by Alex Myers
“That’s preposterous, I am going to call for assistance and have you removed—you’re mad.”
“Remember the earthquake and the hurricane.”
“But how do you know these things?”
He put on his hat and began walking down the entry stairs to the front door. “Because I’m Martin Riggs, and I’m from the future.” Then, he opened the door and ventured into the cold black night.
CHAPTER 2
November 30, 2014
Jack was a stranger in his own time. Even though the date was familiar, everything else was foreign. The changes he had made back in 1857 created even more modifications, revisions, mutations, and transmutations that cascaded one by one into a world he didn’t recognize. Technology had moved twenty to fifty years ahead, but the differences didn’t stop there. Things like politics, religion, and even lives had taken different roads. There were people alive who in his original timeline were dead. More than a million lives were spared without the fighting of the Civil War, but the grim reaper had a way of making the balance sheets balance. While there were plenty of people alive who would have otherwise perished, millions more were dead who otherwise would have lived.
He had been ensconced in his penthouse for almost two months, taking his meals in one of the building’s three restaurants or on other days, ordering room service. His apartment was remarkably well stocked and the concierge sent up the few items that he did need. That’s where he would have probably remained, if not for the fact that building management said he needed to renew his e-chip. He was slowly finding out bits and pieces of how the world worked, and there were plenty of things that didn’t feel right.
Jack had a lot of money, but he just stared at the numbers. There was also indication that he possessed two other accounts, one in Switzerland and the other in the Cayman Islands.
It was more money than Jack had ever dreamed of. The last he remembered, he had about $4,000 in his checking account and about $40,000 in his 401(k). I’ve no idea what the access code is for the other two foreign accounts, but at this point, I don’t really care. One billion dollars—no make that, one point six billion—and I don’t even know what I do for a living. I’m certainly not a high school science teacher, Jack thought. Where in the world did I get this kind of money?
He was still trying to get used to his world; everything still seemed foreign to him. Even his apartment seemed filled with somebody else’s stuff. Jack knew he had to get out, get some solid ground under his feet, and the best way for him to do this was to get on the water. He knew exactly where he needed to go. He just hoped the place would still be there.
The taxi dropped him off in front of Hampton Yacht Sales in an area of Norfolk known as Willoughby Spit. Located at the extreme southern end of the Chesapeake Bay, it was twelve miles north of milepost zero of the intercoastal waterway. It had been in the same location for fifty years.
His father’s best friend, Ray Canter, owned Hampton Yacht Sales. Jack and his dad, Marty, used to visit often. Marty was quite an accomplished sailor and would often deliver boats for Ray—most of the time delivering them to Baltimore or North Carolina—but sometimes as far away as New York, Boston, and even once to Maine.
Marty had been a struggling schoolteacher like Jack and loved to pilot expensive boats for Ray. Marty would schedule trips around Jack’s school vacation. Sometimes Jack’s mother would accompany them, but most of the time it was just him and his father. Those trips were what Jack remembered most fondly of his childhood, just him and his father and the open sea, laughing, working, and pretending the big luxurious boats were really theirs.
After the major deliveries, they would go back home on a bus or train and stave off melancholy by planning their next trip. His dad would say that maybe on the next trip, they would take out a boat of their own.
Marty died when Jack was fifteen, three years after his mother committed suicide.
Jack’s dad had never bought his dreamboat; he had never bought any boat. Ray, Jack, and two of his dad’s friends piled into a fifty-three-foot Amel Super Mariner and spread Marty’s ashes into the sea that his father had loved so dearly.
But as ideal as the time was with his father on the water, the time on the land was hell.
Jack felt his father deserved the cancer that had ravaged him so fiercely during the last year of his life.
Marty was an uncompromising ass and his constant haranguing led his mother to suicide. Nothing was ever good enough for Marty. Jack could see now that Marty’s disappointment in himself manifested in his almost evil behavior, but then again, maybe some people were just born pricks. His dad had a way of projecting his problems on other people. His mom couldn’t take it and had to get out. Instead of leaving, she figured twenty sleeping pills were a quicker way to escape. Even when Marty was dying, he somehow made Jack feel like it was his fault.
Ray stepped into a paternal role the year before Jack left for college. He lived with Ray at the marina, working for him when he wasn’t studying. Ray, a confirmed bachelor, had a three-story house on the very end of the fingerling of land that looked out over the entrance to the Hampton Roads Harbor. Jack’s room had been on the top floor where from the deck of his bedroom, he could see the big navy aircraft carriers that sometimes passed less than five hundred yards away. He loved spending time with the kindhearted Ray and would sit for hours either sailing, fishing, or just sitting on the back patio, listening to him tell stories of his and his father’s childhood.
Ray looked like Mr. Clean with his shaven head and his massive arms. He was a quiet man and when he did speak, it was more like a bear growl than a voice; everything he said had a pirate-type cadence to it. Ray was a stoic man and the only time Jack remembered him showing any emotion at all was when he spoke of his father and of the sea.
Jack had not been to visit him in over five years and other than Christmas cards, he had no contact with Ray at all. Yet, the place still looked the same. Dozens of stately, large yachts stood proudly bobbing at their docks. The sounds of the halyards slapping their happy tunes accented by the sounds of seagulls were music to Jack’s soul. The sunlight glinting off the water silhouetted a man’s face, but the casual walk was instantly recognizable as his father’s best friend.
“Uncle Ray!” Jack waved his hand as he stepped onto the dock.
The man didn’t move or answer; he stood completely still looking at Jack.
“Ray, Ray Canter?”
“I’m sorry,” the man growled, “do I know you?”
With the sun no longer in Jack’s eyes, he could see it was Ray: a few years older, a few pounds heavier, but just as tan and as familiar as ever. “It’s me, Jack Riggs.” There was no look of recognition on the man’s face and Jack started to worry. So many things had changed from what Jack remembered. “Jack Riggs. Marty’s son, Jack.”
Finally, something connected. “Yeah I remember you. You were that little brat always getting into things where you didn’t belong. Some kind of playboy now, celebrity or something or another, right?”
“Well, I don’t know about all that.”
“Martin Riggs… How is your father anyway?” There was a formal tone in his voice.
Jack didn’t know how to answer. In the other timeline, his father and Ray had been the best of friends. How could Ray not know that his father had been dead for close to twenty years?
“Heard he was down in St. Lucia?” Ray said.
Strange. “When did you hear that?” Jack asked.
“About a month ago. I was talking to Bernie Ortiz, the Wally Boat rep, and he said that after your father lost a mast in a storm, he had a custom titanium one made and specially shipped down to him.”
“A month ago? In St. Lucia?”
“I think they said that he was down there on his honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon? You mean with my mom?”
“Lord no, third or fourth wife. I can hardly keep up. Last time I saw him was about a year ago, when I sold him the Wally
’84.”
“My dad is alive and he has a Wally?”
“Yep, and he had a new chickie on his arm. I guess your stepmother to be. From what I hear about your dad, it might be just one of his girlfriends he keeps on the side.”
“And my dad has a Wally? That’s a really expensive boat isn’t it, two or three million?”
“A Wally is the most expensive, exquisite—and I don’t use that word exquisite very often—custom-made boat in the world. At $2.75 million in fact, that’s the nicest boat that’s ever come through here. That is except for one I have over there that was never picked up— a Wally ’96. It’s quite possibly the most tricked-out boat on earth.”
“Wallys are all custom-made, how could one not be picked up?”
“The guy died, what can I tell you? Happens to the best of us.” Ray wrapped a dock line in a perfect figure eight.
In this timeline, his father finally had the boat he could never afford in his other life. But what about my mom? Should I bring up my mother to Ray? He knew his father and Ray were rivals early on for his mom’s affections, and they both adored her. He decided it was worth the effort to try.
“When was the last time you saw my mother?”
“Your mom?” The man put his hand on his chin, rubbed, and thought hard. “Margaret, right? Saw her last week. She married up with the guy who owns the Surfrider restaurants, right?”
This hit Jack like a punch in the gut because his mother’s name was Ann. Jack was confused. He’d have to sort through this later. “Yeah Margaret, that’s right.”
Ray removed his white captain’s hat and ran his hand through his bushy black hair. Jack didn’t know which was stranger, the fact that Ray had a full head of hair or that he was wearing a wedding ring.
“I’m sure you didn’t come out here today to reminisce, what can I do for you?”
Jack’s mind was raging. He had a thousand questions, but he should stick to why he came. “I want to buy a boat.”
“A boat? Why, that’s a surprise.”
“A surprise? Why do you say that?”
“It just seems to me I remember you hating boats. I can recall you throwing some shit-fits when your dad wanted to take you out.”
“That was a long time ago. Show me that Wally ’96.”
“You’re kidding right? I mean from what I know about the Rigg’s family money, that doesn’t sound like a problem, but are you serious? You have any idea how much the cost is on a boat like that?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter. Even as rich as you are this boat is millions of dollars more expensive than even your father’s. It has a two-man sub on it for cripe sakes.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“I can see it. It’s the Wally, right? Over there? I’ll take it. Can I single-hand it?”
“Sail it by yourself? I guess if you had to. There is space on board for a live-in crew of six.” He thought about it a little more. “Yeah, I guess you could take it out by yourself if you wanted to.”
“All I have to do is wave this little chip thing?”
“It’s going to take a little more than that. Let me see what I can do. I’m only the broker on this boat. It’s probably going to take a day or two to get this thing through.”
“Can I stay on it until it’s done?”
“For $4.8 million, you can swing naked from the flying jib. Sight unseen.” Ray shook his head and chuckled. “You rich folks sure have a weird way of doing things.”
There were many new electronic and mechanical devices that Jack had never seen or heard of on the boat, but Ray patiently explained them. Their love of boats was a bond that created an instant rapport. It was easy for Jack because this was the Ray he knew—the man who he had known and loved his whole life.
“I thought you’d be more of a purist, Ray. I can’t believe you like all this fancy stuff on this boat.”
“Damn me because I like to spend more time sailing than securing a mainsail? Because I don’t have to winch up and down my own anchor? Because this baby can bring itself in and tie itself off on the dock?” Ray shook his head and chuckled. “I could have bought into those fifty years ago when they first came out, but now, even this hydrogen induction engine is common place.”
“I see,” Jack said. “You know, I can get online and figure out how all this stuff works. I’m sure you have other things you have to do.”
“Nonsense, boy. Can’t you let an old man have a good time? I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.” He smiled at Jack. “And of course, the engine runs the stove, refrigerator, heat, and air- conditioning, and converts your seawater to pure.”
“Well of course it does,” Jack said. Ray was on a roll.
“You don’t know what the hell I’m talking about do you?”
“Not really, but sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”
Ray looked at Jack and squinted an eye. “How could you have spent as much time sailing as it sounds like you have, and not be familiar with these things?” he asked.
“I guess it’s me that’s the purest and not you.”
“I guess so.” They both laughed. “I just don’t think you could get my wife to agree with you.”
“Wife?” Jack asked and once again saw the ring on Ray’s finger.
“Do I hear somebody talking about me?” A female voice startled both of them. Jack spun around and saw his mother—twenty-four years dead—standing in the galley twenty feet away.
“Mom?”
“Excuse me?” The woman looked confused.
“Mom?” Jack asked again, barely able to get the words out of his mouth. He was ready to explode.
Ray looked confused also. “Jack, this is my wife, Annie…”
“I mean ma’am.” Jack swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure he could pull this ruse off. He loved this woman. He dearly missed this woman. He had dreams where all he wanted to do was hug this woman. And here she was.
Both Ray and Annie Canter were staring at him; he knew he had to pull it together. “How are you doing?” Jack searched his mother’s face for recognition—there was none.
“Annie, this is Jack Riggs.”
Still no recognition.
“You remember Martin Riggs? This is his son, Jack.”
Something. A look passed between Ray and Annie like a sour taste.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Riggs.”
Here was his mother twenty-four years after her death, looking more lovely and relaxed than she ever had with his father. For all practical purposes, though, he was a stranger to her.
“He just bought this Wally.”
Jack could tell his mother had no recollection of having given birth to him. And what of this woman named Margaret that Ray claimed was his mother?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Jack finally said.
“I just came out to tell Ray that lunch is ready.”
“We will be done looking in a bit, dear.”
“No, we’re done looking now,” Jack said. “I told you, I can take it from here. Look at all these manuals.” Jack gestured at the pile of books on the tabletop.
“They’re just turkey sandwiches. Jack, would you like one? I’ll bring them out here.”
“Sure.” Jack and Ray watched Annie bounce off.
“That woman is the world to me and I do mean the world. I can’t imagine what my life would be without her.”
Jack knew what Ray’s life would be and sadly his own too.
“Don’t you want to haggle a little about the price?” Ray asked.
“You mean I can haggle about the price?”
“No, but I just thought you might want to.” Ray smiled and hugged Jack with one arm. “Do you plan on financing any or all of it?”
“I can just debit this e-chip thing can’t I?”
“Sure can. When would you like to take possession of it?”
“Li
ke I said earlier, today if I could.”
Annie came back and handed Jack a sandwich wrapped in a napkin. Ray looked at her and she nodded. “I guess we could, but then we couldn’t do any prep work on her.”
Jack looked around. “It looks great to me. I don’t see any prep work you need to do. If you can just run through some of the electronics with me—maybe some of the mechanical too.”
“We’ll have to wait a day or two to get it titled out. And don’t forget we need to get in contact with the Wally Company, we’re just brokers. Got to keep things legal, you know.”
“I don’t plan on taking her out anytime soon. I do plan to live on her though. Would it be possible to keep it here at the marina for a couple of weeks? Would that that be fine with you two?”
“Stay here longer than that if you got a mind to, it classes the place up.” Ray said.
“As long as you’re going to be a neighbor, would you like to join us for dinner? I made lasagna, it—”
“It’s your specialty,” Jack finished.
“Why, yes it is, but how did you know?”
“Just wishful thinking,” Jack said.
Within two days, Jack had learned most of the mechanical workings on the fancy boat. Three technicians and two boat carpenters turned the second berth into a multimedia and virtual information transference unit (VITU) communications center. Jack also got a crash course from Ray on the navigational tools.
“The autopilot is integrated with look-ahead radar and sonar as well as GPS. You pick your destination and auto chart uses current National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association (NOAA) weather, sea conditions, and tides. You have rogue wave indicators and repulsion drive, which is a cool little force field type unit. It’ll keep anything from a floating tree trunk to a rowboat at least twenty feet away from your hull. You decide how aggressive or passive you want the ride to be. You have choices of what kind of weather you want to contend with, wave size, and ports along the way. And look at this…” Ray turned on a video display. A brightly lit underwater scene came into view, which he controlled with the joystick.