Sandcastle for Pegasus

by Bob Avey

  Doctor Stewart grinned. “Let me spell it out for you. It appears to me that you travel within the confines of your physical body. What would happen, let’s say, if you traveled back to a time before you were born? Are you able to do that, or have you even tried?”

  Once again, Martin was compelled to offer less than the truth. Of course, he knew the answer. He’d gone back to a time before he was born, ending up in his father, and forward to a time when he didn’t exactly know his fate but had a pretty good guess, and ended up within the mind of his daughter, Krystal.

  “I can’t answer that,” he said. “I don’t even understand how I’m doing it, or why it’s happening. It just is.”

  “That’s absolutely fascinating, Martin. Tell me, when did you first discover this ability?”

  Martin stared into the eyes of Doctor Jackson Stewart. If earlier he’d been compelled to evade the truth, that predisposition now evaporated as quickly as it had evolved.

  “It seems I owe it all to you, Doctor Stewart. As far as I can tell, it all started when you tried to kill me and my son, Luke, by running us down with your car. And something about that car crash keeps puzzling me. I saw your face just before you crashed into us. So, how did you manage to survive that?”

  Doctor Stewart grew quiet, contemplating the question. “I am sorry about that Martin. I’m afraid I panicked, didn’t know what else to do. But, as for surviving, well I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

  A strange sensation made its way through Martin’s senses. He hadn’t considered the idea that it could have started for Doctor Stewart the same as it had for him. “Maybe I didn’t survive, Jackson. And maybe you didn’t either.”

  A sly smile made its way across Doctor Stewart’s face. “That is an interesting theory, Martin. Unfortunately, you have it all wrong, at least on my account. As for you, well, that would explain a few things, wouldn’t it?” He paused and shook his head. “Especially that spooky feeling you always give me. You’ve been a bad boy, Martin. It could take years to unravel all the damage you have done. Traveling through time isn’t like taking a walk through the park, my friend. Even for someone like me, who does it a little more conventionally, so to speak, it carries many inherent risks, takes weeks of meticulous planning to minimize those risks. But to do it while you’re supposed to be dead, well, that opens a whole new genre, doesn’t it? I don’t know if I should call a priest or turn you over to my old friend, John Rainbow. It’s a little more up his alley, I guess. Unfortunately, I can’t do either without exposing myself. Of all the lives you could have gotten tangled up with, why did you have to choose mine?”

  “I don’t know,” Martin said, “maybe because you tried to kill me?”

  “Yes, there is that, isn’t there? Try not to take it so personally. After all, I did apologize. And your becoming like an old friend isn’t making it any easier. Why do you have to be so blasted likeable?”

  “Just lucky, I guess. By the way, the feeling is mutual, or at least it tries to be. We all have our dark sides, Jackson. It’s just a matter of which side you let dominate. Maybe it’s not too late to change your ways, or in your case, to go back and undo what you’ve done.”

  “Very well put,” Doctor Stewart said. “You would probably make a decent psychologist. But I’m afraid it isn’t quite that easy. Haven’t you been listening? Messing with time is tricky enough, but double dabbling increases the risks exponentially. But I’ll tell you what I am willing to do. If you will stay out of my life, I’ll stay out of yours, or what’s left of it, anyway. What do you say?”

  Martin struggled to keep his composure. He couldn’t and wouldn’t make a deal with the devil, but he wondered if pretending to go along might buy him some time. Words of what he might say to string the situation along to his advantage went through his head, but he couldn’t refrain from blurting out the heart of his greatest concern.

  “What about my family?” Martin asked. “What about Luke?”

  Doctor Stewart shook his head. “Martin, Martin, I’d begun to give you more credit than that. But like the old song says, you have to know when to hold them and know when to fold them. And I’m afraid once Pandora’s Box has been opened, well, you know what they say about that, don’t you? I’m not such a monster, Martin. It’s just that your judgement on the subject is clouded by your relationship with your son. You might not want to admit it, but your life would be much easier had he never been born. Don’t you see? The way I handle it is the most humane for everyone involved.”

  Doctor Stewart shifted his weight from one foot to another, and with that came a shift in his demeanor. It was as if the reservoir of darkness he drew upon when necessary had busted through the constraints and now assumed control.

  “You have created a lot of loose ends, my old friend, something I simply cannot ignore or walk away from. I’ve never had to contend with a ghost, and I am not exactly sure how to deal with you. But I’m not an unreasonable man. I’ll stick with the deal offered earlier and leave you alone for now, but you must promise to stay out of my way. Stop playing time traveler, especially where I’m involved, and maybe everything will work out. Because if you don’t, I will go after Susan and Luke, and I don’t think you want that. You see, I know perfectly well how to get to them.”

  A current of fear started in Martin’s stomach and expanded, flooding in from all directions as if his car had been dropped with the windows open into a bottomless lake of despair. Occurring simultaneously, however, was a small voice of logic asking questions. Why hadn’t Doctor Stewart already taken Martin out along with the rest of his family?

  The answer had to be in the inherent difficulties alluded to by Stewart. It wasn’t easy to set things like that up; it took weeks of planning, in Stewart’s warped words. It could give Martin the time and the edge he needed to undermine Stewart’s efforts and maybe even put a stop to the whole operation. There was only one thing, something Martin had been thinking about all along. Luke was the primary target, and Stewart would do whatever it took to eliminate Luke.

  “You’ve become awfully quiet,” Doctor Stewart said, “which makes me extremely nervous because it means you’re thinking. Honestly, I don’t know why I’ve tried to reason with you. You’ve proven several times you can’t be trusted.”

  Doctor Stewart unbuttoned his jacket and reached beneath it, and when he brought his hand back out, it held a medical instrument, a hypodermic needle from which protruded a glistening needle.

  “Don’t look so frightened,” he said. “All it will do is put you to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll be gone, and you will be left with no memory of my being here. You could even get lucky and not remember that you’ve come back a few years. Then you will think you belong here and stay.”

  The doctor took a step closer. “You have to admit, that would be pretty nice, wouldn’t it? Who doesn’t dream about becoming young again? Now give me your arm. There’s really no sense in fighting it.”

  The reality of the situation settled over Martin like a heavy blanket on a warm night. Doctor Stewart wasn’t walking the line between lightness and darkness, searching for redemption in any kind of relationship with Martin or anyone else. He had long ago chosen the path of relishing his own self-righteousness, and that meant he would do anything to protect the illusion.

  Martin’s pulse quickened, and he glanced around the park, but he didn’t see anyone—not even the elderly couple he’d seen earlier. He and Doctor Stewart were alone in the park. Martin’s first thought was to slide over to the passenger side of the GTO, jump out of the car, and make a run for it. After all, Doctor Stewart was at least fifty years old, and he was only sixteen. Stewart was in good shape, but so was Martin at that age. And running away from trouble was pretty much his way of dealing with adversity. He was good
at it.

  But that thought almost evaporated as soon as it formed, because his getting away wouldn’t do anything to protect Susan and Luke. But that wasn’t quite right either. Getting away just might buy him some time, and it wasn’t like he had many choices. God only knew what was actually in that hypodermic needle.

  At that moment, Martin’s choice was made. He snatched the keys from the GTO, wiggled across the console, pushed open the door, and bolted as fast as he could for 21st Street, which bordered the northern end of the park.

  A mixture of dormant grass and dirt flew beneath Martin’s feet as he easily adjusted to the terrain that changed from flat portions to small hills and then to rocks. He had forgotten how quick of vision and surefooted he’d been twenty years ago. When he reached the area near 21st Street, he turned west toward Peoria Avenue.

  Upon reaching Peoria, it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He jumped up and down to flag down the police patrol car. As soon as the patrol car stopped beside the curb, Martin explained to the officer that he’d been sitting in his car in the park when a strange man tried to lure him out of the car. He’d taken off running, and that’s when he saw the patrol car and waved it down.

  Martin explained that he only wanted to get his car and drive home, but he was afraid to go back to the park alone. Martin mentally thanked the younger Martin, telling him that it would be all right now, and with that done he closed his eyes and left that time and place.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MARTIN

  Sunday, May 04, 2014

  Friday, September 15, 1978

  Martin was running out of time. The funny thing about time, no matter how much of it Martin thought he had, or what kind of control he exerted over it, it would always have one up on him.

  Doctor Jackson Stewart was probably at this very moment working away on his meticulously planned journey to eliminate Luke, and Martin had to figure out a way to stop him before it was too late. The more Martin thought about it, the more it made sense that Doctor Stewart would try to solve two problems simultaneously by going after Martin. With no Martin, there would be no Luke.

  It had been an easy decision to revisit that shadowy world of 2014 where everything, including Martin, seemed fuzzy and out of sync.

  As soon as he had his bearings from the jump, Martin went into the office of his home in that shadowy world and switched on the computer. He wanted to research some things he and his old friend, Tanner McIntosh, had talked about during Martin’s visit at Tanner’s place. When the search engine came up, Martin typed in the only words he could recall from their conversation and the so-called dream. He typed the words Camp Hero into the search box, and a menagerie of information showed up.

  Martin selected the most relevant looking website and began an informational journey, drawing him deeper into the folklore of time travel. About an hour later, armed with information both frightening and intriguing, he decided what he must do next.

  . . .

  Moments later, Martin again stood in the shoes of his father, young Billy Taylor, in the foyer of Grandpa Frank’s house, preparing to walk away from the strange meeting with Grandpa Frank. Martin immediately assumed control and turned back to face the French doors leading into Grandpa’s library. He knocked softly and anticipated his next move as Grandpa once again acknowledged his presence and nodded approval for a short reentry into his office.

  “Sorry to disturb you again,” Martin said, “but I have something more to say, and it is extremely important.”

  Grandpa Frank swiveled his chair around and said, “By all means, Billy, please sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “First off,” Martin said, “I need to explain something to you, and it will not be an easy thing to do.”

  “Well, why don’t you let me be the judge of that, Billy?”

  Martin walked into the library and closed the doors. After that, he went to the small sofa in front of Grandpa Frank’s desk and sat down. “I’m not even sure where, or how to begin, Grandpa.”

  Grandpa Frank leaned back in his chair and picked up the cigar still smoldering on his desk. “Since when did you start calling me Grandpa?”

  Martin sat there for a moment, the intense gaze of Grandpa Frank stealing his nerve even before he could gain it. A part of Martin wished he could slink back out of the library and fall into the arms of Grandma Phyllis, who was no doubt nearby, hopefully still smiling from her son’s compliment on her chicken and dumplings. But where would that get him? He’d gone out on a limb, and now there were only two things he could do: crawl back off the limb and go to some other time and place or gather what little courage he had and do what he’d come here to do.

  “Grandpa Frank, I’m going to tell you something that will either convince you of who I am or cause you to believe I’ve truly lost my mind, because I’m going to take a leap of faith and relay to you something I’m betting you never trusted anyone else with. I can’t even explain why I feel that. I just do.”

  “Well, Billy, you’re right about one thing. I’m starting to question your sanity. And if this nonsense is all you interrupted my business for, then I will not be very happy about that. So, if you have something to say, you might want to get on with it.”

  “All right,” Martin said, “in 1964 you purchased a brand-new GTO, an act that surprised you then, because it was completely unlike you, and continues to surprise you now.”

  “We talked about this already, Billy. I told you I would get you a car on your sixteenth birthday, but it will not be that car.” He paused and took a drag on his cigar, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “I’m betting your mother put you up to this. She never did like that car.”

  Martin shook his head. There was nothing left to do now but just jump in with both feet. “No, Grandpa, Grandma Phyllis had nothing to do with this. Here’s the deal. Most of my memories of that car are of the time period when you had it stored in the garage.” He paused and nodded. “Yeah, I know, you haven’t done that yet. You will make that decision in 1990. Anyway, one of my favorite things to do when I was young was to come and visit you, Grandpa, and one of the best parts was when you would take me to the garage, and we’d have these heart-to-heart talks, while sitting in the front seat of the GTO that should have been way beyond my young age. During one of those sessions, you asked me something I didn’t understand at the time. You asked me if I believed in time travel.”

  Grandpa Frank put the cigar back into the ashtray. “I’ve never told anyone about that,” he said, talking more to himself than anyone else. “Not even your mother. How could you possibly know anything about that?”

  “I know because you told me, Grandpa. I never gave you an answer to that question, and here I am, getting ready to do so approximately twelve years before you will ask it. The answer is, yes, Grandpa. I believe in time travel because I am currently experiencing it as we speak. Actually, we both are.”

  Grandpa Frank did not say anything but stared blankly. Martin had never seen him at a loss for words, and it was frankly a little frightening. “About five years from now,” Martin said, “your son, Billy, will have a son of his own, and they will name him after you, Grandpa. They will call him, Martin. It’s me, Grandpa, your grandson, Martin.”

  “God in Heaven,” Grandpa Frank said, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but one thing is for sure. My son, Billy, could never pull off something like this.” He brought his hands to his forehead and massaged his temple. “Is Billy all right? What is this doing to him?”

  “He’s fine,” Martin said. “I’ve learned to mask my presence to protect the host. It’s instinctive, kind of like when a child is dropped into the water and somehow knows not to breathe.”

  “My, God,
” Grandpa Frank said, “this is a lot to process.” He paused then continued, “Why are you here? There must be a reason.”

  “Because,” Martin said, “once I started to travel, everything clicked into place, all the strange conversations we had, to make sense. During our visits, we talked of many things but the concept of time travel always worked its way in. I’ve done some research, Grandpa, and what I found is going to blow your socks off.”

  An expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace crossed Grandpa Frank’s face. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but please, don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Well,” Martin said, “for starters, one of my earlier travels landed me on the USS Eldridge which was part of the Philadelphia Experiment, the name given to a secret project in which invisibility tests were conducted, among other things. I can’t bring anything with me when I travel, so I don’t have the photo. But a gunner on-board, a young man named Clayton Devereaux, looked a lot like me, or at least his face did. Here’s the deal. My mother’s maiden name was Devereaux. It’s just too much for coincidence. We have to be related.”

  “Are you talking about, Molly Devereaux?”

  “Yes,” Martin said, “that’s my mom.”

  Grandpa Frank smiled. “Well,” he said, “at least, Billy managed to do one thing right.” He paused. “I’ve kept this thing bottled up for years. But I guess if what you’re saying is true, that I eventually will choose to confide in you— my grandson, Martin Taylor— then I might as well come clean now.

  “When I was in my late twenties, in 1970 I went to Montauk, New York on a business trip. I arrived the day before the meeting and checked into a nearby hotel. Later that night, I got restless and went for a walk. As I was crossing a darkened area near the beach, someone came up behind me and knocked me in the head with something. I woke up in a room that looked like a concrete bunker. I suspect they’d thought I was some sort of indigent and chose me for that reason. They introduced me to some children and asked me if I would help them with some experiments. I could tell by those kids’ faces that none of this was good. As soon as they left me alone, I dropped to my knees and prayed for God to please get me out of this.