Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “I can’t. It hurts too much,” she said to him, the pain in her voice very real.

  “Why in the devil did you run like that? Suicidal? You’re lucky that’s all you broke!” He picked her up. As he stepped into the clearing, she looked for Elizabeth Anne. She was gone, as Anne had hoped, but now she felt empty and alone. James was laying on his back, still unconscious, half propped up against a gravestone, just as he had fallen.

  “Wait! I have to know that James is all right, that he’s not dead.”

  Bronson kept moving toward the car.

  “Please,” she whined. “I promise not to do anything stupid.”

  He stopped, thought for a few seconds and then turned to where James was laying. “I’ll check him. It’s not in his best interest to wake up and start another fight.” He sat her down where she could lean against a grave marker, and then let loose of her. “I trust you’re not going to try to run again.”

  She pointed to her obviously swollen foot. “What do you think?” She asked as she winced.

  He knelt beside James and placed his fingers up under his neck. “His pulse is strong. He’ll probably wake up with a terrible headache.”

  “Move him so his neck is not bent so.”

  Bronson straightened up and gave her a dirty look.

  “Please, make him more comfortable and then you can take me wherever you wish. My baby is gone, forty-four years away from me, so there’s nothing to live for right now. You can do anything you wish. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Actually, that wasn’t the truth. She couldn’t tell him everything she knew, or somehow wouldn’t, or if she did she was certain it would not get to Hitler. At least she was as certain as she could be under the logic she had developed. She was convinced she couldn’t change history so her being here was part of history. If she did change the outcome of the war then everything after that would change and likely her parents would never have met. She wouldn’t even exist, and if she was never created how could she be here now? That was it. Plain and simple. She was meant to be here to ensure history developed as it was written. It made no sense but what else was there to hope on? Her meeting with Robert Oppenheimer had to happen for him to continue on with his work. It all had to happen and it was her presence that ensured it would. She also understood that whatever Bronson did with her was meant to be. She also knew that didn’t mean giving up.

  She actually was only giving in to him now. This chapter was over. Elizabeth Anne was out of harm’s way, back home. Now she just had to figure out how to do the same for herself. Her logic said that she would also make it home, or die trying. She would be born in 1963 and all common sense said she could not exist twice in the same time frame, once as a newborn and once as a forty-four-year-old woman. She would either have returned to her own time to continue her one life or die between now and 1963. She had to get back home. She refused to envision Elizabeth Anne growing up motherless.

  “I wish we had a blanket or something for him,” Anne said as Bronson laid him out on the flat ground. He removed the handcuffs attached to James’ belt and searched until he found the key.

  “He’ll be fine.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.” He started to pull her toward the car. She didn’t fight him. Instead, she grabbed hold of him and tried hopping on one foot. He swore, picked her up, carried her the rest of the way, and then gently helped her get into the passenger side. When he got in and backed onto the road, she asked him where they were going. He said nothing. She leaned against the door and didn’t think any more about her situation or about the pain in her ankle. She thought only of Elizabeth Anne and wondered if she would ever see her again.

  Chapter 65

  Saturday ~ November 13, 1943

  The pain was horrible, the pounding in his head, the painful stiffness in his neck. James forced himself to a sitting position, then slowly, as his neck would allow, looked around. It was dark except for what the near full moon could illuminate. Bronson was gone. Anne and Elizabeth were gone.

  He searched about the graveyard, finding only the empty carriage and Anne’s lantern sitting next to it, unlit. Grabbing the lantern, he made it as quick as he could to the cabin. It was cold; with an emptiness that reached deeper into him than the cold could ever do, straight to the center of his fear. From the hot coals in the stove, and a sliver of wood, he relit the lantern, and looked at the neat stacks she left. She had sorted and identified everything as to who got what. She said she was going to do that because she couldn’t take it all. Besides, most of it was borrowed from his mother or Gertie.

  “I came with Steven’s athletic bag,” she said. “I’ll leave with it. Don’t need anything but what will fit in it.” The athletic bag was sitting next to the door. James picked it up and looked around. He failed her. He could only think the worst, had to think the worst. He was so in love with her but could never touch her. He had kissed her on the forehead like a father and on the cheek like a brother but never on the lips like the lover to her he wanted to be. He could never touch her in that way and would have gone his entire life taking care of her as a father or brother. He would have given his entire life for her. He had in fact vowed to her that he would always protect her, but here he was. Defeated! A failure!

  He set the bag down and then headed back to the graveyard.

  James was halfway down the road when a light appeared near the graveyard. Someone was carrying a burning lantern. He immediately dowsed his own and watched as it disappeared behind the trees, into the area of Reverend Nelson’s grave. He broke into a run. It couldn’t be Anne. I have her lantern. Could it be Bronson returning for some reason, maybe for me? Why?

  Who else could it be?

  The pain in his head began pounding with every step, with every beat of his heart. When he reached the place to turn off the road, he could see the glow from the lantern, but he couldn’t see the lantern or the person who was carrying it. He moved as quietly and as quickly as he could toward the grave marker behind which the person must be crouched or sitting. There was no visible movement, only the flicker of the lamplight in the trees.

  A trap! Maybe it was Bronson and he saw me before I dowsed my lantern. He’s drawing me in so he can jump me from behind.

  James laid the lantern on the ground and began circling wide, away from the trees where someone could be hidden.

  When he could see the lamp, he could also see the feet of someone, sitting with his back to the gravestone. No! It’s not a man, James realized as he moved on around. It’s a woman and it can only be Anne! Oh, God, yes! And then he ran toward and around to the back of the grave marker and looked down at the woman, sitting, resting, her hands in her lap, her face turned up to him. “Ma!”

  “I couldn’t stand waiting, James. These old legs are stronger than I thought, but I’m tired.” She sighed. “I already miss her, miss them both. It’s hard to imagine I’ll never see them again. Did you get here in time? Did you say good-bye for me? Did you tell her I love her?”

  James bowed his head, dropped to his knees, then sat next to his mother and took her in his arms. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he cried.

  After he told her everything that happened, they sat together in silence, feeling the deathly stillness of the night, where even the crickets seemed silent in protest of the failed event.

  “What are we going to do, James?”

  “I don’t know, Ma,” he sniffled. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter 66

  Friday ~ November 13, 1987

  Voices.

  No words.

  Just noisy voices in the distance.

  Disturbing.

  Tired. Very tired. Go back to sleep. Tell the voices to go away.

  Can’t move. Can’t talk. Go away people. Let me sleep.

  Silence.

  The voices stopped.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. He moved his head.”

  Voices again. Closer. Louder.

  “James.
Can you hear us?”

  Go away. Need to sleep.

  “I think he went back to sleep.”

  “Yeah. But he moved. Means he’s recovering.”

  “You should have warned him. I think the shock of seeing you and then only seeing little Elizabeth was too much at one time.”

  “Hmm. Maybe.”

  What are they talking about? I need to tell them to leave. Can’t move my mouth. Dry. So dry. Water. Need some water.

  “There! He’s trying to talk.”

  “Hand me the water. I’ll help him get some moisture.”

  I don’t need help drinking. Who are these people? Too blurry to see them.

  “James. Here’s some water. I’m just going to wet your lips. Okay? It’s a very wet cloth. Should help you get some moisture.”

  I can do it. Just let me have it.

  “No, James. Let me do it for you. Just let your arm lie still. You don’t need to get excited.”

  Who is this woman? An old woman. I can see her face now, but I don’t know her.

  “Sam, help me here.”

  “James. You’re in the hospital. You need to relax and let us help you.”

  Hospital?

  “That’s better, dear. Just relax and let things come back to you slowly.”

  James rolled his head, taking in the stark hospital room, the hat rack of IV bottles with tubes running into his body, the bed rails, a machine – beep... beep... beep. A good thing. Means I’m alive, still. Was I shot?

  “Here. Let me wet your lips with this now.”

  James felt the moisture on his lips, tried to suck some of it onto his tongue, which was more like an old dried up sponge.

  “Good! Now try this.”

  Gentle woman. Nice voice.

  “Here is some water with a straw. I’ll hold it while you see if you can get some of it.”

  Good! More! Feels good on my teeth. Oh! Hurts to swallow. “Enough,” James said but it sounded more like, “Nuf.”

  “Okay, James. Don’t want to do too much. How are you feeling?”

  “Like... run over by a truck.”

  Francine had to strain to understand his words. “Your chest probably hurts because Howard and Jerry did CPR on you. They saved your life.”

  “What... happened?”

  “You had a heart attack.”

  HEART ATTACK!

  “You’re in Trident Hospital.”

  “Did...” James signaled for more water. “Did Anne...?”

  “We’ll talk about that when your strength is back. Right now there’s someone who wants to see you. Sam has gone to find her.”

  Anne?

  “She was here just before you woke up.”

  “Anne!” James tried to move but Francine restrained him with a hand on his chest.

  “No, James. It’s not Anne. It’s Abigail.”

  Abby?

  “I think she is out advising the nurses on how to do their jobs.”

  “Abby?” Abigail and Anne. The two loves of his life. James stared up at the ceiling. Heart attack! What was I doing? Waiting for Anne. Why is Abby here? He looked at the woman hovering over him. “Who are you?” he asked as slow and as clearly as he could.

  “Who am I? I’m Francine Frick. My husband, who is looking for Abigail, is Sam. That’s all you need to know for right now. You need to rest and get your health back.”

  “Hmm!” He fell back asleep.

  When James awoke again he came alert much faster. As a matter of fact, he felt little different from when he awoke from his own bed each morning, except for tubes and wires running to his body, and his mouth feeling like desert sagebrush. He spotted the straw standing in a glass of water, rolled to reach for it and spotted someone sitting in a chair across the room, asleep.

  “Abby!” he said quietly.

  He sucked up some water and noted how well she looked and realized how much he missed her. How did they know to call her? He considered that for a moment and then thought of his driver’s license. Of course.

  It had only been four months; it seemed like much longer. Now he wanted to talk to her; wished she would wake up. He spotted a book on the bedside table, tried to reach it – couldn’t – and then used the straw to push it until it fell – with a thump – to the floor.

  She didn’t stir.

  “Abby,” he called, but only a raspy garble came out. He took another drink, rolled it around in his mouth, swallowed and cleared his throat.

  “Abby!”

  She opened her eyes, smiled and then went to him. With his hand in hers she said, “How are you feeling?”

  “Wonderful. Why are you here?”

  She gave him a funny look. “Why am I here? Despite the last four months, you’re still my husband and I still love you. Besides, no one can nurse you better than I can.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Are you through with whatever it was you had to do?”

  With a flash James’ mind went to the last thing he remembered before finding himself in Trident Hospital. Elizabeth Anne – alone – screaming and then the joy at seeing Abby began fading and he knew immediately she saw it on his face. “I need to talk to Jerry.”

  “You know, James, in the forty-plus years I’ve put up with your police business, you’ve never kept any of it from me except this... whatever this is, this thing you’ve always had to do.”

  “I’ve never cheated on you, Abby.”

  “I can’t imagine you would make trips to South Dakota and Boston and now Charleston for another woman. Charlotte has plenty of opportunity. I’m not going to say I didn’t consider it. Back in ‘63 when you took off for North Dakota, I was worried. Remember the fight we had? Eighteen years together and all of a sudden there was a secret and there was nothing I could do to get you not to go, or to tell me why you were going. And your mother – just as bad. ‘It’s just something he has to do,’ she told me and clammed up just like her son. She knew, didn’t she?”

  James said nothing.

  “Well, she did. Maybe that’s what kept me from leaving you. Whatever it was – still is – she approved so I couldn’t imagine it being another woman. Am I at least right on that count, James?”

  Confirm or deny. Either one would be a lie. To say anything, though, would be cracking open the seal on the only secret he’d kept from her for forty-four years.

  “And it’s always been the same thing, hasn’t it? At least yearly trips; sometimes more often. I got to where I could plan it on my calendar. March 18 or 19, just before the first day of spring, you would head off to wherever. Fargo, North Dakota for many years and then it was like whoever or whatever you went to see moved to Boston. And then in 1979, right after your mother died and you found out what she was worth, you announced your retirement and told me you were moving to Boston, that we needed a little time apart.” Abigail looked up at the ceiling. “How long did you think I’d be happy sitting at home waiting? But, like an idiot, I did. Four years with you paying me occasional visits. Except for that, the first time in ‘63 and now, it has never been more than three or four days at a time.”

  She started to pull away but he held onto her hand. “I’m sorry, Abby. All I can say is, I think it’s over. That’s why I need to talk to Jerry.”

  “Jerry.” Her voice fell away as though caught in a passing breeze. She tried to pull away again. “Please, let go of my hand.”

  James wanted so badly to pull her close to him so he could feel the warmth of her body, and then tell her everything. Instead, he relaxed his muscles and she slid from his grasp. Forty-four years ago he lost Anne and now, after 44 years he was losing Abby. He closed his eyes and felt the emptiness inside him.

  “Jerry, whoever the hell he is, is supposed to be here in about an hour,” Abby said. “You should be out tomorrow morning, against my better judgment. What kind of hospital allows a man to go home 36 hours after a heart attack?” she added and the
n went out the door.

  “Abby... .” James watched the door slowly shut and wondered if she was coming back.

  By the time that James expected Jerry’s arrival, every attachment had been removed except the heart monitor. The nurse told him the doctor would be in to meet with him in the morning and then, unless he saw something unusual, he would be released. “The doctor will also talk to you about diet and life style,” she added.

  James nervously waited, feeling each second tick by with the beating of the monitor. He had no clock or watch to know the time. It was 4:45 by the nurse’s watch when she left and that seemed like ages ago. He was afraid to close his eyes; afraid he would fall asleep and Jerry wouldn’t wake him. Even though they were no longer administering the drug that caused him to sleep, he still felt drowsy. “A side effect of the heart medicine,” the nurse said. “Keeps the heart from getting too excited.”

  But his mind kept drifting – back to that night in 1943 when he cried in his mother’s arms. She tried to convince him that Anne made it, questioned him thoroughly about the timing – how long did he fight with Bronson? Was it long enough that she was gone by the time James was knocked unconscious? She seemed to think that was the case and Bronson disappeared or was picked up by a U-boat.

  He was convinced she was right, had no other choice but to assume the best, but he still always feared the worst. In the weeks after, the APB, the posters, the wandering in the back areas talking to people, turned up nothing – until the summer of ‘46. Cleanup along the beaches following a hurricane turned up an old beach house. Officials found some suspicious looking radio equipment stashed behind what was left of its outhouse. The sheriff was called, who then called the commanding officer at the Charleston Naval Base, who called Admiral Wilson Harris. It was Admiral Harris who contacted Officer Lamric. Together they visited the spot where the outhouse used to be.

  There wasn’t much left to see. By the time the radio equipment – which was German – was discovered, the beach house had been stripped and its contents were gone.