Linked Through Time

by Tornese, Jessica

  Just thinking about the rapids sent me into a shivering mess. I could feel the rushing water surround my head and pound my body. I could still taste the earthy, rusty brown water as it filled my nose and throat.

  I threw the blankets over my head and took great gulps of stuffy, mothball-smelling air to relax. Under the heavy, warm weight of the blankets, I took hold of my fears. There’s a reason you have to do this, Kate. Sarah picked you! You know the secret. You have to help her, my mind lectured, arguing against my body’s natural choice to resist.

  Almost like a cartoon, an idea popped into my head so quick and so bright, a light bulb might as well have been shining over my lumpy form. Travis. Travis Kochevar. What if he still lived in town? Would he believe my crazy story? Would he help me avenge Sarah’s death? If he loved Sarah as much as I thought he had, I had to believe he would help me over anyone else.

  Jumping from the couch, I raced to the kitchen, grabbed the phone book from the top of the fridge and the phone from the wall in one swift motion. Flipping the pages, I got to the “K” section easily, my finger running the short length of names in record time. Travis Kochevar –2543 NW 2nd St-2817668. He still lived in town! Shaking, my fingers dialed the number. Without a plan for what I would say, I let the phone ring twice before hanging up.

  “Chicken,” I muttered. Seriously, what was I doing? The more I thought about it, what could I really expect from Travis? I wasn’t sure if he and Sarah had actually dated and a few decades had passed since Sarah died. He was old now, probably married with kids. If some strange girl called him up and wanted him to help prove the death was a murder – by the town’s mayor, no less – he would hang up laughing before I could finish saying my name.

  That’s why you have to see him in person. I hated my brain and its endless fight to be in charge. If Travis sees you and how much you look like Sarah, he would be moved to help. Well, it’s worth a shot.

  Facing Dave Slater on my own was growing less and less appealing. Recalling his cruel, icy blue eyes and his crushing blows to my body, I wasn’t sure I would have the guts to go through with my plan if I couldn’t have back up. I needed Travis.

  * * * *

  I waited three days until risking escape to meet Travis. Most of the bruising had faded to a light yellow and the color had returned to my cheeks, making me look somewhat normal and healthy again. The headaches that had plagued me the first few days home had faded to a dull throb. I barely noticed any more.

  It was Sunday. The rest of the family had gone to church while I pleaded another headache to stay back. As soon as Gran’s truck disappeared at the end of the gravel drive, I tore out to the old gray shed where Dad had parked our tiny Honda civic for the summer. I had to hurry, but my hands shook as I stuck the keys into the ignition. Fear of two things had my stomach wound so tight I could barely think straight. One, I was nervous about meeting Travis and explaining my strange story, and two, if I got caught driving the car by Dad or the police, I was in deep… deep… well, let’s just say I’d be in “it” up to my ears. I was barely two months into my driving permit – I didn’t want to lose it already.

  It was easy to find the street where Travis lived; there were only four possible roads on the west side of town. I parked in the driveway behind a beat up, rusty white truck and another red, sporty car with a convertible top. I took in two huge breaths. You’re about to meet the old guy you almost lost your virginity to. “He wasn’t old then,” I mumbled to myself, my cheeks flushing at the idea of meeting Travis again. He’ll be like Dad, my brain cruelly reminded me.

  The door opened after two hesitant knocks. A tall, lanky teenage boy stood leaning against the doorframe, a Mountain Dew in one hand and a bag of Funyuns in the other. His long brown hair hung just below his eyes, cascading over his face and off to the side in a sort of Zac Efron wannabe look. He tossed the hair back from his face and gave me an obvious run down with his eyes.

  Mesmerized, I stood with my feet planted on a fuzzy “welcome” mat, my mouth frozen in disbelief. Either Travis had taken a magic anti-aging pill or I was looking at an incredibly gorgeous clone of him. I cleared my throat and clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from flailing about nervously.

  “Is... is Travis here?” I asked, hoping the boy wouldn’t ask me any questions about why a young girl like me would be looking for someone as old as Travis.

  Popping a Funyun into his mouth, the boy took his time to answer, crunching the onion crisp to bits in a thoughtful, slow manner. “I think he’s out back. In the garage.” He stepped outside, into the sunlight. “You selling something?”

  A laugh burst from my mouth in an unflattering pitch that resembled something close to the bray of a donkey. “No, no… just had a question for him.” I backed away, angling myself to walk around the side of the house, hoping he wouldn’t follow. As much as I wanted to pursue the idea of him, I had bigger things on my plate, and not enough time.

  “You’re not from around here, right? You’re not going to tell him you’re his long lost daughter are you?”

  Shaking my head, I withheld my laugh, covering my mouth instead.

  “That’s good. You’re pretty cute. I was worried I might be developing a crush on my sister or something.” He shot a rakish grin in my direction and two perfect dimples framed his smile.

  Give me strength, I thought, my knees weak as jelly. Stay focused. What is it with Kochevar men and their insistence on so boldly telling girls how they feel? Thinking of my time with Travis, my cheeks flushed hot, and an impish smile worked its way onto my face. I bet he wouldn’t be so flirty if I told him how good a kisser his Dad is… was…

  “I’m T.J.,” the boy offered, hinting at a name exchange.

  “T.J., huh? What’s that short for?” I asked, not wanting to give him my name – yet.

  “Travis James. I’m a ‘junior’, you know, named after my dad. There’s the garage.” He pointed to a white double-door monstrosity behind the house.

  “Thanks, I can get it from here,” I said, dismissing T.J. with a wave of my hand.

  Disappointed, he turned back to the house, crushing the Mountain Dew can in his hand and throwing it over his shoulder in a perfect arc to an open garbage can. “You can’t leave until I at least get your name,” he called back.

  “We’ll see,” I teased, knowing full well I wanted to give him more than just my name. What had happened to me? In a matter of weeks, I’d gone from innocent schoolgirl to boy-crazy and hormonal! Not one kiss until this summer, and now I had guys beating down my door. It’s also slightly disturbing how easily I could fall for both father – and son. Shaking my head, I paused before entering the garage, steeling myself for Travis’s reaction. He has to help me.

  A loud metallic hammering rang through the air inside the garage. The pounding struck an off-beat and was followed by a low muttering of profanity.

  “T.J.? Is that you? Grab me a fifteen millimeter will you?”

  The voice, even decades later, sent a shock of recognition to my heart. Clearing my throat, I called out, “No. It’s not T.J.”

  He crawled out from underneath the shell of an antique car, his face streaked with grease. A faded Ford hat covered most of his graying hair, but the coveralls could not hide the stoop in his aging body. Lines of worry creased his forehead and crow’s feet marked the corners of his eyes. His brown eyes still held a touch of the warmth I remembered, but his body had aged beyond recognition. Compared to Dave Slater, Travis looked like he’d been run over by a truck a few times since his teenage years.

  Stepping into the dim lighting, I held out my hand. “Travis? Travis Kochevar? I’m – ”

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he whispered, backing away. Tools clattered to the floor, ricocheting from the concrete and hitting him in the shins.

  “Wait, it’s not what you think,” I started. “My name is K–”

  “Sarah,” he said, before I could finish. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” He turned as
if to run from the garage, his eyes heavy with grief.

  “Kate. My name is Kate,” I finished. “I need your help.”

  Upon hearing my words, Travis paused and wiped his eyes as though to make them clear. Squinting into the light, he approached slowly, holding out his hand as though warding me off.

  “I’m sorry, I – I – you look like someone I once knew.” The rest of my statement now seemed to register, and his brows arched to his hairline. “Why do you need help from me? How did you get here? Do I know you?” He babbled out the questions, still recovering from the shock of seeing me.

  “Look, what I came to tell you is really hard. Practically unbelievable. But if everything I know about you is true, then you’ll help me. You’ll help Sarah.”

  At the mention of her name, Travis froze, his brilliant brown eyes, with the soft ring of gold, turning dark and hard. “Get out!” he yelled with such force, I felt the spittle hit my face from across the room.

  I jumped back, knocking into a stack of toolboxes covered with a layer of dust and dirt. Shocked at the sudden change in his manner, I spoke softly, carefully. “Travis, I mean, Mr. Kochevar, I came to tell you something, something terrible. That summer, the summer of 1960, Sarah was killed. By Dave Slater. I know it and I’m going to try and prove it, and I came here to ask you to help me. I can’t tell you how I know, but if you’d only look at me, maybe you can guess. I’m her niece. Sarah’s niece.”

  “Look, Kate. I don’t know what you’ve read or what you’ve heard, but Sarah killed herself. She jumped in the rapids one night after we went out on a date. She was an unhappy girl that no one could help.” He shuffled uneasily from foot to foot. “You’re foolish to mess around with these things. Crazy to bring up the past that’s dead and gone.” He winced at the word dead. “And don’t bother involving Dave Slater. He’s a powerful man,” he added, with a hint of bitterness.

  “Exactly. And he’s gotten away with it all these years because everyone’s afraid of him!” My voice had gone up an octave. “I know about that night. I know about the painting on the garage and the fights with the city kids. I know how you felt about her. And I know that Dave wouldn’t let anyone have her. That night, he was there. At the rapids. He pushed her from the bridge and killed her over his jealousy of the two of you. I swear – I can’t tell you how, but I just know.” Pausing for breath, I noticed my body shaking, fighting for control after revealing the truth of Sarah’s death.

  He’s written you off as crazy. Look at him. He’s going to throw you out and then tell Dave and ruin the whole thing!

  Travis shook his head “no” and rubbed the top of his cap nervously.

  “I know you loved her. She loved you, too.” My eyes pleaded with him to give me a chance to really explain. “I want to get even. I’m going to meet him at the rapids, make him confess. He has to pay for what he’s done.”

  Travis sighed. I figured he would at least hear me out, but then he raised his head, his face lined with years of regret and pain. “You need to leave.”

  He didn’t wait for my answer, didn’t bother to escort me to the door. He turned and left the garage through a side door, his faded Ford cap twisted in his grease stained hands.

  I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach; a rush of air came from my mouth and my insides deflated, my hopes sinking heavily like an anchor in the sea. He had changed over the years; his heart had grown hard while his body had weakened. He would never help; bringing up Sarah’s death did nothing but cause him more pain.

  Hurrying to the car, I tried not to notice the flutter of curtains at the front window – T.J. watching my departure. It did nothing to boost my spirits. Instead, I thought of Travis’s rejection. His apathy confused me but only fueled my determination. Maybe it had been too long. Everyone had moved on and wanted it to stay that way.

  But living Sarah’s life had changed me inside. I couldn’t go on, knowing what she had suffered, and that Dave still walked free. Something had to be done.

  I drove to the town’s quaint little post office, the next step of my plan taking shape. Removing Dave’s ring from my pocket, I snuck through the doors of the post office, holding the string of bells to keep from alerting the postmaster in back. I grabbed an envelope off the counter and a phone book that rested next to a row of ballpoint pens on chains. I flipped through the pages.

  Finding the address was easy; it was what to put on the note that was hard. I didn’t have much time to think, I could hear the postmaster chatting away to one of the workers while making his way to the front. Slipping the ring inside the envelope, I ripped a piece of paper from behind the counter and swiped a stamp from an open drawer. 42 cents is worth clearing a dead girl’s name – the post office owes Sarah one, I reasoned, trying to justify the stolen stamp.

  Scribbling quickly, I went to sign my name and paused. Almost blew it, genius. I made sure to write Sarah’s initials clearly, leaving no doubt for Dave who the ring was from. I licked the envelope and dropped it into the slot for local mail just as the postmaster ambled to the desk.

  “Can I help you?” he offered in a slow, casual manner.

  “Nope. Just checking something.” I hurried away, hoping he wouldn’t remember my face. I couldn’t risk talk getting around and ruining my chance at surprising Dave. The element of surprise was all I had over him.

  Racing across the road, I jumped into the car and threw it into gear. I checked the dashboard for the time. Noon. I was cutting it close. Everyone would be home from church soon.

  Slouching low in my seat, I hurried through town, going over the words in my mind, my stomach churning at the plan that had been set in motion.

  Meet me at our place. Friday – 8 pm. S.C.

  The ring would leave no doubt in his mind as to who the letter was from.

  There was no turning back now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Confessions of a Killer

  The week passed fairly quickly. Gran couldn’t figure out why I constantly went outside when I had to use the bathroom, and I knew it frightened Dad that I was up at sunrise before everyone else. A couple of months of routine wouldn’t just go away in a few days.

  I had used the meager change in my purse to make a few key purchases at the thrift shop in town and I had bumped into T.J. at the ice cream shop where I was treating Corey to a soft serve cone, but other than that, the week had been strangely quiet.

  Friday morning came quickly, and I watched everyone else scarf down blueberry pancakes while I couldn’t eat a bite.

  Everything seemed to be falling into place. Dad was taking Corey to the movies, and Gran and Grandpa had a church social to attend, so that left me alone Friday night, exactly what I wanted.

  When the clock read 7:15p.m., I crept downstairs and peeked into the kitchen. The house was deserted, save for a lone fly buzzing through the kitchen in a lazy drone. The sun shone in muted rays of light through the window, a few gray clouds having moved in to muffle the brilliant summer sky. Checking my reflection once more in the mirror, chills swept down my spine and iced the blood in my veins.

  Thanks to the thrift shop and its ability to sell just about anything found in the attic of the elderly, I’d found a knee-length plaid skirt, a white button-down blouse, and a blue ribbon to tie in my hair. The only thing missing – the blue sweater, but it was summer and hot… and I couldn’t bring myself to spend the last of my savings on even one more item I’d never wear again.

  I slipped into my white Sketchers. I wasn’t so foolish as to think I should be climbing the rocks in dress shoes, and if I had to run, I needed shoes that would grip. I hoped Dave wouldn’t notice the tiny differences between Sarah and me. Although, he couldn’t tell in the past, so how would he be able to tell now?

  Finally, I slipped my cell phone into an inside pocket I had stitched into the skirt, its battery charged and ready. Fortunately, I didn’t need a signal to run the video camera.

  Taking one last look around the kitche
n, I decided to leave a note on the table, just in case.

  Dad,

  Went to the rapids to hang out. Will be back soon. Hope you enjoyed the movie. Kate

  PS – I love you and Corey, too.

  If something happened to me, it wasn’t much of a good-bye, but then again, Dad had learned not to expect too much from me anyway.

  Sticking the note underneath the napkin holder, I left the house and bounded down the steps. I had to get to the rapids before Dave.

  As nervous as I was, I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he saw me. It was going to be – priceless.

  * * * *

  The rapids were in rare form, the brown water churning and roiling in massive waves. Every few minutes, the waves crashed into the rocky wall, dusting me with an icy shower. It had taken me a full ten minutes to climb the rocks and get brave enough to move close to the edge. The memories of the night I had fallen in clawed at the edge of my mind, making me anxious and jittery.

  Shivering, I perched on the ledge, watching the line of poplar and birch for Dave to emerge. Inside the skirt pocket, my cell phone lay open, ready for me to push the record button for the video camera.

  Where was he? It was well past eight o’clock and the sky had gone from a muted gray to a menacing, slate color as more and more clouds moved in over the area. Thoughts of a possible storm made me uneasy. What if a simple strike of lightning sent me back? I tried distracting myself by practicing what I would say to Dave. Don’t let him bully you. Stay in charge of the situation. Be confident.

  After a while, I stood to stretch and ease the ache from sitting for so long. He’s not going to show. Disappointment flooded my emotions, swallowing up the small sense of relief I felt from not having to go through with the plan. I had wanted to prove it, at least to myself, that what I had been through was real, that there had been a purpose.