Paradox Bound

by Peter Clines

  “James!” Harry trotted across the parking lot. She took two quick steps around the Mustang and wrapped her arms around the man.

  He returned the hug, lifting her feet off the ground. “I was worried for a minute,” he said, gesturing at Eli.

  She shook her head. “He’s harmless. James, Mr. Eli Teague. Mr. Teague, James.”

  “We’ve met,” said James. He held out a hand. “How you doin’, Eli?”

  He shifted the plates into one hand, reached out with the other. “I’m good.”

  “Sorry if I caught you off guard just then.”

  “No, it’s okay,” said Eli. “I get it.”

  “New to the road?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  James nodded. “I know that look. My first month on the road, my only two moods were amazed and terrified. You’ll get used to it.”

  Harry cleared her throat. “Mr. Teague is my new partner.”

  The older man’s face jammed for a moment, unsure what expression to take on, and settled for cautious approval. “Congratulations.”

  “He looked a little too close at some things and now I’m stuck with him.”

  “Hey,” said Eli. He held up the carburetor parts. “I’m carrying my weight.”

  James nodded slowly. “So, where you headed?”

  The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched. “Where are you headed?”

  He chuckled. “Okay,” he said, “tell you what. Here’s one on the house for you. You know Theo Knickerbocker?”

  “Of course,” she said, her expression neutral. Eli followed her lead and nodded.

  “Caught up with him in 1984. He’s working the oil fields in North Dakota. He sold me a tip on a Chicago mobster. Turned out to be a bust, though.”

  “Tough luck,” said Eli.

  “Yeah,” said James. “Least I didn’t spend too long on it. And I think it might’ve led me to something else.”

  Harry smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it got closer than most of her smiles did. “Don’t suppose you’d like to share?”

  James smiled back and winked at her. “Don’t suppose you would? I heard a rumor from John a few months back that you’d found a hot new lead in New Orleans.”

  Eli paused in mid-brushstroke to frown. “Was that anoth—”

  Harry silenced him with a quick slash of her hand. “Maybe,” she said to James.

  The older man smiled again. He had, Eli admitted, a damned good smile. “Okay, then,” said James. “When’s the next time you’ll be in hourglass?”

  Harry glanced at Eli. “I think we may be heading there now.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I need to get off the road for a few days and plan.”

  “So you’ll be at…?”

  “The second iteration.”

  James nodded. “How long has it been since the first time around?”

  “Almost nine years. Since the wedding.”

  “Been a while then.”

  “I didn’t want to go for a long time. It was too much of a reminder.”

  “Yeah,” said James. “Never good when two big things end up on the same day. Get married on Christmas, then when your marriage goes bad the day’s ruined forever.”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “Ah, hell,” he said. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know.”

  An awkward silence hung between them, and Eli decided to kill it. “I’m sorry for asking but…do I know you?”

  James shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve been on the road for almost thirty years now, and this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you.”

  “You just look kind of familiar to me.”

  The other man shrugged. “Since I’ve got you here, you want to cover for me while I fill up?”

  “Of course,” said Harry.

  James dragged one of the water hoses over, glanced around, and stuck it in the Mustang’s fuel tank. Harry put herself between the hose and the rest of the parking lot. She and James talked quietly on the other side of the Mustang while Eli finished the last of the carburetor’s plates. Other cars pulling in and out of the rest stop, plus the sound of the scouring toothbrush, obscured their distant words.

  Eli finished his chore, snapped the plates one by one back into their slots, and then fitted the top of the case over them. He stood up, hefting the carburetor in both hands, just as James pulled the hose from the Mustang’s side and let it retract into the pump.

  “Good meeting you, Eli,” the older man said. His handshake was solid and sincere.

  “You too.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you at the second iteration.”

  “Ummm…sure?”

  James kissed Harry’s cheek and climbed back into his Mustang. He gave Eli a final two-fingered wave before pulling out and heading for the eastbound freeway ramp. The engine roar faded away.

  “Come on, Mr. Teague,” Harry said. She pulled the carburetor bolts from her pocket. “Let’s get that back in so you can wash up and buy us lunch.”

  He held it out. “Why am I buying lunch?”

  “It’s 2002,” she said. “I don’t have any money they’ll take here. So either you pay or we don’t eat until sometime tomorrow.”

  —

  The restaurant reminded Eli of a Friendly’s or Denny’s, just with many more flags. A woman in a star-spangled cowboy shirt waved at them from across the room. “Just sit anywhere, folks!”

  They claimed a booth with a view of the parking lot. Harry set her tricorne on the table, pulled menus from a holder behind the napkins, and handed one across to Eli. Pictures filled the list of meal options. He set his own hat on the seat next to him while his attention drifted through the oversized, laminated pages. Several items had been tagged with American flag stickers.

  Two glasses of water clunked onto the Formica. Another woman in a red-white-and-blue shirt stood at the head of the table. A glossy flag the size of a playing card covered her belt buckle, or maybe it was the buckle. “You folks ready to order?”

  Harry blinked innocently at Eli. “Sure,” he said, still torn between the cheeseburger and the club sandwich. “You can go first.”

  “I would like to try,” said Harry, looking between the waitress and the menu, “your all-American cheeseburger, cooked medium-rare if it could be, with…freedom fries. Those are similar to french fries, yes?”

  The waitress barked out a laugh, then gave a quick nod and scribbled on her pad. “You want a drink?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  “I love your costume, by the way. Very patriotic.”

  “Thank you so much,” said Harry. “I love yours too.”

  The waitress beamed and tugged at her shirt. She turned her attention to Eli. “What about you, hon?”

  “I guess I’ll have the club sandwich.”

  “Fries for you too?”

  He reached his finger out, touched another selection on the menu, and then closed the vinyl sleeve. “Sure,” he said.

  “Drink?”

  “I’m good with water.”

  “So, one cheeseburger, medium-rare, one club sandwich, both with freedom fries, and a coffee.”

  Harry beamed at the woman until she walked away, then the smile vanished. She stuck her menu back in the wire holder and stared out the window at the Model A.

  Eli cleared his throat.

  “Yes?”

  He gestured out at the freeway. “Who is he, anyhow?”

  “James? Another searcher.” She noticed something on the tabletop. Her finger poked at a streak and rubbed it into oblivion.

  “How’d he end up on the road?”

  She shrugged. “He was a racer in the 1950s. Heard bits about the search from other drivers, decided he wanted to be part of it. He faked his death and got on the road.”

  “Faked his death?”

  “It’s not common,” said Harry, “but some people try for a clean break. They don’t want things to reflect back on thei
r earlier life.”

  Eli mulled over that. “Was he a professional racer?”

  “Wanted to be, but it wasn’t his paying job, at the time. He worked on a few movies, I think. Then he started searching for the dream.”

  “Anything I would’ve heard of?”

  Another shrug. “I was never one for the pictures. Besides, his driving abilities are what matter now.”

  “Do you know what he’s looking for?”

  She studied the edges of her tricorne. “Same as everyone else, I suppose. Happiness. Peace of mind. Freedom to live how you like without having to hide who you are.” She took the hat in her fingertips and rotated it on the tabletop.

  Eli looked out at Eleanor. A group of college students on their way in had stopped to look at the car. One of them pulled a silver camera from her purse and took two or three quick pictures. Another craned his neck to look inside, toward the dashboard, then looked around awkwardly.

  “Y’know,” Eli said, “you’ve never said what you’d do with it.”

  She glanced up from the hat. “Hmmmmm?”

  “The dream. If you found it and got to make a wish or shape destiny or however it goes. What would you do?”

  The waitress reappeared, this time with a tray of food. Harry slid her hat out of the way and accepted her plate. Eli took his. The waitress spun away while Harry dusted her fries with pepper and salt.

  Eli pulled a tiny sword of red plastic out of one of the club sandwich quarters. A toothpick flag decorated one of the other sections and he plucked that out as well. “These people take Fourth of July a little too seriously.”

  Harry used a butter knife to saw through her burger. “I believe it’s early May.”

  He looked around at the garish display. “So what’s all this? Memorial Day?”

  “Desperate patriotism,” said Harry. She raised the burger half to her mouth and took a bite.

  Eli pushed a trio of fries into his mouth. “So what would you do?”

  She held up the remains of the piece with two crescents chomped out of it. “What is it that makes a cheeseburger so satisfying? Everyone eats them. Even vegetarians find ways to make cheeseburgers.”

  Eli bit off a mouthful of sandwich. A perfect balance of dry turkey and mayo. They hadn’t skimped on the bacon either. When his mouth was empty, he asked, “So you want the dream so everyone can have cheeseburgers?”

  Harry had another mouthful of burger and followed it up with some more fries. “I want to find the dream,” she said, “so the search will be over.”

  “But what would you do with it?”

  “I’d get it back to where it’s supposed to be,” she said. “That’s all.” She picked up a french fry and poked the cheeseburger with it. “I love driving, I love seeing the country, but I’m just so tired of the search. Of seeing people compete against each other when there’s centuries of America to see. Of hearing about friends who spent their lives searching for the dream and had nothing to show for it when the faceless men killed them.”

  She poked at her food two more times, then flipped the fry around and bit it in half.

  “Christopher had big plans for the dream,” she said, “and for a while I wanted to carry them out. Honor him. But after all these years…I’d just like this to be over so my friends will stop being killed.”

  Eli tried to think of something to say, and while he did Harry took another bite of her cheeseburger. He ate some of his sandwich while he tried to think of a clever segue. And by then he realized they were just going to eat in silence.

  “How’s everything?” asked the waitress, appearing from over Eli’s shoulder.

  “Just fine,” he said. “Could we get the check?”

  She slid a pair of receipts from her apron and put one facedown on the table. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said. “You just take your time. You want a refill on that coffee?”

  Harry gulped down the last of the cup. “Please.”

  When she left, Eli looked at the bill and did some more mental math. “Well,” he said, “I’m officially broke.”

  Harry peered at the upside-down check. “Can you leave a tip?”

  “If I give her everything I have left. I think it’s sixteen percent. Maybe seventeen.”

  Harry nodded. “We’ll be good for now. Thank you for lunch.”

  “You’re welcome.” He picked up another quarter sandwich. “So…now what?”

  “Eat up. The road beckons.”

  28

  Eleanor shuddered and bounced over the uneven ground. The rumble seat slammed up against Eli’s butt again and again. Every third or fourth bounce, it caught his tailbone and jarred his whole spine.

  The headlights brushed against something shiny in the night, and a car loomed out of the darkness. A red 1975 Dodge Dart Sport. Harry swerved away from it and Eli glimpsed what looked like an old open-topped touring car, maybe a Maxwell, parked just beyond the Dodge, and then they both vanished into the darkness.

  “What are those doing out here?”

  She ignored his question and swung Eleanor around a World War II–era jeep with a white star on its side.

  The headlights lit up car after car. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Eli saw Chevys and Tuckers and Dodges. He saw another Model A that could’ve been Eleanor’s twin by a skeletal tree, and right next to it a ’69 Mustang that was either deep blue or black. An old Indian motorcycle leaned on its kickstand in front of the Mustang.

  Eleanor rolled past all of them and slowed to a stop. Harry flipped a few switches, and the engine sputtered twice before stopping. She sat with her hands on the wheel and took in a slow breath.

  Maybe a mile or two away, a faint glow outlined a cluster of buildings.

  “So,” asked Eli. “Where are we? Or when?”

  “California. The second week of March 1886. The town’s called Hourglass.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “You wouldn’t have.” She flexed her fingers twice on the wheel. “It’s a little boomtown, one of the last. Six months old now, all but abandoned in another seven.”

  “Gold?”

  Her hat settled back on her head. “History travelers.”

  “What?”

  She slid out of the car and tugged her coat closed around her. “This is where we all meet,” she said. “The second week of March 1886, in Hourglass. It was a boomtown because at one point hundreds of people poured through the town. Some of them more than once.”

  He stepped out of the car. As his eyes adjusted, he recognized the shapes of over a hundred cars around them. Probably closer to two hundred. They were parked in loose, uneven rows and clusters.

  Harry walked past them all, headed for Hourglass. Eli took a few steps to catch up and fell in beside her. “So the whole town is searchers?”

  “Not the whole town,” she said. “There are almost two hundred residents, actual citizens of 1886. I think some of them are a bit confused by things they glimpse or overhear this week, but for the moment all they really see is cash on the barrelhead. And by the time they start to think about it, the week’s over and we’ll all be gone.”

  “Never to return?”

  “Of course we return. It’s not much of a clubhouse if you can only visit it once.”

  “But you said it’s just for one week.”

  “Correct. And when you come back, you come back on Monday. Or Sunday night.”

  The low moon cast a dim half-light across the desert, enough to see the basic landscape and the loose path Harry followed toward the town. Eli could make out tracks from boots, shoes, and even a few pairs of sneakers. He saw branches and stones that he stepped past, but the stark moonlight shadows could easily hide rocks, holes, or who knew what. Plenty of things to trip on and break an ankle.

  “Have you been here before?”

  Harry stuck her hands deep into her coat pockets. “Yes,” she said. “Nine years ago. This was our wedding reception and our honeymoon. A party with all our frie
nds that lasted five whole days.”

  He looked at the town. They’d cut almost a third of the distance already. “All of history and you had your honeymoon here?”

  “Mind your tongue, Mr. Teague. You’re speaking of the happiest days of my life.”

  “Sorry.”

  She leaned her head back and looked up at the stars. “Truth be told, I don’t remember much of it. I drank too much, slept too little, and spent far too much time…” She paused, gazed ahead at the buildings, and tugged the point of her hat down to shadow her face in the moonlight.

  “Yes?”

  “It was my honeymoon, Mr. Teague. Don’t be an ass.”

  He chuckled. So did she.

  “To answer your question, though, we had it here for the same reason we’re here now. It’s safe.”

  “Safe?”

  “The faceless men won’t come here. It’s the one place and time in American history we don’t need to worry about them.”

  “Because of the, what’d you call it, the iteration?”

  “What?”

  “This is where the second iteration is?”

  She nodded. “The first time around, the second iteration, and the last paradox.”

  “Are they…wormholes or something?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “These things, are they wormholes or some kind of space-time event or—”

  “They’re saloons, Eli.”

  “What?”

  Harry stepped around a large patch of dry grass that reached up close to her thigh. “Hourglass has three saloons. Well, two saloons—the First Time Around and the Last Paradox. The Second Iteration is more of a public house, really.”

  “Three saloons with time-related names, all in the same town” said Eli. “That’s a lucky find.”

  “Not really. Abraham Porter created the whole town.”

  “Porter from the Chain?”

  “The very same.”

  “How’d he manage that?”

  “He cheated a bit. Set up some long-term trusts and investments, pushed for certain trade routes, hired a dozen different people over about a decade.”

  “That must’ve been a lot of work.”

  “Not when you can use the road. Took him about two days, altogether. And three tanks of water.”