State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6

by Jacqueline Druga

  Elliott realized before hearing any crowd response what the general consensus, undisputed, and unanimous vote would be on the Captain’s plan. And right then and there, Elliott knew the Captain could have told the group of men they would be fighting in pink tutus and they would wear them, and wear them with pride. The Captain did what he always did. He motivated and moved. And the Captain didn’t just get them, he had them.

  ^^^^

  Beginnings, Montana

  Deep breaths buried themselves within the palms of Joe’s hands, folded and brought to his face. His hand covered his nose as he sat on the couch only wanting to go to bed.

  “And you know he’s doing this avoidance on purpose,” Robbie griped as he paced fast back and forth before Joe. “I told him to come here, but no. He has to wait until you’re all ready for bed.” Robbie stopped. “So he radioed he’s on his way. Where is he?”

  “This can’t wait until morning?” Joe asked.

  Before Robbie could answer, the double knock on the door was Henry’s announcement.

  “You wanted to see . . .” Henry stopped and shut the door. “Oh. Oh, I get it. Tattle tale.”

  “It’s not being a tattle tale, Asshole,” Robbie said with edge. “I’m going to the leader of the community.”

  “I was willing to wait with my judgment call.” Henry waved his hand about. “But no, you had to get a jump . . . nice jammies, Joe . . . on your stupid circuit breaker box theory.”

  “My stupid theory. No, Henry. Yours.”

  “You cut in front of me to tell him.”

  “I live with him,” Robbie yelled. “Why shouldn’t I tell him you were trying to kill me?”

  ‘Me?! No, Robbie you were trying to kill me.”

  Joe whistled shrilly and stood up. “Hold it. This is over the breaker box?” Joe looked at both of them. “I thought you two were going to work on this together to figure out if it was rigged, and if so, who.”

  “We did,” Henry nodded. “And I figured out. Robbie was trying to kill me.”

  Robbie laughed in a scoff. “That was my job. Why would I rig it for myself.”

  “Boys,” Joe grumbled an intrusion.

  “Because you knew if you didn’t do it, I would.”

  “Oh, bullshit, Robbie stated strongly. “You were the one who rigged that grounding.”

  “Boys,” Joe tried again.

  “Right,” Arrogantly Henry defended. “If I was trying to kill you, why would I be the one touching the box!”

  “Because you have time machine memory loss! You forgot you were trying to kill me!”

  “If I was trying to kill you,” Henry snapped. “Trust me, that pleasant thing, I wouldn’t forget. And . . . I wouldn’t have failed.”

  “Oh listen to you trying . . .”

  “Boys!” Joe screamed nearly popping a vein. “Enough! This has got to be the lamest goddamn argument I have ever heard.”

  “But, Dad,” Robbie intervened, “you have to listen to me. Henry did it. He . . .”

  “Robbie enough. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “No.” Robbie shook his head. “At the meeting he threatened me. And it’s bullshit you won’t even consider what I’m saying.”

  “Robert,” Joe said sternly, “go to your room.”

  “What?” Robbie yelled with a laugh. “I’m thirty-two years old. You can’t send me to my room, what do you think . . .”

  “Robert! My house, my rules!” Joe screamed his loudest. “Go to your goddamn room.”

  “Fine.” Robbie stomped over to the steps. “Thirty-two years old. I don’t want to live at home. I asked to have my own place,” He complained marching up the steps loudly, “but no. What’s next Dad? Are you grounding me? Go to my room.” Robbie’s voice faded along with his heavy footsteps. “Fuck!”

  Joe heard the all too familiar sound of the childish slamming of the door. He looked with irritation to a snickering Henry. “You think that’s funny?”

  Henry wiped the smile from his face. “Um, no Joe. Not at all. Now . . . can we discuss the fact that your son tried to kill me.”

  “Out.” Joe pointed to the door. “Get out of my house.”

  “But Joe . . .”

  “Out!” In a frightening manner, Joe demanded. “Out! Out! Out!”

  Henry ran.

  When the door slammed, Joe shook his head. “Act like children and they wonder why I treat them like children. Morons.” Trying not to think too much more about it, Joe shut off the light, adjusted his favorite checkered pajama bottoms and went to bed.

  ^^^^

  Ellen had just turned down the first fold of the bed when she lifted her head to the odd darkness that suddenly happened upon the room. The lights had gone out. No sooner did that happen and she heard the strike of a flame. The slight orange color filled the room and she turned around.

  “Tucked in and all asleep.” Frank lit another candle setting them both on the dresser. “Doors locked.” From under his arm he pulled a bottle of wine and showed Ellen. “Welcome home.”

  “Frank,” She whispered. “Do you think that this is a good idea?” She walked over to him.

  “No.” He poured her some wine and handed her the glass. “I think it’s a great idea. Drink up. But not too much, it’s Henry’s wine. You know how you get.”

  Ellen giggled, sipped then set down the glass. She watched Frank down his. “Frank, I mean with you just getting better.”

  “I’m fine.” After putting down his glass, Frank stepped to Ellen. “I’m so nervous about tonight. I know we’ve been together more times than we could ever count. But . . . I’m nervous. This is our reunion.”

  Ellen swallowed. “Frank . . .”

  Frank saw something in her eyes. “What?” He whispered. “El? What is it? Please don’t tell me our last time ruined it forever. I swear I’m sorry for that. I swear.” There was a certain amount of hurt in Frank’s voice. “I love you. I just want this to be right. I want us to be right. But if you don’t want to . . .”

  “No.” Ellen shook her head and moved against. “No. I’m just . . . I’m just nervous too.” Wrapping her arms around Frank’s neck, Ellen kissed him. “But this is the last time I’ll be nervous about being with you because I don’t think there’s anything that can break us up now. Nothing.” Forgoing anything and everything in her that was taking away her moment with Frank, in her mind Ellen rekindle the promise she made to make her marriage work. And with that, she began the intimate steps with Frank in their prelude to their physical reunion.

  ^^^^

  They were visions and thoughts Dean had to put out of his mind. Ellen and Frank. But he knew everything he was feeling, he had to put aside. Dean had to resign himself to the fact that things were different. And work was the only thing that would help. Dean wanted to put his mind somewhere else.

  Racks of blood needed to be separated and readied for testing. Getting a jump on that would be just the prescription he would order himself. Turning on the light in the dark lab, Dean made his way to the fridge to retrieve the first rack of blood. He pulled out the clipboard to keep track that way. But he wanted to have his tape recorder handy as well.

  Walking to his desk, Dean opened the top drawer, the recorder laid on top. Two steps from the desk Dean stopped. “Shit. This tape is full.” He ejected that tape, tossed it in the box that held other dictation tapes needing to be logged in the computer, and went back to his desk. The extra tapes weren’t in the third drawer so he had to rummage. And rummaging brought him to the last drawer of his desk. Bending down and opening it, Dean saw the file. Curiously he lifted it and read the name ‘Joseph Anthony Slagel’. He remembered having Joey’s chart out, but couldn’t believe he never returned it to the files. Vowing to do so first thing in the morning, Dean set the folder on top of the desk so as not to forget. But just as Dean dropped the file, his memory kicked in. He remembered exactly the reason he had retrieved that chart. He had questioned in his mind so adamantly about the accuracy of Joey
’s paternity test, that he kept pulling it out and reviewing those results. Short of running the tests all over again, Dean knew there was nothing he could do but accept the results documented.

  Mid return to the blood on the counter, Dean stopped. His eyes shifted from the folder to the rack of blood. He stayed there in thought, shaking his head at what he contemplated. How wrong it would be. What would be the point? Were the original results really wrong? And Joey’s blood sample was to be used for virus work.

  After debating, really debating on what to do, Dean made his decision. A tiny bit of blood would be worth a whole lifetime’s peace of mind. And with that, Dean went to the rack and sought out Joey’s blood.

  ^^^^

  Bowman, North Dakota

  It had been so long since the Captain had seen Elliott, he began to grow concerned. Not long after the meeting, Elliott stated his task of tuning the piano for Fr. O’Brien and took off. Hours and hours had passed; no clinks and clanks of ivories were heard. Where was Elliott?

  Following the myth of Elvis path of ‘I saw him there’, The Captain investigated. And, though drunk, Fr. O’Brien was correct. Elliott was in the church.

  It was dark with the exception of the few lit candles, but the Captain saw Elliott sitting in the first pew. Walking quietly, the Captain made his way up the aisle. Then in old world, Catholic practice that felt so good to him to have back, the Captain genuflected, blessed himself, and slid into the pew.

  He took the same sitting position as Elliott, hands folded, leaning forward. “You know,” the Captain whispered, “if I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were avoiding me.”

  The swallow was so hard, the ‘gulp’ of it was heard. Turning to look at the Captain, Elliott’s facial muscles twitched. “I . . . I am.”

  At first the Captain thought Elliott was joking then he saw by his eyes, he wasn’t. “Why?”

  “Because for the first time . . .” Elliott stared down to his own folded hands. “For the first time ever I feel really bad about disagreeing with you.”

  “Disagreeing?” The Captain shook his head, so lost. “Disagreeing about what?”

  “Everything. Every little thing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your new army.” Elliott looked up. “Reestablishing of rank, saluting, military codes we gave up so many years ago. You don’t want to just regiment their lives, you want to instill a whole new way of life.”

  The Captain still wasn’t picking up the seriousness in Elliott’s argument. “Elliott, please. I explained to you. It is needed. They all agreed. A change in them. A pride in what they become will in turn play a big role in what and why they fight. If they feel the part, live the part, they will be the part.” The Captain lingered in Elliott’s tense silence. “Elliott?

  Elliott shook his head.

  “Elliott, if you have something to say. Say it. Speak your mind.”

  “Fine,” Elliott paused heavily. “You have nearly two hundred men out there willing to run around in uniforms that may be enhanced some, but still are something from the civil war or cavalry. You want them to carry themselves a certain way. Even speak a certain way. My God, Captain, do you realize how ludicrous it sounded when they applauded the concept of attending class for that? Walk, talk, act the part. The part? You don’t just want them to wear the uniforms, you want them to be the men who used to wear those uniforms, to fight the same fight. Well it isn’t the same fight,” Elliott argued with passion. “It isn’t. These men are going up against savage armies. These men will go up against armies well equipped with modern weapons, weapons that will demolish them. And how do you want them to fight? Minimal firing power, the raise of the mighty sword and with the charge of the bugle, sail in like heroes on horseback? It’s insane.” Exhaling an emotional chuckle Elliott sat back.

  “My God,” the Captain gasped, “disagreeing with me is an understatement. You’ve been swimming in these thoughts all day.”

  Elliott nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize for what you feel. Don’t. Tell me what can I do?”

  Nervously Elliott looked at the Captain. “Just know, you have been my best friend for a really long time. I have stood beside you through every good and half-baked idea you had. I was there. I would like very much to lend a hand in any way I can but . . . but, Captain.” Elliott’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If you were merely wanting to secure a section of land, protect it, keep it safe, and make it free, then I would fight your fight. But you want to free and protect the entire United States of America. To me that isn’t just an impossible fight, it is . . . it is impossible. And I can’t . . . I can’t with a clear heart and mind, fight that fight with you.”

  The Captain’s heart sunk so hard he swore he felt it hit the pits of his being. With a tightly closed mouth and a nod, the Captain stood. “I . . . I understand.” Laying a hand to Elliott’s shoulder, and without looking at him, he gave a simple squeeze. “I understand.” Eyes ahead, the Captain slipped from the pew, genuflected before the alter, turned in a pivot, and silently walked from the church.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  December 14

  Beginnings, Montana

  “Ow. Ow. Easy, Andrea,” Joe griped while feeling the strong tug of his arm as Andrea moved swiftly. “What. Ouch. You’re pinching me.” He pulled his arm away stopping in front of distribution. “Now do you care to tell me what is wrong?”

  “Joe,” Andrea sadly gasped out. Then she said no more.

  From Andrea to his watch, Joe looked. He waited but not for long. “For crying out loud. Get it over with.”

  “Fine,” the word peeped from her. “Your son.”

  “Why do people do that?” Joe tossed his hands up. “Which son? I have two.”

  Through her nostrils Andrea breathed, then closing her eyes she dramatically reached behind her and pulled from her back pocket a rolled up magazine and slapped it into Joe’s chest.

  Joe looked at it. “Robbie.” He shook his head at the pornography. “What he reads I can’t help. Sorry.”

  “No.” Andrea shook his head. “You’re right there. But my boy found that when he was emptying trash in containment.”

  “Oh, Boy.” Joe rubbed his eyes.

  “And Joe,” Andrea’s voice deepened, “he was traumatized. Denny told me he asked Robbie if he could look. Robbie said sure and now . . . my boy is having nightmares.”

  “Andrea, he isn’t having nightmares.”

  “He is Joe. He is,” She argued. “I need . . . I need you to have . . . the talk,” she whispered. “I can’t do it. You had four boys.”

  Joe looked again to the magazine then back up to Andrea. “I’ll have the talk with Denny. Tell him to be at my office in an hour, and Josh too, Might as well only get one headache out of it.”

  “Thank you Joe.” Andrea kissed him on the cheek. “And that?”

  “I’ll handle this.” Joe held the up magazine then smiled. “As a matter of fact, excuse me, Andrea.” With a whap to his hand, focused in a different direction, Joe began to walk. “Robert.” He called out sternly.

  Robbie stopped cold. “Shit.” He debated on running but he didn’t know why. But from years of experience, being called Robert usually didn’t foretell of something good with his father.

  ^^^^

  “Oh, he returns,” Henry said with sarcasm as he saw Robbie round the end of the utility building.

  “Shut up, Henry,” Robbie snapped. “Do you have the new box and grounding?”

  “Yes. I’m not letting you touch it though. You’ll try to kill me again.”

  “I didn’t try to kill you, prick.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Henry held up a finger. “I tried to kill you. But, because of my time machine memory loss I forgot I rigged the box.”

  “Thank you,” Robbie said, “thank you for the confession.”

  “Gentlemen,” Frank intruded, “we aren’t arguing about this again, are we?” He looked at both of
them. “Instead of wasting so much time on each other, how about trying to find out who really did it.” Feeling like a peacekeeper, but knowing it wouldn’t last, Frank took a step and stopped. “Oh, yeah. Robbie. Wanna grab a drink tonight at the hall?”

  “Can’t Frank. Get this. I’m grounded.” Robbie gave a crossed look to Henry who laughed.

  Frank had a slight chuckle to him. “You’re grounded. As in punished to the house.”

  “Yeah.” Robbie nodded. “Dad grounded me. Can you believe that?”

  “Oh, my god,” Frank gasped. “What did you do?”

  “That’s not the point Frank,” Robbie said.

  “Of?” Frank asked.

  “Forget it.”

  “All right. I’ll be in Dad’s office.” Frank pointed backwards, took a few steps then turned and headed to Joe’s office.

  “Man.” Robbie shook his head. “I love my brother, but can he be dumb or what at times.”

  “Uh, Robbie,” Henry said snidely, “you’re talking about Frank being dumb. You’re in your thirties and still allowing your father to ground you.”

  “Ha-ha-ha, asshole.” Robbie grabbed some gear from Henry. “Tell me if my father was your father, you’d argue with him?”

  After Robbie walked off, taking a second to think about Joe, Henry slowly nodded. “He has a point.”