Altering the Apocalypse: and Other Short Stories About Humans and Time Travel

by Fred Phillips

  I discreetly asked around amongst the faithful the next few days and found that a David Collier had left without telling anyone. I also learned that hightailing it out of town on a moment’s notice was a habit of his due to his drug dealing ways and his three baby mamas. David Collier was of average height and build – his one noticeable feature was his shiny bald head, a result of chemo treatments for a cancer now in remission. No one was too concerned - except for me.

  Three more overnight stakeouts and two weeks later I was parked in front of Fred’s Deli – No One Beats Our Meat! – across from the New Dawn Church. I had decided to make a night of it again. Same story – Breckenridge alone in the church, only the light of his office illuminating an otherwise darkened building. Around midnight a woman knocked on the door. She was quickly let in. Nothing else happened until muted rays of light poked through the early morning clouds. I watched as Breckenridge exited the building, locked the door, and drove off in his Jag. I knew that no one could pin dereliction of duty on my resume this time– littering the floor of my car were the empty coffee containers, discarded lids, and a plastic bottle stinking of urine, all which served as proof. I hadn’t dozed off or taken a short walk. Nothing was missed this time!

  I wrote up the event in my weekly report and emailed it to my boss. I interviewed the New Dawn Church congregation and was met with more resistance and silence. I was stuck, but I hadn’t gotten this far in the department because of my superior detective skills, my accuracy on the shooting range, or my ability to kiss ass; no, I got to this middle management level of law enforcement mostly by being persistent. A real pain-in-the-ass, I was called. It was a compliment or an insult, depending on who said it.

  No one knew anything about a missing woman. Guess one day wasn’t enough for any member of the New Dawn congregation to be missed.

  Not sure why I decided to conduct another overnight stakeout the very next evening, but there I was, eighteen hours later, parked outside the New Dawn Church. This time I pulled my car into a space across the street, adjacent to the auto body repair shop – You Bend It – We Mend It. I had stocked my car with enough coffee to keep a Panda Bear climbing eucalyptus trees for hours. It was a soupy, dark night, the kind that promotes evil, encourages nefarious activities, and inspires film noir directors. It should have been an ominous warning. I thought I was safely hidden by a few scraggly, drought-disfigured California trees. I was wrong. Dead wrong.

  I had just finished one thermos of coffee when I was startled by the knock on my window. It was him – Breckenridge. Smiling like the cat who had eaten all the canaries and a few other stray sacrificial birds. I rolled down my window.

  “Sargent, you should cease this game. I know you’re here, though for the life of me a reason for it escapes me.”

  “It’s, ah, Lieutenant, and, um, well, it’s just a law enforcement action.”

  “Lieutenant Michaels? Billy Michaels.” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “Following me for a month. I wonder why. You sit out here, probably drinking crappy coffee and pissing into a bottle. You’ve been asking questions about me all over town. Why did you not just come to me first and ask questions? I have nothing to hide.”

  “It’s an investigation, pastor. It’s how we conduct our business, behind the scenes.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been that much behind the scenes, now has it? Since everyone around me knows about it. Tell you what; due to your constant snooping, my background file probably contains enough info by now. You probably think of me as one of those televangelists who takes people’s money. I can’t fully deny that, but I do plenty of good with that money. Why don’t you come in and ask your questions?”

  It was shit or get off the pot time.

  “I think I will.” I was truth or dare time – I decided to take his dare and find out the truth. I made sure my gun was holstered beneath my jacket, placed a recording device and a small notebook in my jacket pocket, and followed Breckenridge into the New Dawn Church.

  After walking down a few dark hallways, we entered a brightly lit office. When Breckenridge turned on the light, I expected to see a throne of gold, but instead found a simple room with furnishings straight from the local Ikea. None of the glitz and glamor I expected.

  He noticed the perplexed look on my face. “Not what you expected? I take it you thought my office would look like the Palace of Versailles or something a bit more ornate?”

  “Well I did expect a bit more than this.”

  “My church helps fund medical supplies around the world, works to get babies adopted instead of aborted, and feeds the hungry. Do I take a little out of the collection plate? Sure, I admit it. I’m guilty. The money goes to the car. Jags are expensive – that’s my one luxury. I love nice cars. There’s also an old Studebaker in the garage. It’s cherry now after I’ve fixed it up a bit. Almost road ready. But I claim it as compensation and make sure to report in on my taxes.” He gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit, please.”

  I sat, opened my notebook, and pulled the recorder out of my pocket. “You mind if I record this?”

  “Not at all. I have nothing to hide, as I said. I prefer we talk openly and honestly. Take a good look around. Nothing fancy here.” I watched as he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a file. “See this file. It’s most of my financial information concerning the church. I printed it out. You can take it if you like. Search through it and see if you find any improprieties.” He reached across his desk to hand me the file. That’s when I felt a tiny sting on my neck. I twisted my neck to look behind me and saw a large man, a very large man with a bald head and biceps the size of over inflated party balloons, holding a needle in his hand - a needle I assumed had just been stuck in my neck.

  “What the hell are you-” I don’t think I got any more words out; if I did, I forget them now. They would be meaningless anyway. Just lonely words without any empathetic ears to hear them.

  I awoke in an empty room. Empty except for a table and me. I was strapped to the table, stripped of all my clothes, and vaguely aware of an incessant mechanical humming coming from the ceiling and the walls – like an airplane warming up its engines in a distant hanger somewhere.

  I have no idea how long I waited – could have been ten minutes or ten hours. Could have been a year. I heard the turning of locks on the door, heavy, metallic, like the opening of a bank vault. In walked the preacher and another man. Not the large man who had stuck me with a needle, but someone much smaller and less intimidating this time. This new man wore a white lab coat, large, black-rimmed glasses, and had the tangled web of hair of a mad scientist.

  Breckenridge looked down at me. “Ah Lieutenant, you’re awake. I trust you slept well.” He grinned like a man who had just heard the jury pronounce him not guilty.

  “What the fuck is this, Breckenridge?” I quickly summarized my chances of escape. Neither men had any size on me, and I had fought, and won, in a two-on-one fight before. Of course, the restraints on my hands and feet made the house odds on my escape a bit steeper.

  “Lieutenant, I don’t take kindly to someone snooping around my affairs. I frown on those who question someone doing the work of God. I am doing the work of God. And, you will soon know just how close to the truth that statement is. This man here, you probably haven’t heard of him, but he’s done some ground-breaking research in travel. So incredibly ground-breaking it got him kicked out of his research facility in Australia. He’s unknown here, but God brought him to me. God is using me as a part of his plans. Unfortunately for you, the type of travel he is an expert in isn’t luxury cruises to the Bahamas or jetting around the globe.”

  “Breckenridge, let me out of here. I will forget all about your assault. I’ll focus on the money you stole. You’ll get a slap on the wrist. I mean-”

  “I never stole any money. Everything I own was given freely by my followers.”

  “Yeah, lots of preachers with a brand-new Jag.”

  “The Jag is my only luxury
. A few handfuls from the collection plate. My congregation knows about it. I don’t hide it. And lieutenant, you saw my office. And I assume you saw my house, too.”

  I nodded my head. “Yes.”

  “You saw nothing luxurious. It’s not bad, but it’s a typical suburban home. My kids attend public school and my wife also works. I’m just living the middle-class dream. If I’m a thief or a swindler, I’m not very good at it.” Breckenridge’s sinister laugh just pushed the house odds even more against my possible escape.

  His laugh worried me more than the restraints. It was a soft yet intimidating cadence of malevolent amusement that scared the hell out of me. “I-I’ll drop it then. Nothing to see here. I’ll file my report and that will be the end of it. It’s not a case I cared about much anyway. Just doing my job.”

  Breckenridge put a photo in front of my face. An old sepia toned photo, it showed a row of smiling women, dressed in late 19th century garb. “Look at the one in the middle, the tallest one. Do you recognize her?”

  I tried to focus on the woman in question; bright, toothy smile; narrow, oblong face; angular cheekbones; and flowing brunette hair. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place the face. “S-she, she, I think I recognize her, but I-I don’t know. Who is she?”

  “I’m sure you came across Stacy Delgado in your investigation. She’s missing- that’s probably one of the reasons you’re here.” He pointed at the picture. “Look again. Does she look familiar now?”

  She looked just like the photo I had for Stacy – only I had a color photograph and this was a snapshot from the distant past. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “The doctor here.” He pointed to the man, still standing in the shadows. “He specializes in a specific type of travel. Time travel, my good lieutenant. Some say it’s not possible, but here in this room we achieved the impossible. And this is the way I get to play God. Oh, and I do so very much love playing God.” He bent down and put his face right in front of mine. “It’s quite a shot of adrenaline to play God.” His laughter chilled me. “I sent Stacy back in time. She had completely messed up her chance on Earth, but she received a shot at a new life, a Re-life. She was a drug addict, a prostitute, an unwed mother, and she was still a sinner even though she tried to accept Jesus. I gave her another chance.”

  “That picture, what is it, some fake, some pretend-“

  “It’s real. One of my followers here at the church found it in a history book. Just by chance. Imagine that. She brought it to me one day. She was shocked at the resemblance to Stacy, but I knew better.” He shook his head. “Yes, I knew much, much better. I knew it wasn’t a resemblance, it was actually our missing Stacy. I send them back but have no idea what happens to them. Quite a miracle to find this. In fact, it was complete validation that our little secret project works as planned.”

  “I-I don’t understand what-”

  “Here, let me read this to you. It describes the photograph.”

  Actresses from the current offering at the Lyceum Theater at 4th Ave. and 24th St. smile for the camera after donating the proceeds from the matinee to the purchase toys, cards, etc to sick children in homes and hospitals for Christmas. Stacy Jones, pictured in the middle, organized the donation and has plans for more donations to help the poor and sick of New York.

  “Stacy always talked about her dream of being an actress, but unfortunately, those dreams were ruined by drugs and sex. She gets a second chance and she not only becomes an actress, but she gives back to the world. She has made the most of her Re-life. That’s a powerful statement on the power of God.”

  “Jesus, Breckenridge, you’re talking about the impossible”

  “No lieutenant, it’s possible.”

  “Is that where they all went? Um, Jeb, and, Dorian, and-“

  “Yes, all sinners who totally squandered the life God had given them. I gave them one more chance.”

  “Ella, what about Ella? She was the perfect Christian or so it seemed.”

  “Poor Ella. She was a true believer. She cheated on her husband. One screw up in an otherwise exemplary life. Well, many screw ups, but all with the same guy. She was distraught and on the verge of suicide. I told her I knew a way to help her, and she was the most compliant, um, traveler we’ve helped.”

  “You’re a monster, Breckenridge”

  “Men who have been chosen by God have been called worse.” He paused for a moment and looked deeply into my eyes. “So, to what time period do you want to go?”

  “Breckenridge. If I turn up missing, they’ll be a full investigation. I’m a cop and cops don’t take kindly to one of their own being killed.”

  “You won’t be dead, lieutenant. You’ll be missing, for sure.” He paused and looked over at the nameless scientist. “But, they’ll be no body. They’ll clear me quickly. Give me some credit. I think ahead. A man, a dedicated follower, matching your build will soon arrive by a back door and he thinks I need a car moved. He won’t ask questions. After we’re done here, he will put your clothes on, and of course, he will don that ball cap you were wearing, and he will take your keys and drive off in your car. The security camera will see this man, mostly from behind and your fellow detectives will surmise that you left my offices in the middle of the night and drove off to parts unknown. I, of course, will happily oblige when the detectives ask for a copy of the security tapes. Oh, there’s a security camera at the auto body shop, but that will also not show a face. I also happen to know that the one at the deli is on a twenty-four-hour loop and will be erased before the cops ask to see it.”

  “Jesus, you’re a conniving bastard.”

  “I’m a planner. I think ahead.”

  “You won’t get away with it Breckenridge.”

  “Unless you do something to garner a small measure of fame or get your picture in a history book, no one will have any idea where you went. No one, except for your fellow officers will miss you for too long, I’m sorry to say. So, to what time period do you wish to go?”

  “How about yesterday. That was a good day.”

  “Funny, lieutenant. I appreciate a good sense of humor. But, I’ll give you a choice. Perhaps the 1870s, just after the war. Or perhaps the roaring 20’s – I heard that was a fun time.” Breckenridge waited for my reply, but I didn’t respond, trying to find the words I could say that would get me out of this nightmare.

  “No witty retort, lieutenant? I think we’re done here. I’ll choose the time period. Stacy seemed to do well in the 1880’s”

  The scientist stepped forward and jabbed a needle in my arm.

  “What the hell is that…”

  The next thing I knew I awoke, sitting on the floor of a small compartment, like a small downstairs shower, with barely enough room to stand. dressed in unfamiliar clothes – a medium brown suit made of what felt like wool, with light brown vest and pants, white shirt, suspenders, and dark brown tie. It was topped off with a brown felt Homburg sitting on my head.

  “Stand up lieutenant.” Breckenridge’s voice came through an intercom. I pushed off the floor and stood. “Reach in your left suit jacket pocket.” I followed his orders and latched onto a leather wallet stuffed with money. “It’s real. Real leather and real money from the early 20th century. There’s plenty of, um, lettuce in there – I think that’s a term used in the time period.”

  I opened the wallet and peered inside. There was a mix of dollar bills – twenties, tens, fives, and ones. They all looked slightly different than current money. “There’s also some coins in your other pocket.” I checked in my right pocket and lifted out a handful of coins. I recognized them – I had collected coins as a kid. Buffalo nickels, Mercury dimes, Standing-liberty quarters, Walking-liberty half dollars, and normal Lincoln pennies.

  “I decided to be nice and send you to a much more enlightened and fun period of time. I imagine it will be much easier for you to adapt to the 1920’s than the 1870’s. You’re what, forty or so? I doubt you’ll be alive anywhere near the 21st cent
ury, so I won’t be seeing you again. You have plenty of money. You have over half the yearly income for a well-paid worker, so you’re all set.”

  I pounded and pushed on the walls, looking for a door. I noticed a small seam where the door should have been and pushed with all the strength I could muster.” Let me outta here! You have no right! You better let me out of here now. You will not get away with this!”

  “Lieutenant, your shouts can’t be heard beyond these walls. Save your voice. No one will know. It’s the perfect crime. The most difficult part is explaining my energy bills and the four generators we had to buy for the church.”

  I had nothing left to say. My hands hurt from pounding on the walls. I had begun to process and accept my fate. A fate that was dependent on a time travel machine.

  “Well, toodles, or however they say goodbye in 1920. Oh, one more tip. Remember, get out of the stock market before 1929, but you’ll have time to make some real money, If I remember correctly, it goes up for most of the decade. Buy low and sell high, they say.”

  Then the small room went completely dark and the mechanical noise began, louder and louder, as if I was standing beneath the large blades of a helicopter. I felt a rush of wind and heat. I covered my ears and then I felt a jolt, like I had driven my car into a brick wall. And the nothing. It was over in less than a few seconds.

  It had been a strange beginning. From the complete darkness of the room to the bright midday sunshine. I found myself standing in the middle of a street in downtown San Diego, perhaps the one on which the New Dawn Church was located. A couple of early 20th century cars, rectangular with ninety-degree angles and dark colors passed as the drivers shouted, “Hey, mista, get outta the street!” None of the cars were moving faster than twenty-miles per hour and they all looked like they were constructed from cheap tin cans, so I wasn’t too worried if one hit me.