Time Will Tell

by Mary S. Palmer

  The results of Rob’s tests were all negative. When Miss Croft developed the X-ray film in the small darkroom behind the bath, nothing unusual was discovered, either. Except for headaches, Rob Parker was in excellent health. Dr. Romano was bewildered.

  This case intrigued him. It was above and beyond those his colleagues or any of the specialists had ever encountered. He was determined to keep it all to himself. So, after giving them the results, he invited Rob and Mona to stay and have a bit of lunch.

  Over a cup of coffee and freshly baked ham sandwiches that Jane Croft prepared, Dr. Romano made a suggestion.

  “Now, I know you two can’t go back to Mobile. And you can’t wander around the streets of Pensacola without anything to eat or a place to stay. Besides, I’m sure you know that Hurricane Dennis may hit here, too.” He rubbed his right ear. “So, why don’t you stay right here with me? I’ve got plenty of room — there’s four bedrooms, and I can’t use but one. The menu may not be exotic, but it’s good wholesome fare. As you probably noticed, Miss Jane does my cooking, too. You can stay inside the house as much as possible, but if anyone sees you and asks who you are, I can pass you off as cousins. Quite frankly, I’m intrigued with your case because I believe every word you say.”

  Mona was thrilled. She had no idea they’d get this kind of treatment. The best she’d hoped for was that a doctor would luck up on something in a routine examination. This was marvelous — a place to stay and an interested physician who could relate exceeded her wildest expectations. She jumped at the case.

  “Oh, yes, yes. Of course we’ll stay.” Realizing that she hadn’t consulted the patient, she added, “Won’t we Rob?”

  He was in complete agreement.

  Clearing his throat, the doctor looked directly at them. “You are two very astute young people, so I’m sure you’re concerned about — ” his face turned redder than usual, “er, my condition. However, when I’m working, rest assured that it will not be a problem. This case will occupy me body and soul. I’ll have no need for a crutch.”

  He took a bottle out of the buffet and went to the kitchen adjoining the dining room. With the door wide open, he poured the contents of the bottle down the drain in full view of Mona and Rob. He returned to his chair, folded his arms and asked Rob to go over the details of the encounter again.

  “Somewhere, there’s got to be a clue,” he stated with confidence.

  But at the end of Rob’s dialogue, nothing new was uncovered. They still didn’t know if he had anything inside him that could cause his death. They were as far from the solution as they’d been when Rob opened the reception room door. Although the doctor felt that the blood was clear, finding where an implant could be hidden in Rob’s body seemed an impossible task.

  The suspense got to Rob. Romano saw this and suggested that they take a break while Mona and Rob showered and cleaned up.

  “Bathroom’s on the right with towels in the cabinet and the guest bedrooms are on the left.” He thought they looked exhausted and added, “I don’t see any immediate danger. Perhaps a rest would do you good. Besides, I do have a couple of patients to see. I’m the only doctor in town who still makes house calls, you know. So, I’ll make my rounds while you two take a nap.” He slipped into his coat and picked up an old-fashioned little black bag. Cheerfully whistling, he went to his car.

  Returning just before dark, Dr. Romano found Miss Croft still at the office. He decided the best thing to do was to let her in on the secret. She knew much of it, anyway. Nothing prevented her hearing most of what was said since she was alone in the outer office when Rob related the event and the walls were thin. Astonishingly enough, she was in complete accord with the doctor’s stand. All she hoped was that he’d be able to determine the cause and effect a cure for Rob’s problem — whether it was just headaches or if it also involved an implant.

  “It’s just so exciting, doctor. I had to stay around. I just couldn’t leave till you got back,” she apologized for her curiosity.

  Elated to have someone to share his enthusiasm for the case, the doctor replied, “It’s a challenge, Jane, a real challenge.”

  Rarely did the nurse dispense with the formality of addressing her boss as “Doctor,” although he frequently called her by her first name, generally not in front of a patient, though. They were both from the old school and felt strongly about the importance of respect and dignity in a professional relationship. Consequently, they had few disagreements. Miss Croft knew and kept her place.

  Jane Croft was a good cook, too. And since she’d prepared a huge dinner, Dr. Romano thought it only proper to invite her to stay and eat with them. Now that she knew what was going on, she’d be interested in listening to any pertinent conversation held while they dined. Another ear might hear something new, something that could throw light on the subject.

  Rested and refreshed, as they savored pot roast and mashed potatoes covered with a smooth brown gravy, Mona and Rob both recalled things they’d forgotten before. While much of it was inconsequential, anything that occurred during the episode held the doctor’s interest. One thing was different about this conversation: Rob had some good news.

  “Surprisingly, when I awoke, my headache was better, Doc — you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?” When the doctor nodded approval, Rob continued. “It’s crazy, but it seems to have moved down to my jaw. It’s just a dull ache now.” He rubbed a spot in front of his ear lobe.

  “I’ll examine that right after dinner,” Romano said.

  “Well, except for that, all this seems like one big, crazy dream. Sometimes I find myself wondering if I really did go inside a space ship. Oh, hell, I know it happened but it all seems so weird.”

  Mona shrugged. Her feelings were the same. “It is hard to believe. Here I am, thanks to Miss Croft — who washed and dried our clothes while we took a nap in your robes — all cleaned up. I feel as normal as anybody, yet I’ve been through an experience nobody will believe.” She looked at each of the others one by one. “Present company excepted. And the only aftereffect that concerns me is finding out about Rob.” As an afterthought, she hoped Pep was safe, too, but that took second place.

  She patted Rob’s knee. “But maybe nothing’s wrong, huh?”

  “Sorry to put a damper on your hopes, Mona,” the doctor interjected. “But I’m fairly well convinced that Rob’s headaches indicate that the Aliens were telling the truth. He has no history of headaches, so this isn’t normal for him — even following a trauma. So far, I can’t even justify dubbing his headache as an emotional reaction.” He shook his head and twisted in his chair. “No, I’m afraid his own words deny that. All indications are that we’ll have to find and remove that implant to save Rob.”

  The news did not shatter Rob. He’d lived with that unsettling probability for a couple of days now. He could face whatever came next. Urging the doctor to proceed, Rob told him, “You can make any necessary tests tonight, Doc. I feel better. Honestly, I really feel up to it. You and I both know how important time can be. Let’s get on with it.”

  He shoved his chair from the table in an almost angry gesture. No matter what the consequences, he was determined to face reality with action. Even so, Rob did not know how grim that reality would be.

  Chapter 11

  UNITED PRESS INTERNATIONAL, the Associated Press, Columbia Broadcasting System, and National Broadcasting System, plus many other media representatives, invaded Mobile, Alabama, trying to dig out what they could about space ship sightings and explosions.

  They swarmed all over Mobile and its outskirts with crews of people, disrupting its order and creating a chaos all their own. Right in the middle of it was newspaper editor Frank Dees.

  The report of an explosion came shortly before dawn, when most people still slept. But Tim O’Hara had the advantage of being first to see the unusual event. Locked out on the porch by his wife, he hadn’t been able to get to sleep. When the ships hung in the space above his home, he banged frantically
on the back door.

  “Kathleen,” he screamed to the top of his voice. “Come out here now.”

  Before he could awaken his wife, a loud explosion reached his ears. He was terrified. Making the Sign of the Cross, he slammed a chair against the door and nearly knocked it down.

  The lock gave way, and Tim bounded into the kitchen, switching on the light as he passed. His wife, wide awake now, yelled from the bedroom, “O’Hara, damn you! You’re drunk again. What in the hell are you up to now?”

  Tim ignored the question. With bloodshot eyes, he scanned the telephone book for listings of TV or radio stations while he dialed the familiar police number.

  Robe-clad Kathleen came into the kitchen. With her hanging over his shoulder, Tim told the operator who answered, “I want to report a signing — sighting,” in a quivering voice. “Two space ships were in the sky right over my house. Now they’ve exploded, and pieces may be falling all over me back yard.” He didn’t give the operator a chance to ask any questions.

  When he hung up the phone, the operator reported it to the police car in the area tongue-in-cheek. “Source may not be reliable. Comes from Tim O’Hara. Check it out anyway.” She recognized the address it had come from, and so did the man on duty. His disgusted “Ten-four” told her he’d respond when, and if, he got around to it. At the O’Hara’s, he expected to find nothing more than the usual domestic trouble that address always offered.

  Although his wife sloughed the incident off, slapping Tim upside the head with a newspaper and saying, “You crazy drunk, O’Hara. Get in there and sleep it off and forget all this foolishness,” and she didn’t even look out the window, Tim was positive of what he’d seen.

  “You think I’m making this up?” he asked as he dialed the phone again, ignoring her orders. “Well, I’m calling the press.” He shook his finger at her back as she returned to bed. “You just wait till morning and see what’s on TV.”

  Systematically, he called each and every TV and radio station listed until he ran out of numbers. His call wasn’t the first they received. Before Tim reached the halfway mark, other calls had the stations’ phones ringing off of the wall.

  When the news broke, it was convincing enough to bring media people to the South as fast as planes and cars could carry them. By the time breakfast was being put on tables around the Port City, representatives of all the major networks were on Bates Field landing strips eager to get the story first.

  Dees was ready to cooperate. He had already determined that neither he nor his paper could handle this alone. The big leaguers arrived, and Dees accepted all the help they could give. Maybe they could even find his two reporters.

  He went to the airport to meet his old friend, Loren Brady, who was an anchorman for CBS Evening News. He and Loren attended the University of Alabama together and though both had gone separate ways, they were in the same line of work. Loren had become nationally known, and Frank hadn’t. Occasionally, their paths would cross, giving them a chance to renew their friendship.

  Frank was glad to hear that CBS had given Loren this assignment. If anybody could find the real truth, Loren was the one. Besides, the two men worked well together. In Loren’s quiet way, he complemented Frank’s blustering personality. Together, they should be able to solve this mystery.

  God knows, somebody has to do it, thought Frank as he watched the plane touch down.

  As they drove toward the place where the last sighting occurred, Frank brought Loren up to date. It gave Loren an edge over other reporters coming to the scene cold. Most of them knew only what had come in over the wire. Firsthand information, such as what Frank provided, saved Loren time and energy. It also clued him in regarding the missing man and woman.

  “The worst part as far as I’m concerned is that two of my reporters are missing,” Dees said after telling the story of Mona’s car wreck and Rob’s disappearance. “I sure hope you can help me find them.”

  Loren looked at Frank’s serious face. “I’ll do my best, old buddy, I’ll do my best,” he promised.

  “I know you will,” he replied with a smile.

  Someone to talk with bolstered Frank’s spirits. Maybe with an expert to help, he could locate Mona and Rob, as well as proving or disproving the sightings. His situation lost a bit of its desperation. Support of a colleague gave Frank the courage to believe. Besides, he could now transfer some of the responsibility to a person of higher authority. Yes, for many reasons, Dees was glad Brady was now on the job.

  Brady was glad, too. “You’re a good friend, Frank,” he told his buddy. “Not many editors let you in like this.”

  “I’m not afraid of the competition if you aren’t.”

  “I know that. You’ve always been sure of yourself and you’ve always acted responsible. Even in college.”

  “Hey, now. You’re the one that was responsible. Remember that old Model T your dad had? The first time he let you drive it, you were being so careful and I tried to jump up on your running board and fell. Hit the ground and got scratched up all over. It’s a wonder I didn’t break half the bones in my body, even though I did land on the grass.”

  “Yeah. I almost had a heart attack.” He laughed. “I think I checked the car before I checked you, though. My dad would’ve killed me if I’d gotten a single scratch on his baby.”

  Loren clicked his tongue. “Those were the good old days. Did you think then we’d both end up being reporters? Now here we are after all those years working on the same story. Space ships. And I’m glad of it. This may be my story as far as CBS is concerned, but you’re the one with the information — you’ve already done the groundwork. All I’ll have to do is fill in the spaces.” He turned to Frank and said in his good-natured manner, “Old buddy, it’s good to know I can count on you. I really appreciate your help.”

  In a familiar gesture Frank remembered from years gone by, Brady leaned over and squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “The old saying, ‘There’s no friend like an old friend,’ certainly applies to you, Frank.” Clasping his hands behind his head, Brady put the seat back, stretched to a relaxing position, and let Frank drive.

  When they reached the turnoff from Airport Boulevard to Ink Road, Frank wondered how many more times he’d have to come out here. Maybe many, he thought. Loren gave him credit for more information than he had, probably just to be polite. As a seasoned newsman, Loren knew this was just the beginning of the story. Filling in the spaces was an understatement. Much more investigating remained to be done.

  At a roped-off area, a policeman stopped the car. “Can I see your identification, please?” he asked.

  Both men pulled out their press cards and were motioned through. Alive with members of the media, the clearing looked as if it had just been invaded. Hardly a spot was unoccupied. Evidently, the three policemen, and one policewoman, who were still there had finished conducting their own search and weren’t preventing others from taking a look. Perhaps they’d find something the police missed. Many took photos of everything and anything. Some people were down on their hands and knees searching for bits and pieces of evidence. Others worked the ground with metal detectors. A few nearby residents had escaped the watchful eyes of the guards and sneaked through the woods to see what they could find. They hampered the efforts of reporters who had the authority to be there, but with so many people about, it was almost impossible to police the entire area effectively.

  Never before had these woods had so many occupants. Even three or four youngsters had gotten through with or without their parents. The deputies were frantic. They called and called for backup but a four-car wreck on the other side of the county had other deputies tied up. When they finally cleared that up, two cars got lost before they reached the area. Reinforcement was slow in coming.

  Brady and Dees were glad. It cut down on restrictions as to what they could do. They looked around, hoping to find something that would add to their knowledge. So far, though, even with so many people searching, nothing had been found. It
appeared that if any space ships did explode, they were far enough away from Earth to burn up before the ground was reached.

  Still, like every other reporter, these two men wanted to be sure. After checking the clearing, they decided to venture beyond where others had gone. The seasoned editor and the expert from CBS knew that the best clues aren’t always found right at the scene of the crime. On a hunch, they wandered off into the woods.

  A few yards away, they found broken branches. It told them that somebody had come through here recently — but not who.

  “What do you make of this, Loren?” Frank held up a branch. “Course some of these curiosity seekers hurrying through the woods could have broken it, but,” he looked ahead, “it’s obvious that this path leads deeper into the woods — back in that uninhabited thicket. Puzzling. There aren’t many houses around here, but that’s away from any of them as far as I can tell.”

  “Let’s go a little farther, Frank. Maybe we can get some clues as to who broke those branches,” Loren urged, leading the way. A few yards later, he found tire tracks. “Look at this.” He stooped down and put his fingers in the ruts. “By the size of these tracks they were made by dirt bikes. Looks like four or five.” He looked up. “Do you think there’s any chance these riders are still around?”

  “I didn’t see any bikes when we came in, did you?”

  Loren furrowed his brown. After thinking a moment, he replied, “No, and I haven’t heard any, either. They haven’t been gone too long, though. These ruts are too well defined. There’s not a mark disturbing them. It’s slightly muddy, too. I think it sprinkled here this morning. Feel the dirt?”