Well, that was simple enough after all. He had fallen in with the misfits that the school provided in spades.
“So…do you deal or just use?” I asked, not even sure what drugs I was referring to.
This upset him. “I ain’t a fucking dealer, yo. I’m a victim.” He locked eyes with me. His were cold…frozen. “You made me a victim.”
“You’re right. But I’m going to fix this thing. I promise. I’m going to get both our lives back on the track where they belong.
“Damn straight,” he said with a smile. Then he paused. “Does that mean I’m going to die?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what happens to this world if I set things right. That’s why you needed to know the truth. You may go on living in this world after I go home, but you and your parents deserve better. You need to get help, Daniel. Stop punishing yourself for what happened. You were just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. I made a choice as a grown man and it’s on me. You have to make things work with your parents. Go to rehab for whatever the hell it is you’re on. Finish school. Try to salvage your life. And for God’s sake, shave that horrible beard.”
He hesitated, perhaps deciding whether to tell me off with a “you’re not the boss of me, yo!” Slowly he nodded his acceptance, and then his head bobbed rapidly as he became caught up in the idea of turning everything around. I had heard enough about druggies to know that the road back for him would not be easy at all, but I truly believed this intervention was the breakthrough his parents had been praying for. I had smashed through to the core of his damage. The rest would be up to him.
“Go back home,” I told him. “Go to bed, and in the morning sit down and talk with your parents. They are going to think they saw you tonight, and that’s just one more reason you’ve gotta get rid of that beard before they see you. Just tell them that you appreciated them talking to you and you think you’re making progress. Tell them you want to go to a facility and get help.”
We got up and turned toward the door. The other Daniel started to walk away from me, then stopped and turned back. “Can I…can I time travel too?”
“Maybe…probably,” I said. “But I don’t think you can or should while you’re still messed up. Get clean, start thinking straight and then see what you can do. It takes a lot of discipline and focus.” As I said that, the proverbial lightbulb went on. I had an idea what was keeping me from traveling.
He nodded and thanked me. I watched him walk out into the night. I sat back down on the bar stool. It occurred to me I only had my old cash to pay for our drinks, but that didn’t matter anymore. I ran to the door. I heard the bartender behind me call, “Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Working things out with the other Daniel had calmed me considerably. I could no longer feel my pulse roaring through my head. I ducked behind the bar in the darkness and counted my breaths, forcing everything to slow down. I heard the bartender grumbling as he looked around the parking lot, but soon he went back inside. I started to feel tired; probably a combination of the meditation and the chill in the air. I focused on that day in 1993 that had held so much sentimental power that it had corrupted my judgement. I felt the rush through my brain and the warmth of the summer sun.
Chapter 10
1
I knew instantly that I had jumped to the wrong time. The question remained: how far off the mark was I? It was hard to gauge anything specific from my surroundings, but the temperature was not the same as in September of 1993 where I had visited before. I stood up and walked around the bar, which was now called “O’Malley’s.” It looked refreshed. I suppose the instantaneous rolling back of twenty or so years would have that effect on just about anything.
I thought about going back to my parents’ house and then remembered that they wouldn’t know me in the past. If I was anywhere close to my target date they’d be much younger and protective of their son who hadn’t yet had a chance to ruin his life. I wondered where I could go. I was still wearing the same sweaty clothes I’d had on me from my initial trip to 1993. I was exhausted. I had been up for far longer than a normal day’s waking hours, and running around in a panic for much of that. Time travel was turning out to be far worse than jet lag.
The more I traveled the more I realized the complications inherent in jumping around in the timestream. My instinct was to jump into fixing my previous mistakes, but I wasn’t sure if my changes might not splinter the universe again, meaning that my original trip wouldn’t take place. That was assuming, of course, that my jump had put me farther back in time. It could very well be the summer of 1994 or 1995 and young Daniel Wells might already be traumatized and on his way to a reckless disaster of a future.
I decided I had to act. Not that I had any idea exactly what I needed to do. I just knew that Jeff Berger couldn’t die at my hands…or my previous version’s hands…hell, any Daniel Wells’s hands. I had a feeling I was going to have to have another face-to-face with a version of myself in order to right this wrong.
I fished my wallet out of my pocket and found that I had brought my remaining cash along with no more difficulty than the last time. I saw a newspaper in one of those boxes along the curb and found that I had been close to my goal after all. It was May 31st, 1993. A Monday. It was a warm day, and the abrupt shift from the cold of early winter had made me think it was summertime. I left the bar’s parking lot and basked in the sun. I felt better, being several months deeper into the past. How could I feel guilt about something that hadn’t happened yet? Something that will never happen, I reminded myself.
Even after everything that had happened, I found myself starting to get excited again about the possibility of hanging around in the past for a while. I knew I should go back to the future and try again to get closer to the mark, but I wondered what harm it could possibly do to spend just a few days? I’d be sure to stay far away from my past self.
As I walked along I changed my plan, making promises to myself in a way that the drug-addicted Daniel Wells could probably understand. I’ll stay for the summer, I thought. Get every last bit of this traveling to the past out of my system and then put it behind me for good. Go cold turkey.
Why go bouncing around through time trying to find September, 1993, when I could just stay put and let the day come to me? It all seemed to make so much sense. I figured I’d have to get some kind of job. A career-type thing would not work without proper documentation, so maybe I could be an undocumented day laborer? It all sounded pretty good at the time.
The specific logistics of my stay didn’t really matter, as long as I stayed out of trouble. Besides, figuring out what to do could wait for the next day. June, 1993 might hold plenty of surprises for me, I thought, but I was going to finish the month of May with the world’s longest nap. I took yet another lengthy walk from the bar down to the Jenkintown Hotel. It took me hours to get there and I was just about asleep on my feet by the time I walked into the familiar lobby. Though I felt a pang of deja vu when I walked through the doors, Carl wasn’t at the desk. There was a skinnier, healthier man whose name tag identified him as Stephen.
“Hi, Stephen,” I said. “Is Carl in?” I didn’t know why I wanted to see him. He wouldn’t know me yet. I guess I just wanted to see a familiar face after a long day, you know?
“Carl’s on vacation for the next week,” Stephen said. His voice was nasal and it made him sound annoyed. Maybe he actually was annoyed, I don’t really know. “Can I help you?”
“Do you have rooms for long stays?”
His eyebrows arched. “How long are we talking?”
“A couple months.”
He actually was so stunned he took a step back. “Um…well, we could definitely set you up with a room. I can work out some kind of a deal with you. If you could, you know, pay every week or something?”
“That would be great.”
He fished behind the desk and brought out a key. You ever have one of those moments where something both shoc
ks you and seems completely appropriate at the same time? That’s how I felt when I saw the “319” printed in black marker on the key’s label. Time travel had its coincidences. It meant that if I was still in the room by September 8th, it wouldn’t be available for my other self. Of course, it was likely that events would play out differently now that the staff at the Jenkintown Hotel would know me the second I arrived.
I gave Stephen my fake information, this time using my “Justin Bieber” alias. I took the key and went up to the familiar room. This time, though it was earlier in the day than the last time I’d sat in room 319, I pulled the shades tight and got into bed. My thoughts spun round and round. I missed Helena. All our issues seemed distant and unimportant. All I could think about was her smile. I felt bad for how much she and I had grown apart. Maybe, I thought, I could give things a real effort when I got back. Really try to improve the relationship. I worried about my parents, both the ones I’d left in my original 2013 and the sad version whose life I’d damaged. I wondered if I should brush my teeth or if I left the plaque and bacteria behind every time I traveled. Still would need a toothbrush if I was going to make it through several months. I was going to need a lot of things. I was thinking about all of that when sleep finally took over.
In my dreams, I saw Jeff Berger bleeding and dying beneath my fists. I heard screams and saw the faces of all my loved ones looking on in shocked horror. These images repeated and circulated for hours. When I woke it was the middle of the night, or quite early in the morning of June 1st, depending on how you looked at it. I was covered in sweat.
I used the bathroom, stretched a little and got back into bed, moving to the opposite side so I wouldn’t have to lie in the dampness from my sweat. I thought about my early, confusing trip to the past outside the convenience store. I had passed out in the bushes and awoken in the present. Now I had made it through one nightmare-filled bout of sleep without traveling. I decided it must have something to do with motivation. In my panic in that previous trip I had wanted to return home. Now I wanted desperately to stay until I fixed things. That, it seemed, made all the difference.
I closed my eyes. I did not travel, and this time I did not dream.
Chapter 11
1
Knowing that I was going to have to get a job and make more money no matter what, I decided to use some of my cash to buy a car. I wandered down to one of the dealerships on 611 and walked among rows of used late ‘80s era Fords.
“See something you like?”
A salesman walked toward me with his hand out and a overly friendly smile on his face.
“Andy McCarthy at your service,” he said.
I shook his outstretched hand. “Dan Wells.”
“Pleased to meet you, Dan. What can I do you for?”
I told him I was looking for something cheap but reliable. I didn’t tell him that it only had to last me a few months. I pointed down a row of vehicles. “What’s the pricing like on these?”
“Any of these Taurus models will do you fine,” he said. He patted a dark blue sedan. “This baby only has thirty thousand miles. Not bad at all.” I immediately thought I should verify his claims with a lemon search online. Then I laughed. The salesman gave me a look.
“Sorry,” I said, “I just…never thought I’d be buying something used, but it’s the situation I’m in.”
“Well this will be perfect for you,” Andy said. “$1200. Cheap and reliable, like you said.”
He brought me into his office and drew up the paperwork. “Sorry for all this rigamarole but Uncle Sam likes things done a certain way.”
“Hey, listen,” I said, “Do you think there’d be room for a little discount if I pay you in all cash today?”
His eyes widened. “I can cut you down to $1000.”
“I can’t do more than seven,” I replied.
“Oh, Mr. Wells, you do drive a hard bargain. $750 and we can tell ol’ Uncle Sam to go sit on it and spin.” I nodded and he took two of the pieces of paper and put them back in a folder on his desk.
I pulled out a wad of hundreds. I hadn’t even considered the possibility of a credit check, but now I was sidestepping that potential landmine. I wondered what he thought of me, with my scabbed knuckles and ample supply of greenbacks. If he was suspicious of anything, he didn’t let on.
It didn’t take long to complete the paperwork and Andy McCarthy was all too happy to part me from just about all of my money. “Where you headed with your pretty new purchase, Mr. Wells?” he asked.
“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I’m new in town.”
“Ah, well, welcome to our little corner of the world. What brings you?”
“I heard there were some job openings around,” I said, and thought of my conversation with Levi Berm.
“Yeah, I’d say jobs are in good supply these days. What do you do?”
“I’m in computers,” I said.
“A man of the future!” he said with a grin. “Well, while you hunt around you should check out the Jamison Diner if you get a chance. About fifteen minutes toward the northeast and they’ve got a blueberry pie to die for. Tell ‘em Andy sent you.”
I actually knew the diner quite well, and did very much enjoy their pie. I thanked Andy for his advice. “I should probably get moving though. Want to make the most of the daylight.”
“I hear you, my friend,” Andy said. “Let me have the boys polish your new baby and you’ll be on your way.”
I walked out of there a half hour later and got behind the wheel of my new car. I’d never driven that old a model before, though of course it wasn’t actually all that old. I won’t burden you with my analysis of the handling of a 1987 Ford Taurus. Suffice to say it drove.
The dealer had filled the gas tank before I took possession of the car, but I still noticed the signs outside of the gas stations along the road. $1.10 a gallon was actually more expensive than I would have guessed but still a hell of a lot cheaper than anything I could remember paying in fifteen years.
2
The first thing I had to do, other than some clothes shopping, of course, was get some kind of identification. If it weren’t for the knowledge that I could escape from almost anything in 1993 if necessary, I would never have chanced dealing with any kind of shady characters. Filled with confidence, I drove into the city and found my way to Chinatown where a little inquiring brought me to a room in the back of a grocery store. An old man surrounded by intimidating guards took my photo and created a fake driver’s license and paperwork for “Justin Bieber.” It continued to amuse me every time I thought about the shitty pop star whose identity I had assumed. The real deal wouldn’t be born for another year somewhere up in Canada.
Philadelphia was a dirty city, at least compared to its appearance in the present, and though I was too full of my own abilities to feel unsafe, I felt a little uncomfortable and I didn’t hang around long. I was happy when North Philly gave way to the lower suburbs along 611.
When I finally got back in the Waldorf area, I stopped at a Kmart and looked at a few different outfits. Without knowing what work, if any, I’d be able to find, I decided just to purchase a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from the discount racks. Classy stuff. I changed in my car outside of the parking lot. It was good to rid myself of the clothing that had followed me through time and would always remind me of punching Jeff Berger to death.
Between my falsified documents and my new clothes I was down to just enough money to make it a week or so if I ate two meals a day at fast food restaurants. The idea was tempting, but sort of gross at the same time. Better to make some cash. I set about the task of finding a job so I could actually stay alive while driving around in my hot new wheels. My simple solution of “day laborer” proved not to be so simple in practice. I had no clue where to find that kind of work. I was hampered by not having access to the Internet. How the hell did people find jobs in the past? I remembered the lottery printout in my wallet. I went to a drug store and purc
hased a five dollar ticket for that night’s Daily Number. I knew that in the morning I would be rewarded with over two thousand dollars, enough to support me for a while without raising any suspicions.
Though my money worries were put aside for the moment, I had more things on my mind. I drove around, traveling farther than I had yet journeyed on foot. Somehow, as my mind wandered and my driving went from aimless to autopilot, I found myself falling into my normal, 2013 pattern of behavior. Just as I had gravitated toward the familiar grounds of Shady Pines camp when I had confirmed the decision to make my first true journey back to my past, it was easy enough to follow the same roads and return to the camp twenty years earlier. Before I knew it I was pulling onto the dirt road leading to the camp’s entrance. I don’t really know what I was planning to do. I think I was just going to sit on the dock and stare out at the lake. Let my mind wander and perhaps produce a solution to all of life’s problems. At the very least, I thought I might be able to purge the horrid guilt of the Jeff Berger encounter which had never even happened.
3
The car’s tires rumbled over the crushed stone that provided the surface of the parking area. There were two vehicles already there. It was so rare in the present to find anybody at the camp outside of its operational season that I did a double take upon seeing the cars. I felt even more thrown by the row of trees dividing the parking lot from the sports fields that in 1993 were the only township-owned part of the land. I parked, observing not for the first time the strange experience of manually locking my car. I wondered if I’d be able to avoid being seen on my walk to the lake on the opposite side of the property from the parking lot. Though a direct route would have been better, I had to take the scenic route. I mean, come on.
The Traveler: A Time Travel Thriller Page 9