The Unusual Second Life of Thomas Weaver: A Middle Falls Time Travel Novel (Middle Falls Time Travel Series Book 1)

by Shawn Inmon

  “I’m gone,” Thomas turned to say.

  “Wait!” Zack jumped up and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. It was zippered, with a logo that said, “Keep on truckin’.”

  He’s not gonna give me a few bucks, is he?

  Zack unzipped the wallet, then fished out a Trojan condom. “Better safe than sorry, little brother. I’m too young to be an uncle.”

  Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but glanced out and saw the Pinto waiting. “Thanks,” he said, sliding the condom into his back pocket. He opened the slider and bounced down the stairs and through the puddles. Carrie leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. He jumped in and slid into the bucket seat, reached for the seatbelt, then hesitated. Wait a minute. Pinto. Pintos go boom, and I'm not sure when seatbelts became mandatory, but they weren't in 1976. Don’t think I’ll strap myself inside this rolling incendiary device. But, am I willing to ride in it to spend a few minutes alone with Carrie Copeland? You bet your ass.

  Carrie had changed out of her usual shapeless sweater and long skirt. She wore a gray Middle Falls High sweatshirt, a denim jacket several sizes too big for her, and a pair of Levi's. Her hair was pulled back, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

  Beautiful.

  “I’m in your hands. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. I’m taking you to one of my favorite places. I usually go there alone when I sneak out, but…”

  “I’m glad you called. I had started to think I wasn’t going to hear from you.”

  “I wanted some time to think things over. I’ve been on my own for so long, I wasn’t sure what to make of this. Of you.”

  She slipped the Pinto into Drive and pulled out into the night. After just a few blocks, she turned down Patterson Road and then into the parking lot of a small white church. She drove through the normal parking spots and pulled around the side, hidden from the street.

  “Do you think I need church?” Thomas asked.

  “You probably do, but that’s not why we’re here. My dad mows the lawn for the church and I clean the inside, so I know where they keep a key.” She turned the ignition off, but the engine continued to rattle, as though it was thinking of going on without her.

  She saw the look on Thomas’s face and said, “Hey, thirteen lives in, and this car has never left me stranded. How many people can say that?”

  Thomas looked at the church. There were no lights on, inside or out. They got out of the car and sprinted through the rain to the church's small front porch. “Wait here,” ordered Carrie, who ran around to the back of the church. She returned a minute later, partly soaked, holding a key. “I doubt you’ll ever want to, but if you come here without me, there’s a little lean-to at the back of the church. Inside is a coffee can. The key is inside it.” She turned it in the lock.

  A thunk echoed through the church. A small chill ran up Thomas’s back.

  Carrie looked at the hoodie Thomas was wearing. “Glad you brought something warm. I don’t turn the heat on when I’m here. That would waste the church’s money.”

  “I don’t think the shiver was from the cold. It’s a little creepy in here. How about some lights?” Thomas peered ahead, but couldn’t see anything beyond rows of shadows.

  Carrie shook her head. “I’m not really supposed to be in here, so I don’t turn the lights on either. If a parishioner drove by and saw the lights on, the jig would be up. Come on.” She reached down, took his hand, and led him forward into the darkness.

  As his eyes began to adjust, he saw that they were walking between a dozen or so rows of pews. About halfway to the altar, Carrie let go of his hand and sat on the floor.

  “Here. I always bring a candle. Usually, I just come here to think, but sometimes I bring a book and read. Sit down here, with me.”

  Thomas sat. Carrie pulled a votive candle out of her purse, set it between them, and lit it.

  She smiled at him. “This way, even if someone that cares does happen to come by, they won’t be able to see any light. This has been my getaway spot for half a dozen lives or so now.”

  She spoke quietly, but her voice carried. “Nice acoustics in here,” he said.

  She nodded, then began to sing in a soft voice. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.” Her voice was a warm alto, pitch perfect.

  “I had no idea you could sing!” said Thomas, muffling his tone.

  “That’s what about thirty years of high school choir will do for you.”

  “This is so surreal, sitting here with you in a church, in the candlelight. I feel like I want to take a picture, so I’ll always have it.”

  “You can. Look around. Look at me. Close your eyes. Hold it there.”

  Thomas did. The light of the flickering candle caused small shadows to creep up the pews and walls. The stained glass windows let in a tiny amount of ambient light. Carrie sat cross-legged across from him, her damp hair thrown over her shoulder.

  “There. Now you’ll have it forever.”

  Thomas nodded. He knew it was true. “After everything that’s happened to you, do you still believe in all this?” He made a sweeping gesture.

  “Well, that depends. I think you mean church. Religion. The Bible. The who begat who and thou shall nots? No, not really. But, God? Yes, of course I believe in God. Don’t you?”

  “I never have, really. When I was a kid, I just kind of floated along. My family didn’t go to church. If I thought about it at all, I guess I thought that was something I would figure out later. Then, after the accident with Zack, I didn’t want to think about it. Eventually, that hardened into a shell. Nothing has ever cracked it.”

  “I think that’s okay. God doesn’t need you to believe in Him in order to be real. He knows you’re real. I think that’s all that matters.”

  Thomas thought for a minute, smiled. “Will you sing me something else?”

  “Sure.” She sang Let it Be, by the Beatles.

  Pop music, not a hymn, but it sounds like it belongs here. And her voice! I could listen to her forever. No hesitation, either. She has the feel of a comfortable performer.

  Then, Morning Has Broken, another pop song delivered so as to suit their surroundings. Finally, Amazing Grace again, all the verses this time, and slowly, like the spiritual it had once been. When she softly sang the final verse—“When we’ve been there, ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise, than when we’ve first begun,”—Thomas felt a lump in his throat. Tears slid down his cheeks. He looked away and wiped them with the back of his hand.

  Carrie reached out and took his hand in both of hers. “Don’t. That’s how that song is supposed to make you feel. It’s how it makes me feel, too.”

  She leaned forward and kissed Thomas, sweetly, then moved back.

  “And here I thought I was just going to stay home and watch the Muppets tonight.”

  “This is better?”

  “This is better.”

  “I…I probably shouldn’t have kissed you. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I just felt very close to you. I haven’t been able to really feel close to someone for so long. I always knew, on a basic level, that they wouldn’t understand who I am, what I’m going through.”

  “Please don’t be sorry for that. I haven’t been kissed in a very long time. It feels like lifetimes.”

  “But you were an adult. Were you married?”

  “No. I mean, I was once, but it didn’t go very well. I was so, I don’t know…sad all my life. I can’t imagine what it was like, being married to me. I drank a lot, too. In 2016, they called that ‘self-medicating.’ I thought I was just a drunk. Hey, not to change the subject, but I’ve got a question for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “ You remember what I told you about Michael Hollister? What he is going to become, and what he did to Amy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, when I
found Amy, I promised myself that I would do something to get him back for what he did to her.”

  “What did he do? You said you got her back.”

  “I did, but he tied her mouth shut with rubber bands so tight, they cut into her skin. If I hadn’t found her when I did, it would have killed her. Anyway, I’ve been trying to think of something to do to him, but I hadn’t been able to think of anything, until...”

  “Until?”

  “Until I was thinking that you said you worked as a student volunteer in the office. Do they ever leave you alone in the office?”

  Carrie shrugged. “Not often, but sometimes.”

  “Is there a master list of lockers and combinations? Who they’re assigned to?”

  She looked up, thinking. “Yeah, I’ve seen one in there.”

  “How often does someone need it?”

  “At the beginning of the year, every day. Now? Pretty much never. Why?”

  “Could you give it to me? I would just need it for a few minutes, then I would give it back to you.”

  Her eyes narrowed a bit. “Again, Thomas, why?”

  “Because I want to get into Michael’s locker. I owe him.”

  “Does that seem like a good idea to you?”

  “My life is a series of bad decisions.”

  “As mottos go, that one kind of sucks.”

  Thomas looked at her expectantly.

  A sigh. “Boys. I don’t care how many lives I have, I will never understand you. Okay, I’ll see if I can get it without getting in trouble. Still think it’s a bad idea, though.”

  “Noted.” Thomas looked down at his watch. He could barely make it out in the flickering light of the dying candle. “Oh, crap! It’s ten to midnight!”

  “Is that a problem, Cinderella?”

  “Yes. Come on, I’ve got to get home. Zack’s covering for me, but my mom gets off her shift at the hospital in ten minutes. If I’m not home when she gets there, I’ll be grounded for so long, you might never see me again.”

  Carrie blew the candle out. They stood and felt their way to the back of the church. At the double doors, Carrie reached for Thomas’s hand, pulled him toward her, and kissed him again.

  “Still not getting the wrong idea,” Thomas said.

  “Good,” Carrie said, then laughed.

  My God, that’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh. I need to hear that again.

  They made it to 141 Periwinkle Lane at two minutes after midnight. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his mom’s car was not in the driveway.

  “Call me whenever you want. I like your hideaway.”

  “I’ll call you again soon.”

  Thomas was out of the car, in the house, undressed, and pretending to be asleep before Anne pulled in. His dreams that night were happy ones.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  AT SCHOOL THE next day, Carrie stopped Thomas in the hall. “I think you’re bad luck.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “When I got home last night, Dad was standing in the kitchen with a glass of milk, waiting for me.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t great. If he had known I was sneaking off to meet a boy, it would have been a lot worse.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Mostly the truth. That I’d had a hard time sleeping since Mom died, and that I had often gone to the church in the middle of the night, because I feel close to her there.”

  “And he bought that?”

  Carrie scowled. “Yes, he 'bought it.' It’s true. At least, it had been true until last night.”

  “…when you snuck out and met a boy.”

  “I already feel bad enough, lying to Dad. He hasn’t done anything to deserve that.”

  “So what happened?”

  Carrie shrugged. “He grounded me for two weeks. Thirteen lives, zero groundings. One day hanging out with you, and look what happens.”

  Thomas held up his hands, protesting his innocence.

  “Anyway, I think I better stay in for the next few weeks, let things cool off with Dad.”

  "I understand."

  Over the next few weeks, Thomas regretted not having more nights with Carrie, but fell completely into the 1976 groove. The longer he was there, the more 2016 seemed like a dream. Cell phones, Google, and huge flat-screen televisions that got hundreds of channels seemed unreal. School obligations, trying to stay out of hot water with his mom, and getting to know Carrie were things his senses told him were real.

  They hadn’t snuck out since Carrie had been caught and grounded, but one Wednesday afternoon over lunch, they were sitting in the lunch room, when she mentioned that she thought she could risk it again soon.

  Just then, Jimmy Halverson's little brother Randy approached them with three friends. Randy was tall and gangly like his brother, with dirty blond hair and a flare-up of acne across his forehead. He wore a serious expression, as though whatever he had to tell Thomas was important. “So, Tommy. Is this like a science experiment? Find the skankiest girl in school and try to find out what grows in her petri dish? Cuz I think I can save you the time. I don’t know from firsthand experience, of course, but I’ve heard it’s naaasty.”

  Thomas slumped in his seat, then started to push away from the table. That’s enough. Time to do something.

  Carrie reached out and touched his hand, looked deep into his eyes, shook her head. “Please. Don’t,” she whispered.

  Thomas took a deep breath, bottling the desire to smash Randy's bad complexion into the tile floor over and over. He forced himself to smile at Randy. “Randy, you’re even more pathetic than your brother. You want to know something? Your life isn’t going to turn out so hot either. That acne farm you’ve got going there is just getting started.”

  Randy’s hand flew to his forehead, then he forced it down to his side.

  “You’re going to have three kids before you’re twenty-two. Wait until you see who you father them with. You'll remember this day, and reflect on your bad taste. You’ll be divorced before twenty-five. Paying child support on those three kids will keep you in the poorhouse most of your life. Have a good life.” Thomas slowly turned back to Carrie, tensing ever so slightly, as if Randy might hit him.

  Color drained from Randy’s face, accenting his complexion woes. “Whatever. You’re such a loser,” Randy said to Thomas’s back. The words were tough, but any steam was gone from them. He turned and hurried from the lunchroom, entourage in tow.

  “You’ve really got to stop doing that,” Carrie said. “It’s just not a good idea in any way.”

  Thomas nodded. “You’re right. I’ve never been very good at keeping my mouth shut when I should. But on to other business. You know we missed Prom, right?”

  “Nice change of subject, but I’ll play along. Does us missing Prom bum you out? Don’t tell me that when you woke up again in 1976, your first thought was, I’m going to Prom!”

  “Well, no.”

  “Good. It’s not high on my priority list. My turn to change the subject. ” Carrie opened a notebook and took out several sheets of paper, holding row after row of numbers and names. “I shouldn’t reward you for telling people’s misfortunes, but here you go.”

  “Yes! Thank you. I haven’t wanted to bug you about it, but I’m really glad you got it.”

  “I think the information you’re looking for is about halfway down the second page.”

  Thomas flipped to the second page, ran his finger down the column of names until he saw: Hollister, Michael. Locker #726. 04-22-16.

  “Perfect. I’ll copy this down next period and get it back to you. Now, one more favor.”

  “Sorry, that’s my limit for the day.”

  “Can we meet Friday night?” Thomas asked.

  “It’s harder for me to get away on weekends. Dad doesn’t work on Saturday, so he doesn’t conk out right at nine, like he does the rest of the week. Plus, we just got caught. If he catches me again, I’ll be grounded for the r
est of this life.”

  “Can’t you tell him you’re going to go spend the night with a friend?”

  “Sure, that could work, except I don’t have any friends. Except for you, that is. And I don’t want to lie to my Dad.”

  I should probably let that pass. Then he didn't. “So, sneaking out is okay, but lying, not so much? Got it." He saw her eyes flicker, softened his tone. "Okay, how about if we wait until eleven? Will he be asleep by then?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will be. He almost never stays up that late. Why is it important to get together Friday?”

  “It just is. I miss you. Is that a crime? Whaddya say?”

  “Ohhh...all right, all right.”

  The smile in her eyes went right to his soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  THOMAS PUT HIS plan into action the next day. During first period, where he could see Michael sitting in his accustomed front row seat, Thomas raised his hand. “Mr. Burns? I’m not feeling so hot. Can I go to the bathroom?”

  Mr. Burns stared at him, annoyed. The students around him twittered. “Not feeling so hot,” and “go the bathroom,” meant only one thing. Diarrhea is funny to almost every teenager. “Fine, Mr. Weaver.” He jotted a quick note on a pad. “Here’s your hall pass. Don’t dawdle.”

  Thomas walked very deliberately to the front of the room, grabbed the note, and hustled for the door. Once outside, he speed-walked to the stairs, took them two at a time, then hurried to his own locker. He dialed his combination, but his locker wouldn’t open. Slow down, Weaver. He took a deep breath, re-entered the combination, and it opened. He reached in and removed a small brown bag, tucking it inside his jacket, then walked to locker 726. Another deep breath. He entered the combination he had memorized and felt the door pop open.

  Neat as the first day of school, the inside of Michael Hollister’s locker smelled strongly of cologne. The small top shelf held a zippered lunch box—the kind a busy salesman might take out in the field—and a small white bottle with a red top. Thomas reached out and turned the bottle so he could read the label. Old Spice? If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was the middle-aged man stuck in a teenager’s body, not me. What kind of a kid wears Old Spice? A freak, that’s who. Below the shelf, a white windbreaker hung on one hook. A stack of books sat at the bottom of the locker, spines up.