Time Lost: A Time Travel Novel, page 12
Kara held up a hand. “Okay, I think I saw the movie. Somebody on some baseball team plotted with gamblers to lose The World Series, right?”
“Yes. The two teams were the Chicago White Sox and the Cincinnati Reds. Eight players from the Chicago White Sox were accused of accepting bribes from gamblers to lose the series intentionally.”
“And did they throw the game, pardon my pun?” Kara asked.
“Well, as I recall, the players were acquitted on insufficient evidence—because the evidence had disappeared from the grand jury files—but the players were banned from playing professional baseball for life.”
“So, where did the quote come from?” Kara asked.
Morgan kept his eyes ahead. “After the allegations surfaced and during the trial, a boy reportedly approached Joe Jackson, who was an outstanding outfielder and hitter for the White Sox, and one of the kid’s baseball idols. The boy looked at Jackson with pleading eyes and he said, ‘Say it ain’t so, Joe.’”
Kara crossed her arms. “Poor kid. I like stories like that.”
“Like? What’s to like? It’s a sad story,” Morgan said. “Old Shoeless Joe ended up running a liquor store and operating a barbecue stand. He’s still not officially recognized in the Baseball Hall of Fame.”
“Yeah, I guess it is sad, but it brings me back to Earth. It keeps the world local, and not out there in the universe of aliens and UAPs, and Mrs. Sally Anne Mason from 1953, who’s out in this world somewhere.”
“Is Mark Ravic still searching in Rosemont?” Morgan asked.
“No, he left for St. Louis. I’m thinking that Sally will turn up there first. It’s closer than Florida, where her son is, and I think most mothers would want to see their daughter first.”
“Maybe. But you said the daughter has Alzheimer’s?”
“Yes, and I think that will be more of an impetus for Sally to see her first. Of course, I could be completely wrong.”
“Aren’t we wrong most of the time?” Morgan said, with a lopsided grin. “Isn’t that what makes us humble?”
Kara ignored the comment. “I’ll go to Fort Pierce myself. I know we don’t want anyone else on this right now.”
Morgan uncrossed his legs, leaned back, closed his eyes, and massaged them. “It’s curious that Sally slipped away from you. Are you sure she wasn’t washed away in one of those gushing, overflowing creeks during that storm?”
“I checked with the police. No.”
“Do you like her? Sally Mason, I mean? You haven’t said.”
“I told you I haven’t met her. Dr. Stanley was a stiff-back general, and wouldn’t let me interview her, and the Chief of Police agreed with her. I could have forced it, but I didn’t think it was for the best. The chief said two reporters were hanging around the hospital. He thought the fewer people who came and went from Sally’s room, the better, and he was right. I was going to meet her when Mark picked her up. But… Well…” and Kara left the answer in the air.
“On paper, then,” Morgan said, his eyes still closed. “Do you like Sally Mason on paper? Do you like her photographs?”
“Morgan, now we’re back to ‘Do I like her?’ Who cares if I like her?”
Morgan’s eyes opened, and he twisted around to face Kara. “Maybe I do. I’m a sensitive guy at heart, whether you believe it or not. She’s a housewife from 1953 with an abusive husband and two young kids, for crying out loud. That’s one sympathetic story, no? I liked her high school photo. Her smile was genuine. Natural. And I liked her cheerleader outfit with the pom-poms. Hey, and I’d love to talk to her about her memories of World War II, and the Truman and Eisenhower days.”
“Eisenhower had been president for less than a year when she vanished,” Kara said.
“Nonetheless. I’m a retro guy, Kara. I’m fascinated by the 1940s and 1950s.”
Kara glanced away and Morgan turned serious. “Sally must be going through hell right now. And who knows who’s feeding her or helping her? I hope it’s someone kind.”
“I want to help her, and I know I can help her.”
Morgan’s eyes fully opened on Kara. “Have you spoken with your alien contact?”
“Do you mean have I spoken to StrallVoss?”
Morgan nodded. “Yes, our friend, the enigmatic extraterrestrial.”
CHAPTER 24
Kara rose. “Can we walk, Morgan? I think better when I walk.”
They stood and wandered off down the path. Morgan strolled with his hands behind his back, and Kara’s head was down, as it often was when she was deep in thought.
“About StrallVoss, no, I haven’t spoken to him yet. I want to interview Sally first. Dr. Stanley shared little about her sessions with Sally, but she told me that when Sally was under mild hypnosis, she said she saw an alien on the road, while the UAP hovered.”
“Description?” Morgan asked.
“Not a Grey or a Reptilian. Sounded like a Pleiades or a Nordic. Resembled a human man, tall, short white hair, not blond, but it was probably the light that made his hair appear white, and Sally said the alien had an otherworldly beauty.”
“Any theories?” Morgan asked. “Why would a Nordic ship hurl her into the future? It’s not like them. They’re hands off.”
“Don’t know. A mistake? An abduction gone wrong? A joke?”
“A joke? Do you really think so?”
“No.”
Morgan pondered for a moment. “I thought it might be an experiment. Maybe they have new equipment, and they wanted to try it out.”
Kara glanced down at her newly manicured white fingernails. “I don’t think so.”
“We don’t want to lose her, Kara,” Morgan said, with gravity.
“Of course we’re not going to lose her.”
“I was thinking this morning…” Morgan said, as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. And then he held his thought as they ambled past a family of four, the father snapping a family selfie, struggling to capture the White House in the background.
Morgan paused and offered to take their family photo, to which they eagerly agreed. He captured three shots while Kara stood back, smiling.
After they moved on, Morgan glanced back over his shoulder and waved at the young red-headed girl, who grinned back, displaying a gap between her front teeth.
“I wanted to have a daughter,” Morgan said, as they continued along the curving path.
“There’s still time,” Kara responded.
“No… Too old, and too much the bachelor now.”
“Earlier, you said you were thinking?” Kara asked.
“Yeah, I was thinking that maybe you should make contact first. It might help us when we speak to Sally.”
“I don’t know, maybe. I wish I knew what her thoughts were. Dr. Stanley said that Sally was still struggling with the truth of it all.”
“Remember your first time?” Morgan asked.
“By my first time, I’m assuming you mean the first time I met the Grey extraterrestrial?”
“Yeah, and don’t look at me. I’m blushing.”
“He didn’t like me,” Kara said.
“He didn’t like any of us. Didn’t trust us. And I didn’t trust him or the other two Greys that hung back in the shadows, waiting by their shiny grey spaceship.”
“I’ve never forgotten what he said to us,” Kara said.
“What, specifically?” Morgan asked.
“The bit about how he said we’re a planet of babies who are destroying the planet. I thought it cliché, if perhaps correct.”
Morgan looked skyward. “Personally, I thought he was an arrogant alien.”
“He thought the same about us,” Kara said.
“You mean, when he said we’re arrogant beings who think the Earth is ours and ours alone?”
“Yes. And then he got all dramatic,” Kara added. “He said they’ve been visiting Earth long before the human race came along, and they’d be visiting it long after we’re gone. That put a chill in me.”
Morgan chuckled. “Yeah. A real funny alien he was. I’m sure he’s a great stand-up comic back on his planet.”
“Comic? He scared me,” Kara said. “No humor at all in that little shit, with his big vacant eyes.”
“You scared? I don’t believe it,” Morgan said, with a cheeky grin.
Morgan lowered his gaze and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m glad StrallVoss is a Nordic. I trust them, and I trust him.”
Kara viewed the White House. “So, the House Oversight and Accountability Committee will hold a hearing next week on unidentified aerial phenomena?”
“Yes, I told you, didn’t I?” Morgan asked.
“I read your memo. I read all your memos.”
Morgan stared off into the distance. “The hearing will be led by Representative Tim Burnett. He’s earnest and ambitious, and he loves to get clicks on social media.”
“All because of Dexter Ratchen, the whistleblower?” Kara asked.
“Yeah. Ratchen’s an Air Force veteran, and a former member of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency. We’ve met and talked.”
“He’ll spout the usual, I suppose,” Kara said, presenting her face to the sun. “The government is withholding UFO information.”
“Yes.”
“And they’ll talk to the Navy Commander who shot the leaked video of the UAP flying off the coast of San Diego, then disappearing into the water?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Who else knows about Sally Mason, Morgan?” Kara asked abruptly.
Morgan’s voice was calm. “Earl Hickman, the Senator from Indiana, called me yesterday evening. He heard some rumors.”
Kara glanced at Morgan. “What did you tell him?”
“The usual. That we’re looking into it. He wanted more, but I said we didn’t have more.”
Morgan adjusted his tie and squinted into the sunlight. “Do you think StrallVoss will help us, Kara?”
“The last time, he said not to contact him unless it’s an emergency.”
Morgan said, “He must know what happened to Sally Mason, and he must know we want to know, right? If we talk nice to StrallVoss, and if they were behind the whole thing, maybe he’ll agree to send Sally Mason back, if they can.”
They stopped and faced each other, staring eye-to-eye.
Kara glanced at her watch and said, “I’ve contacted Ayita Wells and asked her to remote view Sally’s encounter back in 1953. After she and I talk later this afternoon, I’ll ask her to contact StrallVoss.”
“She’s good,” Morgan said. “One of the best, if not the best. And then what?”
“I’m off to Florida to hang out near Sally’s son, Don, and wait for Sally. If she shows up in St. Louis first, I’ll hop a plane.”
Morgan pursed his lips and nodded. “Would you want to be shot back into the past or ahead into the future, Kara?”
She shook her head. “Neither… The past is over, and the future scares me.”
Morgan smiled, again looking skyward. “I’d go either way, Kara, past or future, in a heartbeat. I envy Sally Mason, and I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
CHAPTER 25
“Well, you’re up awfully early,” Bert said, putting a hand to a yawn as he stood at the entrance to his spacious, modern kitchen. He shouldered into his black suspenders, hooking them over a blue and white flannel shirt, and smiled at Sally, who was leaning against the stainless-steel stove.
“Good morning, Bert,” she said, brightly.
“And a good morning to you, Sally. I hope you slept all right.”
“Fine, thank you.”
“I heard someone open the kitchen door last night. I guess you needed to get the lay of the land.”
“I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“Not at all. I was already awake. I’ve always been a light sleeper. So, did you manage to get any sleep?”
Sally smiled timidly. “A little, but I’ve always been an early riser.” She moved toward the large kitchen island. “I hope you don’t mind that I invaded your kitchen. And what a kitchen.” She ran her hands over the granite countertop. “I’ve never seen a kitchen like it. You don’t mind that I started breakfast, do you?”
“Of course not. I’m glad you’re making yourself at home. And I love that ponytail,” Bert said, stepping fully into the room. “It looks cute on you. Makes you look like a high school girl from the 1950s.”
Sally laughed. “Thank you, Bert. What a sweet thing to say.”
“Now, that’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh. You must have had a little sleep.”
Sally turned toward the counter and the yellow pancake bowl, and stirred the batter with a sauce spoon. “Yes, I slept fine. I found the pancake mix in that cabinet, and the eggs, and milk, and bacon. That is one big refrigerator.”
“Lynnie loved the thing.”
“Should I start the pancakes? Are you hungry?”
Bert gave a shake of his head. “Well, aren’t you something, Sally? So efficient. And, yes, I’m hungry. Why don’t I make the coffee?”
“Good. I didn’t know how to use that coffee machine. I’m used to a percolator.”
Bert moved to the Cuisinart coffee maker. “My mother had one of those old percolators, and she swore by it even after I bought her a Joe DiMaggio Coffee Maker. This thing takes some getting used to, but it makes good coffee.”
“It has so many buttons,” Sally said. “I was afraid I’d push the wrong one and blow something up.”
Bert laughed. “Yeah, you have to be an engineer to figure it out.”
Bert went to work, filling the carafe with water and measuring four teaspoons of coffee.
“Do you like big pancakes or small ones?” Sally asked.
“Chef’s choice,” Bert said, putting on his glasses, squinting, and pressing the BREW button.
When the skillet was hot, Sally poured batter into three circles. “I like medium size,” she said. “My husband, Ronnie, always liked big round ones. Had to have them that way.”
Bert gave her a curious glance, and once the coffee maker was going, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “And where is your husband, Sally? If you don’t mind me asking?”
She lowered her head and nudged the pancakes with a spatula, watching the batter form bubbles. The bacon sizzled in the frying pan, and the silence grew.
Sally said, “I didn’t mean to talk about him.”
“It’s okay. Talk about him or don’t talk about him.”
“I guess I don’t want to talk about him, Bert, if that’s okay? Not right now.”
“Fine, then let’s talk about the weather. That’s always a safe subject. I just checked my weather app, and it’s not supposed to rain today. Partly cloudy and cool. Perfect fall weather.”
They didn’t speak again until the coffee was ready, and Sally had scooped three golden pancakes onto a warmed serving dish before pouring three more onto the skillet. When the bacon was crisp, Bert went over and forked them, piece by piece, laying them out onto a separate plate covered by a paper towel.
“The bacon’s perfect, Sally. Just the way I like it. I think we should eat in the dining room instead of at the counter. I get tired of sitting on a stool.”
A few minutes later, Bert was seated at the round mahogany dining table, with its ornate white-candle centerpiece. Built-in cabinets held china plates and cups, elegant wine glasses, and tchotchkes from Hawaii, France, and the Caribbean. The walls, painted white with blue trim, displayed lovely watercolors of shimmering lakes, leafy trees, snow-covered pine trees on winter hills, and sailboats shining under a yellow sun.
Through the skylight, dim gray light streamed in.
Out of habit, Sally entered the dining room with Bert’s plate of pancakes and bacon. She placed his plate before him and stepped back, glancing out the large dining-room window, which offered a view of the backyard and surrounding trees, near where she’d seen the alien the night before. She shivered a little at the memory, remembering that silent moment when, it seemed to her, the other worldly being was trying to communicate something. But what? And why had it returned?
Sally left for the kitchen, soon returning with the coffee pot, filling Bert’s cup. She was about to butter his stack of pancakes when Bert gently rested his hand on her wrist to stop her.
“Thank you, Sally, but you don’t have to wait on me. You’re my guest.”
“But guests must always help and not be a nuisance. That’s what my mother used to say. Besides, you’ve been so nice to me.”
“Sit down now, Sally, and have your breakfast. Relax.”
Sally returned a minute later with her own full plate, sitting down opposite him. Bert rose, reached for the coffee pot, and poured her a cup.
“Milk and sugar?” Bert asked.
“Just milk,” Sally said, and Bert scooted the quart of milk toward her. She smiled up at him. “You’re a real gentleman, Bert. No man has ever waited on me before.”
Sally went to work on her pancakes, light on the butter, but heavy on the golden-brown maple syrup.
As they ate, Bert observed her studying the watercolors, her gaze briefly lingering on each piece.
“These pancakes are delicious, Sally. Best I’ve had in years.”
She smiled her thanks and nodded to the paintings. “Did you paint those, Bert?”
“Yes. Do you like them?”
“I do like them. I like them very much, especially the one with the sailboats. I’ve always wanted to go sailing.”
“I painted that about fifteen years ago, when Lynnie and I were in the Caribbean.”
“I don’t know that much about art, but I really like them, especially the colors and the skies.”
“Thank you, Sally. Skies are hard to do with watercolors. Much easier with acrylic and oil.”
Sally reached for her coffee cup and stared at the paintings longingly, as if she wanted to climb inside and experience them in person. “There were so many things I wanted to do, Bert. Places I wanted to see and things I wanted to learn.”
