Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel (9 page)

“I’m a trained police officer, I know how to investigate. If I’m there when it goes down, I can help to put the pieces together.”

Mitch stared into her eyes, into her soul. “You’re going back so you can stop the whole thing.”

Kat remained silent to avoid lying to him. Of course she would try to stop Lettie Ruth from disappearing forever. She would be entering the picture forewarned of a horrible event that could be easily averted with a few cautious steps. How could she be expected to do otherwise? Could Mitch? Given the identical circumstances, she knew he would respond the same way.

“Have you considered the ripple effect from messing with the past?” Mitch asked. “You know the old joke about preventing your own birth? It may not be so farfetched, partner.”

“Mitch, I promise not to marry my father,” she said, trying to lighten his mood.

“Don’t get cute. This is serious stuff with serious consequences. Remember, action equals reaction. And I guarantee saving Lettie Ruth will change Alvin’s future.
What-if,
your interference prevents him from meeting and marrying your mother? Who knows, he could hook up with some sassy New Orleans’ gal and you’ll dissolve in a puff of smoke.”

On the surface his ideas sounded a bit silly, but underneath lay a very solid foundation. By moving one particular chess piece at a crucial moment, the outcome of a game was set. However, if a different piece were moved in a different direction, the game changed. A new winner emerged.

What-if,
Mitch’s theory about trying to change the past was right?

“Scouts honor.” She held up three fingers in the Girl Scout salute. “I won’t try to change anything.” Even as she mouthed the words, Kat knew this promise would be broken. “I’ll investigate afterwards.”

“Fat chance of that,” he growled. “No way in hell will you stand back and wait until Lettie Ruth goes missing. You’ll step in.”

“Don’t be so sure, mister. I am capable of determining what should and shouldn’t be done.”

“What makes you such an expert on should and should not?” Mitch challenged. “Your aunt was involved in issues and situations you’ve only read about in the history books. I’m willing to bet once you’re running around in 1963 you’ll find a lot of silt muddying the waters.” He stopped and looked her in the eye. “You won’t be able predict how a particular action on your part will turn out. Keep in mind, just by
being
there, your presence will alter the future.”

Kat buttoned her sweater all the way to the neck, fighting the chills invading her body. He was laying it all out in front of her like a buffet of disasters. And it frightened the living daylights out of Kathleen Templeton.

“You’ll be occupying a space that was either empty prior to your arrival, or you’ll replace someone else,” he continued. “Let’s take a look at a couple of what-ifs.” He began to pace the room, slipping into his lecture mode.

Kat cringed. She absolutely hated his What-if lectures. Mainly because they usually ended up making sense. And right now she didn’t want his logic to mix in with her emotional objectives.

“
What-if
, you’re riding down the road with Lettie Ruth on your way to a civil rights shindig, and get run off the road by a gang of good ole ‘Bama boys? Are you willing to die, Kat? Die because you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time? You can’t predict the what, where or when of that wrong place.”

“Mitch,” she protested, hoping to derail his speech long enough to make a getaway.

He ignored her and marched on. “And
what-if
, you discover Klan members plan to torch Lettie’s house or your Pop’s church? Are you going to call the cops and wait for a squad car? Think again, m’lady, they’ll throw your tail in the slammer first. You cannot go back and make things right, Kathleen. All you will do is get yourself hurt. Or killed.”

“I
can
change one thing, Mitch. I can stop my aunt from—”

“No, you can’t!” he shouted, raising his voice for the first time. “It’s stupid to think so. Want to know why?”

“Sure, why don’t you educate this dumb little black girl.”

He whirled on her, his face turning scarlet. “That’s a cheap shot, Kat. Don’t turn this into a black versus white issue. I’m talking about problems that could arise if you tinker with the past. Step outside your emotions a second and listen to me,” he pleaded. “Lettie Ruth disappeared, and because she did, certain events have followed. Things changed for Alvin, and for dozens of other people as well. If you alter one detail, one minute factor, no telling the repercussions that will follow.”

“If you’ve dragged the boogy man out from under the bed to scare me, it ain’t working.”

“It’s not an imaginary monster under the bed, Kat. This is a reality check.”

“I don’t see how my presence in 1963 can screw up the entire world.”

“Example. You told me how Pop met your mother
after
Lettie Ruth went missing.”

“True. Mom came over to Dr. Biggers’ clinic where Pop was staying. She brought him her famous sweet potato pie. He said he lost his heart and stomach to Dolores Townson sitting on that front porch.”

“Allow me to pose this question, if Lettie Ruth doesn’t go missing, will Alvin still meet Dolores? Will she still bring him that sweet potato pie? If she doesn’t do these things will they fall in love, get married and have a beautiful baby girl named Kathleen?”

“That’s absurd. Of course they will,” she argued. She didn’t like the tone of their conversation. Mitch was beginning to make points.

He pointed to the phone. “Call Alvin and ask if he’s willing to risk the life he’s led for the past thirty-seven years.” He stopped pacing and squatted in front of her. “Kat, there will be stuff going on in people’s lives that you know nothing about and maybe shouldn’t.”

Kat shook her head so hard her hair fell across her eyes. She brushed it away and glared at Mitch, driving daggers into his mouth to shut him up.

Mitch stood and resumed pacing. “With Lettie Ruth back in the picture, his life will take a different course. It has to. And it is possible your parents will never meet.”

“He wants me to go.”

He stopped pacing and turned to stare at her. “Alvin said that?”

“He asked me to try and prevent Lettie Ruth’s murder.” Kat looked away, she’d fudged the truth a little. Pop’s actual words to her had been ‘
you won’t know until you get there
.’ Which in her zeal she may have interpreted as ‘
Go
’.

“Oh, suddenly your aunt’s been murdered instead of disappeared? When did her status change? What information is Alvin holding back?”

Her temper flared. “Are you suggesting Pop hasn’t been one hundred per cent up front?”

“I’m suggesting antecedent events,” Mitch answered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“An antecedent event, a preceding event or cause.”

“For God’s sake, Mitch, I know what the word means.”

“Excuse me all to hell and gone. I only meant to be clear.
What-if
, he forgot … or sugar coated the details? One small, seemingly unimportant fact could be a major player with regards to your safety. A possibility which concerns me. A lot.”

“Then come along and keep me out of trouble,” Kat countered. If he was so worried about her safety then he ought to jump at the invitation. “We can work the case together. Double the manpower and cut our time in half.”

“Thank you no. I’ve seen as much of 1963 as I care to.”

“Come on, Mitch, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days to sort through everything and get it squared away.”

Mitch sighed and sat on the sofa. “When are you going?”

She unfolded her copy of the Arson/Fatality printout and spread it on the coffee table. “Like I said,
three hours ago
, I believe this Jane Doe entry, dated April 5, to be Lettie Ruth. So I took vacation days starting April 1. I’ll go then.”

“Four days before anything happened? Isn’t that too early to show up, especially if you have no intention of interfering?”

“Interfering or not interfering isn’t the issue,” Kat said. “The reason is very simple. If I don’t leave on the first, then I don’t go at all.”

Mitch ran his hands through his hair. “April 1 or never? Elaborate.”

“I’ve gone over to Park Street three times since we were there last Sunday,” Kat admitted.

“And?”

“And, on two of the trips I could have walked back and forth across Park all day and night without going anywhere, except to the other side of the street.”

“No shrinking trees or magic cars?”

“Nope.”

“That’s an interesting little side bar to all this,” Mitch said. “Got any theories on the how’s and why’s nothing happened?”

“I believe it’s linked to the deaths,” Kat said. “The first time we were able to step into 1963 because that’s the morning Mattie De Carlo died.” She pointed to the printout. “Look here, see Harold Beason’s name on the 17th? That’s today. So on my way home tonight I decided to test my theory. I tried again, and it worked just like the first time.”

“You did it?”

“All the way into 1963. I only took a few steps, but it definitely worked. Since nothing happened the other times, I figure the window or doorway was closed. That’s when I decided passage was connected to a death.”

Mitch ran his finger down the list of names on the printout. “Hey, there’s another door opening on April 2. You could wait another day before leaving.”

“One day doesn’t make all that much difference. Assuming my theory is valid, the door should open again at 5:05 in the morning on April 1, when Tyrone Jefferson died. And that’s when I’m goin’.”

Mitch’s color paled and the paper in his hands trembled slightly. “This business spooks the hell out of me.”

“Mitch, I’m not so sure you’re supposed to be part of this. From the get-go I’ve been dragging you along on this adventure. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t know about the doorways. Or for that matter, about any of this stuff.”

“Right. So maybe this is the way it’s supposed to go down.”

“Once you get there, where will you start?”

“Right there,” she said, tapping the printout. “The Jane Doe address.”

Mitch bent over the papers and read the address out loud, “3349 Brook Street. Residential or commercial?”

“I drove by yesterday and it’s a strip mall now. I don’t know what was there in 1963.”

“You sure this Jane Doe is your aunt? Dead on sure?”

“Maybe not dead on,” she hedged, dreading the beginning of another lecture.

“So you’re working from a purely speculative base. Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s not. Maybe she went missing on this date and time. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe, maybe, maybe!” As he spoke his voice gradually rose until the last word was delivered in a shout and he was back on his feet.

“If you feel this way, just go on home and let me tend to my business.”

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all night.”

* * *

From across the room the wrinkled and smudged computer printout stared at Mitch. It wouldn’t leave him alone.

Agitated by the way things had turned out with Kat, he couldn’t stop throwing stuff around. A good thing he didn’t have any real furniture in his apartment or he’d probably end up tossing it off the balcony as well.