The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 2): Saving Time

by Samuel Ben White

  The other hole in time involved a dog that Jon said used to live in the neighborhood. Not willing to trust the safety of all time to a dog, they had let the mutt go on by.

  The thing was, the dog hadn't gone on by. After Sarah petted the little beagle, it refused to leave her side. It was as if it had suddenly adopted her as his own. Garison wanted to run it off—so it would return to its own time—but he didn't want to upset Sarah. He was far too tightly wrapped around her chubby little fingers to do something like that. Besides, they had no idea but what the window had already closed long before.

  "You're sure this dog is from the past?" Garison asked, petting the friendly little dog. It was short and round and obviously loved people. It's dark ears and the spot on its back made it a good candidate for a Snoopy look alike contest, though it didn't have a little yellow bird hanging around with it.

  Jon nodded and said, "Pretty sure. Family named Pruitt used to live across the street from me and they had a dog that looked about like this one. Markings seem right, anyway."

  "Remember anything about what happened to the dog?" Garison asked.

  Day shot Garison a meaningful look, "As I remember, he just disappeared one day. They put up posters and offered rewards and everything, but they never got the dog back. Never heard a another thing about him after that."

  "When was this?"

  Day thought back for a while before replying, "Early eighties, I think. Might have been a little later. I know it was around then."

  "You remember all dogs and when they lived in the neighborhood?" Garison asked with a chuckle.

  "No. But I remember all the commotion when this one disappeared. I remember the time because of his name."

  Garison, petting the dog's ears, smiled and asked, "What's your name, little fella? Snoopy?"

  "Ronald Reagan," Day supplied. At Garison's questioning look, Day nodded and replied, "This is a strongly Republican neighborhood and some people whispered that a Democrat must've stolen the dog."

  "I knew there was something I liked about this place," Garison laughed. Petting the dog again he told it, "You have a proud name, Mister President. Now, go play with Sarah before I start sneezing my head off."

  "Allergic?" Day asked, making conversation more than anything. He was a little surprised that Garison, who seemed to be able to do anything (even one handed) would have any physical flaws.

  "Immensely. I'm surprised I've been able to spend this much time around him. You know, when I lived here I had to walk just about everywhere because I was so allergic to horses I'd have sneezing fits just getting near the hitching posts. Kept me in shape, though."

  They were interrupted by the front door opening out onto the porch where they were sitting. They looked up, expecting to Heather coming out to join them. She had just gone in moments before, but Garison knew she hated being away from him or Sarah for very long anymore.

  What they saw was a woman in her early sixties. She had black hair, streaked with a little grey, and an infectious smile. Jon looked at her in awe and said, "Mary," as if he hadn't seen her in forever.

  Garison realized instantly that he hadn't. Or, what probably seemed like forever. He remembered that Mary was the name of Jon's wife, who had died several years before. Garison looked at the front door, wondering just where the hole in time was. Was he sitting in it? Could holes surround a person like an odor and follow them as they walked? There was so much he didn't know—and probably wouldn't have time to learn.

  Jon stood up and hugged Mary, which greatly surprised her. He had never been an overly affectionate man, especially in public, but she had always known he loved her. Still, you'd think he hadn't just been talking to her fifteen minutes before.

  As Jon let go of the hug and looked at Mary with warm eyes, brimming with tears, Mary remarked, "I didn't know you had company. You should have said something. I could have brought out tea. Although I can't figure out why you'd be sitting on the porch in the middle of winter."

  "What?" Jon asked, momentarily forgetting his porch companion. He turned and saw Garison, who was just standing up.

  Garison offered his hand and said, "I just got here. My name's um, Burt. I used to work with your husband."

  "Pleased to meet you," Mary replied. She turned to Jon, still wondering why he looked so bewilderingly happy, and told him, "I need to run a few errands, Jon. Do you need anything from anywhere?"

  He shook his head and started to say no, but Garison jumped in, "Actually, I do. Do you think you could run a package by the post office for me? I need to leave from here right away and really don't have time—if it wouldn't be too much of a bother, I mean."

  "Oh, no bother," Mary replied cordially. "I need to go by and buy a book of stamps anyway, now that you mention it." She thought the young man seemed a little anxious, but he seemed like a nice fellow. And he certainly was handsome. Now why hadn't Jon ever introduced this young man to their daughter? May have thought he was too old for her.

  Garison picked up one of the pre wrapped tapes and asked, Day in a whisper, "What year?"

  Day looked at his wife appraisingly, which really made her wonder even more, then replied, "Early nineties."

  "What are you two whispering about?" Mary chided.

  "Oh, Garison was saying I probably didn't even know my wife's wardrobe well enough to know when you bought the clothes you were wearing. I told him 1990."

  Mary slapped her husband playfully on the arm and reproached, "This outfit isn't three years old, Jon. You don't even remember me buying this last week?"

  "Now I do," he nodded. Even had this conversation been currant, he laughed to himself, he never could keep up with her clothes. And he certainly could never keep straight which were store bought and which she had made herself. Mary had always been a frugal house manager, but she did love new clothes.

  Garison slapped the correct label on the package and said, "I really appreciate this. Let me give you some postage money—"

  "Nonsense," Mary waved him away. "This won't cost hardly anything to mail. You just take Jon out for some coffee or something." Winking at Garison, she added, "Lord knows I need him out from under foot. Sure you can't talk him into coming back to work at the store?"

  "Huh?"

  "Oh, I just assumed you were one of John's old friends from Penneys."

  "Uh, yeah, I am," Garison nodded. "I wish we could get him to come back."

  Mary kissed Jon on the cheek and started to walk away. He held her hand like he didn't want to let it go, but finally did. She smiled lovingly at him, then set off down the walk towards the cars.

  Jon suddenly asked, "Mary, what day is it?"

  "January 28, silly. I swear, you'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on."

  Jon nodded and watched her start to fade away. He was suddenly overcome with panic as he realized the import behind the day. "January 28, 1993?" he asked, more to himself than to anyone else. Leaping from the porch he called out, "Mary! No!"

  But she was already gone. The snow that had been lining the sidewalks a moment before was replaced by newly fallen leaves. Garison quickly joined Jon and asked, "What is it?"

  Jon turned around, revealing the tears in his eyes, as he said, "Mary died on January 28, 1993."

  "What?" was all Garison could mumble, shock overcoming him.

  "Mary had just left the house to run some errands. According to the reports, she had an aneurism about three blocks from here and died. They found her car wrapped around a telephone pole, but they say she was probably dead long before the crash." Day forced a smile and said, "The doctor did say she probably didn't feel a thing."

  Garison put his hand on Day's back, offering whatever comfort he could provide. Day shrugged it off and, with a sniff, said, "I thought I was over it. I had no idea I'd have to go through it again."

  Garison returned, "I lost my first wife two and a half years ago and I don't think I'll ever be over it."

  Day looked at where he had last seen his wife and mumbled,
"The package."

  Garison was shaken out of a brief reverie about his wife Sarah and asked, "Huh?"

  "The video tape. I know what happened to it," Day told him. "Near the wreck, the police found a video tape just laying on the ground. They asked if it was mine, but I'd never seen it before, so I said no. They took it with them and," he chuckled genuinely but grimly, "They said it was some amateur sci fi video. They said it wasn't very well done. Nothing on it to make them think it had belonged to Mary, though, so it probably got thrown away."

  "Or now resides in some file somewhere." Garison sighed and sat down on the porch.

  Day sat down beside him and asked, "Try again?"

  Garison nodded. "Yeah. I haven't said anything, but have you noticed something about the holes in time?"

  "What?" Day thought a moment, then offered, "The fact that all the rest have been in my yard while this one seems to have stretched all the way to my front door?"

  "That's part of it, though I hadn't thought of that particular detail."

  "Are you saying the holes are beginning to move?"

  "Maybe. Or maybe you're finally seeing some long ones like we saw out in Colorado. But no, what I'm talking about is the frequency. We've seen five—maybe six—in the last four days."

  "That's pretty often," Day agreed morosely. "They used to just be once or twice a week."

  "And it goes back to what we talked about. How many happen that we never see?"

  "If this many more are going on that we do see," Day surmised, "Then a bunch more are probably going on that we don't see, right?"

  "Right. And that means it's getting worse."

  "And the worse it gets the less time we have, right?"

  "Exactly. What happens when they get so close together they begin to overlap with one another?" Garison nudged Day to stand up and said, "Let's go get Heather and have a talk. We need to make some plans."

  "No! Absolutely not!" Heather fairly screamed.

  "Heather," Garison told her, "It's the only way."

  "No! We've proven we can get packages back through time. Let's just keep doing it until we get it right!"

  "We may not have that kind of time," Garison told her. "Every day there are more and more holes. I don't know just how many holes a day it's going to take before time just rips wide open, but it could be any day now. There are so many windows now, the chances are getting enormous for someone wondering into a hole and re writing history by accident. The longer we wait, the more we tempt fate." He added in a mumble, "Sorry, didn't mean to rhyme."

  "Seems to me," Day injected, "That you're right about the end coming if two holes overlap." When Garison looked at him questioningly, Day explained, "Think about it. What if a hole from the eighteen hundreds opens up right where there's already a hole open from the nineteen thirties? People or things might accidentally trade places. Those sewer workers I saw might find themselves inside your burning shed, or in a Civil War battle. Seems like that would be chaos."

  "You may be right," Garison nodded. "And the more holes that appear, the more likely that is to happen."

  "Let's not get sidetracked," Heather interrupted. "You want to go back in time yourself and I forbid it."

  "You can't," Garison replied calmly. "The world is about to end and, as melodramatic as it sounds, it's up to the three of us to save it. If we don't . . . "

  "But what if you do jump through a hole in time like you're saying but it doesn't work? What if you're killed before you can deliver the message? Or what if I suddenly remember you did deliver the message but the you and I of four years ago thought you were some sort of a crank? What then?"

  Garison paused, then replied seriously, "Then one of you is going to have to give it a try. You're going to have to go through one of the holes, go to Colorado, and stop me."

  "And if what if all three of us go back in time and none of us can stop it? What then, do we hope Sarah walks through one of the holes and delivers the tape to Colorado?"

  Garison leaned back in his chair, the utter despair of the whole situation weighing him down like a physical anchor. It made his shoulder ache, but he thought that was more from the tension than from actual physical stress. He finally answered, "If none of the three of us make it, then we've failed. Time will soon destruct all around Sarah and people will probably react just like the Apostle John said: they'll scream for the mountains to fall on them."

  "Maybe this is God's way of destroying the earth," Heather offered, as if that would cheer up the group.

  "If that's so," Garison replied, "Then we can't do anything about it. But, what if it's God's will that the earth isn't destroyed this way? In that case, it's my duty to stop it because I was the one who started it. If I in any way have the means to fix the problem, I have to try."

  Heather knew in her heart and in her head that Garison was right. She also knew that one of them going back in time personally was probably the best way to guarantee safe delivery of the tape. Still, she didn't like it.

  Deep down, she knew it was because she had given up hope of repairing time. She was confident that time was about to self destruct. And she couldn't bare the thought of facing that alone, without Garison.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  To Heather,

  You may never see this. But if you are reading this, it means my attempt to change history has failed and now it's up to you and Jon. I'm sure your annoying friend Bat Garrett would have something witty to say about that sentence, but I don't.

  Like I said, now it is up to you and Jon. One of you must try—and try today. There cannot be much "time" left by the time you see this. (Even now, I am amazed by just how strongly tied to "time" we are, even as a basic concept.)

  But if you are able to read it, then let me apologize. Let me apologize for failing; and let me apologize for leaving you behind while I went on what was, apparently, a futile quest. I would rather have been with you.

  I love you, Heather Dawson Fitch. I love the smell of you hair, the feel of your body next to mine in the night, your smile. I love the child we made together and I deeply regret that—once again—I have had to leave my children behind. Life often seems circular for people, but I think it's even moreso for me.

  I will always love you. When you read this, I will be past tense. But wherever I am—wherever I was, whenever I was—I always did, always will, and always do love you. Believe that.

  Someday in heaven, we will meet again. Trust in that.

  With more love than I can say,

  Garison

  After signing his name to the page, Garison folded the piece of paper and went upstairs. Heather was already asleep, so he stuck the piece of paper in the little bag she kept her facial soap in—knowing she wouldn't open it before the next night.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Garison's Journal

  November 15, 2007

  If I get the chance, I am going back in time today. I have tried and tried to think of another way to repair the damage I once did, but I cannot.

  Heather is somewhat right: we could keep sending packages back through unwitting couriers. But there's an old saying they always quote on television: if you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself.

  While television is at its most reliable when incorrectly predicting the weather, it sometimes gets things right. Even a blind pig finds an acorn now and then, they say. "Blind swine" is a pretty good description of how television moguls operate; unfortunately, it also applies to us.

  So I'm going back. What will happen?

  If I go back and hand myself the video tape, will I suddenly just cease to exist? Will I feel a sharp pain as my insides are somehow cosmically ripped apart? Will I even know what—or if—anything happened?

  Heather's insane friend Bat once told me he wasn't afraid of death, just a painful death. I agree with him, but I also wonder if I will even die?

  Today's the day.

  It was a cold day, but Garison volunteered for the first watch on the
porch. He sat out there all bundled up with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand. He would have liked to have had the video tape in the other, but his right arm got tired even holding something that light weight for very long. Though he was better than he had been in over a month, he could hardly wait until he was completely healed.

  Heather came out and joined him on the porch, leading a bundled up little Sarah. Garison chuckled, thinking Sarah looked like an animate teddy bear. She wasn't too animate, though, as the clothes were so bulky. Inside the bulky clothes, waddling as she tried to walk, she reminded Heather of the Apollo moon astronauts.

  "How are you doing, Sarah?" he asked, putting down the chocolate and taking her into his arms. He had been pretty much ecstatic when he had been able to do that again.

  She touched his injured shoulder and asked, as she did every day, "All better, Dadda?"

  "Not quite. But getting there." He smiled and told her happily, "You know what I'm going to do as soon as my arm's all better?"

  At the shake of her head, he told her, "I'm going to hug you for days and days." She laughed and he suddenly realized he had just lied to her. If he ever got well, it would probably be some time in the past—long before she was even born. With his good arm, he suddenly held her tightly and fought back the tears.

  "Is everything all right, Garison?" Heather asked, sitting down beside him. She knew him well enough to make hiding his emotions a futile game.

  "I'm just thinking about the future," he told her. Looking at his daughter, he added, "And hoping she'll have one."

  "She will, Garison," Heather lied. "It'll all work out. You'll see." She didn't feel as confident as she sounded, and Garison knew her well enough to know it.

  He nodded and they sat and talked. With Sarah playing at putting her little doll in the crook of Garison's sling, Heather and Garison just talked. It wasn't about anything, but it was about everything. They both realized they hadn't sat down and done that—really talked—in almost two weeks. All they had talked about was time travel and closing the windows. They suddenly had all sorts of things to say.