Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “My god,” Steven said. “What did you say?”

  “My mouth dropped to my knees. If I said no, I would have been lying. If I had said I was she would want to know who. What I said was, ‘I just came to watch.’ Then she said, ‘I’ve seen you before. You were at my soccer championships. No other kid here was at the championship. You’re here to see me.’

  “Well, I’ll tell you, she blew my socks off. I was considered one of the best undercover cops in North Carolina. The soccer match she spoke of was seven months past; however, not realizing it at the time, I was wearing the same disguise. I could neither confirm nor deny. Instead I congratulated her on her spelling bee victory. She told me thank you, and then disappeared back into the auditorium. After that I began studying makeup and wigs more seriously. And then, before I knew it, I was being sought out for undercover work by not only North Carolina police departments, but also departments all the way from Savannah, Georgia to Baltimore, Maryland. I sort of became a freelance agent.”

  James sighed. “Everything that happens, does so for a reason. I do believe that. I believe that both of you, your entire team, and I’ve been handpicked and groomed for this trip she’s taken. Anne has been the center around which all of us have revolved. In a sense, not too much unlike the far-east concepts, she was, or is, the chosen one. Although I’ve known of this longer than anyone, I wasn’t allowed to get involved until today.”

  “Not allowed?” Jerry asked.

  “That’s right. The force.”

  “Sounds like a Star Wars thing.”

  “The force has been with me for 44 years, long before Star Wars time.”

  They all stood in silence for a while, Steven and Jerry staring at James. “Okay,” James broke in. “Are you going to do it or what?”

  Jerry looked at Steven and then to the cage with the envelope lying in its center. “Make it happen, Steven.”

  Steven scanned the control panel. Nothing had changed. He scanned it slowly a second time to be sure. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “One more thing,” James said. He laid his brief case onto a small table. From it he extracted what appeared to be a sandwich of two rectangular pieces of Plexiglas, roughly 4" x 8". There were bolts with brass button heads, one in each corner. In the back was an easel. It was obviously two pieces of Plexiglas designed to display and protect something important. There was nothing in it, however. He moved the briefcase to the floor and stood the Plexiglas on the table. “An experiment,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  Steven shrugged his face at Jerry and turned to the control panel. He put on the goggles and ear protection. Jerry and James followed.

  As the equipment started up and lights started popping on throughout the room, James never took his eyes off the envelope, although it was hard to see through the high-tint goggles. He remembered Anne describing to him the terrible high pitch and now, finally, understood the need for the ear protection. When the room suddenly lit up as though under a dozen 300-watt bulbs, he also understood the need for the goggles. For a short time, during which James held his breath, the envelope glared back from its position in the cage. James wasn’t sure if he blinked or what, because suddenly, the envelope was gone. Everything went quiet and dark. He took off the protection and then caught Jerry looking at the Plexiglas sitting on the table. James looked down. Sandwiched between the two pieces of clear plastic was a five-dollar-bill.

  Tuesday ~ July 20, 1943 ~ 0318

  “One more round,” Seaman O’Brian said, “then I’ll wake up the next watch.”

  “Okay,” Seaman Norwadski said, then entered “0318" in the log, followed by, “Roving patrol begins rounds.”

  Guided by the red night-lights, O’Brian walked down the passageway, checked the storage room door, which was still locked, and the cleaning closet, which still had the same brooms and mops standing next to each other in line. They hadn’t moved in the entire three and a half hours. O’Brian thought about writing home and telling his mom he was making sure the country was safe from a broom and mop attack. He closed the door and continued down the passageway and around the corner. The other storeroom was still locked, as was the back door to the barracks. He then backtracked to the door to the head.

  In the mirror, O’Brian studied his reflection and wondered if the burn scar which ran from his left ear to his chin and looked exceptionally harsh in the red light, would ever fade. He took a leak and then stepped from the head into the berthing area.

  Several snores competed with each other and someone coughed. Seaman O’Brian, the mid-watch roving patrol, stood and listened for a time and then continued along the row of bunks on his last rounds of the watch. He would complete his rounds, then report all secure to Seaman Norwadski, the quarterdeck watch. He would then return to wake up their relief at 0330. He was sure looking forward to climbing back into his bunk. He wondered what Chief Savage had in mind for them tomorrow – probably cutting grass, trimming bushes or cleaning something. Seldom anything fun or interesting. O’Brian considered the chit he had been given for a day off, which he could use anytime he wanted, a reward for exceptional hard work. Maybe tomorrow, he thought. I could go to the hospital and visit Brian, then walk downtown. Yeah! Good idea.

  He was almost to the last bunk when, suddenly, something made the hairs on his arms stand up. He spun around, but there was nothing. It wasn’t a sound, or anything visible. It was something he felt, and he was still feeling it. Like a sudden change in air pressure. Since the thing with the woman Saturday night, and then the bag, the Chief had activated the red night-lights in the bunk room. O’Brian looked up and down the line of bunks but could see nothing. The only sound was snores and breathing. No one moved. No one even rolled over in his sleep. But there was something, because O’Brian could feel it, and it was building.

  He started to walk back up the line of bunks when an intensely bright light came on and illuminated the entire room. It was like a bolt of lighting hitting close and, for a split second, making night into day. But this wasn’t outside. This was inside and there was no sound, no thunder. And it lasted longer, nearly a full second. When it went out, O’Brian felt blind, actually wondered if he had been struck blind. He groped for the edge of a bunk, gripped it hard and just stood, not knowing what to do.

  As O’Brian’s eyes readjusted to the red-lit room, he started to doubt what happened. The air pressure was normal. Someone sat up, said “What was that,” then laid back down and went back to sleep. One of the snorers changed position and was now only breathing heavily. The same person who coughed earlier, coughed again. The room was otherwise quiet, lit only by the couple of red lights. Should I report it? O’Brian thought. What was there to report? Maybe something went wrong with the lights and they flicked on for a second and then off.

  That was it, of course... or someone turned them on and then off. He turned and hurried out into the passageway and down to the quarterdeck. “Chuck. Did you just flip the lights on in berthing?”

  “Huh?”

  “Someone flipped the lights on, and then off, while I was in there.”

  “Wasn’t me, Greg. You know I’m not allowed to leave this spot.”

  “Yeah. Just checking. You didn’t see nobody, did ya?”

  Norwadski shook his head. “Nope. Quiet as a church on Saturday night around here.”

  “Did you feel anything?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, like the air changed, or pressure or something.”

  “You’re being weird, O’Brian. What’s the pressure of the air got to do with lights going on and off?”

  O’Brian considered it all for a moment and then said, “Yeah. Guess you’re right. Time for this watch to be over. I’ll go wake the relief.” He turned toward berthing.

  “O’Brian,” Norwadski said. “Should I log it in?”

  O’Brian thought for a moment. If he didn’t make whatever it was an official report and the Chief discovers something did happen then his ass would be grass. Maybe t
he Chief did it as a test. Maybe he’s the one who flipped the lights on and off just to see how we would react. “Yeah,” he said to Norwadski and continued on.

  Norwadski wrote, “0327 - Roving patrol reported that the lights in berthing went on and off and saw no one.”

  O’Brian already knew who the relief was and where they slept. He started down the rows of bunks and then saw something lying on the floor. He walked to it and picked up an envelope. Even in the dim red light he could make out the bold lettering.

  Anne Waring.

  He rushed back to the quarterdeck. “Maybe I’m being weird, Norwadski, but this really is weird. Look what I found lying on the floor, the same place as that bag Saturday night.”

  “Wow! That’s the woman, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Log it in. I’m waking the chief.”

  Chapter 18

  Tuesday ~ July 20, 1943

  “Right here? Is that correct O’Brian?” Chief Savage stood on the spot where O’Brian had found the envelope, barefoot with khaki pants and white T-shirt. Every man was out of his bunk and standing at attention, all in their skivvy shorts, some without their white T-shirt.

  “Yes, Chief,” O’Brian said. O’Brian was happy to be on this side of the ass chewing. He was still wearing his web belt and hardhat and felt extra important standing next to the chief; especially knowing he wasn’t in trouble for waking him. He actually did the right thing for a change.

  “Three times, gentlemen. First the woman, then some eight hours later, her baggage, then forty eight hours after that, almost to the minute by the way, this, with the woman’s name on it, shows up in exactly the same spot.” The chief’s voice started low and continued to grow in volume. “I want to know what in the hell is going on here,” he yelled.

  There was silence up and down the two rows of men. Forty-eight bunks, five of which were empty, plus two on watch. Forty-one men stood at attention – none admitting to knowing anything.

  “I’m inclined to keep you all standing here at attention until I get an answer.”

  Dead silence.

  “Petty Officer Polk. Front and center.”

  Polk stepped forward from the bunk nearest the door, did a sharp right turn and marched to where the chief was standing.

  “Petty Officer Polk is going to set up a new watch bill, effective immediately. Two roving patrols. One inside. One outside. Continuous roving. Every thirty minutes they will exchange places. The inside rover will go out and the outside rover will come in. Continuous roving, gentlemen. That means you do not linger to shoot the shit or to take a shit.”

  He looked at the envelope again and paced several times in front of Polk. “But, first I shall inspect every locker, beginning with Petty Officer Polk, who then shall accompany me on the remaining inspections. No man shall move during this process. Polk, assign one man to stand at each end to watch and ensure no one moves.”

  “Smitty, north end. Daniels, south end,” Polk ordered. The two men hustled to their position.

  “Seaman O’Brian,” the chief said. “Remain on watch. Notify the quarterdeck that you two will be relieved when your relief’s lockers are inspected. You will split your roving between inside and out until Petty Officer Polk has a chance to write the new watch bill.”

  “Yes, Chief,” O’Brian said and left for the quarterdeck, quite happy to not have to stand at attention in front of his bunk while the chief inspected all forty-one lockers.

  Monday ~ July 20, 1987

  Jerry turned the Plexiglas-sandwiched five-dollar-bill over in his hands several times. “This is unbelievable. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes...”

  “I haven’t touched it since I put it in there five years ago.”

  “And you believe Steven just now sent it with the letter?”

  “No other explanation.” James looked at Steven.

  “I put money in with the letter but it was all dated before 1943. I’m sure of it.” He pulled out his wallet. “The only other money I had was $15.00, a ten and a five.” He pulled out a ten and looked into the empty compartment. James and Jerry looked at each other and then at the Plexiglas display.

  “I’m the one who discovered it,” James said. “At the time I simply thought it was counterfeit. I did nothing with it. When I found out where Anne came from, I showed it to my mother who asked to keep it. I didn’t see it again until after she died, in 1979. That was when I framed it inside this Plexiglas.”

  “So, you knew he put money in with the envelope,” Jerry said.

  “Yes.”

  “And you knew he inadvertently slipped a five-dollar-bill in with it, dated 1984.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, tell me what just happened.”

  James cleared his throat. “After I framed it in 1979, I didn’t know what to do with it, so I hung it on the wall. Fearing someone would see the date and ask questions, I created a story about how I broke up a counterfeit ring. That actually worked, so there it remained, in my living room where I could see it every day. About five years later, actually Friday, May 18, 1984, I was sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper when there was a sudden flash of light. Very brief but intense, more like a camera flash going off. The air had changed too. I jumped up and looked out the window, but nothing. In a matter of seconds everything felt normal. I walked around and checked all the lights, and the circuit breakers. Everything was fine.

  “And then I saw it, when I started to sit back down with my newspaper. The Plexiglas frame, which had contained that five-dollar-bill for five years, was empty. It took me a while to figure it out, and then it was only a guess. I concluded there would be no way to know for sure until this very moment.”

  Steven picked up the five-dollar-bill, sandwiched between the two sheets of Plexiglas. He looked it over closely then said, “I understand.”

  “What?” Jerry said. “What is so obvious that I’m missing it? What the hell happened?”

  “Basically,” Steven said, “matter cannot coexist with itself.”

  “Exactly,” James concurred.

  Jerry looked between the two agreeing men. “Okay. Clear the fog for me.”

  “Putting it simply, Jerry, if when James removed this from his briefcase and the bill was still in it, and then I pulled the same bill from my wallet... well, that couldn’t happen because it would mean that piece of paper would be existing twice in the same time plane...”

  “... and matter cannot coexist with itself,” Jerry finished. “Now I get it. Back in 1984 when it disappeared from this frame, it probably came into existence at the mint where it was being made.”

  “You’ve got the right idea,” Steven continued, “but I think it goes further than that. The matter, or materials used to manufacture this bill would be a product of whatever materials make up the paper and ink, and whatever those materials came from. That bill, even before it disappeared, may have been only a shadow of itself, though still visible and tangible to some extent, for many years. May 18, 1984 may be the day all the materials were assembled into the one unit you see now, in which case its shadow, or hologram of itself, disappeared. The flash of light may have been the energy dissipating upon its departure.”

  “Okay,” James broke in. “Let me ask you this question, Steven. I’ve racked my brain on this for three years now. If matter, as you say, cannot coexist with itself, then what about the other money you sent, the pre-1943 stuff? Someone had to be carrying the originals in their pockets or it was sitting in a bank vault somewhere. I saw the money. I held it in my hands. It felt real. How do you explain that?”

  “Simple. It will only exist in one place at one time. It would vanish from its old location, be it someone’s pocket, someone’s wallet or purse or piggyback, to arrive in this barracks in 1943.”

  “People probably thought they were robbed.”

  “Or just lost it. So, James, you knew it would reappear here.”

  “I didn’t know for sure. I really had no idea if I would see it again. Th
at’s why I called it an experiment.”

  Steven set the framed five-dollar-bill on the table. “Okay – a wide spectrum of mass. When the team comes in we should be able to build an accurate picture of what it will take to bring her back. Your job, Steven, is to figure out how to do it.”

  “What if I can’t?” He looked at James.

  “You will, Steven. You will.”

  Chapter 19

  Tuesday ~ July 20, 1943

  “Good morning, Dr. Bronson,” offered the young nurse with a sparkle in her eyes.

  Nathaniel felt the flirtatious inflections in the nurse’s voice. He was used to it. At six feet two, broad shouldered, square jawed and trim to the waist, he had a movie star look. He knew it and often hated it. He hated it because he had needs just like every other man, but he had a job and nothing, nothing at all would ever be allowed to get in the way. A woman would try. A woman nearly succeeded, twice. It was so close. So very close.

  He met the only woman he ever let into his life, in a bookstore in 1939, a year before finishing medical school in Chicago. Francine Johnston. Twenty-eight years old. He had urges. He had needs. He swept her off her feet for no other reason, he told himself at the time, than to satisfy those urges and needs.

  And then a year later he had to leave. She begged him not to go. Then she begged him to take her. He stood his ground, cold, and unemotional. He had to. With medical degree in hand it was time to return to his homeland. All he told her was he had obligations elsewhere. She said she loved him and then called him a bastard. Through the stone facade he had erected to make it easier, he still felt the sting. He thought it would be easy; just go and forget about her.