Gravestone, page 26
“I’m 21, but going on 100,” he laughed.
“I’m sorry Michael,” she gathered herself. “Let’s sit down. You wanted to explain your presence here, right?”
“I’m not sure I can, or at least not so you’d believe anything I’d say.”
Karen said in a matter of fact way, “Let me make it easy for you. You’re a time traveler. You come from the past. You’re here to look for something that will occur in your future. Am I close?” She sat there grinning.
Michael just about fell off the bench. “How did you know? I mean, how do you know that?” He was dumbfounded.
“Just a guess, but I’m right, aren’t I? See my daughter, Jessi, over there with her daughter? Her other daughter, Willow, is playing just there in the sand box. We just love her name! Well anyway, she and my son, Ryan, who you must remember, the little guy sleeping in his stroller with a calculator? Well would you believe that Ryan is a millionaire! He founded RyanWare Software, you know those XC discs for computers; and he married a really sweet girl named Nicole. Well my kids have always believed that you were from our past – a time traveler. Our family has discussed it many times. In fact, my husband is fascinated with the idea of a time travel and is considering writing a novel based on the idea.”
“Wow! Yep you’re right. It’s amazing that you guessed it and put it all together. But how do you know this?” It was Michael’s turn to let his mouth drop open.
“All right, I’ll confess something. When you spoke to me 25ish years ago, you dropped some papers that must have fallen out from your pack or jacket. Anyway I picked them up to throw them in the trash after you were gone, but when I noticed it was a letter to your wife explaining this ‘experiment’ you were involved in. Sorry if it seems I was prying, but I read it and let my husband read it. I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t believe any of it. Sounded to me like you were in a creative writing class or something, but the few facts we looked into did check out. Like the faculty staff you mentioned, the Chamber Scholarship Fund. We even snuck into the athletic building and saw the treadmill with our own eyes. It became a fascinating ‘story’ to us and all from a letter you wrote to your wife to be used as insurance if anything went wrong with the ‘experiment.’ I would’ve mailed it to her, but I did not know her name or address. So, here you are again, un-aged, and I’ve hit the nail on the head, right?”
“You ever thought of becoming a detective?” He laughed. “You’re 100% right.”
Michael looked at this woman feeling an unexplainable bond with her. “So then, you threw away my letter over 25 years ago. Do you realize that for me it has only been eight days since we last saw each other?” They both went silent for a minute as they processed that information.
“So, what will you do now?” Karen said in a serious tone but as upbeat as she could muster. “You must have a purpose for all this, some reason?”
Michael stood and looked the park over, just watching everyone for a minute. Then, coming out of his self-induced trance, said in his best John Wayne impression, “Well, I’ve got to read a few gravestones pilgrim.” Karen just looked at him with confusion and mixed emotions. He continued more seriously, “You know, as exciting as all this is, it’s been rather scary, but hey, thanks for not thinking I’m crazy. And thanks for remembering me.”
Chapter 25: 1963 Dallas
Doug Collins had found himself nearly drowning in the bay next to the wharf used to tie up the large naval vessels at Ford Island. He gasped for air and clawed at the water, unaware of how he got there. Calming down he managed to swim over to the end of the pier and climb up to safety. He had swallowed several mouthfuls of grimy harbor water.
“Hey you there, sailor, you all right?” The voice came from a dock-worker who couldn’t have been any older than himself. Coughing, Doug rolled over on his back, soaked, and trying to speak. “I, uh, I guess I fell in.” He coughed.
The kid didn’t try to hold back his laughter, “Ha, yeah it looks that way. What happened? You take a long walk off a short pier?” He couldn’t stop laughing.
“Very funny. Very funny.” Coughing and spitting he struggled to say, “Looked like a nice day for a swim. Help me up.” He reached out his hand and the kid took it, pulling Doug to his feet. He was strong and must have been working hard on the docks to develop such muscular arms. Doug continued, “So, guess I’d better get out of these wet things and, uh, back to work.”
The kid noticed Doug was wearing the uniform of an officer, a lieutenant. “Sorry sir, I didn’t realize you were an officer. Anything I can do to assist you sir?”
“Yes there is, sailor. Come to attention!” Doug barked, surprising himself. Doug used this opportunity to his benefit, “I’m going to give you an order in the form of a question and you’ll answer that it without hesitation. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” the kid snapped, trying to back off from his earlier posture of being hysterical over the sight of this guy floundering on the dock like a fish out of water. He’d have an amusing story to tell the guys back on ship. “Ok sailor, sound out today’s date. I want day of the week, full date and time of day. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir!” A pause.
“Well mister!”
“It’s Sunday, sir, October 25, 1963.” He glanced at his wrist watch, “0820, sir!”
“Very well sailor, at ease.” Doug was amazed at the news. He was also disappointed. It was not 1981. “Alright sailor what’s your name.”
“It’s Bud, sir. Buddy Valentine.”
“Pleasure to meet you Buddy. Seems I misplaced my ship. I’ll need some dry civilian clothes. Can you help me find some?” “I think so, sir. We can go to the LST docked over on “G” pier. That’s my ship. I’m a boiler man second class. I think we’re about the same size sir. I’ll fix you up. But sir,” he added, “I wonder if you can fix me up with a pass to go into town. I haven’t been off this base for nearly three weeks.”
So after Collins was fitted into some dry civilian clothes that belonged to Boilerman second class Buddy Valentine, his first priority was to get to Texas. It was just his own curiosity that was driving him now since he had always been fascinated with the Kennedy assassination and all those conspiracy theories. Now he had the chance of a life time to witness for himself what actually happened. He had no illusions though that by him being present he could somehow save President Kennedy’s life.
He removed his soaked wallet and laid out the bills to dry while he grabbed some food in the LST’s galley. Then he needed to catch a taxi at the base front gate, head to the airport, but this time purchase a one way ticket to Dallas.
As he sat on the plane he recalled two bullets fired from Lee Harvey Oswald’s gun caused JFK to succumb to what were fatal shots. Kennedy died that day at 12:30 p.m., November 22, 1963, in downtown Dallas. Somehow, he knew he was to become involved in that incident. He wanted to try to change the outcome of the assassination, downgrading it to being just an attempted assassination.
Once in Dallas he was going to get himself settled into a flat with a monthly lease. He had most of the $1,000 left in his wallet. He’d have a little more than three weeks before the Kennedy motorcade would take its historic drive down Elm Street. He was determined to put to rest the controversy of the Kennedy conspiracy. He was going to be there and see for himself if Oswald acted alone, or with others that day. As he tightened his seat belt in preparation for landing he thought that the only thing more fascinating than being at the Kennedy shooting would to be aboard the Titanic. Wow, now there’s a thought. If he could ever do that. Think of it, saving the Titanic. He wondered if he could ever get Captain Smith of the Titanic to believe him about the iceberg? Whoa, what a coincidence. He just spent the last three weeks with a different Captain Smith trying to divert another maritime disaster in a different time... The aircraft bounced on the tarmac with a jolt bringing Doug back into reality, at least the reality of 1963. “Welcome to DFW International Airport where the local time is 4:15 p.m.”
July 1981 - Ellensburg
Claire James was in bed trying to sleep. It had been an exhausting day with the shooting of Professor Smith and her husband disappearing into some unknown time period. It was now two o’clock in the morning, just nine hours since Michael vanished. She could not keep her mind from running wild, wondering where her husband was and what he was doing. Would he come back at any minute? Would he be changed, different? She left the fan running, blowing the warm air over her sheet. Michael had always liked the sound of the fan and was never as cold as she was. She wanted to lie in bed and think about him. What if he’s gone for ten or twenty years and forgets about me? She wondered how would they be able to relate again? He’d have so much more life experience, and all without her! Oh, she was so tired and helpless and her mind would not rest. Tomorrow she knew Michael would come back. Tomorrow she would be with Michael again and that thought helped her sleep.
1963 - Dallas
Tuesday, October 31, 1963, Halloween. Fletcher Blake had been living in Dallas for nearly 22 years. He would be 110 years old and dead if he hadn’t jumped on Michael James so long ago. Now he was still 88 and remarkably fit. Only one thing ever haunted Fletcher since his arrival into the past. That was the account Jason told him about the night Fletcher gets shot in Dallas. The account of a Fletcher Blake, age 88, dead of a gunshot wound in Dallas the day of President Kennedy’s shooting. It was obviously him in that article and he knew it. He spent the past 22 years working on a scenario to change that date with death, and his plan was flawless.
Fletcher was going to be in control of the events which would occur on November 22. Oh, he realized that larger forces were in place to take down President Kennedy. In fact he felt their presence almost daily now in Dallas. But he had a bigger target to deal with and that was to protect himself! He didn’t care if Kennedy was shot, or even killed, so long as he, Fletcher Blake, was out of the way of the flying bullets.
He was the majority owner of the warehouse on the corner of Houston and Elm Streets, the Texas School Book Depository. He was also General Manager of the warehouse with a private office on the second floor of that building. It was he that interviewed and hired L.H. Oswald on October 15, 1963, just two weeks ago as an order-filler and general laborer. Of course Fletcher knew all about Oswald from history. Who didn’t? Now he was in position to see first-hand what really happened. Funny, he thought, I could even be a national hero and not even know it. Maybe it’s me that could save the President. It seems that just my presence here manipulating a few facts here, and there, apparently could save the President of the United States, changing history.
It was lunch time and Fletcher had just approved the refurbishing of the old wooden floors of the Depository over the next few weeks. He’d have to make sure that the sixth floor, where the shooting would occur, was not scheduled for the week of the 22nd. Fletcher didn’t spend much time at the business, in fact he was only there two or three days each month. He had an office manager, Mrs. Jeannie Ferguson, to run the day to day affairs.
Today though he humored himself with seeking out Oswald in the second floor lunchroom. Fletcher walked through the double swinging doors and proclaimed, “Oswald! How’s life treating you these days?”
“Excuse me?” Oswald said looking up from his sandwich.
“Is everything all right at home? I mean, are you getting along all right working here and supporting your family?”
Oswald was much younger than Fletcher had remembered from the old news accounts. On his application he had put 30 years old, 5’10” and 165 pounds, but he looked more slender than that and about 25. Oswald had always seemed quiet at work but had a reputation for being an activist in political movements, even handing out flyers on the streets declaring his pro-Cuba stand. He answered, “Yes, Mr. Blake, I’m doing fine.”
“How’s your wife and kids? Word has it that you live in a boarding house separate from your family. Is there anything that...”
Oswald’s interest peaked, “How is it that you know so much about my personal life Mr. Blake? I’ll ask you to just let me be.” He stood to go back to work. “I work hard for you and I like to keep my personal life to myself.”
Fletcher let it go as Oswald walked to the rear of the building and entered the freight elevator, pushing the button for the sixth floor.
Fletcher smiled. He rattled Oswald. He knew he could stop the events that were to happen in just another three weeks. But why should he? It would not gain him anything and it did provide amusement for him. In fact it actually kept him alive. He was looking forward to the 22nd.
THERE WAS NOT MUCH to do while the clock ticked by day after day. Doug had an apartment on Cedar Street, about six blocks from where the shooting would occur at the Book Depository only three days from now. There was a lot of media hype and the whole city was buzzing with energy to greet the President. Doug was caught up in the flood of excitement and thought that he would have actually enjoyed seeing President Kennedy drive by if he hadn’t known about the events that were about to unfold. He was sure that the assassination plans around him were being prepared, plotted, and practiced. He didn’t really know much of the details that took place on November 22 except what he had learned in school, and of course all those TV specials about a possible conspiracy.
Again he kicked himself for not knowing more about the historic events that shaped the country. He sat down on his bed and for the hundredth time, went over the notepad of facts he remembered about the Kennedy shooting. It was literally up to him to save the President, if possible, since only he knew what was going to happen. Something that he would do could save President Kennedy’s life. He sat with his soda and arranged the list.
* Kennedy Shot at 12:30 p.m., 11/22/63
* Oswald, 6th floor of the Texas Book Depository, Houston & Elm Street.
* Three shots fired – Oswald
* Possible shots from picket fence – MUST check this, bums picked up in train yard.
* JFK killed, hit in head. Gov. Connley wounded.
* Oswald killed by Jack Ruby two days later – said he was a ‘patsy’ and was set-up.
He could fill in some of the blanks between the lines, but the bottom-line always came down to the same conclusion: Somehow, maybe, he could be a force on how many shots hit the president. Two hits would kill him, but one might only disable him or miss him all together. So, there it is again, looking him square in the face. He had to get involved with history and try to stop a bullet. Ah, no problem.
DOUG HAD SEEN OSWALD on two previous occasions, both times leaving work. He followed him once a couple days ago. Nothing really interesting happened but just the idea that this was the man who shot, or would shoot the President made every step worth watching. It was now the morning of the 20th of November. It had rained lightly last night, but today it was all clear blue sky. A great day for a walk over to Dealey Plaza the site of the shooting.
It only took ten minutes to make the trek where he found himself sitting on a bench facing the seven-story brick warehouse with the words ‘Texas School Book Depository’ lettered on the front of the building facing Elm.
Doug felt like he was looking at a picture of this place rather than actually being here. This was a scene that became so famous to all Americans. He could plainly see from his bench directly across the three lane street, the infamous ‘grassy knoll’ and that white wooden picket fence. He saw that all the oak trees still had their leaves and wondered how Oswald could even see the President’s car because of one large oak tree that seemed to be directly in the way. Today was an unusual amount of traffic passing on Elm towards the Stemmons Freeway. And there was the underpass to the freeway that he recognized from all those old news reel accounts. This is incredible, he thought, everything is exactly as it was.
He took a sip of the hot chocolate he had bought across the street at the small deli. He looked at the Depository and then the picket fence. There was about a hundred yards distance between the two. He was torn on his exact plans. Should he go into the Depository and do whatever he could with Oswald or be at the picket fence on the grassy knoll? He had pondered this question since he’d been here, and still he sat undecided.
“Hey you!”
Doug focused to see who yelled at him. He dropped his cup, spilling its contents on his tennis shoes. “Huh? Yeah?” He sat like a petrified statue, unable to move. He couldn’t believe who was standing there three feet in front of him.
Lee Oswald said again, “Hey! You deaf or something?”
“Uh, no, I just thought I was out here alone.”
Oswald was bothered. He was impatient and abrupt, “So, my boss wants to know what you’re doing over here looking at our building. Guess I’d like to know myself.”
“What? What building. Why?”
“You know, the Book Depository right in front of your nose. What’s so fascinating that you’re casing out the place?” Oswald was definitely having a bad morning.
“Hey, I’m not casing out anything. I’m just sitting on this bench trying to drink this hot chocolate that you made me spill, so chill out!” Whoa, he couldn’t believe that he told Lee Harvey Oswald to chill.
“Yeah, well like I said, my boss thought that if you had nothing better to do, you might want a job. Pays a buck twenty-five an hour. One of the guys got hurt and we need a full crew of fifteen to move all the crates of boxes. You know, we ship books to schools. Are ya interested or not?”
Doug didn’t know what to say. Maybe if he accepted the job at least that would be his way to keep an eye on Oswald. “Tell you what, I’ll think about it. I’ll let your boss know later today. You say $1.25, huh? Not bad.”
