“Your father just can’t stand to be home. He doesn’t believe in home,” his mother had told him and his brother when they were teenagers. “He loves you very much, and insists he does this so you can live a comfortable life, but we all know he needs to be on the road, living out of a suitcase in a different city every night. I think your father wishes he were a rock star.”
Marilyn had never told them about the drug addiction he fought, or the dozens of women he had slept with, but Martin had grown to suspect these things after having more adult conversations with his mother. He sensed that she hated the man, but didn’t want to say anything to tarnish his reputation as the head of the family. She had shouldered a lot of pain when the boys were teenagers in need of a man to guide them, and essentially raised them on her own.
Looking back, Martin wouldn’t have it play out any differently. Marilyn Briar was the hardest working person he knew, and her constant display of fighting through every day is likely what kept him alive during the barrage of suicidal thoughts in the years following Izzy’s death.
Martin didn’t even cry when his father passed away. At the funeral, it felt more like a distant relative lying in the casket instead of the man responsible for giving him life. He had so many questions he wanted to ask his mother about him, but always held back, noting the obvious pain that swelled behind her eyes every time his father’s name was mentioned.
He imagined a family running through the halls of his new, massive house. Kids gathering around the dining room table for dinner every night. It was the best way he could imagine what kind of home it truly was. And it was perfect, everything he could have asked for thirty years ago. But today, Sonya was beyond her child-bearing days.
There would be no kids to fill the bedrooms, no family gatherings to fill the living room, but it was a home, and exactly the start of a new life he needed with Sonya.
63
Chapter 8
When October arrived so did the moving trucks, ready to pack up both Martin’s and Marilyn’s lives and move them across town to Littleton, Colorado. Martin never thought he’d have the opportunity to pay for professional movers, and took great pride in watching them haul loads of boxes without him having to touch a damn thing.
“As soon as we get unpacked and settled in I want to sit down and make a clear plan. We need an exact date for when we’ll be going back, along with where we want to try to live, and what our story will be for anyone who asks. We also need an escape plan in case we get spotted by those Road Runners.”
Martin explained this in his empty apartment as the movers took the last box out and took their journey two blocks down to his mother’s house that would take a lot more than the twenty-five minutes needed to pack up his tiny apartment.
“I’m having a hard time finding anything on my grandfather, but I’m pretty sure he’s still in Denver in 1919. It was never mentioned that he went—or was sent—anywhere else.”
“There’s got to be something we can at least follow as a lead. We’ll find it.”
Martin and Sonya left his apartment for the final time and drove to his mom’s house.
When they arrived a couple of minutes later, they found Marilyn sitting outside on the front porch crying as the movers ran in and out of her house with boxes and furniture.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Martin asked, hurrying over to her. “Did the movers break something?”
“No,” she sobbed. “My mind is the only thing that’s broken. It’s starting to get worse. I was on the phone with a friend and she asked where we’re moving to, and I couldn’t remember. I still can’t remember. You’ve told me a dozen times and I just don’t know.”
Marilyn rubbed her forehead in frustration as if trying to press the thoughts back into her skull.
“Mom, it’s okay. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. We’re moving to Littleton.”
“Littleton. That’s right.”
Martin could see the light in her mind turn on as she remembered. The fact that there was still a light in her head was a good sign.
Marilyn leaned in to Martin and whispered. “I’m so sorry, dear, but I’ve forgotten your girlfriend’s name. I think she’s too new for me to remember.”
“That’s okay. Her name is Sonya.”
“Sonya, okay… that’s a pretty name.”
There was no look of remembrance to this information.
Sonya hung back a few steps away from the porch, leaving a path for the movers.
“Mom, I’m going to buy you some puzzle books. Things like crosswords, word searches, and those hard Sudoku ones you like. You need to try and do these every day. They say it helps slow the decline of Alzheimer’s. So does reading, so I’ll get you a library card when we move so you can stock up as many books as you need.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
Marilyn’s tears slowed down, her son comforting her with a strong embrace. Sonya served them all a glass of lemonade as they watched the movers pack away the rest of the house over the next two hours.
* * *
The movers finished unloading everything into the new house by four in the afternoon. Martin ran to his new liquor store, sure to introduce himself to the staff, and bought an expensive bottle of wine, something he rarely drank but knew Sonya and his mom would enjoy.
Sonya ordered pizza for dinner and they all sat on their new deck overlooking the Rocky Mountains, drinking merrily and stuffing their bellies. Life was perfect and Martin looked forward to plenty more evenings just like this one.
Marilyn pulled him aside after dinner, while Sonya cleaned up, and thanked him for letting her move in with them.
“It’s going to be ugly, and if it gets too hard, feel free to admit me into a special home—”
“Mom, I’m not doing that; stop with that nonsense. You dedicated your life to me; this is the least I can do.”
Martin kissed her goodnight and watched her disappear down the long hallway to her new bedroom suite, complete with its own bathroom and small living room to lounge in.
When he returned to the kitchen, Sonya put away the final dish.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Ready for what?”
“To plan our trip.”
“Already?”
“I want to move quickly, possibly even leave tomorrow. I have an idea to help my mom with her disease, but I want to do this first.”
For Martin the math was simple. He could leave tomorrow—or even tonight—spend a few months in 1919, and only ten minutes will have passed in 2018. Then he could travel to the future in search of an Alzheimer’s cure—there had to be one.
All that would see only twenty minutes pass, even if he spent ten years in the future seeking a cure. He’d leave Sonya behind for the trip to the future, unsure of how long he’d need to stay. He wanted them to spend their lives in the new home they just bought, not in some unknown future.
“Take out the laptop, so I can dig into your grandfather’s past. There’s gotta be something we can use.”
Sonya obliged and put the laptop on the dining room table.
“What all have you searched for?”
“Just his name.”
“Sonya, you’re never going to find anything that way. You have to be more specific.”
He wanted to tell her she had been wasting her time, but having such a powerful search engine was a new concept for her, so he let it slide.
“Google will give you whatever you want, so you’ve got to give it more details. Let me show you.”
Martin opened the search engine and typed in Charles Heston.
“Look at how ridiculous this is. It pulled 1.5 million results in half a second. It even tells you that.”
He pointed to the small gray print that showed these statistics as Sonya peered over his shoulder.
“You’re not going to find anything that way. It’s a virtual needle in a haystack. This entire first page is all about an old actor named Charlton Heston
, and I’m sure there are hundreds of pages all about him.”
“I’m so sorry, Marty, I didn’t know. I was going to click through all of these pages until I found something.”
“It’s okay. Let’s see what happens when we narrow our search terms.”
Martin entered Charles Heston Colorado and hit the enter key.
“There we go, only 330,000 results came back by adding that one word—a bit more manageable. Let’s try others.”
Martin opened multiple tabs and Sonya watched as if he were performing a magic trick.
“You said there were theories that he was an outlaw, a spy, and a mental asylum patient?”
“Those are the rumors I know of.”
“Let’s try those.”
Martin entered Charles Heston spy, Charles Heston outlaw, Charles Heston mental asylum into each of the tabs.
“Still a lot of results on Charlton Heston, but these should be easier to skim through and find something that might stand out.”
Martin clicked around as Sonya pulled up a seat beside him. He clicked through the numerous tabs, adding Colorado to each search term for the best results. Sonya remained silent as she kept up with his fast scrolling down the pages.
After ten minutes of silence, Martin exclaimed, “Here we go!”
He clicked on a link and waited anxiously for the page to load.
An old newspaper clipping from The Denver Post filled the screen. The article’s image was a mugshot of man with a deranged appearance: bulging eyes, wild hair, and a wide grin as he held the letter board in his fingers.
HESTON, CHARLES
10 14 1919
They both studied the letter board and looked from it to the man’s face.
“It fits the time frame. What does the article say?”
Martin read aloud.
“Denver, Colorado. A suspected English spy, Charles Heston, has finally been captured after a four year run from the law. Mr. Heston is suspected to have lived multiple lives across the country under different aliases. He has fathered children with at least four known wives around the country. His most recent wife, Maryanne Heston (nee. Bowman) reported her husband to the local authorities after learning of his secret identity. He is set to stand trial in December and is pleading an insanity defense.”
“Maryanne Bowman. That’s my grandmother. I never knew her as Heston, and now I know why.”
“Sounds like all of the rumors you heard were true. He really was an English spy, and an outlaw on the run. And I’ll bet he somehow won his insanity plea and got sentenced to an asylum.”
“I can’t believe I’m related to this man,” Sonya said, holding her hand to her open mouth. “Four different families that they know of. What a scumbag.”
“So what exactly do you want to do if we go back to 1919?”
“Oh, we’re going. And I’d love to stab him in the dick.”
Martin giggled. Sonya rarely showed an angry side, but when she did, made sure it counted.
“I need more than that before I can agree to go. This doesn’t need to be some game of revenge.”
“I can get revenge without getting my hands dirty. What if we’re the ones who turn him in? We can go back, live in the city for a while, and spill all the facts to the police. Then we can be there to watch him get arrested, and even stay for his trial and see what happens. I think back then the asylum was a harsher punishment than going to prison.”
Martin tried to put himself in her shoes and thought if that was worth the trip one hundred years back in time. He didn’t enjoy the thought of having to follow people around, but what else would ever be an option when traveling through time? If they wanted to change a part of the past, there would always be a need to follow someone.
After the botched attempt of saving Izzy’s life, this proposed trip seemed tame in comparison. Besides, it was only ten minutes to him, and he could live like a king in that era.
“Okay, let’s go. If he gets arrested in October, maybe we should plan to get there in August or September, what do you think?” Martin asked.
Sonya stared at the screen blankly, clearly concentrating on her thoughts and not the computer.
“Let’s say early September. Do you get to decide which day we arrive?”
“I honestly don’t know. All he told me was to think of the time I want to go to and drop the Juice on my tongue. I suppose I can think of a certain date and see what happens.”
“Let’s say September first. It could take a couple weeks to find him, then we can figure out how to get him to confess.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Now where should we plan to live? What’s our story for ‘moving’ to Denver in 1919?”
“We don’t need to explain anything to anyone. If anyone feels the desire to ask, tell them the truth: you’re a postal worker.”
“I don’t know if that’s going to work in this era. People know each other. They know who their postman is. It’s not like today where you’d never know if the Pope was dropping off your mail.”
Sonya nodded. “You can always say you’re a writer covering stories in Denver for Colorado Springs. Who says you have to be from a different state?”
“I like the writer angle, but I’m still gonna go with a different state. I don’t want to risk anything. We could meet someone from Colorado Springs, and they could throw all sorts of doubt our way. I’ll pick some remote place like New Hampshire. What are the odds of meeting someone from there? I never have.” Sonya shrugged. “I don’t know much about the landscape in 1919, but I think we should stay in a central place near the capitol. If we get spotted by the Road Runners, it’s easier to lose them in a crowded space instead of a secluded one.”
“Makes sense. How are we supposed to know what these people look like?”
Martin had never told her about the golden glow around his skin, figuring it was best to not have her in a constant paranoid state of staring at everyone’s skin. He didn’t even know if she’d be able to see it since she wasn’t a time traveler.
“We don’t have a way of knowing for sure,” he said. “All they warned me was that they will try to be overly kind to try and lure us in. So it’s important to be careful who you become friends with. In fact, it’s best if we don’t really become friends with anyone. I’m not saying to not speak to anyone, but we have to be careful about accepting invitations for dinner and things like that.”
Sonya crossed her arms, clearly unsatisfied with the terms, but Martin had rules to uphold if they didn’t want to end up in the wrong hands.
“It’s not as thorough as a plan as I would’ve liked, but there’s only so much we can prepare for. We’ll have to take another day when we arrive and really set something in place. I say we leave tomorrow.”
“I’ve been thinking about the money,” Sonya said dismissively. “We can’t take any with us because the bills won’t look the same. Did you even think of that?”
Martin’s brow drooped immediately at the thought. No, he hadn’t thought of that, and she was absolutely right. The currency was different in 2018 compared to 1919, and that was something they would surely consider counterfeiting and throw them in prison for.
“Is there anywhere we can get old currency?”
“Not for an even exchange. Those old bills are rarely seen in circulation any more. It would have been easier to get some in 1996, but I’ve looked it up already and you can only find them from collectors. And they don’t even have that much for us to take.”
Martin nodded. “Well, I was hoping to not have to do it again, but it works. Betting on sports is how I made all of my money in 1996. I already knew the results because I looked them up and made bets with bookies when I was visiting.”
“Well, we’re gonna need something. We can get jobs that pay like twenty cents an hour.”
Martin laughed. “No, we’re not going to do that. Besides, that puts us at a greater risk by encountering more people. It’s too risky.”
“And dealing with
bookies isn’t risky?” Sonya snapped at him.
“It is in a different way, but that’s usually only when you lose and don’t pay up. I think I’ll play it much differently this time, lose some bets on purpose to keep them less suspicious. In 1996 I was so excited to win sure money that I wasn’t thinking straight. The bookies were getting very suspicious after I won a couple of questionable bets.”
“If you think it’s safe, then I don’t see why not.”
“Perfect. I’ll do some research on games to bet on, and if you can go buy at least one of those older bills for us to take. We’ll need something when we arrive to stay in a hotel for a couple of days until we can get everything figured out.”
“Tomorrow? You sounded like you were ready to leave first thing in the morning.”
“I’d like to, but I’m tired now. And, besides, we need to bless our new bedroom, if you know what I mean.”
“Martin Briar,” she gasped. “Your mother is in this house.”
“Yeah, on a different floor on the opposite side.”
Sonya smirked as she grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the kitchen table. Life felt normal, and the thought of traveling back in time one hundred years was the furthest thing from their minds when they made love that night.
64
Chapter 9
The night dragged for Sonya. She had no problem falling asleep, but wished she never had. Her brain threw a horrendous barrage of nightmares and dark thoughts on the eve of their trip to 1919.
Her first dream sequence took her to Colorado Springs, to the cemetery where her mother was buried. Only instead of a green, welcoming cemetery, the grass was dead, the trees bare and black as if charred by a fire, crows cawing from high up on the charcoal branches.
All of the tombstones lay flat on the ground between dead flowers. Except for one.
She walked slowly, the lifeless grass crunching with each step, and as she approached the only visible tombstone, she smelled the lingering odor of smoke.
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 35