today.”
Martin thought for a moment. Susan’s busy agenda had reminded him of something. “I could pick up Candy’s gift if you want?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Susan said. “Why did you ask about Chris and Jennifer? And who in the world is Candy?”
Martin tried to speak but no words came out. What was happening to him? It seemed he’d come out of a vivid dream into a foggy reality where nothing made sense. Finally, the words came. “You know, Luke’s friend. Her birthday is next week.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell, but Luke has a lot of friends. Yeah, go ahead if you want.”
Martin gripped the phone. Candy Barnes wasn’t just any friend. She and Luke were close—they had been for years. And her parents, Chris and Jennifer, were good friends of both Martin and Susan. Parents of disadvantaged children tended to stick together. “Chris and Jennifer always throw a big party for Candy,” Martin said. “We looked at the invitation together, remember? We talked about it. You wanted to get her one of those dolls she likes.”
The phone went silent. For a moment, Martin thought he’d lost the connection, but then she spoke. “Martin, Chris and Jennifer Barnes don’t have any children that I know about, and I certainly don’t know anyone named Candy. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m starting to get concerned.”
Susan paused and then continued, “We’ve both been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe you should take a few days off. We could take Luke and drive down to visit Krystal and Charles, maybe even go to Galveston. You always loved the beach. It’ll do you good.”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” Martin said, but his mind was not on visiting or the ocean. Krystal was Luke’s older sister. She’d recently married Charles Le Flore, a petroleum engineer from Houston. “We’ll talk about it later, okay.”
Martin paused and then added, “I love you, Susan.”
“Love you, too. Talk to you later.”
Martin let the phone slide from his hand. The similarities between the dream and the actual appointment were too much to write off. And now this thing with Candy. Either Martin had completely lost his mind, or something was going on, something wrong, and he had to get to the bottom of it. He needed to talk to someone about it, and he had a pretty good idea of who that might be.
CHAPTER FOUR
JOHN
May 4, 2020, 9:00 a.m.
At his home in Arlington, Virginia, John’s sense of commitment to his country won out once again, and he carefully placed the small, wooden panel he was working with onto the workbench and set the glue gun beside it. He had discovered that building model airplanes released the tension he was forced to live with.
John recognized the ringtone immediately, but he picked up his phone and verified the number visually. Sure enough, it was his old colleague, Andrew.
John left the room he’d turned into a workshop and started down the hallway. He brought the phone to his ear, switched on the light to his home office, and lowered himself into the leather chair behind the desk. “To what do I owe this interruption of my leisure?” he asked. “We both know you never call to talk about the weather or the state of my health. I’m retired, my old friend, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“It’s nice to hear from you too,” Andrew said. “Sorry to ruin your day.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“We’ve detected another rift,” Andrew said. “Probably a recent disruption, but it’s too early to confirm that.”
Thoughts of Sylvia blossomed in John’s mind, but he pushed them away. Sylvia was gone, she had been for a long time. “I’m old beyond my years, Andrew. Too much travel. Traces of me have been scattered all over the spectrum. They’re all quite real in their own way, my old friend, a most unpleasant sensation, especially at night when I’m alone.”
“You’ve always been alone, never known you to be any other way.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it. What details do you have?”
“As far as we can tell, the epicenter was somewhere around Tulsa, Oklahoma, centering around a twenty-five-year-old, mentally challenged female. My guess is she exists in a timeline that’s not her own. You know how it goes.”
“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I shouldn’t get involved. Do we have names?”
“Candy Barnes.”
Emotion exploded through John’s mind. Sylvia would still be with him if he hadn’t accepted the last assignment. They were still together in some places, but what did that give him? A lot of sleepless nights, that’s what.
“John?”
“Yeah, I’m still here, but I don’t know why. For heaven’s sake, Andrew, get somebody else.”
“We don’t have anyone else. No one even comes close to your experience.”
“And how long have you known this was eventually going to be a problem? Steps should have been taken. I can’t do it forever. I won’t.”
“It’s not that simple, and you know it. I don’t like it either, but let’s face it; you’re somewhat unique.”
In John’s mind, no one could be somewhat unique. Either you were, or you were not. It really was that simple. The phrase was just Andrew’s way of sidestepping the fact that he had once again backed himself into a corner. John leaned back into the leather chair and stared through the window looking out over his garden. He’d gotten pretty good at gardening, building models, and solving crossword puzzles. He would do anything to take his mind off his work, except nothing really did.
Let’s not leave out the magic, John.
Yes, how could he forget about the magic? He’d also become accomplished in the art of stage magic, sleight of hand. All well and good, except he rarely had an audience.
It was all in the genetics, and John often reminded himself that his somewhat unique abilities were a gift, and all gifts were from God. It wasn’t surprising that the Father was judicious in creating such talents and in choosing on whom to bestow them.
“John?”
“Who else is involved? Someone was probably caring for the subject.”
“Like I said, the details are pretty sketchy at this point. She lived with her parents, Chris and Jennifer Barnes, a retired couple. They seem like nice people. Unusual, if that term can be used in our business, for such a thing. When extraordinary things happen in an extraordinary world… I’ve got a bad feeling about this, John. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away from it. But I hope, for the sake of what’s good, you won’t.”
Good for whom? John thought. “What’s life like for the parents now? Any lingering memories, talking nonsense to neighbors, that sort of thing?”
“That’s where you come in. If you’ll cooperate, I’ll set up the travel arrangements and take care of everything. Well, what do you say? Are you in?”
John gazed through the window again, paying particular attention to the tomatoes. There was nothing like homegrown tomatoes. With certain produce, most would be hard-pressed to tell the difference between fresh and store-bought, but not so with tomatoes. It had to do with the ripening process and certain sugars which only formed under the right conditi
ons, giving the fruit its distinctive flavor when allowed to mature naturally. By comparison, fruit picked too early to accommodate shipping and other marketing necessities seemed—well, like a cheap imitation.
A shiver ran through John at the thought of bouncing uncontrollably through an unknown number of fragmented parallels, all of which would be similar. They would be real, but for John the parallels would be imperfect, an imitation of his own reality.
“Anybody else from the department involved in this?”
“No, it’s all on you, that is, if you agree.”
“Anything you’re not telling me? I want it all, none of these need-to-know situations or any other political bull crap. I suspect I’m in a position to demand such conditions. The minute I suspect anything like that, I’ll drop the case immediately. Do we understand each other?”
“Are we getting crusty in our old age?”
John remained silent. After all, he hadn’t truly decided to accept the assignment, and he just might not, if things weren’t handled to his liking.
“All right, John. You’re a smart guy, and you’ve probably already guessed as much, but we have to investigate these folks.”
“I think the term you mean is interview,” John said, “a process much more involved than an investigation.”
“Like I said, you’re a smart guy. Come on, John. I’m just as concerned as you are about this. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth. Tell me that you’re in, that you’ll help us out with this.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll give it some serious thought. I’ll get back to you. That much I promise.”
John ended the call and leaned back into the leather chair where he studied a photo of Sylvia hanging on his office wall. The photo shouldn’t exist, but he had it professionally drawn, created by an artist who specialized in such things. It didn’t look like a drawing. It looked quite real. If not for the aberrant rift he’d set in motion, he and Sylvia would still be together and celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary next month.
You’re somewhat unique, John.
It was true. His fear of causing more harm, both to himself and to others, bordered on being an actual phobia, but what was he to do? With all the government’s resources, he was still the only reliable traveler they had.
Three years had passed since John had carelessly helped create his current situation, living in a universe where Sylvia Stewart did not exist. The trouble was, he was helpless to do anything about it for fear that any further action would only make things worse for everyone involved.
It had been, relatively speaking, a routine assignment. A rift had been created threatening the original timeline, his timeline, and the only way to stop it had been to go back and redirect the actions that had spawned the errant fragment.
John returned to his starting point with residual memories intact and a gut-level realization that his efforts had set things right, except for him right was wrong. A quick investigation revealed Sylvia had somehow been a product of the errant fragment. And upon correcting the rift, he had inadvertently rendered himself lacking the only love he’d ever known.
John’s life had changed that day. He had no family, one reason the department had chosen him, and he slowly lost contact with friends. His entire social life now consisted of himself, unless one counted model airplanes and tomato plants as companions. He would take the assignment.
Three hours later, in the early afternoon, everything had been arranged when John showed up at the home of Chris and Jennifer Barnes. The old couple had been told that John was there to discuss insurance matters with them. Insurance coverage seemed an unlikely tactic to John, but it must have worked. He was alone in the field, though he suspected a team of shadowy department people were already engaged and working behind the scenes, doing whatever it was they did on such occasions.
For John, though, a single nagging thought hung in the air: Where do I go from here?
“I need to talk to you alone concerning these matters,” he said. “It’s important we aren’t disturbed during the consultation.”
“Not a problem,” Chris said. “We were told it was important and made arrangements not to be bothered for a few hours. Everything should be good to go.”
Again, John wondered if the department had access to mind-control technology that worked over the phone. He glanced around the house and then said, “We can sit around the dining room table, if that will work for you?”
“That will be fine,” Jennifer said. “I’ll get us some coffee. Do you like yours black, Mr. Rainbow?”
The surname Rainbow was a ridiculous alias, but everyone always seemed to buy it at face value. “Cream and sugar would be nice.”
John understood he had to connect with the old couple on a deep level, which would involve his practiced method. He watched Mrs. Barnes place the coffee cups on the table in front of her husband and her guest. When she sat down, he in turn rose from his chair. “I have a few unorthodox ways of doing what I do,” he said. “Please don’t let it distract you.”
With that said, he walked over to Mr. Barnes. “To assure you of my honest intentions,” he said, “let me again shake your hand.”
As Chris Barnes complied, John used a slight-of-hand method, one he’d long ago discovered he was quite good at, and dropped a small pill into the man’s coffee. He repeated the process with Mrs. Barnes before returning to his chair.
The drug, which rendered the subject into a sort of hypnotic state of mind, was fast acting and overly effective. “I think we are ready to begin,” John said.
Mr. and Mrs. Barnes nodded.
“I need to ask you some questions,” John said, “some of which might be of a personal nature. It’s extremely important you answer them as honestly as possible. Do you understand?”
The old couple nodded.
“That’s good, very good indeed. First off, do you have any children?”
In unison, they slowly shook their heads from side to side.
“Are you absolutely sure about that? Do you have any memories, dreams, or plans that didn’t work out, that sort of thing?”
Again, they shook their heads.
“Do you have relatives, brothers and sisters, mom and dad, aunts, uncles?”
They gave up the information, but none of it offered an acceptable explanation for comparison. None of them were named Candy or anything close.
“This one is important, so I will ask again. Have you experienced any strange dreams, any deja vu moments, unusual thoughts?”
Once again, nothing of any relevance came from the inquiry, so John changed tactics. “Have you experienced any change in routine, change in diet, or had any recent, unusual doctor’s visits?”
John wasn’t sure where the last question had come from, but he let it hang there, hoping it might have been premonitory.
The old couple turned toward each other briefly and nodded. “There was that doctor,” Mrs. Barnes said, “What was his name, dear?”
John sat forward with his interest piqued. “What sort of doctor, a general practitioner or a specialist?”
“He’s a psychologist,” Mrs. Barnes said.
“And why would either of you be seeing a psychologist?”
As if asked a question that made no sense, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes sat motionless and expressionless.
John pulled a small pad from his pocket and jotted down a few notes. “If you recall anything else about this doctor, let me know.”
They shook their heads, and then Mr. Barnes said, “For the life of me, I can’t remember. I don’t even know why you brought it up, Jennifer. We don’t know any psychologists.”
“Oh, we do,” she said. “We’ve just forgotten.”
“That’s okay. You’re doing fine. If you could remember the doctor’s name, it would make it easier.”
Mrs. Barnes wrinkled her forehead in thought and then said, “The more I think about it, the more distant it gets.”
“Kind of like a dream,” Mr. Barnes said.
“Yes, dear, much like a dream.”
John sat quietly for a moment and considered the situation. For the time being, Chris and Jennifer Barnes were aware of his presence on some level but oblivious to the true nature of the visit and unaware of his physical movements. Much like being under deep hypnosis, they could hear his voice and respond to his questions to the best of their ability. But for all practical purposes, he was like a ghost, free to roam about the grounds undisturbed, providing no friends, neighbors, or relatives showed up. Reinforcing his earlier assumptions, he couldn’t, even in the most far-out sense, imagine either of them having anything to do with what had happened.
“I’m going to have a look around if you don’t mind. Please sit quietly until I return. I promise I won’t be long.”
Chris and Jennifer Barnes nodded in unison.
A feeling of sadness snaked through John. They seemed like nice, ordinary people. The question was, who caused this and why? What motivation could anyone have to risk causing so much potential damage?