Time Skip (Book 2): The Time Skippers

by Craig L. Seymour

  The discovery of Prescott had not only disheartened Lovelle, but had angered him. He was disheartened as he came to doubt the efficacy of its attempts to move time. But, he was angry with Prescott individually. Not because he saw the man as squandering the opportunity to do good in the world, even as Lovelle himself was sacrificing so much to do what he thought was needed to move time. He didn’t believe it was his or anyone else’s place to expect or demand sacrifice from someone, regardless of their position or ability. What Lovelle demanded of himself he would not demand of others, and would not allow others to demand of him. Prescott’s life was his own, and no individual, nor any group, had any claim to it. It was also not because Prescott was using the opportunity to make himself a very wealthy man. In principle, Lovelle did not frown upon those who would use the opportunity to enrich themselves. He had done his fair share of that himself. Not all of his gains from the casinos in those early skips had been put toward his mission. He did not lack for material comforts, then or now. But, Prescott had taken things to a new level. He hadn’t just made himself fantastically wealthy, he had done so very clearly to the detriment of someone else. He had stolen his wealth directly from all the rightful beneficiaries at Microsoft. His gain was so clearly their loss. He hadn’t taken just a little from this gambling hall, or that bookie, but, billions of dollars from a relatively few individuals. He had virtually wiped another man out and absconded with his fortune.

  This had irritated Lovelle nearly to the point of confronting the man. It had been one of the few times he had ever seriously considered revealing himself to anyone, even another Skipper. In his many years, he had never done so. At least not yet.

  ***

  To Lovelle’s surprise, after life number three, Prescott had failed to restart his software company. He hadn’t even gone back to work for Microsoft to get his measly couple million. Someone had convinced him to go back to his anonymous life. That someone was Cedric Baker. Prescott had become a disciple of Baker, who was the President and founder of the 7/17 club, and an obvious proponent of not making waves. Lovelle had been observing the members for a long time, and none of them ever did anything even remotely like the things Lovelle did almost daily. If there was one defining characteristic of their cumulative behavior, it would be non-intervention.

  Lovelle wondered exactly what Baker’s agenda was. Obviously he did not believe that it was necessary to replicate the past to get time to continue. Or, if he did, he wasn’t really attempting to do so. Just the act of getting all the members of his club together pretty much ended any chance of that. Lovelle wanted very much to know what went on when the club met, but, he was equally compelled to keep his own identity from them. So he refrained from that sort of undercover work. He was quite sure Baker knew about the vigilante, and that he did not approve. He feared that if they knew his identity, the club might actively try to stop him. That’s if they weren’t doing so already.

  The 7/17 Club was officially a non-profit charitable organization. Its members were exclusively those born on July 17th, 1969, the birth date of all Skippers. The public charter of the organization stated its purpose to be “to celebrate the day of our birth by doing good works for our fellow man.” Its assets included a small office space near Portland Oregon and a fat bank account through which they did, in fact, support several charities, although not in any way that might seriously change things in the greater world. They held regular meetings on the first Monday of every month, and, if Lovelle was anywhere in the vicinity at the time, he made a point of attending, albeit from a distance.

  There was an easily accessed roof top down the block and across the street. From there he could readily observe the comings and going of members through his spotting scope. That was exactly how he had learned of Prescott and Baker's relationship. Shortly after he had discovered the existence of the office, he had been watching when Prescott showed up for a meeting. That had answered the question of why Prescott had faded from the limelight, and had given Lovelle his first inkling of what Baker was all about.

  ***

  After dispatching the would-be killer in the hills of central Idaho, Lovelle was just in time to watch the monthly meeting. He was perched on the roof, patiently waiting to see who would show up that month. He had observed the arrival of four attendees he knew well, and he was thinking of calling it a day when Maria Alonzo parked her rental near the door. Even through his spotting scope, Lovelle could see that she was simply stunning. It was summer, so the sun was still fairly high, and he could see her clearly. She had raven black hair, olive skin, and delicate but strong features. Lovelle’s breath caught in his throat.

  The usually steely hearted Lovelle found his heart thumping in his chest. He had been cold hearted for a very long time, and it surprised him to feel those stirrings. But, he hadn't always been that way. In fact, he had been married four times before dedicating his life to his vigilante vocation. He had been married to his best friend in his original life, and had spent much of the second life trying to recreate that. In the end he had forged a new life, with a lifelong friend, only to see that shattered by the next skip. In this third life, focused on killing Bin Laden and foregoing any opportunity to be with either of his past loves, he had still managed to wind up with a great woman. But, the failure of that marriage, and of his efforts to move time, had caused him to give up on love for more than 60 years. He had sworn off relationships, telling himself that not only was it better for him, but, that it was better for them as well. He had convinced himself that he was not a suitable mate for anyone.

  Lovelle always performed at least a cursory investigation of anyone involved with the club. Surprisingly, not everyone hanging around had been Skippers. Baker had hired outside people to help him with administration, and they had typically been attractive women. Lovelle’s first thought was that this beauty might be another one of Baker’s assistants. However, he had never seen any of them in attendance at the monthly evening meeting. Baker did not seem to be sharing the true nature of the club with his employees, and Lovelle doubted he was breaking precedent for this new person.

  It had been a long time since Lovelle had seen someone new. There were six regular attendees, five Americans and a Canadian who made the trip frequently. He had also followed visitors from Mexico, Germany, France and Peru. He didn't doubt there had been visitors from other parts of the world as well, ones that he had not been around to see, and he assumed Maria was one of them. This was the first time since life six that he had spotted a new face. But then, he didn’t come around quite as often now.

  Chapter 3

  After the meeting he followed the woman to her hotel. Once he knew where she was staying it was a simple thing to find out who she was. He had a long established relationship with people at a few of the hotels in town, including her's. Even though the staff no longer had any idea who he was, Lovelle knew exactly which people would happily sell him the information he needed. At this particular establishment, the desk clerk had been quite responsive to a little financial incentive in the past. He proved no less receptive this time. The woman’s name was Maria, and she had registered with a South Florida address. The clerk did have enough sense to draw the line at actually providing a street address. That was the sort of thing that could easily go beyond simply losing a job. That could be considered criminal should the man with the cash turn out to have evil intent. Lovelle also found out that she was checking out in the morning. If he could manage it, he would be waiting for her when she got of a plane in Miami.

  He swung by his own hotel and checked out, stowed all of his gear, and made his way to the airport. He parked his van in the airport lot, where he could pick it up later for the drive home to Las Vegas. He used the van for all of his cross country trips because it was the securest way to move his gear, and the least traceable manor of travel. Then, if he needed a vehicle for a job, he would buy a car locally for cash and slap some old out of state plates on it. That way, if anyone ever witnessed the car a
t the scene of a crime, it wouldn't lead to him. Of course, even if the police somehow connected the van to his crime, it was registered in his alter ego's name. Whenever he worked he used this alternate identity. If someone somehow ever connected him with one of his removals they could trace his alter ego, Mark Ridge, right back to his home address, which was a jumbo sized rental mailbox. Apartment 104 was actually box 104 and it was so large that he was only required to empty it of junk mail a couple of times a year. Any one staking out that box would have to be damned patient or damned lucky to catch him there.

  On this day luck was on his side. He was able to catch a red eye flight to Miami, and secure an early morning rental car reservation. The next day Lovelle jumped from gate to gate watching arrivals. He got his share of exercise trotting back and forth from concourse to concourse in the sprawling Miami International Airport. Upon arrival, he had found a ticket agent who had graciously mapped out every possible way to get from Portland to Miami that day. He had spun for her a tale involving a friend who needed to get home for a family emergency. In 1993 you couldn’t yet connect to the airport’s wireless internet and look these things up on your own.

  There were a couple of close calls that morning as twice Lovelle barely made it a gate in time for an arrival. As the day rolled on he began to question the completeness of his intelligence, fearing he might miss her altogether. Finally, Maria arrived on a late afternoon connection from Dallas. He was sitting at the gate watching as she exited the jet way. This was his first up close look at her and again she took his breath away. Her hair was pulled back and he got his first look at her almost feline pale hazel brown eyes. The contrast to her dark hair and complexion was striking. He had to force himself to look away before she caught him staring at her. Normally, he had no trouble blending in to the crowd when he was observing someone. But, she had him bewitched. He had to get a grip on himself if he was going to be able to complete this investigation undetected.

  He followed her at a discreet distance, watching while she retrieved her luggage from the baggage claim. She proceeded toward a parking garage and he gave a little sigh of relief. He had feared she would head for a shuttle to one of the offsite parking lots, or worse, the cab stand. It would have been nearly impossible for him to follow her in that case. As it was, he once again had to run to get himself into position. His own car was parked in the short term lot. As long as he could get there in time, he could watch as cars emptied out of the long term garage.

  Lovelle was, from long experience, a master of surveillance. He was equally skilled at tailing cars as blending in to the background when on foot. He spotted her exiting the garage and had no trouble following her all the way home. He found himself feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at finding her to be living in an apartment, as opposed to taking up residence in some hotel. The Portland hotel clerk had informed him that English was clearly not her first language, and Lovelle couldn’t help being distressed at the idea that she might be leaving the country.

  ***

  Maria lived in a second floor apartment with an exterior door in view of the parking area with a landing that was easily observed from the street. It was the only point of egress and was tail made for surveillance. For the next few days Lovelle observed her the way he would anyone in the club. He saw where she worked, shopped and ate. He noted with some satisfaction that she lived alone. Then, realizing how important that was to him, he started to feel more like a stalker than an investigator. He had done this with all the other Skippers he had come across, but, he had never felt this intense attraction for any of them. In fact, he hadn’t felt this intense attraction for anyone since his third life. After giving up on both love and on the notion of moving time, he had grown cold. The futility of it all had just broken something in him, or so he had thought. Maybe that something had just lain dormant.

  Quite by accident he had fallen in love with three great women in those first three lives. But, when he found himself 16 for the fourth time he just couldn’t bring himself to pursue any of them, knowing that he was destined to lose them all over again. At first he told himself that it was because he couldn’t choose. But really it was because he couldn’t go through the charade. As much as he had loved his third and fourth wives, Trina and Charlene, his life with them had been a big deception. He carried a secret that he would never tell them. And if he were able to win back Katie, his first love, that secret would hang over their relationship as well. So he had written off any sort of relationships, throwing himself into his work.

  Normally, part of his investigation of a Skipper included placing a listening device in their residence. In the past it had always just been a part of the job. But, this time it seemed such an invasion of privacy that he couldn’t go through with it. He already felt too much like a voyeur. He had stopped himself just short of infiltrating Maria's apartment. He told himself, This is what you do. You spy on members of the club. They are opposed to what you do, and you have to know what they're up to. He went so far as to find himself standing outside her door while she was out having dinner. It was not a battle of conscience. Yes, if he went in he would be doing his job. For him, checking on the club was due diligence. The problem was that he had a strong compulsion to meet her.

  However contrary it might be to his own mission, he already wanted desperately to get to know this woman. She had awakened something in him he’d thought to be long dead. And it was not simply attraction. He had never stopped being attracted to women. He had stopped needing their company. Now he ached to be in hers. And, assuming he manufactured a meeting with her, he wanted to have at least some chance for things to work out between them. It wasn’t rational, but, for a part of him, that didn’t matter. And, whether he could excuse it away as business or not, he would never feel comfortable with her after having breeched her privacy that way. He couldn’t live with not telling her, and he couldn’t expect her to simply accept his behavior if he did come clean.

  Besides, he had never really gotten anything worthwhile from listening in on any of the club members at home. Like him, they were quite adept at hiding their secret from non-Skippers, or Oncelers, as Lovelle had named them. That was a nod to Dr. Seuss, whom his son Kyle had loved. He didn't know why the character in The Lorax had that name, but, it seemed to work for all of the normal people who believed they were only living this life once. Lovelle didn’t imagine the Skippers would ever even give a hint of their identity, outside of conversations among themselves. At least not after this many skips. He certainly never had, and that meant he had gone 98 years without talking to someone about the one thing that dominated his life. So, after three days, he called it quits. If he wasn’t going to bug the house then there wasn’t much point in watching her any longer. At least not one he could justify. He knew who she was and he could find her again if he needed to. Staying any longer really would make him a stalker. Besides, he had another job to get to.

  ***

  Lovelle walked into his apartment and flopped into a chair. He had logged 17 hours behind the wheel since arriving in Portland a day earlier, and he was beat. He was about to pull the arm on the recliner, put his feet up and pass out, but, thirst prompted him to rise. He had finished a cola a little more than two hours ago and he was pretty dry. He dragged himself into the kitchen thinking, I should put a mini-fridge in place of that end table, when he saw a reminder of his next job posted on the cork board over the phone. It wasn’t a removal. He had a little break before he had to tackle one of those. It wasn’t an investigation of a potential target either, although he had a couple of those in the works. This was something different. It was a news article that had caught his eye; A little clipping from the international section.

  It gave a brief description of seven Chinese citizens who had been killed a week earlier in a house explosion. The group was reportedly celebrating a shared birthday, with no other guests present. There were no friends, and no family. The father of one of the deceased had told authorities that they�
�d been celebrating alone this way for several years. A Chinese official said that the explosion appeared to emanate from a package in the living room, and that the case was being treated as a homicide.

  Lovelle had little doubt these were Skippers. He had cut the article from the paper less than a week after celebrating his own 24th / 132nd birthday. He wanted to verify his assumption, but, more importantly, he wanted to find out why they had been killed. He just couldn’t believe it was coincidental. Either Skippers were now killing each other, or someone had exposed their identities, leaving them vulnerable.

  What had they done? Was there a similar dynamic to what was going on in the US with him and the club? Was there a Chinese version of Lovelle who had decided to take care of a Chinese 7/17 club more directly? Or was this group up to something, using their knowledge for some purpose that someone else might have taken offence to?