PLAY ON

by Marilynn Halas

  “He’s just being a big brother, I guess,” Maggie whispered.

  “Then Uncle Joe looked at my hand.” Dillon opened his palm to reveal his brand, Living. “He told me not to forget everything he told me. I nodded, and just before Grandma sent me up to bed, I noticed the guitar there just leaning against the wall. When I woke up, I was in the ICU with a major headache and starving, which is weird because I ate a huge amount of that chicken potpie.”

  Thomas was fascinated. “It makes me wonder if that’s what happens to a lot of critically ill people in the hospital.”

  “You know, it could be,” Maggie agreed. “We are trained to believe these patients are hallucinating or delirious, but most of us think they are visiting loved ones who have died.”

  “What if it’s a regular application of string theory happening right before our eyes every day?” Thomas said. “What if the timeline folds and the seriously ill patients move between dimensions all the time?” Thomas began writing in his notes again.

  “All things considered, it was the best experience I’ve had so far,” Dillon said. “You know, except for the heart attack, which I really don’t recommend, Dad.” Dillon took Ryan’s third donut out of his hand.

  That night, Tom read over his dad’s notes again and again. He knew it had to be there, right in front of him, but he couldn’t see it. What was the pull that made time fold itself in half? Her brother wanting Maggie to take it easy on herself was nice, but it couldn’t possibly be the only message. What was so important that it kept Danny in limbo and made Dillon time travel?

  October 18, 2011

  It was two in the morning when Tom finally went to bed. He was still confused, but hopeful that Dillon’s lab results would give his dad an insight soon. Maybe he should suggest that his dad get blood samples from Dillon’s parents; maybe there was a genetic predisposition for this? Could time travel run in families? Tom didn’t know, but it felt good to have a new theory. He got up and went to see his dad. Thomas didn’t appreciate being woken up, but he couldn’t help feel proud that questions of genetic predisposition kept his son awake at night.

  Later that day, Thomas collected Ryan’s and Maggie’s blood samples and ran the tests. When the results came back, Thomas retested again and again. This was definitely not what he expected. He had known Maggie and Ryan for a long time, but he had no idea how he was going to talk to them about this. Deciding it just wasn’t possible, Thomas ran the tests for a fifth time. No change. Dillon’s blood type matched his parents’, but his DNA did not.

  October 20, 2011

  Sara was in the ring again, working with a colt she had named Shamrock. She called him "Rocky" most of the time because he was a real fighter. He kicked and bolted and was all around unpleasant once he had even a bridle on, let alone a saddle. He was a nuisance for sure, but Sara liked his spirit. “Giddy-up, come on now,” Sara whispered as she led him around on the lunge line. Faster and faster he went, finally channeling his energy into running instead of resisting. It was as though he had discovered his purpose in life right there in that moment. He looked at Sara as if to say, “Thank you. Now I understand.”

  Thomas took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. What the heck was he supposed to do now? He was fine dealing with string theory and inter-dimensional time travel, but getting in the middle of family business gave him the creeps. Hoping for a miracle, he checked again, but the results had no pity on him. They were unmoved by his situation and glared at him from the page. Thomas lifted the phone.

  “Maggie? Yeah, hi, it’s Thomas.”

  “Hi, Thomas. Are you finished with your tests? He’s fine, right? All your tests show no lasting damage? He’s healthy?”

  “Yes, Maggie, Dillon is fine. In fact, he’s just great, but is there something you maybe forgot to tell me about?”

  “No, why? What are you getting at, Thomas?”

  Suddenly, Thomas wished he had just asked her to meet him for coffee. He thought he could hide behind the phone, but this was worse. How could he ask about Dillon’s lineage on the phone? The receiver in Thomas’s hand began to slip, and he realized that his palms were sweating.

  “Maggie? The blood work came back.”

  “So? Dillon is type O negative. What’s the problem?”

  “I took your blood and Ryan’s too, remember?”

  “Yes, so? I’m O negative and so is Ryan. Again, I don’t see the problem.”

  Thomas groaned. “Please don’t make me tell you what you have got to know already.”

  Maggie was silent and then she let out a small breath. “Oh Thomas,” she stammered. “You didn’t just type the blood, or check for environmental markers did you? You ran the DNA?”

  “Yes. Does Dillon know?”

  “No, he doesn’t have a clue and I’m begging you, please don’t tell him.”

  “Maggie, don’t you think he has a right to know the truth?”

  October 22, 2011

  Dillon liked the new twist on their theory almost as much as he liked the sound of the guitar solo on Brad Pearlman’s new single. He played and played it until he had it just right, and then he waited. Any minute now Danny would show up and Dillon planned to knock his socks off. Dillon was so busy playing that he didn’t notice Tom was there until he heard his mom offer them some cookies.

  “That sounds pretty good,” Tom said as he sat down to listen. “It almost doesn’t stink.”

  Dillon threw his guitar pick at Tom. “You’re just jealous because you know guitar players get all the girls.”

  Tom turned red, but he answered back. “We both know there is only one girl you want: Marie Watson.” Now Dillon turned red.

  Dillon and Tom were both saved by the bell on Tom’s phone.

  “Hey, kiddo” Tom’s dad began. “I’ve been thinking about something Dillon and Danny said. What if time was folding to correct something here, in our dimension and in order to correct something for Danny, in his dimension? What if there is something here that is needed over there? Maybe even something about that guitar?”

  Tom knew that would change everything. Looking at it from that side of things gave him a whole new series of questions. They needed to grab that guitar and get over to the lab right away. Maybe they could interview Danny. The fact that it hadn’t occurred to him before hit Tom like a ton of bricks. How could he have ignored half of the equation? Tom looked at Dillon. “Let’s take those cookies to go. Call your parents; we need to get over to the lab.” A minute later Tom realized his dad was still on the line. “Dad? Sorry. I think you are right. We’re on our way.”

  An hour later everyone was sitting in the lab. Dillon promised to tell them when Danny arrived, but he warned them that Danny kind of kept his own hours and showed up when he was good and ready. He wasn’t the kind of guy who just waited around and jumped the moment he was called.

  They were just about to call it a day when Dillon sat up.

  “You guys! My man, Danny, has arrived.”

  Danny waved, even though he knew they couldn’t see him. “Hey, y’all. What’s up?”

  Dillon explained that they were pretty much at a standstill until either a new episode happened, which nobody really wanted, or until they figured out a new angle.

  “Thomas has run all kinds of tests on me and even blood tests on my parents, but we don’t know too much about your family, so that’s why we were hoping you would join us today. Maybe we could even talk to your family?”

  Danny looked down. “Nope. Y’all can just leave my family out of this. I’m happy to help you figure out what’s happening to you, Dillon, but my folks have been through enough. Truth is, they almost didn’t make it after I died.”

  Dillon told everyone what Danny said, and Thomas tried to convince Danny to change his mind. “Danny, no one here wants to hurt or even bother your parents, but it would help us a lot to know what the connection is between you and Dillon.”

  “The connection is the guitar. That’s all.” Dillon was surpris
ed at Danny’s anger. When he warned Thomas to cool it, Thomas nodded, but then he went on.

  “Danny, if it was just that guitar, then we would be crossing the space-time continuum all over Long Island every time someone brought a new antique to the Hamptons. It has to be more than the guitar. It just has to be.”

  Danny stared at Thomas. “What are you looking for? If not the guitar, what do you think it is?” Dillon voiced Danny’s question and held his breath.

  Thomas knew this question would come and he was prepared. “I believe there is some connection between you and Dillon. Something that couldn’t wait. Something neither of you know, but something you both need to understand so you can move on.”

  Dillon was as surprised as Danny by the answer. Together they said, “What do you mean?”

  Thomas had to admit at that point that he didn’t know what that connection might be, but he knew that he needed to know more about Danny if he was ever going to have a hope of figuring it out.

  “Tell you what,” Danny began. “I’ll give you name, rank, and serial number about me, but I want your word that you will leave my family out of this.”

  When Thomas heard Danny’s terms, he was disappointed to say the least, but he would have to take what he could get. “Okay, let’s start with your full name.”

  “My name is Daniel Patrick Charles.”

  “Three first names?

  Danny looked annoyed. “Charles is my surname.”

  “Sorry. Rank?” Thomas felt beyond weird interviewing a ghost in the physics lab through a fifteen-year-old translator, but anything for science.

  “Okay, here’s what you get of my story. I was born and raised in Middle Tennessee on a horse farm in Franklin. I grew up riding horses and building things. My mom and dad are good people who still live there and who still can’t really understand how their boy chose the army over MIT.”

  “You went to MIT?” Thomas asked. “No wonder you grasped string theory so well.” Thomas had a whole new respect for Danny now.

  “No, I never went. I deferred my acceptance and went to serve ole Uncle Sam. I could not believe what went down on 9/11 and I wanted to be a part of stopping it. I never would have believed the war would last this long. I was smart enough to get in to MIT, but I was pretty dumb when it came to politics.”

  Thomas nodded. Ryan asked, “Danny, do you remember giving away the guitar?”

  “Heck no! I never did give away that guitar. I don’t really know how y’all got it, but I left it in my room on the farm. I wanted to bring it with me when I was deployed, but my Sergeant wouldn’t let me. He said boot camp wasn’t for making music, it was just for singing the blues. I didn’t get it then, but I sure did understand it later. Man, boot camp was the hardest thing I ever did, next to dying of course.”

  Dillon spoke up. “I bought it at the Lead Guitar Shop when I was in Nashville.” Danny just shook his head. He could not believe his parents would have sold it to old Mr. Jake, but then again, nothing seemed to make much sense anymore.

  “I remember the day I got that guitar. I was about twelve years old and my dad brought it back from a trip to Memphis. He told me it was so old that even E. Princely, The Ambassador might have played it,” Danny said.

  Thomas was taking his notes again. “You know, I never gave much thought to how you got the guitar. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I guess I thought it had always been in your family or something.”

  “I’ve had worse assumptions made about me. My dad went over to Memphis to see a stallion. He passed on the horse, but brought me that guitar. I played it every day until the day I shipped out.”

  “Maybe we should do a little more research on the guitar. Maybe there is more to it than we thought,” said Ryan. He was glad to find something he could do to help. “I’ll take it to a friend of mine, Bill Butler. We were in a band together in college and . . .”

  “What did you say?” Dillon could not believe his ears. “You were in a band?”

  “Yeah. The Blind Ambitions. We were such a bunch of idiots. Man, this is getting embarrassing. I hope time doesn’t fold over to those days.”

  Dillon smiled. “Cool, Dad. Was Mom your back-up singer?” Maggie rolled her eyes and Ryan laughed. “Son, you have no idea.”

  Danny told them about his days at school and on the farm, and apart from the fact that he got the guitar from Memphis, they didn’t feel any closer to solving the puzzle. Then they turned their attention to the notes. Remember, Death, Honor, and Living. There had to be something missing. Some message or some reason time was folding itself to bring these two worlds together.

  Everyone decided to meet again in a few days when Ryan would have some news on the history of the guitar. Dillon rose and put it back in its case. He lay the neck down and a piece of paper billowed out and onto the floor. It bore a single word: Tell.

  October 23, 2011

  There may have been a few things in Ryan’s past that he wasn’t proud of, but the time he shared with Maggie and Dillon was the best part of his life. Still, he knew he might not have been so lucky.

  Ryan took the guitar to work and put it next to the Palladian window in his corner office. He would go and see Bill Butler after work to ask about the guitar, and in the meantime, he had plenty to keep his mind off the craziness. Michael McIntyre was rapidly becoming Ryan’s biggest client. Michael and Ryan were both Southern State University alumni, and Michael joked that this was the only reason he kept Ryan around.

  When the phone started ringing, Ryan knew who it was before he even checked the caller ID. “Ryan! How the hell are you?” Michael’s voice boomed through the speaker. “I just wanted to let you know that I have located a great piece of land and I want you to get a sales contract out today.”

  Ryan was nearly afraid to ask, but he did.

  “More land around our old alma mater?”

  “Of course!” Michael laughed. "I may live in New York, but I intend to keep my compound in Tennessee growing.”

  Michael McIntyre kept everything growing. He built his reputation and his business on his ability not only to think outside the box, but also to create a world where boxes didn’t exist.

  He was a genius when it came to trends and always stayed at least one step ahead of the market. Digital music had been unheard of just a few years ago and now Big Game Music was the single most powerful force in the music industry. At the moment, Michael was intent on buying up nearly all the land around his farm back in their college town. Ryan didn’t know why the thousand acres around the farm wasn’t enough already, and he wondered whether Michael was getting paranoid about security, but it really was none of Ryan’s concern. His job was just to help Michael establish a bigger and bigger security zone around his land. Ryan spent a lot of time getting Michael the paperwork and zoning changes he needed to acquire more land and fortify it with stockade fencing, high-tech surveillance, and at least one underground bunker for emergencies. Ryan had no idea what kind of threat Michael expected, but clearly, he intended to be ready.

  Dillon and Tom walked down East 57th Street and for the first time in a long time, they didn’t talk about ghosts or other dimensions or even school. They were going skateboarding in the park and nothing else mattered. It felt good to have a day of normal. Since he got out of the hospital, Maggie had practically kept Dillon under lock and key. He guessed he didn’t blame her. Having a fifteen year old who had some kind of heart attack and travelled between dimensions must be a serious stress for a mom.

  The wind was picking up and the news was even predicting a nor’easter in a few days. Crazy! Snow in October in New York? Either way, it was cold for this time of year, and Dillon couldn’t wait to get to the skate park. He had a new Zip Caster skateboard and it was so sweet. On it, he felt like there was nothing he couldn’t do. It was as though the board became an extension of his body, and riding it was more instinctual and intuitive than planned or practiced.

  The park was as busy as usual, and the air smelled cr
isp and sweet like an apple ready to harvest. When they got near the ramps, they saw a bunch of kids from school, but Dillon only noticed Marie Watson. She was beautiful, and Dillon stole a quick glance before she caught him and looked right into his eyes.

  Tom and he got to the skate ramps and fastened on their helmets. There wasn’t too much they couldn’t do on their boards, and Dillon was psyched. Tom walked to the top of the ramp and gave Dillon the thumbs-up. Down he flew at lightning speed. The wind whipped around him, and Tom looked like he had wings. He was soaring above and around everything. Tom always said that skateboarding was the freest he had ever felt and he loved it. Dillon couldn’t wait to get started. It would start getting dark earlier and earlier now, and he didn’t want to burn daylight fooling around with kneepads. He wanted to fly.

  Dillon climbed to the top of the ramp and put his foot on the front of his board. The wheels were made of a space-age alloy, and unlike the boards all around him, they didn’t make a sound. He took a deep breath, smiled from ear to ear, and took off. Dillon knew the girls were watching, so he leaned back to make sparks fly from the board. It was just flat-out cool.

  “Quit showing off, you freak!” shouted Tom with a laugh. He knew Dillon was having a good time, and he was too. The girls from school were walking nearby, and Tom knew they were talking about them. Marie was writing a note and Amanda was giggling. Tom thought her giggles sounded like music. Dillon was big news, but they didn’t know the half of it. The story around school was that he had to take some time off school because he had a heart condition that was so rare, the scientists at Manhattan University were studying him to see if maybe he was the missing link between humans and apes.

  It was possible that Tom had encouraged their confusion, just a little. It was kind of fun for them to be the center of attention for a while. Usually they were such übernerds that girls just looked at them with pity. However, since this reworking of their image, Tom and Dillon were slowly approaching cool. Well, maybe not cool, but at least not pitiful.