by Bob Avey
He checked his watch. It showed 10:00 a.m. In approximately one hour, he, or at least the 2019 Martin Taylor, would walk away from the pool area at Marathon Resort with Luke and Susan and go to the beach. It was the vacation where he and Luke had failed to finish the sandcastle because someone had been watching them and had made Martin nervous.
The lady who had been on the bus walked over. “You look a little lost,” she said. “I’m going inside to get something to eat. Would you like to join me?”
Martin thought about it. He had an hour to wait, and he was hungry. “Sure, that’d be nice.”
They walked through the front door, partially blocked by an A-shaped sign, a chalkboard with pink words scribbled across it. Once inside and seated, the lady said, “Name’s Laura. I’ve never been to Florida, so I thought I’d come down and see what all the fuss is about. How about you? Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“A little of both,” Martin said.
Actually, he thought, I’m here in duplicate—twice for the price of one—and both of us are in trouble, most likely.
She smiled. “Forgive me if this is too forward. But I don’t remember seeing you get on the bus. It was almost like you just sort of popped in.”
Martin shook his head, but that had been what had happened. How many other people had taken notice? He thought for a moment. He had checked his watch and phone, but he’d also stumbled through a magnetic bubble that had sent him time traveling. His devices could be wrong. “Could you tell me what the date is?” he asked.
She looked away for a moment, and when she turned back, she said, “Just my luck. I finally find a nice-looking guy who is easy to talk to, and he turns out to be a nutcase. It’s September. How could you not know that? And how did you get on that bus?”
Martin ignored the last question. “What year is it?”
She shook her head. “Good Lord, hon. What’s your name, anyway? I forgot to ask.”
“You can call me Martin.”
“Well, Martin. You really are a basketful, aren’t you? It’s 2019. Do you know where you are?”
He smiled. “It’s Panama City Beach. I’ve been here before. And I’ve eaten at this restaurant. I know we’re on the beach, seafood country, but this place makes a mean cheeseburger.”
“Cheeseburger is it? You and I are going to get along just fine. I noticed you’re here alone. So am I. Maybe we could hang out or something. You know, see where it goes. I know how it sounds. I’m not really a desperate person with no life to fall back on. I just got tired, a sort of midlife crisis, I guess.”
“It’s ironic how life works out,” Martin said. “You’re running away from it, and I’m trying to find it.”
A warm breeze came through the open front door and blew salty air across Martin’s face. He was going to say he wasn’t here alone, but he was alone in a strange kind of way. “The truth is, I’m in a relationship, a good one. I don’t wish to compromise that. You see, my current occupation requires me to travel in some unusual ways.”
“I knew it,” she said. “You’re some kind of spy, or undercover something-or-other, right?”
Martin decided to play along. It might be the easiest way to talk his way out of this. “I guess you could say that. I’ve often wondered about my journeys, if the dimensions with their richness of substance are nothing more than damnation, my own personal hell, reflected through the nature of my sin.”
Martin paused, wondering where in the world that last part had come from. Perhaps he was starved for someone ordinary, anyone not trying to kill him to talk to. Trouble was, it was grounded in truth, a truth he’d do best to keep to himself.
She stood and pushed away from the table. “Don’t leave just yet,” she said. “I need to freshen up, but I’ll be back.”
Martin nodded, though as soon as she disappeared into the lady’s room, he found his wallet. Thankfully, it had some cash and a few credit cards. He tossed a $20.00 bill on the table and left the restaurant. He didn’t like having to ditch the lady like that, but it would be for the best.
Wanting to put distance between himself and the restaurant, he strode up the sidewalk. When he saw a taxi, he stepped toward the curbside and waved both hands. Seconds later, he climbed into the back of the taxi and asked the driver to take him to the Marathon Resort.
Martin climbed out of the cab and strode toward the resort where he and Susan and Luke had vacationed. He wouldn’t waste time wondering why he had ended up in this time and place. If anything, his prior travels had shown him the destinations were not random but held meaningful ties to specific events in his past.
Then again, he had not initiated the jump, but in an odd sort of way, Doctor Stewart had. After all, it was Stewart’s time machine. Martin had altered the programming, but even with that consideration, the underlying impetus rested on Stewart’s shoulders.
As Martin wondered why Stewart had chosen this event, a disturbing thought formed in his mind. Doctor Stewart had already revealed his intention to kill Martin and Luke. What if he had planned to come here to pull it off? Another question surfaced. How would Stewart have known about the vacation?
A chill ran down Martin’s spine. Perhaps Doctor Stewart had known about the vacation because he too had been here in 2019. Someone had been watching them. The strange voyeur could have been Doctor Stewart. In an ordinary world, such an idea might seem far-fetched, but nothing about this adventure had been ordinary. The idea was not without merit. The man had worn a hat and dark glasses. He had watched them near the hotel pool, and he’d been interested enough to follow them to the beach. Who would do such a thing? It could only be someone who was disturbingly warped or someone who had a reason to be interested in Martin and his family. Martin couldn’t think of anyone who fit that description better than Doctor Stewart.
Like a welcoming beacon, or a warning to stay away, the doors leading into the resort loomed a few yards ahead of Martin.
He hesitantly strolled across the lot and pushed through the doors. Once inside, he walked across the shiny, marble flooring and went to the front desk.
One of the clerks came over. “Yes, sir, is there something I could help you with?”
“Yes,” Martin said, “I’m thinking about booking a room here a few weeks from now. I wonder if I might step out to the pool area and have a look?”
“I suppose I could arrange for a short tour of the place. That way you could see it all, the rooms and the amenities, but I would need a small deposit.”
The remark caught Martin off guard. He probably resembled a vagrant in his current surroundings. Places like this probably got unwanted people coming in off the street from time to time. He considered handing the clerk one of his credit cards then thought better of it. Martin Taylor was probably already checked into the resort. “Let me give it some thought,” he said, then turned and walked out.
Back outside, Martin found an area where he could access the beach. He’d have to be careful to get to the beach unnoticed and blend in. He walked casually down a sandy slope choked with seagrass and stepped onto the sand.
Sounds Martin had always found soothing, those of the sea and the beach, filtered through the salty air, though it was not enough to overcome the apprehension he felt over who he saw as he walked onto the sand.
There was Susan and Luke coming from the hotel, both glancing back at Martin, the Martin who belonged in that time and place, nervous and unsure why he was so determined to get them away from the pool area. But that wasn’t all the current Martin had to contend with. He was also faced with seeing himself for the first time, not from inside some version of himself or a relative but from the outside. It was the most disturbing thing he had ever witnessed, but he suspected th
ings were about to get worse. The man he had seen watching his family left the pool area and followed the Taylor family.
For a moment, the man remained at the edge of the beach, keeping a safe distance. Martin remembered he had thought everything was okay as he watched himself drop to his knees and work the sand for a castle that would remain unfinished. Luke had reminded him of that just before the accident.
The stranger in non-beach attire pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and moved as if he were assembling something. He then dropped the empty bag to the sand and slid whatever he’d put together back into his pocket. He stepped onto the beach and started walking toward the 2019 Martin, who was unaware of his approach.
Martin strolled across the sand toward the bizarre scene happening in front of him. Something was wrong. It was unfolding in a different way. Then again, since he’d been unaware, how would he have known? He had not. However, in some unexplainable way he knew it was not going down the way it had before. The man had installed a silencer onto the pistol he now had in his pocket, and as unlikely as it might seem to do such a thing on a beach in broad daylight, he intended to kill the man busily piling sand into the shape of a castle.
Then, as if he’d suddenly become aware that something wasn’t right, the man took his attention away from the man on the sand and looked directly at Martin as he, too, approached the scene.
Martin paused, a dark current of fear running through him as he realized the identity of the person who had caused him, in 2019, to worry to the point of leaving the sandcastle unfinished. It was Doctor Jackson Stewart.
Doctor Stewart pulled the weapon from his pocket and held it with both hands, but his aim was not at Martin but directly to the back of the skull of the unsuspecting man on the sand.
Panic engulfed Martin. He knew what was going to happen, but he could not move to stop it. It made sense in a twisted sort of way. Kill the 2019 Martin, and there would never be one in 2020. The moment seemed to last forever, and Martin thought it might well have, had the silence of the bizarre scene not been shattered by a shrill voice, screaming his name.
It was Susan, and she was not running toward the builder of castles— who had also realized something was terribly wrong and was now scrambling across the beach— but directly toward Martin. Susan stopped a few feet away, and as tears streamed down her face, she glanced between the two of them, who now both existed in the same place, and she uttered but one word, “Martin?”
Of all the places where Martin could have ended up, being on the beach in Panama City, Florida, facing an armed Doctor Stewart was the most unlikely he could imagine.
Susan’s eyes rolled up into her head. She swayed slightly and then went down.
Unable to process what was happening, she’d simply shut down and passed out.
Luke stood beside the partially built castle, glancing from the sand sculpture, to the Martin he knew, and back to the Martin he would know next year.
Doctor Stewart walked over to Martin and shoved the gun into his side. “Well, just look at the little family reunion we have going here.”
He turned toward the 2019 Martin for a moment but snapped his attention back to the job at hand. “Quite shocking, meeting yourself face to face, isn’t it? No matter how many times I experience it, I can’t get used to it. As jaded as you think I’ve become, Martin, I’d rather not have to kill you in front of your family. Turn around and start walking. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Martin hesitated but then did as Stewart asked, not out of compliance, but because getting Stewart away from Luke and Susan seemed like a good idea. A short time later, Stewart coaxed him to turn north away from the area. He was guiding Martin back along the same path he’d taken to get to the beach just a few minutes earlier. In a grassy area between two restaurants, which was about as unpopulated as possible near the beach in Panama City, Doctor Stewart paused.
Martin glanced down at the weapon gouging his side. “Before you do anything crazy,” he said, “I’d like to ask you something. Why were you here in 2019, watching me and my family?”
“Well, Martin, this time-travel thing gets rather complicated. I’d love to explain it to you, but I just don’t have the time. No pun intended. If it makes you feel any better, I really don’t want to do this. I like you, Martin, but our want-to-be friendship just isn’t working out so well. I truly wish it could have worked out some other way.”
Once again, the sound of the surf ebbing and flowing along the beach caught Martin’s attention. It seemed much louder than it should have at that distance. He stood there in the empty lot, sweat covering his arms in a slick sheen, but he would not give in to fear this time. A subtle shift in his thinking had taken place, or maybe he’d accepted the fact that he had nothing else to lose. Either way, he determined he would not give up, but would do what he could to change things.
Martin spun to his left and stepped away from Stewart almost in one simultaneous move. His plan was to take advantage of the momentum gathered during the spin and use it with the element of surprise to knock the weapon from Stewart’s hands.
It might have worked, had Doctor Stewart not moved so quickly. Acting as if he had already known what was coming, the doctor also stepped away, and when he had some distance, he brought the weapon up with both hands and fired.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JOHN
A current time and place in a parallel universe
Small, puffy clouds dotted the most intense blue, sky John could remember seeing, though a bank of darkness sat along the western horizon, an approaching storm which had already lessened the number of people still on the beach. He ambled along the water’s edge, following Sylvia who would stop occasionally to bend over and examine a shell the surf had dragged in.
She held one out and smiled. “Look at this one.”
To John, the pinkish colored shell looked too much like her last one for him to tell the difference, but he took it anyway and feigned amazement. In a way, John was amazed, but more at the thrill of Sylvia’s presence than the shell’s. He could not think of anything that made him as happy as walking with Sylvia, but tonight a restless feeling—much like the dark clouds along the horizon—threatened not only their serene jaunt along the sand, but also the whole of what had been their peaceful world for the last few days. Several people still walked the area, though one drew John’s attention.
Since deciding to come here to be with Sylvia, the almost daily walks had put a joy in John’s heart, which he would struggle to explain should someone ask. It was here in this time and place that the madness of traveling could almost be forgotten.
John kept looking toward the strangely dressed man who walked steadily toward them. Something about his being there was all wrong.
John and Sylvia had walked the beach almost daily since John had arrived, and he knew most of the faces that showed up on a regular basis. The person approaching did not belong here.
The stranger stopped about twenty yards away and waved, the wind from the sea blowing his hair across his face. He motioned for John to come closer.
John knew the man’s being there had something to do with Andrew, but he complied with the request and walked over, stopping about ten feet away. “You look a little lost,” John said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Are you John?”
John glanced back at Sylvia who was busy studying yet another shell. “The description fits well enough. Do I know you?”
“We’ve met though I doubt you remember. Andrew sent me. I don’t have much time. He made sure of that, an act of nervousness on his part, for which I am more grateful than he knows. I am to tell you the time disturbances have escalated to a frightening level. Andrew said you would understand. He
is, though, soft pedaling the circumstances. It’s bad, John. Whoever has been poking holes in the continuum is now ripping it to shreds. Everyone feels it, people on the street even. They don’t know what it is, just that something’s not right.”
“Out of curiosity,” John said, “how did you find me? It couldn’t have been easy.”
“I suspect not, but I had nothing to do with it. It was all Andrew. That he would take such measures indicates the seriousness of this matter.”
The stranger tipped an imaginary hat, then he turned and walked away.
A heavy realization settled over John as he trudged back to where Sylvia was still searching for a shell she had yet to discover. The nervous agent would soon be gone. Andrew had probably been lucky to have persuaded him to come and talk to John. No one wanted to travel, and few were willing to take the risk. The load was no more off his shoulders now than it was before.
The portentous nature of the darkness sitting over the horizon had not escaped John’s attention. It had been building for days. His being here was destabilizing both realities.
Sylvia looked up and smiled, the ocean breeze whipping her blondish-grey hair about in unmanageable ways.
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Yes,” she said, “but only two times today. You had better get busy. You’re way behind schedule.”
John pulled her close, stroked her hair, her face, and then gave her a soft kiss. “You are my world, Sylvia.”
“And yet there is sadness in your voice. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
The surf crashed in closer than before, and the wind carried a thick mist across their faces. “Do you see the clouds?” John asked.
“A storm,” she said. “A bad one from the looks of it, but nothing we haven’t seen before.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid it is, my dear. It is, in fact, only the beginning of what will surely continue to get worse.”