Sandcastle for Pegasus

by Bob Avey

  Martin glanced at the dog who was still staring at him with that expressionless glare, and then back to Tanner. He had a habit of taking the path of least resistance. He knew that. And heaven knew Susan reminded him of the fault often enough. But the way he saw it, he did not have many choices at the moment, and the best one seemed to be to just go along with it; get on the Harley and make it happen. Maybe the ride would cheer Tanner up, take a little of the edge off.

  “All right,” he said. “What the heck? It should be fun.”

  He climbed onto the Harley. “I just hope I don’t crash into anything.”

  “Better not,” Tanner said. “Becker likes that one. He watched me the whole time while I was working on it. I don’t know why. Dogs seem to have their own little world, don’t they?”

  Tanner instructed Martin on the operation of the bike and then climbed onto his own. Another Knucklehead, Martin thought. It looked a lot like the one he’d fixed for the client.

  Tanner fired up his bike and eased it onto the driveway, heading toward the exit.

  The old biker had already started Martin’s ride. Martin struggled to get the bike going but soon edged it onto the driveway as well. As they neared the gate, it swung open. Martin guessed Tanner had a remote with him.

  At the main road, Tanner motioned forward and headed west. They didn’t talk. Tanner just drove, and Martin followed.

  A few minutes later, Tanner pulled off of 11th Street, and Martin followed him through the gates of Oak Lawn Cemetery.

  They paused momentarily at the stone structure near the entrance, but no one came out. It was the middle of the day in the heart of Midtown Tulsa, a bustling area for Oklahoma standards. However, the cemetery did not share the same level of activity. To Martin, the place had an almost abandoned feel to it, an island of desolation avoided, even by the down-and-out and homeless.

  Tanner shut off his bike and leaned it against the stand. Then, he climbed off and started walking along one pathway leading to the gravesites.

  Martin had a bad feeling about the whole thing, but he shut down his bike and followed the old biker.

  About halfway down the lane, Tanner stepped off the pathway and walked several feet before stopping. “Here,” he said, pointing to a headstone. “This is what I want you to see.”

  Martin cautiously walked over to where Tanner was standing and glanced down at the headstone, a marble stone carved into the shape of a lamb. It was obvious someone had made an occasional stab at keeping the grounds cleared, but to Martin the cemetery looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in a few weeks. Even then, it was mowing only, no trim-work. Most of the headstones were rendered only partial visibility because of the weeds surrounding them.

  Tanner reached down, grabbed a fist full of weeds, and ripped them away from the headstone. “Read it,” he said.

  Martin already strongly suspected what he was about to see, but he forced himself to look anyway. It read: Candy Lynne Barnes, May 15, 1995; May 19, 1995.

  “We never talk about this,” Tanner said, “neither me, nor Chris, or Jennifer.”

  He paused, veins bulging slightly along his forehead. “I don’t know how you found out, Martin, or why you would do such a thing, but it ends here. Understand? If I ever hear of you going to Chris or Jennifer about this, it won’t be good for you, I guarantee it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Martin said, “but I didn’t go looking for this, any of it. It came looking for me. I know about Candy because I have known her a long time. She and Luke were friends. They even worked together for a while. Susan and I go with Luke every year to her birthday party. Sometimes the party was held at your place, Tanner. Candy and Luke played on the playground equipment you had there.”

  Martin was shaking. “This is real, Tanner. It’s real, and it’s happening. I don’t have the slightest idea of how to deal with something like this. That’s why I came to you. I need your help.”

  “It’s a little outside my wheelhouse, old buddy. There’s only so much a good Harley can do. You need help all right. You need a good shrink.”

  “A shrink is the last thing I need. As far as I can tell, this all started with Doctor Stewart. He tried to take Luke and me out on the highway. I think he’ll try again. It’s not about me, though. It’s all about Luke. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. Luke’s in danger, and it looks like I’m the only one standing between Luke and another altered timeline.”

  “I hate to say it now,” Tanner said, “seeing what a mixed-up bundle of nerves you are, but I’m totally confused by all of this and still undecided whether you’re being straight, or if you’re playing me for a fool. I always looked up to you, Martin, thought you had it more together than most.” He shook his head and then turned away and started back toward the roadway. “Some role model you turned out to be.”

  Martin gathered his thoughts. How could it be that someone like Tanner McIntosh could admire Martin Taylor, a man who went out of his way to avoid conflict?

  Martin bowed his head at the gravesite of Candy Barnes and offered a silent prayer for her soul wherever it might be. Then, he prayed for himself, Luke, and anyone else who was caught up in this mess. After finishing the prayer, he walked across the cemetery grounds and back to the roadway he had followed to the gravesite.

  Tanner was already sitting on his Harley, staring at the exit, an expressionless look on his face.

  “Humor me for a moment,” Martin said.

  Tanner didn’t reply or break his silent stare, but he didn’t start his bike and leave either.

  “Suspend your disbelief,” Martin continued, “and pretend I’m not crazy. If I was, in fact, caught up in some kind of time rift, how could I fix it? What could I do to put things back the way they were?”

  Tanner shook his head. “I don’t know that you could. If what you read about the subject is to be believed, anything you did would only make things worse, create more fractures or splinters, or whatever.”

  Martin climbed onto his bike and stared ahead without speaking. However, the silence and desolation of the cemetery soon overtook him. “I can’t just let it go,” he said. “Something is going on, Tanner, something bad. I don’t know why I’m the only one who seems to see it. I wish to God it wasn’t like that. But knowing what I know, that things have changed,” he paused, the weight of what he was saying crashing in on him, “and not all of it for the better, we have to do something.”

  “I suppose,” Tanner said, his voice dry and strained, “that if you could figure a way to go back, and I’m definitely not sure if it’s even possible, or how you might pull it off if it was, but if you could…” He paused. “And this is just a theory, nothing scientific about it, but if you could determine the exact time and place where the original fracture occurred and go back there, right before it happened, you might be able to stop it. But everything, the people, the time, and the place would have to be exact.”

  “Then I need someone, someone to fix this, put things back the way they were.”

  “I don’t know that anything needs to be fixed, my friend. Even if it did, I certainly don’t have a time machine. And I don’t know anybody who does.”

  With that, Tanner fired up his Harley and sped out of the cemetery. When he reached 11th Street, he took off in full throttle.

  Martin stayed behind and tried to gather his senses, though in the silence of the deserted cemetery, he did not feel alone. He had an unnerving sensation of being watched. He glanced around, saw no one, and started the bike and drove away. He guessed being alone in a graveyard where people who shouldn’t be dead were buried would do that to you. He mentally charted a course that would lead him back to Tanner’s place. The old biker was completely out of sight by now, and
he might not be heading home, but Martin didn’t know what else to do.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOHN

  May 5, 2020, 3:00 p.m.

  John sat in his car, parked in front of a two-story brick and frame house on Mulberry Avenue in the town of Broken Arrow, a suburb of Tulsa. After the Barnes interview, he had gone back to his hotel room, where a few minutes of Internet research had given him the address to his present location.

  He grabbed his phone and punched in the number, waiting until the other party answered.

  “I’ve run across something rather disturbing,” John said. “Thought you should know.”

  “I’m not surprised. I only wish I were.”

  “Yeah, well, at any rate, neither Chris nor Jennifer Barnes were responsible for the fracture.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Someone inside the house walked past the window and paused, peeking out. The movement caught John’s attention, which caused him to hesitate before answering. His presence there had been detected.

  “Yes,” he answered. Had there been any impressions of time travel, he would have sensed it. He was peculiar that way, according to Andrew. “I am.”

  “I’m not sure whether that revelation is encouraging or disappointing,” Andrew said, “but I don’t see it as disturbing.”

  “Mrs. Barnes rambled on about some doctor’s appointment. It didn’t seem to go anywhere. It’s probably nothing.”

  “You’re stalling, John. What are you trying to tell me?”

  “A search of the Barnes’ house turned up clean, except for one thing. In an otherwise empty bedroom, I found an anomalous invitation.”

  “An unusual choice of words,” Andrew said. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s an invitation to a birthday party for Candy Barnes. Since she doesn’t exist in this timeline, neither should the invitation.”

  “You’re right. That is disturbing.”

  “It gets worse. It’s probably not an isolated incident. There could be multiple fractures.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re still holding back?”

  John glanced through the windshield. Several houses up, some children played in the yard, laughing and chasing each other. It was a beautiful neighborhood in suburban America, a life he had never known, apart from his short time with Sylvia.

  “It’s the perpetrator,” he said. “I think it might be our mystery traveler.”

  For what seemed an inordinate amount of time, the phone transmitted only silence. When Andrew finally answered, his doubtful thoughts came through in the tone of his words.

  “Come on, John. Don’t go to pieces on me now. I need you to see this through. I would ask you if you are sure you are up for this, but we both know where that leads.”

  John gripped the steering wheel so hard he thought it might break under the pressure. Five years ago, he met Sylvia Stewart, and not long after they were married. It had only lasted for two short years, but those years had been the best of John’s life. The maddening thing about it was it had been he who had taken it away. A time disturbance created by an anonymous traveler a few years earlier had brought Sylvia into John’s world. To the best of John and Andrew’s knowledge, the traveler, either a legitimate doctor or posing as one, had gone back to cause the stillbirth of Angela Stewart—a possible, distant relative who would have been born with Down’s Syndrome—which had caused the emergence of Sylvia. When John brought things back to their proper order, Angela was brought back, but Sylvia’s existence was eliminated.

  “Think about it, Andrew, Jennifer Barnes mentioning a doctor, the stillbirth of Angela Stewart, and the near same thing with Candy Barnes, who was also mentally challenged. I’m not going to pieces. I’m laying out the facts. This has the traveler’s fingerprints all over it.”

  “You can’t bring Sylvia back.”

  “Don’t you think I realize that? You’re the one who asked for my help. You tell me what you want me to do.”

  “All right, just don’t get crazy on me. I need to give it some thought.”

  “While you’re thinking, let me add to your worries. The anomalous invitation was addressed to someone.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “It was addressed to Luke, Susan, and Martin Taylor.”

  “And how, pray tell, are they connected?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that yet, but I’m parked on the street in front of their house.”

  “You’re an amazing man, John. What do you intend to do?”

  “I suppose an interview is in order.”

  “Do you want me to set it up?”

  John studied the house on Mulberry Avenue. The gardens were well tended, the lawn neatly mowed. He would soon disrupt a small segment of the suburban, American population, something he did not want to do. Then again, he supposed it already had been disrupted, whether or not the participants knew.

  “If that’s what you want to do. However, I am here now. I could go in cold.”

  “I’m not sure I like the idea, but the way things have been going, it might be best to interview them while you have the chance. No time like the present, right?”

  “You got it,” John said. He disconnected. Unfortunately, Andrew’s cheap pun had been intended. He sat for another moment or two. Then, he climbed out of the car and started toward the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MARTIN

  May 4, 2020, 2:00 p.m.

  As soon as Martin pulled onto the asphalt drive, the gate swung open, allowing him to glide down the driveway without having to slow his pace on the Harley.

  Tanner had been waiting for him.

  Stopping in front of the first bay door, Martin swung off the bike and walked cautiously along the trail that had been beaten into the grass leading to the front door of the double-wide. To his relief, the dog was nowhere to be seen, though he found it disconcerting that Tanner was apparently in the house and not working in the garage. He didn’t know why he had thought it might be that way, only he couldn’t recall ever seeing the garage closed in the daytime. Then again, he hadn’t been here that often.

  In similar fashion, the front door to the double-wide flew open a few steps before he reached it.

  Tanner was still upset.

  Acting as if all was well, as if it were just another day in the life of Martin, he walked into the living room of the double-wide. He strolled across the floor to the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the house and placed the keys to the Harley onto the surface of the bar. “Thanks for the ride,” he said. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  Tanner acted as if he wanted to smash his fist into the wall. It seemed to Martin that such behavior was not uncommon for the old biker. Judging from the wall décor—the mismatched panels of sheet metal Martin had previously wondered about, repairs had been made; it had happened before.

  “Okay,” Martin said, “I am sorry about all of this. I never intended to upset you. And I completely understand why you would be. You probably think I’m crazy. Maybe you’re right. Don’t think that possibility hasn’t crossed my mind.”

  Tanner plopped down in one of the stools in front of the bar. “You were just trying to get some help. Something you need all right, but I don’t think it’s the kind I can deliver.”

  He popped open a beer. Martin suspected he must have gotten it from the kitchen before he sat down.

  “Just look at me,” Tanner continued. “How many times have I wished for something like this to be real? And now that it’s been brought to my doorstep, what have I done? I’ve turned into the kind
of critic I always resented on the TV, like a stuffy professor who proclaims the UFO sightings had been perpetuated by nothing more than an errant weather balloon.”

  “I don’t think I’m following you.”

  “It’s probably best you don’t. You’re saying all of this started with some doctor’s visit. Maybe you’re overreacting, transferring some hidden fears onto a benign situation.”

  Tanner was vacillating all over the place. Martin couldn’t tell if the man was on his side or not, and without warning, the whole thing angered him, an emotion he wasn’t used to or comfortable with.

  “It’s not like that at all,” he said. “Whether or not you believe it, this is happening.” Martin should have stopped there. He knew that. He continued anyway. “This isn’t the way things are supposed to be, Tanner. I know that just as sure as I’m standing here. Candy shouldn’t be in the graveyard. And God only knows what else is wrong, what’s been changed because of this.”

  “All right,” Tanner said, “settle down. Tell you what. How about I have a little talk with this doctor?”

  Again, Martin was caught off guard by Tanner’s change in direction. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Your old buddy has a few tricks up his sleeve. I know how to deal with those kinds of doctors, how to make them think they are in control, handling me while I’m handling them. If he has even the slightest degree of shade casting across his mantle, I’ll see through it. Trust me on this.”

  Martin wasn’t sure what to think about that, but at the moment, he believed Tanner just might deliver on such a promise. He couldn’t let him do it, though. If Doctor Stewart was up to something nefarious—and Martin had to admit, thinking it now seemed ludicrous—there was no telling what Tanner might get himself into.

  “That won’t be necessary. Luke’s already convinced me that something unusual went down during his appointment.”