by Alex Myers
“Pink, let him go,” Jack yelled as Pinkerton was about to pursue the runner into the absolute blackness. “I need your help over here.”
Jack was on his knees bent over the woman as the Senator and Allan Pinkerton arrived simultaneously. “Margaret,” Senator Brinkley said in a moan.
Jack cradled his hand under the woman’s head. The Senator buried his face in his hands and started to cry. Pinkerton was on one knee and silently mouthed a question. ‘Dead?’ Jack shook his head slightly. Her face was severely scraped and bloody.
“What have you done to my wife?” the Senator wailed.
“It wasn’t me. There was a man, on a horse.” Jack looked around, but the horse was just as gone as the man.
Brinkley squatted down as best he could, sobbing. His large bulk strained his clothing’s overtaxed seams. The street lamps shone off his flushed and tear-streaked cheeks.
Jack handed Mattie over to the Senator. “Sir, she’s still here, barely.”
“Maggie, oh my Maggie,” the Senator said, rocking her in his arms. Mattie opened her eyes and looked from the sobbing Senator to Jack where the look of recognition was unmistakable.
Jack locked eyes with her as he stood. Her lips moved and inaudible sounds came from her mouth. The Senator moved his face inches from hers. “What is it, dear? I’m here, what are you trying to say?” He put his ear to her lips as she shuddered and said a single word loud enough for the Senator, Pinkerton, and Jack to hear. “Kaz.”
She gave a shudder and her body went limp. The senator set her body gently down and turned his fury and frustration on Jack. The senator was a full foot shorter but he had Jack by the lapels and was pushing him backwards toward the church.
"You killed her. "
Alan Pinkerton was trying to keep the Senator from tearing into Jack.
"She got up and ran Senator, there was a man on horseback."
"Preposterous. My Margaret, Maggie, why would she have any reason to run?"
"For starters, her name wasn't Margaret or Maggie. It was Mattie and she was a widowed mother living in Norfolk."
"No! You are wrong. I'm calling the police. You murdered my wife."
"Jack, look, she's gone,“ Pinkerton said. He was pointing to the empty spot on the street where all that remained was a bloody smear.
"Margaret!" the Senator yelled, releasing Jack's lapels. "What have they done with you?"
But before the question could be pondered, Jack pointed to the wooded area in Washington Square where the rider had disappeared. "There she goes."
Cooper moving on the stump of his leg had returned and was leading her off into the darkness.
Alan Pinkerton and Senator Brinkley were in hot pursuit when Jack called out to Pinkerton, "Pink, come back!"
Pink turned around, but the Senator continued toward the dark woods.
Jack moved up to Pinkerton. “That is the woman I know from Norfolk, I'm 100% sure. The man with her is Bob Cooper who used to work for me. Remember the one I said locked me in the safe?”
“How could he run? I blew his foot off!” Pinkerton said.
“That was a wooden prosthesis that I made for him. He only had one leg; the other was gone at the knee.”
“He sure moved pretty well for a one-legged man. What do you think this was all about?” Pinkerton asked.
“Mattie certainly was in a big hurry to leave—either trying to go somewhere or to get away from something,“ Jack said.
“A bomb—there may be a bomb.”
“That’s what I’m thinking, Pink. We’ve got to get those people out of there. I’m going back in!” Jack dashed around the corner and into the front of the church.
Groups of five or six people were standing and speaking animatedly inside the church. The group standing closest to the pew where Mattie and the Senator had been sitting consisted of Nathaniel Hawthorn, George Templeton Strong, Jefferson Davis, and three men Jack didn’t know by sight. They were also the group furthest from the door. Jack saw Emerson smiling broadly and motioning for him to join him. He shook his head and moved swiftly to the section where Mattie and the Senator had been sitting. He quickly scanned the rows and, seeing nothing, dropped to his hands and knees and looked under the seats—still nothing. He rose to his haunches and searched the church.
The minister locked eyes with Jack from the chancel in front of the altar. He had a hatbox in his hands. Panic flashed across the man’s face as he tucked the box under his arm and started up the main aisle of the church.
Jack turned in pursuit and ran into Emerson who had walked into Jack’s row of seats.
“Mr. Riggs, is everything all right?” Emerson asked.
Jack controlled his reaction and said as quietly as possible, “I think there is a bomb. Please get the people out of here.”
Henry David Thoreau, who was immediately behind Emerson, overheard Jack and said loudly, “A bomb? Everyone, there’s a bomb in here.”
Voices rose, panic took hold, and a stampede from the nave started toward the entrance to the church. The minister had his exit blocked by people already starting to jam up in the vestibule. The cathedral’s doors opened inwards and people pushing from behind prevented them from opening.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to squeeze by Emerson and Thoreau, Jack stepped onto the pew and jumped to the next row. Jack’s position was almost at the edge of the north aisle of the nave and the minister angled through a row and was almost at the south aisle. Jack hit the main aisle as the preacher hit the south aisle and sped toward the south transept and a side door.
Keeping his eyes on the fleeing man, Jack ran into someone and fell on top of him onto the wooden floor. He was lying on Abraham Lincoln. Without thinking, Jack said, “Sorry, Mr. President,” and used the arms of the pew to get to his feet. Lincoln sat up, holding his arm, and stared blankly as Jack ran toward the front of the church.
The group of men with Jefferson Davis was already at the side exit ahead of the minister and the hatbox. The panicked men pushed at the door that also opened inward and someone screamed. The people stopped pushing long enough for someone to open the door and they rushed out into the night.
Jack was moving as fast as he could but he was still seventy feet behind the minister. Jack saw him looking back over his shoulder as he filed out the door behind the men and into the night. Jack saw the door close behind the preacher when the first crack of lightning shook the building. Then an explosion went off mid-church.
Pieces of splintered wood fell around Jack and he felt pain sear across his forehead. He heard screams of agony sound from the front of the church and he didn’t pause to even look behind him. He was sure he’d seen the hatbox under the minster’s arms as he left the church. If the bomb was in the hatbox, what had caused the other explosion? The concussion of the explosion had blown out the lights and Jack was now running in the dark. There must have been more than one bomb.
He covered the distance to the door, hearing more cries of pain. He felt for the door, found it, but couldn’t figure out how to open it. His natural tendency was to feel for the exit bar mechanism and push, but the door was smooth. He found the doorknob on the left side of the door and pulled. The door opened as another flash of lightning fingered across the sky silhouetting the outside world.
At first, he didn’t see anyone. Then he saw a crowd of men gathering across Wooster Street in front of the dimly lit park. Once the lightning’s illumination dissipated, the light given off from the gas lamps on the street was murky and thick. Directly under a gas lamp close to the throng of men, Jack saw the minister take the cover off the hatbox. The men were totally unaware of what the preacher was doing as they looked back at the church. They looked like they didn’t know whether to stay, run, or go back to help.
Jack was running as fast as he could toward the minister when he saw Bob Cooper step out of the dark woods, pushing repeatedly on a device that looked like a joystick.
Lightning flashed again and the
minister stopped working on the contents of the box and looked up, just as Jack left his feet to tackle him. Jack hit the man like a defensive end blindsiding a quarterback. The box flew out of the man’s arms and landed on the ground where four sticks of dynamite, some wires, and a clocklike mechanism clattered to the feet—or more precisely the remaining foot—of Bob Cooper.
Jack heard the words “Get away” leave his lips as he watched Bob Cooper push the plunger on the detonator just as he saw the bomb at his feet. A bright flash and loud explosion made his world go dark.
CHAPTER 53
June 1857
The Aftermath
Half the people from the accident went to Bellevue Hospital and the other half went to the NYU School of Medicine. Both hospitals immediately realized the fame of their incoming patients and called in every doctor and all support staff. Both facilities crackled with intense activity. Frank Sanger, Frances’s father, stepped in and, with the help of Allan Pinkerton, tried to control the chaos from Jack’s end. Jack was unconscious and in a bed at NYU.
Jack had traveled to New York this time by train, so they sent a telegram for the captain to bring up Jack's boat along with Frances and Murphy. They also would bring every practicing doctor from Jack’s medical facility to lend a hand. Frances dropped everything and didn't even pack a bag; she went straight to Murphy McCord’s.
"We can't leave without Kaz and Sam," Murphy said to Frances. I'm hoping they're together. Sam left for Norfolk this morning on his bicycle. I'm a little jittery about Kaz."
"Jittery?" Frances said, climbing onto Murphy's buckboard wagon.
"Nervous. Last night Kaz took little Robbie to the Widow Goodyear's--"
"Clarissa," Frances said, grabbing the reins from Murphy and slapping the horse's backs.
“Yes, that’s who I mean, dang it. Anyways, Kaz gave Clarissa all the boy's stuff, five hundred dollars in cash, and said he didn't know when he'd be back. What the hell do you think that means?"
"The way I understand it, he loves that boy more than anything." Frances took the curve on nearly two wheels; Murphy hung on for his life.
"Anything except for that poor boy's excuse for a mother. I found out about all this just thirty minutes ago and I went over to Kaz’s house to do some reconnoitering. I found a note on his front door—all it said was 'I'm sorry.’"
Everyone was loaded on Jack’s boat ‘The Frances,’ and they were at the mouth of Broad Creek when Sam came pedaling like a madman along the shore. "Wait! Kaz!” he screamed and hopped off his bike while it was still moving. He swam out and was helped up over the side of the moving ship.
“What is it, Sam?” Murphy asked.
“Kaz’s been kidnapped.”
Reporters covered the entrances and tried to get information from anyone who would slow down long enough to be asked a question. Police officers were posted at the entrances of both hospitals, detectives were questioning people back at the church, and those at the hospital well enough to talk.
They had eight confirmed deaths so far; seven from the explosions and one person trampled to death while trying to leave the church. The number was expected to rise. Several other men had received injuries serious enough to require hospitalization. Nearly everyone present was either hurt or injured in one way or another. News of the accident spread to every newspaper in America.
There were mixed reactions at first to the meeting. The gathering had been kept quiet for the most part, and the press was covering the explosions and the famous attendees more than the substance of the meeting.
Abraham Lincoln and Stephen Douglass went separate ways with separate missions. Lincoln’s only injury had been a broken arm, which had been caused by his collision with Jack, and Douglas had only minor cuts and bruises.
Among the dead were Jefferson Davis, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Herman Melville. Jefferson Davis had just ended his run as Secretary of War and was waiting to take office as the newly elected Senator from Mississippi. In the world Jack grew up in, Davis, along with Robert E. Lee, had been the two most important Southern men of the Civil War; now he would not be that figurehead. Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville would become legendary American literary figures. Both men had already written their most lauded works and the loss wouldn’t be felt further than their immediate families.
The most damaging articles about the meeting and attack were by the Boston Herald and Atlanta Daily Examiner, both of which blamed Jack. There were a total of three bombs with only two exploding. It was determined that Jack’s injuries were the result of a lightning strike and not the actual explosions. A new type of thermite incendiary device was discovered at the church, made from aluminum and iron oxide ignited by an unknown detonation device traced back to Jack’s compound in Norfolk. Nearly everyone had seen Jack leave before the explosions took place and almost no one but Emerson saw him re-enter.
Of the two people with the closest ties to the incident‑—Margaret Brinkley, a.k.a. Mattie Turner, and The secretive Reverend Warren Pearle of the New Reformed Dutch Church—one was missing without a trace and the other was dead and not answering any questions. Bob Cooper, who could be traced back to Jack and Jack’s company, was also dead and it was determined that he was the one who had actually detonated the bomb. While Jack lay unconscious, Allan Pinkerton was busy investigating, using many techniques that he and Jack had worked out before the accident.
Things were looking pretty bad for Jack when word hit the next day that a group with ties to the SAC called the Copperheads was claiming full responsibility. They also declared war on all abolitionists. They said the movement was a direct assault on Southern rights. They warned that more killing was on the way and the public believed them.
CHAPTER 54
June 2013
When Am I?
Jack woke in a fog and tried to figure out where he was.
“You need to go back.”
His eyes were closed but somehow he recognized the voice. But from where?
“This is not your time. Your work is not over.“
As Jack struggled to open his eyes which were crusted shut, a monitor’s alarm started to ring. Using all of his strength, he opened them. He was staring straight up at the ceiling. He couldn’t move his head . . . or his body. He strained his eyes to the left and there was equipment he didn’t recognize. He seemed to be in a hospital more modern and sophisticated than any he had ever seen.
Where is Frances? Is everyone OK? As he lay there, his mind whirled. Was this all a dream? Did they bring me here after my car accident? Am I just so messed up that this place looks so foreign? Can I be delusional and just have made this all up? All my work, all my friends?
Then there was the voice again, louder and clearer, coming from his right.
He still couldn’t move and he strained his eyes in the direction of the voice.
“I said, this is not your time. You have to go back. Only you can control it. Only you can anchor yourself there.”
It was the slave Hercules, the man from the UPS truck, the man in the iPhone picture from his Teacher of the Year ceremony.
It was the dark man.
The thought was too much for him to comprehend. He willed himself away, felt a tugging at his extremities that began slowly and then grew until it was like being pulled into a black hole. Jack let go and went with the flow.
THE END OF BOOK 1
TIME CHANGE
B2
by
Alex Myers
CHAPTER 1
Tuesday, June 23, 1857
Three metal points dug into Jack’s skull and a metal band around his forehead immobilized his face. His eye was held open by a small metal device, like talons gripping on his upper and lower eyelids. He had an incredible urge to blink. His hands, legs, and chest were strapped to the flat, hard surface.
Standing in front of him were two people in lab coats. They leaned over a polished-cherry, wooden-hinged box with a burgundy velvet interior. Inside the box was a formid
able collection of medical and surgical antiques; three long bone- handled Liston knives with razor-like polished steel blades, and two smaller double handled scapulas. There was a capital saw for sawing through weight bearing bones, a Hey saw used to perform craniotomies, and a metacarpal saw. There were needles for suturing, forceps, a drill and bits, a tourniquet and bone brush. Jack’s head was spinning; he could do little more than watch. The smaller of the two people had a baldhead and long unruly sideburns. Jack had never seen him before.
“Our inability to wake the patient has led me to the diagnosis of a subdural hematoma. We need to relieve the pressure in the skull. Our only course of action is trepanning.”
They’re going to drill a hole in my head. Jack needed to stop this.
Even in Jack’s loopy state, he knew the larger of the two people was his doctor from his complex back in Virginia, America’s first female physician, Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell. He called her Dr. Liz and had spent many long hours explaining modern medicine to her. How could she be going along with this?
Dr. Liz shook her head ‘no’, she clicked her tongue.
“I’ll cut a flap of scalp to clear an area to the skull to prevent slippage and so the drill can get a bite through the cranium until a disk of bone can removed. We might have to drill a few more holes and use a Gigli saw to remove a larger plate.”
“Why has the patient been immobilized like this?” Dr. Liz asked.
“Perhaps it’s a bit much considering I gave him a powerful muscle relaxant that my brother developed. My brother works down near you in Williamsburg. He’s developed quite a few interesting items.”
“I disagree with this procedure, but he has been unconscious for two weeks. If he does have a hematoma, there could be brain damage. Why do you have his eye pried open like that?” Dr. Liz asked.
“That is also part of my brother’s work, you may have heard of him, Dr. Ayelett Klarner?” He had a thin surgical instrument resembling an icepick in his hand and continued on without waiting for her to answer. “This is an orbitoclast and it’s used to perform a transorbital lobotomy. It involves lifting the upper eyelid and placing the point under the eyelid and against the top of the eye-socket. I then use a mallet to drive the orbitoclast through the thin layer of bone and into the brain along the plane of the bridge of the nose. All cuts are designed to transect the white fibrous matter connecting the cortical tissue of the prefrontal cortex to the thalamus. This stimulates regrowth in this mysterious part of the brain and recovery is remarkably fast.”