“So you just think about where you want to go and poof, you end there? Like Dorothy with the ruby slippers.”
“Except I don’t have the slippers. But I do know this. The first time I went through the wormhole, I had one thought on my mind. So this is what I do with my career opportunity at UVA. Next thing I know I was back here during winter break, right before my big interview with McKenzie.”
“How do you explain that I came back to the same time you did?”
“You followed me.”
“Acceptable hypothesis, but not convincing.”
“You’re right, but the second trip through is the clincher. Right before I went through, I told you—the other you—that the only way to fix this is to focus on Einstein’s secret. My exact words were That’s how this all started and that’s the only way to fix this.”
“And you ended up in the fifties.”
“Yep, and that’s where I’m going again. I’m going to go back to the weekend when Einstein was in Princeton Hospital. When he writes his confession. And I’m getting that confession before he gives it to Clavin.”
I was already replaying what I knew about Einstein’s last days. Mrs. Ander, the nurse who didn’t know German. Dr. Dean, the doctor who gave Einstein sedatives. Ruth Meyer, Einstein’s trusted assistant who was there by his side. And the papers at Einstein’s bedside—
But my shoulders drooped and my momentum died when a terrible realization hit me. Those details, those facts, didn’t exist anymore. That version of history had disappeared. Einstein hadn’t died in Princeton Hospital.
“What’s the matter?” Eddie said. “You think you need the slippers?”
“Nah—the good witch tells Dorothy that she had the power all along. But how do you travel back to a history that doesn’t exist?”
“You go back to the timeline where it does exist.”
“That timeline theory doesn’t hold up. There’s only one history.”
“So every time you time travel you create a new history?”
“I don’t think so. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t.”
“That doesn’t sound very organized.”
“Time travel is messy.”
“Is that another one of your theories?”
“That’s the one that holds up the best.”
“Well, no wonder you’re latching on to the Dorothy Theorem. It’s a step up from ‘time travel is messy.’”
“What if I told you that there was some kind of order to it, a kind of synchronicity, but I haven’t figured it out?”
“I’d say we don’t have the time to figure it out. We need to go through the wormhole now.”
“‘We? I thought you didn’t believe.”
“According to you, I don’t have to. If I follow you through, I’m set, right?”
“So the pressure’s all on me.”
“Yeah, but not because of me. Because a vast chunk of history is counting on you. Not to mention Alex, Einstein, and Clavin.”
*
Before we took off for the Caves, we prepared ourselves for the trip back to the fifties. This time around, we’d look like we belonged there. We changed into button-down shirts and slacks. My shirt size was the same as Eddie’s, but I wasn’t so lucky with the pants. They were two sizes too big for me, and when coupled with the brown Oxford shoes he lent me, which were also too big for me, I looked like a nerd.
Once we were dressed for our bizarre mission, we got online and googled maps of the Mid-Atlantic states from the fifties, then plotted our trip from Cumberland to Princeton, a four-hour drive.
“We’re going to need a car to get from Weldon’s Estate to Princeton,” Eddie said.
“You remember that abandoned drive-in we drove by? It’s not abandoned back then, so we can steal one from there.” I didn’t tell him that my father, as a child, worked there.
“So you’ve gone from being worried about breaking into a house, to stealing cars from drive-ins.”
“Time travel does that to you.”
He laughed.
Eddie had a few bills from the fifties in case we needed cash. He didn’t deal in selling money from the fifties—there were far too many sellers of old currency to make a decent profit—but lucky for us, he’d acquired some as part of package deals with other fifties memorabilia.
We could have made more preparations, but I could feel the new history crushing my personal history. I could feel it inside myself. The correct clinical term was “reconstructing,” but that didn’t describe the feeling in my flesh, my bones, and my soul. There it felt like a fog was clearing to reveal a deep truth that I’d missed all my life.
I’d never seen my dad. My mom had raised me by herself. I’d always wanted to know who my dad was, but my mom had never told me. My work, the work of solving the mystery of Einstein’s disappearance, had been driven by that longing to know my dad. The dad I’d never met.
That was what I felt. That reconstructed memory had pushed out the memory I’d had of my dad laughing in a movie theater. That joyous memory had become a kind of phantom image, without a basis in reality—and, sadly, without emotion.
I went through my memories of Einstein’s last few days before they, too, disappeared. I didn’t focus on just the last day itself. There weren’t enough details, enough facts, in the records that I’d studied, the ones that no longer existed, to feel confident enough to concentrate on that specific day. I started with the beginning of the end.
“On April thirteenth, nineteen fifty-five, Einstein didn’t go to his office,” I told Eddie. “He was feeling sick, so he stayed home. That afternoon, Ruth Meyer heard him fall in the bathroom, so she called his doctor. The doctor rushed over and gave Einstein some morphine, and that alleviated his pain and helped him fall asleep. But the doctor knew that Einstein’s aneurysm had started to rupture.”
I hoped I was painting a picture for Eddie, so he could join me in “believing.” “The next morning,” I continued, “a group of doctors arrived at Einstein’s house and examined him. They recommended surgery and also told him that the aorta was probably too far gone to be salvaged. So Einstein refused the surgery—”
“There’s a famous quote from that day, right?” Good. Eddie was along for the ride. “But I can’t remember it.”
There was a quote, and I dug deep into my memories to salvage it before it was crushed by new memories. “It is tasteless to prolong life artificially. I have done my share, it is time to go. I will do it elegantly.”
“Nice. Do you remember the names of his doctors, the ones who came to his house?”
“Dr. Harvey and Dr. Dean. Dean was the doctor who begged Einstein to go to the hospital, but Einstein refused.”
“But he ended up in the hospital anyway.”
“Meyer called an ambulance.” I pictured her worried face. “She couldn’t just watch him die at home. She was devoted to him. She’d been taking care of him for decades.” I filled in another detail. “She spent a lot of time by his side at the hospital during those last two days.”
I pictured her stationed outside Einstein’s room, shooing away unwanted guests and reporters, just as she’d done for him when he’d been healthy. I saw her conferring with Dr. Dean, then I saw Dr. Dean giving Einstein sedatives.
The scientist was in pain.
I saw Einstein wake up in his hospital bed on the last day of his life and ask the nurse, Mrs. Ander, for pen and paper. He wanted to write something down, something that he wouldn’t let die with him.
I watched him write out his deathbed confession, his secret, and with that final image in my head, I was ready to go to the Caves. There, I’d go through Einstein’s last days again. Hopefully, I’d still remember them.
*
As we walked across campus toward Grace Hall, my regrets about not telling Laura the entire story started to grow. I should’ve warned her. But there was no way to convince her that time travel was real without showing her, and that would’ve most definite
ly sucked her into the vortex.
I told myself that the best protection for her would be to fix this. That argument sounded cowardly, but it was logical. To a point.
We entered Grace Hall, went down to the basement, and headed into the Caves. We moved through the tunnels without saying a word. I was thinking about Einstein’s final days, cycling through the details again, hoping not to forget them.
We arrived at Alex’s carrel. I unlocked the door and stepped inside—
A gunshot rang out, echoing through the tunnel.
I immediately ducked to the ground, then whipped back around to shut the door, when another shot rang out and Eddie went down. I crawled forward and grabbed him, suppressing my visceral reaction to the gaping wound in his head, and dragged him all the way into the carrel as two more shots rang out, kicking up sparks from the tunnel walls.
I slammed the door shut, locked it, and went back to Eddie. Part of his temple had been blown off, leaving ragged flesh in its place. Blood burbled from the wound, thick and endless, and his mouth was moving slightly.
There was a kick at the door, then another.
“Ch… change it… back.” Eddie rasped.
A gunshot thumped the door.
I thought about getting Eddie to a hospital, but that was a pipe dream. His face had gone totally pale and he was gasping for air.
Someone, and I’m sure it was Van Doran, kicked at the door, then shot at the lock.
I looked from Eddie to the stone wall.
Eddie’s hand moved toward his pocket. “J-Jacob.” His whisper was hoarse, with barely any life to it.
I leaned down, and Eddie took a deep breath. The blood was thicker now, and darker. His chest tightened as he braced himself for his final words.
“Y-you’ve been—p-planning to visit Einstein in—P-Princeton Hospital for twelve years… You just didn’t—know it.”
Exactly. That gave me the boost of confidence I needed. But when his last breath passed and his eyes went blank, I almost lost that boost. His life was now in my hands.
Three more shots hit the lock, then Van Doran kicked at the door.
I looked down to see what Eddie had been reaching for. He’d been pulling out the fifties cash from his pocket. I took it, buried my fears and doubts, and stood up to face the bare stone wall. It was time for me to resurrect Eddie.
I pictured Einstein in that hospital bed, writing down his final words, and I ran as fast as I could into the wall.
Chapter Twenty
The white ocean engulfed me, the temperature rose, and I felt sweat beading on my forehead. I kept running. The oxygen started to vanish, and I gasped for air, running until there no longer was any. Then overwhelmed by the heat of a flameless fire, I stumbled to the floor, welcoming its cold surface.
The white ocean slowly dissipated, and the familiar cracked, cement slab of Weldon’s basement floor came into focus.
I rose up on one knee and took deep, measured breaths. After a couple of minutes where Eddie’s death weighed heavy on me, I regrouped and headed to the staircase. My plan was to get through the house as fast as possible and check the date only if it was safe to do so. But that wasn’t critical. I could find out the date at the drive-in.
I headed up the stairs, wondering if the Dorothy Theorem had worked. If it hadn’t, then I’d never be able to resurrect Eddie, much less the old history.
I cracked open the basement door and peered into the kitchen. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming through the windows, and I hoped it was the sunlight of April 17, 1955—or close to it. Einstein had died on the morning of the eighteenth at 1:18 a.m.
My view of the kitchen was severely limited, so it was possible someone could be on the other side of the door. But after a minute or so of silence, I decided the coast was clear, opened the door, and stepped through.
The kitchen was pretty much the way it’d been the first time I’d arrived in the fifties. That was a good sign, but it didn’t mean this was April 1955, or that I’d arrived in the right history, the one where Einstein had died in the hospital.
I rushed toward the hallway, but just before I entered it, I heard footsteps. They were moving quickly.
I hung back in the kitchen and heard Clavin say, “Yes, Mr. Weldon.”
Part of me wanted to run back into the basement and wait till the coast was clear, while another part wanted to see if I could glean some information.
The curious part won out.
I knew the study was down the hallway, so Clavin had probably stepped into it to talk to Weldon. I peered into the hallway and saw light spilling out from the study.
Without hesitation, I moved down the hallway, just enough to eavesdrop and still have a cushion for a quick getaway.
“How long has Professor Einstein been in the hospital?” That was Clavin.
“Two days. He sounded very ill, Henry. He barely had the strength to talk.”
Both men went silent for a few seconds, as if they were acknowledging the gravity of the situation. That gave me the time to calculate that if Einstein had been in the hospital for two days, it was the seventeenth. My timing had been perfect. Einstein would die late tonight. But I’d have to rush to Princeton.
Weldon spoke up, again. “Albert said he’d leave a note should he take a turn for the worse.”
The note, the confession, the secret?
“Do you think he discovered something more about the bridge?” Clavin asked.
“That’s what he implied.”
“Have you told Mr. Van Doran?”
“I couldn’t. Greg went through again,” Weldon said, and more silence followed, giving me the distinct impression that Weldon wasn’t pleased with Van Doran’s wanderings. “Albert may die, and if he has an insight into how time travel works and it dies with him, I’d never forgive myself.” I heard the sound of shuffling papers. “I want you to drive to Princeton and be ready in case Albert doesn’t recover and leaves that note.”
“I understand, sir. I’ll call you when I get there.”
That was my cue to leave. I’d have to race Clavin to Princeton, so I started right then.
I hurried back down the hall, took the connecting hallway into the dining room, and raced through the foyer and out the front door. I sprinted along the front of the house, circled around the large garage, ducked into the woods, then headed to the back of the property.
As I moved through the woods, I replayed the conversation I’d just heard. It explained, finally, the anomalies in the appointment books that Meyer had kept. It was now clear why she didn’t note how long the meetings with Clavin were going to be and why Einstein had no appointments for the next two or three days: because Einstein hadn’t been meeting with Clavin. Those weren’t appointment times Meyer had been noting. They were the times Clavin was set to arrive in Princeton to pick up Einstein and chauffeur him to Cumberland. And Einstein had no appointment afterwards because he’d stay there for the next two or three days. Henry Clavin worked for Weldon and that was his connection to Einstein.
I also thought I now understood how Weldon and Van Doran were connected. Weldon, who’d discovered the portal while at UVA, had confided in Van Doran about his precious discovery, and Van Doran had brought in Einstein.
When I made it to the road, it was almost dusk. I trudged forward, parallel to the road, under the cover of the forest. Cars roared by, probably heading to the drive-in. When I approached its perimeter, I saw that proved true. The parking lot was half-full, but filling up fast. Tonight’s feature presentation was To Catch A Thief, which made sense, considering what I was about to do.
My plan for the drive-in was fairly basic, because it took into account my experience as a car thief—which was none. I’d buy a walk-in ticket, then stroll toward the concession, checking out the back row of cars, on the lookout for one that was currently empty of driver and passengers.
Once I spotted my mark, I’d meander over by the driver’s side, as if I were headed toward the front of
the drive-in, and check to see if the keys were in the ignition. If they were, I’d make my move. If not, I’d repeat the process. The car had to be in the last row, so I could back it out easily and head directly for the exit.
*
The cars were ten deep at the ticket window, and as I walked past them, my thoughts went to my dad. I hoped he wasn’t working tonight. I didn’t want to face him.
By now, he’d have seen that I’d never published the promised news article. He’d know that I’d taken advantage of him, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I feared this disappointment had been a terrible blow to him and had affected the rest of his life.
At the ticket window, I waited for the car in front of me to pay then bought my ticket using a bill from Eddie’s cash. I silently thanked Eddie for his final gesture. If he hadn’t reached for his pocket, I would’ve forgotten the cash from the fifties.
Inside, a few employees, all teenagers, were guiding cars into rows. Maybe the younger kids weren’t working this evening because it was a school night. Still, I was on the lookout for my dad.
I casually headed over to the concession stand, and as I did, I scanned the parked cars. There were very few cars along the back row because spots were still available closer to the screen. And those that were there all had someone inside.
While standing in the concession stand line, I began to scout cars in other rows. Specifically, cars parked at the end of a row, so they weren’t blocked in. But from where I stood, I couldn’t tell if the passengers were in those cars or not.
As the concession line moved forward, more cars rolled into the drive-in, and I watched them, hoping some would opt for the back row.
None did.
Then I found myself at the front of line, ordering a burger. That wasn’t part of the plan, but it beat loitering around, looking suspicious.
I stood to the side of the concession stand, ate my burger—which was unexpectedly delicious, rich with flavor, like a gourmet burger rather than a fast-food burger—and watched more cars park. As I finished the last bite of my burger, a short unspooled on the big screen.
No Hunting, starring Donald Duck.
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