Time Risk: A Time Travel Novel, page 25
Out on the road, two jeeps rumbled past, filled with soldiers. An airplane flew overhead, and the delicate breeze that stirred the perfumed exotic flowers seemed to be from heaven.
The bungalow she’d rented was vacant, so Rachel started across the paving stones toward the rear, where she’d placed the Temporal Beeper under the rock on Saturday December 6. She was tense and sweating, even though it wasn’t a hot morning. Contained in her money belt were the unpawned rings, the rest of her cash, the get-well card from David and Zach, as well as the letter from Victoria. She had not brought her suitcase, leaving it, along with her clothes, at Victoria’s bungalow.
Rachel wore a skirt and a Hawaiian blouse, and the oxfords she had time traveled in. Her hair was tied back by one of Victoria’s yellow scarves. Her shoulder felt good, and the ache in her back was gone, except for an occasional pinch of pain if she moved her arm too fast. The knife wound on her arm from the fight to free Greg Stone from the two thugs had also healed, leaving only a faint, thin, white scar.
Everything that had happened to her in 1941 and 1942 seemed to be a kind of strange, distant dream. And as she mentally projected herself into the future—her true home—to her childhood, to her family and friends, to her work as a cop, and to the peculiar time travel lab, those events, too, seemed to have existed on the periphery of her memory, the stuff of foggy dreams.
So, what had truly happened to her? Had she just surfed a time wave of 1941, gliding across the surface of an infinite sea where everything was occurring simultaneously? Was one wave 1941 and another 2024? Were there time waves behind her from the past, and waves before her, rolling ceaselessly into the future? Was the only true moment the present moment, her “surfing moment”, ever moving but always part of the infinite sea and the endless ticking of time?
Rachel had read about these concepts, but the philosophy had never truly “stuck” until that moment when she was poised to leap from one wave back to another.
There was a simple truth to the whole thing that she couldn’t deny: she had experienced the past, and she had lived in a future that, as she stood in 1942, had not yet come into existence. So would that future be changed, as a result of her interactions with the dog Olala, with Carlos and the shopkeepers, with Greg and Victoria and the soldiers? Had she been an unexpected pebble thrown into the placid lake of history, sending ripples that changed not just the surface, but also the deeper, more complex stories of that history?
Now, she stared down at the rock—just an ordinary sort of rock. After fortifying herself with a breath, she squatted on her heels, reached a hand, and touched it.
“Be there,” Rachel said, softly, her pulse high. “Be there and come alive—even if you have been in the dark for months.”
Her fingers gripped the side of the rock, feeling its rough edge, and with a little catch of breath, she lifted it and flipped it over.
Releasing a breath, her eyes wide with wonder, she saw it, the silent, sleeping Temporal Beeper. Rachel reached for it, blew the dirt from its face, held it in the palm of her hand, and then enclosed it with her fingers, smiling.
Aloud, she said, “Once buried, now you’ve come back from the dead, my little time beeper friend, just like me. Return to life now and send me home.”
With the beeper gently gripped in her hand, Rachel rose. In half longing and half hesitation, she opened her fingers and studied the miraculous thing. If it functioned successfully, she’d soon be home. If not, she’d be evacuated to the mainland, where she’d have to begin a new life in a strange world that was at war.
She closed her eyes, and like a kid making a wish before blowing out the candles on a birthday cake, she quietly said, “Take me home, little friend.”
With her eyes open, her thumb depressed the center metallic button once… twice… three times. She waited. And she waited.
A butterfly fluttered by. Another airplane droned overhead, fading into the silence of the morning. A trickle of sweat ran down Rachel’s cheek.
A flash blinded her. A stinging electric shock jolted her, and then a burst of wind flung her away into a blue swirling cloud.
FINAL PHASE
CHAPTER 50
Rachel was gritting her teeth when the rocking vibration stopped; when the last gust of cold wind scattered her hair; when a low bass humming died away.
She was sitting in a chair made of chrome and crystal, an ergonomic design with luminescent blue strips and running lights, and a broad armrest, where her arms lay.
Swallowing hard, she carefully cast her round eyes about, her heart kicking. She was under a large white dome. The walls were blue and watery, like a swimming pool’s surface, rippling patterns that danced, and pulsing golden lights that twinkled. All at once, the lights flickered off, and Rachel was in a cool darkness, her palms clammy, her face damp with sweat.
Then there was quiet—the deep quiet of being underwater.
Rachel heard a hissing sound, like steam escaping from a burst pipe. She whipped her head left to see a seamless door rise smoothly from the base; the panels folding up one by one with a mechanical hum. As it ascended, a bloom of light spilled into the dome, gradually illuminating the dim interior. The door continued its steady climb, reaching its zenith, revealing a slice of a room beyond. Rachel swiveled her chair around to face the door and gaze into the room.
She saw walls lined with glowing screens displaying images and data in vibrant neon colors. Each screen pulsed rhythmically, casting an ethereal glow that bathed the room in a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, and purples.
Rachel took several steadying breaths, but she didn’t move, her mind still catching up to the toss and shock of her journey. Was she back? Was it the same time travel laboratory as the one from which she’d left?
A figure appeared in the doorway—a tall figure. Rachel squinted at him, waiting for him to speak. A long minute later, he did.
“Rachel Hunt?”
Rachel nodded and attempted to stand, but her legs felt like jelly, so she sat there, trying to speak. Her first words were smushed together and made no sense. She finally forced out one word in a low, hoarse tone. “Yes…”
Behind and to his right, a shorter man appeared. He took a step forward. “Hello, Rachel. Remember me? It’s Mike Sterner.”
Rachel’s twirling-like-a-top brain gradually settled. “Yes… I remember.” She recalled that Mike was funny. He’d wanted to be a comedian. He was a short, balding, middle-aged man who’d made her laugh. One of the last things he’d said to her was, “We’re going to be here for you, and we’re going to make sure everything goes well. We’re going to get you there, and I promise we’re going to get you back.”
“What the hell took you so long, Rachel?” Mike said, taking a few steps forward, stopping at the threshold of the door.
She spoke meekly. “So, am I back? Back home?”
“Yeah… you’re back, but we almost gave up on you. We tried to contact you many times, but we got no response. Are you okay? Do you need help? There’s a doctor standing by. Can you get out of there on your own?”
Rachel made another attempt to push up with her arms, and she did so, but on shaky legs. “I can make it.”
Mike entered the dome, and when Rachel got a better look at him, she stilled. He’d aged. His bald dome with a wreath of black hair now had a lingering fringe of gray and white. He was heavier, his face rounder.
He reached out to her with both hands. “Take my hands, Rachel, and I’ll help you.”
She did so, moving slowly as Mike led her out the door and into the expanse of the lab. Glancing about, she thought it looked about the same, with some workstation changes.
“Let me look at you,” Mike said. “Well, aren’t you something? You haven’t aged a bit.”
“Should I have aged? I’ve only been gone about five months.”
Mike looked at her keenly, and that’s when Rachel noticed the tall man standing a few feet away, wearing chocolate brown trousers, a matching suit coat and a white open collar shirt.
He stepped forward. “Hello, Rachel. It’s nice to meet you.”
Rachel gave a little shake of her head. She had no idea who he was.
“I’m Dr. Stephen Cross, Rachel. The director of the lab. I took over after Dr. Donald Elsden… well, after he passed away.”
Rachel held her gaze on him. “Passed away?”
“Yes, Rachel,” Mike said. “Almost a year now, from a heart attack.”
Stephen Cross was a middle-aged man, tall and straight, with aristocratic features, short auburn hair and rimless glasses. He reminded her of a medical examiner she had known when working as a detective.
Rachel digested the information and the time gap. “A year ago? Did you say Dr. Elsden died a year ago?”
“Yes,” Mike said.
“Okay, but I’ve only been gone about five months, right?” Rachel asked.
After trading a careful glance, the two men turned to Rachel.
Mike said, “Rachel, I’m just going to rip off the Band Aid and give it to you straight: you’ve been gone for three years.”
Rachel stared hard at him, his words seeming to circle above her head, and she couldn’t pull them down and make sense of them. Her throat tightened. Her mouth went dry.
Dr. Cross said, “Rachel, I’m sure you need to rest. Can I get you anything? Anything at all?”
Rachel shook her head, her eyes still on Mike. “Three years? You did say, three years?”
Mike nodded. “Yes, Rachel.”
Rachel ran a hand across her forehead. “Okay, I guess I’m just a little confused or something. Maybe if I could sit down someplace… I need some water.”
Ten minutes later, the three of them were seated in a semi-circle in Stephen’s office, in front of his desk. Three tall windows looked out into overcast skies and towering pines, birch and oak trees, showing gold and brown autumn colors.
After Rachel had drained most of her bottled water, Stephen Cross put his full attention on her, noticing her wan face and downcast eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to rest, Rachel?”
“No… No… Look, I just need another minute.”
Dr. Cross said, “Fine. When you’re ready, do you mind if I record our session?”
Rachel didn’t look at him. “It’s okay…”
They sat in silence for a time as Rachel stared into the middle distance. “Before we start, can you do me a favor? Can you look up two people I met back in 1941 and tell me what happened to them?”
Mike lowered his gaze to the floor. Stephen withdrew his phone to enter the information and waited for Rachel to reveal their names.
“Go ahead, Rachel.”
“First Lieutenant Zachory Reynolds was an Army Air Corps pilot and a friend of David Whitlock. The second is Victoria Gilbert. She was a reporter for the Honolulu Advertiser and then the Associated Press. Her articles were syndicated in many U.S. papers. Of course, I want to know what happened to David Whitlock, too. Did he survive the war? Obviously, I’m anxious to know.”
Stephen nodded. “All right. I’ll have our research team get right on it. We’ll discuss David Whitlock during this interview.”
Stephen tapped the recording app and placed the phone on his desk. He eased back in his chair with a smile and folded his hands in his lap. “Alright… Shall we begin, Rachel?”
Rachel lifted her eyes. “This is Oregon, right?”
“Yes,” Stephen said.
“And if three years have passed, then what year is it? Is it 2027?”
Mike shrugged. “Yes. It’s November 10, 2027.”
Rachel searched their faces for answers. “I just don’t understand. I left here in August 2024.”
“Yes, you did, Rachel,” Mike said. “That is correct.”
Rachel lowered her gaze to the beige and white patterned tile floor. “Okay… so, obviously, something went wrong or… the time machine malfunctioned or… I don’t know. What?”
CHAPTER 51
Stephen Cross inclined forward. “Rachel, we’ll share everything we know, but first, so we can gain a complete understanding of your journey and its aftermath, do you have the strength to fully debrief us? Can you share what occurred from the time you time traveled until your arrival today?”
Rachel let her shoulders settle. “Alright…My mind’s still a little fuzzy, but let’s do it, so you can tell me what the hell happened.”
Mike narrowed his eyes, Stephen pursed his lips, waiting, and Rachel readjusted herself in the chair.
“Okay, so I time traveled on August 20, 2024, and landed on Oahu December 3, 1941, not December 1, as we’d planned. I might as well start with Greg Stone. I’m sure you remember Greg Stone, the man you sent to 1930 some months before. Well… we ran into each other.”
Both men sat up, their eyes wide open.
Rachel stared at them for a slow 5-count. “That’s right… Surely, he must have changed the world in obvious or maybe not so obvious ways, don’t you think?”
Mike’s eyes sharpened on her. “Start from the beginning, Rachel. Let’s hear it all.”
Rachel launched into a vivid recounting of her journey, describing the people, the events, and the Japanese attack. She explained how she had punctured Zach’s tires and prevented David from flying into combat and being killed, as well as the Zero attack that had nearly killed her. She quickly reviewed her months of recovery with Victoria and the changes she had witnessed in Honolulu.
Mike and Stephen were captivated, leaning forward, hanging on her every word, too enthralled to shift in their seats.
When she was finished, Rachel drained the last of her water and then leaned back with an exhausted sigh. “That’s it. All of it.”
Mike slowly got to his feet. Stephen stared ahead, his eyes shifting.
When they didn’t speak, Rachel did. “So, I saved David Whitlock’s life. That’s why I was sent back to 1941, and I accomplished my mission. Now, it’s your turn. I need to know why it’s 2027, and what happened to Andrew and David Whitlock. As you can imagine, I’m a little freaked out. I’m confused and disoriented, and I’m anxious as hell to hear what’s going on.”
Mike locked his hands behind his back and faced her. “Rachel… First of all, let me say that I’m proud of you, and I’m thrilled you made it back. We’d almost given up on you.”
Stephen broke in. “It was Mike who never gave up, even after all our systems were updated and you became a legacy project.”
“Legacy project? What the hell does that mean?”
“It means Mike insisted on keeping part of our old system running, just in case you contacted us. Mike never gave up.”
Rachel put her grateful eyes on him. “Thank you, Mike. I tried to reach you many times, but the Temporal Beeper didn’t seem to connect. I didn’t get a confirmation right away, so I never knew if the thing was working and if it would bring me back.”
“I’m surprised it worked at all,” Stephen said. “It had so many bugs in it that, after we hadn’t heard from you in over a year, we figured you were stuck there.”
Rachel flipped him a glance. “Well, I didn’t get stuck, but just tell me what happened.”
Mike unlocked his hands, placed them at his sides, and then looked at Rachel with compassion. “Rachel… we knew David survived the Pearl Harbor attack, and that you had been successful saving him from being killed in 1941. We were able to track that. I won’t go into the particulars right now. Anyway, unfortunately, David Whitlock was later shot down and killed flying over Europe in 1944. That is now the official history.”
Rachel dropped her head and closed her eyes. “Damn… I’d hoped and prayed he’d survive the war.”
Stephen inhaled and breathed out through his nose, and it made a little whistling sound. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”
The two men waited for Rachel to recover. When she lifted her head, she looked at Mike. “Where are Finn and Hazel?”
“Finn left the lab last year for another job, and Hazel retired and is living in Spain.”
Rachel slowly got to her feet. She massaged her wrinkled forehead with a hand and worked to digest the information. “Okay, okay,” she said with restraint. “So, David Whitlock was killed in 1944?”
Mike nodded. “Yes, Rachel.”
“So, I saved him in 1941, and then he turned around and got himself killed in 1944. What a helluva thing. What a friggin’ waste. Alright, what happened to his wife, Lorraine, and his son, Andrew? If three years have passed, then I’m betting Andrew Whitlock is dead, right?”
Stephen spoke softly. “Yes, Rachel. His son, Sinclair, helped to build the lab. He now funds it, and he is as dedicated to it as his father was. And he’s on his way to meet you.”
Rachel pushed a shaky hand through her hair. “Okay, wait a minute. When I interviewed with Andrew Whitlock, he told me his son was, and I quote, ‘a deadbeat and a drunk.’ So, something’s not adding up. Something else has changed.”
Stephen said, “Mr. Sinclair Whitlock is a respected businessman and one of the wealthiest men in the world.”
“Okay,” Rachel said, holding up a hand of resignation. “Fine. Whatever. So it’s clear I’m not in the same world I left. Okay. I’ll deal with it. It’s a little crazy, but I guess I sort of expected some things to change. Alright, then just tell me what happened to Lorraine, David’s wife.”
“She married for a second time in 1946, had two more children, and passed away in 1988. Andrew, David’s son, became wealthy, primarily through oil and energy, later expanding into real estate and technology. Andrew’s son, Sinclair Whitlock, further expanded the family business and also carries a passion for time travel, believing it is possible. Unfortunately, Andrew Whitlock passed away three months after you time traveled to 1941.”
Rachel felt her energy drain away. “Okay… Maybe I’m not feeling so good… Maybe I need that sleep after all.”
Rachel wilted. She dropped down hard to the chair and then slumped forward. Both men rushed over to keep her from tumbling off the chair onto the floor.
