The Portal At The End Of The Storm E-Book

Michael R. Stern

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Fritz Russell has disappeared into the portal, leaving a trail impossible to follow. This has caused a chain reaction that ripples across the time-space continuum.

Undaunted, his friend Ashley searches for Fritz, determined to find him and reverse the disruption of time. Attempting to undo the changes Fritz has done, Ashley discovers a shocking connection between parallel universes and the portal.

Disturbing the flow of time comes with a heavy price. But will it prevent him from bringing Fritz home?

Leseprobe

The Portal at the End of the Storm

Quantum Touch Book 6

Michael R. Stern

Copyright (C) 2018 Michael R. Stern

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

For LindaWith my gratitude and all my love

Acknowledgements

An author often thanks those who have helped create the final product. Rightly so. No story can be complete without the assistance of others. I want to thank my wife, Linda, for tolerating the ups and downs of creating in obscurity. I want to thank those who have read parts of my books and offered constructive suggestions to make the story clearer, and hopefully better. But at this point, I want to thank the fictitious persons who are my characters. We have lived with each other for half a dozen years now. I have enjoyed our time together.

I want to once more thank Amy Davis of Riverfog Writing Group, who has patiently tolerated my extended learning curve. I am a better writer because of her teaching.

Thanks to my publishing team at Next Chapter Publishing.

Special thanks as always to the teachers who have inspired this book, Gilbert Ashley and Russell Fritz. My memories of them have made this creation fun, no funner.

And as always, thank you so much, those of you who have read my work. I hope you feel your time was well spent. For those of you who have read the entire Quantum Touch series, I am deeply grateful.

Chapter 1

Fritz

EIGHT YEARS. All that time, I've waited. When would that day come, the day they find me? A couple of times the cops must have seen the heels of my shoes on the way out. I've been lucky, so far. Working off the books, working hard and keeping my head down has kept me out of trouble, or the electric chair. The two men in the corner are paying too much attention.

Not many students leave college with a back-up marketable skill, or a need to work to get through the four years. I did. The demand for short order cooks has kept me in a position to rabbit when the walls closed in. Still, I wonder what's happening in the real world, my real world.

“Hey, Kraut, you got that order yet?”

“Scotch-Irish on my mother's side, and hybrid English on my father's. And who are you calling a Kraut, Ms. Frankfurt.”

“Hey, asshole. Does that work better?”

“If it works for you.” Cindy Frankfurt has been a pain for the past year. But she pays me on time and other than regular insults, she knows, or rather suspects that I'm not on the up and up with her. Need to know, Cindy, and you don't.

Eight years is a long time to be gone, from family and friends, from a comfortable life, a job teaching history that I looked forward to after I found the portal. In that life, I had a son. And in that life, the last thing my wife, Linda, said to me was “I don't love you anymore.” In that life, I even had a different name. I had a friend. Ashley. I'm sure Ash and Jane are married by now. Eight years is a long time for a time traveler to be stuck in one place, but I never thought I'd be stranded in an alternate dimension. Believe me when I say that time travel can be unpredictable.

When my shift here ends, all I can look forward to is my dumpy efficiency apartment, and maybe a trip to the library. I don't buy books anymore. I don't buy much of anything. Thank God for car leases. At least, I'm not stuck with constant repairs anymore. Hiding and running has been a nuisance, but it's easier to hide in plain sight. Here, now, it's just me. I have no family, no roots to tap to give my life a sense of continuity. I have accepted my anonymity, both sadly and gratefully. I've even heard that the Feds are looking for me. Will I ever find a way back?

I tapped the bell at the window to get Cindy's attention. “Number seventeen, up. Eggs over easy, home fries, bacon and toast. Times two.” The two suits in the corner look suspiciously like law men. I've had too many brushes with the type not to know. The back door is only a few feet away. I'll be keeping an eye open in more than one direction until they're gone. I haven't seen those two before. No extra pepper on the potatoes. No reason to make them mad.

Cindy did her usual ballet of serving and bussing. I had to admit, she was good. A lot of banter, anything for a tip. She stopped for a moment at the window and told me they had complimented me on the perfect over-easy eggs. I glanced at the table. The guy on the far side kept his eye on me. I nodded to him and told her to tell him I said thanks and come again.

“Tell them I make nice waffles, too.”

She cleared the other empty tables and started the routine lunch prep. We had about an hour until the crowd would begin to trickle in. I unlocked the back door, but stayed near the service window to see what they would do. When they had finally exited, Cindy waltzed into the kitchen, and told me I had a new fan.

“When he left, he said again, 'My compliments to the chef.' Then he asked your name.” I must have blanched because she reacted swiftly. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. My stomach just grumbled.” I remember a phrase from my youth that has proven true—if you can't think big, think fast. Ashley had hit the proverbial nail on the head. I lied well, and I had had many situations where lying had come in handy. But it didn't always work out.

“Uh-huh. And I have a bridge to sell. Those guys upset you. I saw. You hardly took your eyes off them. Who are they?”

“Never saw them before. And I hope I don't again. No one even notices a chef in a place like this unless something's wrong. They're suspicious.”

“You're paranoid.” I disagreed. Cautious, not paranoid, but I let it pass. They were cops, no doubt. In my old life, having a cop behind me at a red light gave me butterflies. Having them invade this world shifted my strategy for escape into high gear.

She watched me go through the motions for lunch, but I could ignore her more easily than forget why I worried about two guys who just had breakfast. I worked faster than I needed to, and then told her I'd be out back having a smoke.

I poked my head out into the alley and checked for unwanted guests. No one, nothing. I took a deep drag, then sat in the chair I'd salvaged from a dumpster ages ago. As alleys go, this one was pretty usual, except cleaner. The trash guys around here are careful. Never have seen that before. And I make a point of picking up the occasional flotsam and jetsam that drifts back here. Linda would appreciate how neat I've become.

For eight years, I've avoided any contact with the people from my old life. On the bad days, I hold myself back because I've already messed up their lives, not just mine. And the damage to them is nothing compared to what I had set loose on the rest of the world. That's why I've expected that eventually I would be found. President McCain wants me strung up to the nearest tree. At least that's what he'd allowed his vice-president to say. She meant it, even if he didn't.

After an uneventful lunch crowd, I finished up and went home, stopping at the ATM to grab the cash I'd need until the end of the week. I stashed the bills in my pants pocket, not in my wallet, ever. Over the years, I've learned some of the tricks of the street. Check to see if anyone's watching. Never have a lot of cash, but always have some.

That's when I spotted them. As I walked to my car, the guy who watched me in the shop sat in the passenger's seat as they went past. His quick glance gave away his pretending not to notice. My chest tightened and my pulse raced. I watched until the car turned out of sight a few blocks down. By the time I reached home, my nerves had calmed, and I had my plan ready.

Over the years, I have collected backpacks. In the car trunk, ready for escape, I had a few changes of clothes, extra toiletries, only the necessities. My small apartment didn't have room for me to be a hoarder, so packing the rest would require little time or effort. I hadn't planned to leave yet, but when I went to work in the morning, I could choose to vanish or not. Some of my old life had remained, like this lesson from Tom Andrews—always be prepared and always do the unexpected. Wow, Tom Andrews. I haven't thought of him in years. The head of the president's secret service detail, killed during a failed assassination attempt. That was a sad day.

Caution has served me well, just not soon enough to have kept me from being here. I had originally planned to fix things and just go home. The portal had been my friend. Not this time. I've found it easier to blend in, chameleon-like, where I wouldn't be a curiosity. After a few years out west, I'd come back to where I pretended to be just another East Coast guy going to work, going home. Some days, I hoped to be caught just to end the monotony.

We restocked on Saturdays since most customers worked nearby and spent the weekend at home. My job included ordering supplies for the next week, which allowed time to analyze my predicament. This world wasn't real, at least not for me. I had no relationships, no friends, not even an occasional one-nighter. “Solitary Man” ran through my head, a tune that would remain until a new one could replace it. Elections were over, Christmas just around the corner.

After orders had been placed and my late breakfast crowd had departed for Saturdays unknown, Cindy dragged out her holiday decorations. I had been a minimalist when putting up lights meant extra unnecessary work. Linda and I had agreed that just the two of us didn't need it. I wonder if she'd decorate for TJ. This year, in that life, he had just had his first birthday. Or does he even exist, if I've been here all this time? I never have figured out the various permutations of time travel possibilities.

“Are you gonna help?” Cindy called, as she pulled a big box from the storage room.

“I hadn't planned on it.”

“Change your plans.” I abandoned my to-do list and carried the box to the dining area and at her direction began untangling the multi-colored twinkle lights.

“You know I have things to do, Cindy.”

“Yeah, and one of them is helping me with the decorating.”

“It's almost lunch time and I'm not set up.”

“No one's here. You have time.”

“This crowd won't care.”

“I do. I love Christmas.” A smile, seldom seen by me from this hard-bitten, tough-talking woman, changed her face.

“You should do that more often.”

“What?”

“Smile. It takes ten years off.”

“Just do the lights.” But her smile returned.

In the year plus I'd worked here, we hadn't talked much about anything personal. I certainly didn't want to share, that California concept I'd run away from years ago. I'd guessed her to be in her 50s, and probably not bad looking at a younger age. A little wrinkling, a little gray mixed into the brown. And being on her feet all day, a pretty nice figure held up by shapely legs. I guessed she'd had a rough time of it. But I'd never asked. That would have meant letting down my guard. Thanks, Tom. Caution. I know.

She caught me staring as I unwound the tangles. “What are you looking at?”

“Knots,” I lied. “You know, you can get new lights for three bucks per hundred at the market. This is stupid. Why don't I go get some new ones. And when you put them away, wind them and wrap them. You won't have this mess next year.”

“Will you get them after lunch, then? We can decorate this afternoon.”

I don't know what possessed me, but I told her I would. Maybe eight years was softening my resolve, or just my need for human contact. “Just no music.”

Chapter 2

AshleyNOVEMBER 27, 2016

Jane said that I'd been hard on Linda. I was, and on her mother, Emily, for not telling us everything before this mess got completely out of hand. I told Jane that both her life and mine had been upside down for the past six months because of them.

“You know that's not fair, Ash,” Jane said.

“Maybe not entirely. But a lot. Jane, I love you. And I love Fritz and Linda like family. More. I can't believe I can't find him. Yesterday, I randomly followed each of the nine books to where he'd paperclipped. Today, only the ones I think he would have chosen. Tomorrow night, I want to go in the exact order he left the books on the desk.” Now that I can open the portal, the real weirdness of paperclips in a book on a desktop keeps running through my head. Although I knew it, it was one of those things that you don't really think about. Until you have to do it yourself.

“Do you think you know where he went?”

“My brain says he went to find Robert E. Lee. But inside the portal, that doesn't feel right. Like the portal is trying to tell me to look somewhere else. Classes are going to be relaxing compared to this.”

That's how I felt. At first, I sensed Fritz's pain. I know what damage the months without Linda and TJ have done. He'd begun smoking again, up to a pack a day, and he had bought a whole case of Jack to just get through the long nights. I tried to reason with him, then bully him. He's one stubborn cuss when he makes up his mind to be. Kind of like me.

But right now, with Jane watching me, I'm angry, really angry, at Fritz. He took off into the portal. He had to know that I'd come after him, but if he wanted me to find him, he wouldn't have made it so hard. I'm angry because he took the easy way. And left me to sort out the chaos.

“I'm going to try to talk to General Lee tomorrow. Maybe he can give me some advice like he gave Fritz way back when. Or maybe he's seen him. Jane, I hope I can find him soon. I want to marry you. I've waited for years and I'm tired of waiting.”

She grinned at me. “Ash, we've only known each other a little more than a year.” Her dark eyes sparkled, like in a fairytale movie.

“I've wanted to marry you for my whole life,” I said. “I just had to find you first.” I took her hand and squeezed. She did what came so naturally. She reached to the leather satchel hanging on the chair, and took out a yellow pad and pen. “So you're going to record all my romantic sayings?”

“No.” She scowled, intending to make me laugh. “Those are recorded. You know I have the house bugged.” Then I did laugh. “Ash, I think we should have a record of as much detail as possible in case this takes longer than you think.”

“Let me write it. As I go through, you can ask questions to get to the least important, most miniscule factoid you can conjure. You know, government at its best.”

She jerked toward me and I sat back, dodging what I expected to be a right cross that never came. Shaking her head, she said, “While you're writing, I'll make dinner. But before you start, would you do my back? It's itching like the devil, enough that scratching it would feel good even if I opened the cuts. I could get bloody.” More than a month after her abduction and rescue from the barn, the wounds hadn't healed completely. A recurring image, finding her in the barn with those knife slices down her back, remained as palpable to me as I'm sure they were to her.

“Sure,” I said, and followed her to the bedroom.

By the time I started writing, I desperately needed a shower and food. But the shower could wait. While Jane reheated whatever we had in the fridge, I took the stack of books and made a list of titles in the order I visited Fritz's clipped selections.

The first stop had been Kitty Hawk. McCullough's book. It had been a fun read, but stepping inside its pages enlightened me about how to proceed.

“Here's another one, Wilbur.” The younger dark-haired man pointed at me as I walked into their work shed.

“What do you want?” I answered him as abruptly as he had asked.

“I'm looking for someone. And he's been here. Have you seen him?”

“Would I be correct if I said the name Russell?” Wilbur asked, nodding to his brother.

“I think you already know the answer is yes.” I asked when he'd been there.

“Who are you?” Orville asked.

“My name is Ashley Gilbert. Fritz is my friend and he's lost.”

“He acted fairly certain of his location when he came here,” Wilbur said. “He had a lot to say this time.”

“This time?”

“I met him a few years ago in Dayton. When he left, he walked into a glowing rectangle. When he showed up here, we three spent a few hours talking about what he said would be accomplished here.”

Orville said, “It's out there, Will.”

Orville had tried to look busy, but he stood in the shed opening looking at the fluorescent rectangle, the portal. I told them that Fritz and I had found a way to travel through time and space. They both laughed, not at my statement but at the idea that they were about to change the world through flight. I understood the irony.

“How could he be lost, Mr. Gilbert? He came here, just as you have. And he left through your portal. As I presume will you.”

I asked again when Fritz had visited.

“What's it been now, Will? Nine, no ten days?” Wilbur nodded. “Why is finding him so important to you?”

I'd never put it into words before. Fritz and I had just meshed right from the start, my first day teaching English at Riverboro High. We'd just talked between classes, like we'd known each other forever.

“I'm the butter to his bread. He's the salt to my pepper.” I looked at the workshop. “I'm his propeller, and he's my wings. Alone we work fine. Together we soar.” I glanced at the brothers. “I'm his Wilbur, and he's my Orville.” I hesitated at their grins, and asked, “Which of you has the best sense of humor?”

Wilbur stiffened, his lips forming a thin, taut line. Orville shrugged. I waited. They answered at the same time.

“Orville,” said Wilbur.

“I do,” said his brother, and they both laughed.

“In that case, I'm his Orville and he's my Wilbur.”

“Mr. Gilbert?” Wilbur asked. “The moon. Does man reach the moon? Mr. Russell said we did.”

I asked him if he'd read Jules Verne. He shook his head.

“Not too far in the future from now,” I told him. “On July 20th in the year 1969, a man named Neil Armstrong was the first, will be the first, to set foot on the moon's surface. But, what's as exciting is that we had the communication technology to be able to watch it right here on earth. The future, gentlemen, is astounding,” I said, “and you are an important part of the foundation we will build on. Now, I have to go. Having met you is a great honor. I have given you a gift, a glimpse of the future. Use the knowledge judiciously.”

When I finished the first story, I checked the time. Already nine o'clock. Tomorrow school would begin again, with the final push to Christmas vacation. Jane asked me where I'd been.

“Chatting with Orville and Wilbur. No wonder Fritz wants to use the portal.” I pushed the pad across the table. “Here.” She pushed it back.

“Ash, you have to find him. The portal may be fun, but it's destroying our friends' lives. So keep writing. Where did you go next?”

“Germany. Of all the places Fritz could go, he went to see Hitler in prison in 1924. That's when he wrote Mein Kampf. Fritz paperclipped the one picture of Hitler in his cell.”

Jane asked me why Fritz would pick Hitler. Curiosity more than anything, I told her. For a brief moment, I could visualize Fritz with a gun, one step inside the portal, a quick shot. Hitler would be dead, and he would be gone. A shiver ran down my back.

“What's wrong?” Jane asked.

“I wonder if Fritz considered shooting him?”

“He would know he'd create cataclysmic changes. He wouldn't take that chance.”

“I'm not so sure. I honestly don't know what he would do. His state of mind is nothing like anything I've ever seen. Just leaving, giving up. It's not like him at all.”

“Did Hitler see you?”

“No. I looked and left in less than five seconds.”

“You should write that as part of your description. In case things change, it'll be a place to look and see if he's the reason.”

When she asked me to describe Hitler, I said I only saw his back, but from the photos, his anger lived on the surface. Dead eyes. No joy beneath. I expected his cell would be like we see in American prison documentaries. Instead, I had seen a fairly large room with a large window, which swung open to the inside.

“Why was he in prison?” she asked.

“In 1923, the Nazis tried to overthrow the government. History books call the attack the Beer Hall Putsch. I need to read more about it, but Fritz said that besides writing the book, Hitler learned a strategic lesson, which he used effectively. From that point, he used the political system to bring the Nazis to power. They became a force the government couldn't ignore. So the German president appointed Hitler as chancellor. He rose to power preying on the fears of the people.”

“Write that all down. If nothing else, it's a good start on a book. Then get a shower. You're pretty ripe.” Her eyes beamed at me and I finished recording my notes quickly.

Monday morning came too soon. Jane had a meeting with Colonel Mitchell about closing down the secret airport now that the elections were over. I suggested that they might want to delay closing it until the president left office. “He may still be a target. Richter, I mean Koppler, hasn't been put away.”

“I agree, Ash, but the president is beginning to wind down everything, so he's ready to hand over the keys on January 20.”

“If you talk to him, tell him I still have a bet I expect to win.” She chuckled and kissed my cheek on her way out the door. I had only a few minutes to gather my thoughts and my lessons. The stack of books called to me, so I took the remaining seven to the car, along with my game plan for the day.

After homeroom ended, the day should have been busy, but I pulled the plug. For each class, I assigned different writing projects, long enough that they couldn't finish it in class, so it would carry over as their homework. While each class wrote, so did I.

I paid close attention to the next book, General Longstreet's memoir, the one Lee had told Fritz he had asked Longstreet to write. I had stepped through no more than three feet from the general. I had barely enough time to look around. His binoculars were aimed at a wide field covered in smoke, and he didn't hear me come through. Loud, repetitious cannon fire didn't distract the two soldiers running toward me. As I took a step toward the portal, General Lee stepped through the door onto the porch. I didn't wait to make contact. With all the smoke, and so little wind, I don't know how anyone could see anything, but the woods teemed with men preparing. Pickett's Charge would soon follow.

By the end of the first period, I had completed my description of five seconds at Gettysburg, and had started making notes on the next book, Professor Guelzo's history of the battle. Fritz pursuing Lee made sense to me because Fritz said that book read like a novel, one of the best he had ever read. I found out right away I wasn't prepared for my next visit to the past.

Fritz had clipped the pages where the Confederates had retreated from Gettysburg, and camped at the banks of the Potomac in a downpour. If Fritz had been here, I think he would have left quickly. On the heights, the Union army formed up, with the chance to put an end to the Army of Northern Virginia, with its back to the swollen river. Lee's army had escaped, so I had no reason to get any wetter.

“Mr. Gilbert.” Yanked back to the present, I wiped the imagined and remembered rain from my forehead. Jay Bennett had his hand up.

“Are you done, Jay?”

“Not yet, but do you know when Mr. Russell will be back? We want to get started on the tournament. We're already falling behind.”

Susan added, “And we were supposed to help Delport High set up their own tournament.”

I told them I didn't know, but they might be smart to talk to Ms. Chambers. Liz had helped Fritz with last year's history baseball tournament and unless I could find him, she would be their best bet. History baseball and smiling students. Maybe Fritz's best idea ever. I made a note to talk with her, but how would I explain Fritz's situation? Once again, a burst of anger sizzled in me that he'd chosen to leave when so many people were counting on him. I hadn't ever considered how much we all impact each other's lives.

I told the class to get back to work, anxious to return to my own. I opened the fifth book, Koppler's self-absorbed memoir of his service in government. I would never read it. Why Fritz had bought it surprised me on so many levels. I turned to the pictures and returned to my trip into the Koppler family history.

I had gone twice to this scene. I walked into the middle of a party and left immediately. I reset the paperclip to re-enter to a more remote spot. Before I returned, I looked at the pictures of an estate with a large Georgian brick house, surrounded by gardens and a huge lawn in the rear. The house looked as large as a three-story football field. Wanting to avoid being spotted, I set the clip at a shrub-hidden spot on the side of the house, and poked my head into the portal. Three fully grown rhododendrons that had only a few flower petals remaining concealed my entrance. I estimated a late spring event. About thirty feet away, three men stood talking. All three wore tuxedos and held champagne glasses, as their guests, I assumed they were guests, milled around and some stopped to say a word. In the background, a large open tent enclosed a dozen or more tables corralled by folding chairs. Long serving tables down one side provided a choice of food to the line of people holding plates out to the servers.

If Fritz had come here, he probably didn't stay long, but two former presidents, waiting to greet their hosts, held me in place. After my close scrutiny, the three men standing and holding court for the plebeians were related, one somewhat younger than the other two. No doubt remained that, even in younger form, these were the men we had been chasing. I stepped back to the present, but as I crossed the portal, I could sense Fritz's essence, almost as if he'd sent off a foreboding, ghostly message. I noted then that I would search that book again.

Class ended and the next began, pretty much without me. I needed to get through the remaining books, and plan my next steps. Maybe for the first time in my teaching career, the kids just didn't matter. I finally understood what Fritz meant by “the portal at work.”

The next book I opened with mixed feelings. Churchill. But Fritz had selected a photo of him as Prime Minister during World War II. As one of the best-protected people in the world, he hadn't met us yet. Spending the Second World War in a British prison didn't appeal to me, so only a peek and gone. Too bad, because I've always been curious what 10 Downing Street looks like on the inside. I stepped in, saw him yelling at someone, waving his cigar, and caught his eye. I left before he could say a word. Likely, he said nothing about a sparkly rectangle appearing and disappearing. But he would remember it, and maybe even me.

As if I were living in a time-lapsed day, classes came in, sat, looked at the assignment, and wrote. If they were noisy or misbehaved, I didn't notice. As if I were in a sound-proof bubble, I kept working my way through. Jane said to put down as much detail as I could remember, so before the day ended, I reread my notes and added the little things. When the final bell rang, I had made it to the last book. I'd visited Dallas, stood in Dealey Plaza, looking up at the Texas Schoolbook Depository and listening for those supposed additional gunshots, but too many people nearby sent me scurrying back through the portal before President Kennedy's motorcade reached me. Then I went in search of Ben Franklin, who we'd met before, and who I hoped would remember me. As I stepped in, I saw Franklin walking in quick-step toward me.

“Mr. Gilbert, nice to see you again. Is Mr. Russell on his way?”

“Afraid not, Dr. Franklin. He's lost somewhere in time. I'm looking for him. You haven't seen him by chance?”

“Sorry, m'boy, but I haven't. If I do, I'll let him know you're searching.”

I thanked him, shook his hand and left him to explain whatever any of the others might have seen. I checked the caption on the page to see again where I'd been. The Constitutional Convention. Franklin had only recently returned from years in France and his jovial welcome indicated his happiness to be home.

As my last class departed, I began to pack up. The last book could wait. The picture's caption read, “Good news or bad, he was there.” Lincoln leaned over the telegraph operator's shoulder, reading an incoming message. I wanted to speak to George, but before I could get out my door, I had visitors, the Dough Twins.

“Hi, Mr. Gilbert,” Rachel and Nicole said in unison. In their three years of collecting for charities, now seniors, they had perfected their presentations, their cadence, and their matching clothing and haircuts. They knew about the portal, and had conversed with the president, intimidated the Speaker of the House, and shaken hands with Benjamin Franklin. I anticipated an enjoyable year with them.

“Hi girls. I'm going to the office and then I'm leaving.”

“That's okay,” Nicole said. “We'll walk with you.”

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

They crossed the room to my desk, looking around to be sure we were alone. Rachel asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Is Mr. R off spying again?” I think my hesitation alerted them, something I regretted right away.

“What's wrong? Can we help?” Nicole asked.

Rachel said, “We won't say anything, Mr. Gilbert. You know we can keep a secret.”

Their offers, as genuine as any I've ever had, tempted me to tell them, but when my classroom door opened again, my instinct to keep them ignorant took over. “No girls, I haven't spoken with him. Maybe he ate too many turkey sandwiches.” They left, but neither of them took their eyes off me on the way past Liz Chambers and out the door.

“Hi, Liz. What can I do for you?”

“I just spoke with Susan and Jay. They said you told them to talk to me about the tournament.”

“I did. They're getting antsy because Fritz hasn't been around.”

“Ashley, I have no idea how Fritz set this up. You know more than I do.”

“You know Fritz gave the kids the credit for 'their' tournament.” She nodded. “Well, he meant it. Once the teams were chosen and the teachers assigned, he kept George mollified and gave them advice when they asked.”

“What about all the questions?”

“You still have the list, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“And Susan probably has marked off every used question, so that's a start.”

“Isn't he coming back? Did something happen?”

“Between us, okay? Your oath to the president, okay?”

“The portal?”

“Yup. He went in and the power shut off. He could be anywhere.”

I didn't elaborate. Her stunned look froze on her face until she asked, “Can anyone find him?” I told her to take a seat and I watched her eyes grow wider as her eyebrows inched higher. Her hand reached up slowly and remained covering her mouth as I related the events of the past few days.

“Ashley, I'm so sorry. You have a tremendous burden to carry. Poor Linda. How awful for all of you. Look, I know I can't be much help, but if you need me, please don't hesitate.”

“Thanks, Liz, but for now, if you can handle the tournament, I'd be grateful. I'm sure Fritz wants to see it work out. Let the kids tell you what needs to be done. I know you can handle George.” At that point, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, we had a short laugh.

As she left, she turned and said, “Good luck. And you have some visitors.” Nicole and Rachel were standing at the door.

“Girls, I need to speak to Mr. McAllister and then I need to leave. Walk with me to the office, but make it quick.”

Rachel said, “Mr. Gilbert, we just wanted you to know that whatever you need from us, like taking over your classes or something, we'll do it. You know—if you need to help Mr. R.”

I stopped and turned to them. “Rachel, Nicole, I really appreciate your offer. And you can help me. It'll mean you can't be in the tournament, but I want you to help Ms. Chambers and the tenth graders set things up.”

“Does that mean Mr. R isn't coming back?” Nicole asked.

“Girls, you took an oath to the president. It's possible he may be gone for a while. You said you know how to keep a secret. So no one can know. I trust you, okay?”

To end what had been one of the strangest days I'd ever had teaching, I spoke to George about what had transpired only three days earlier. His usual annoyance with a crimson touch never materialized. When I told him that I would be using the portal as long as necessary to track Fritz down, he asked if he could help. My first thought matched the one Fritz would have had. The portal at work? Until now, I had never appreciated what must have weighed on Fritz nonstop.

“Thanks, George. I think you need to be prepared in case I can't find him.”

“Ashley, I know you will. I have complete confidence in you. Lois does too.” What a way to end the day. After ten years, he had paid me the greatest compliment ever.

* * *

I FINISHED MY notes about my glimpse of Lincoln, and spread the sheets from the pad on the dining room table. I stacked the books so I could review the places Fritz had paperclipped, and Jane could look over each stop.

When she came in, I had been searching for a clue as to where Fritz would have met Lee as he escaped across the Potomac. I remained convinced that Lee was the most likely destination. But, safer spots, and certainly drier ones, made more sense as a meeting place. Fritz's mighty disdain for thunderstorms had a good reason. After all, lightning hitting the school, almost killing him, began our portal adventures.

“I ordered dinner,” I told her. “My notes are on the table. If you want to look them over while I pick up the food, we can talk about it while we eat.”

“Should we invite Linda?”

“No. Not yet. I want to do this with as little emotion as I can. You and I can do that. Do me a favor though. As you go through each scenario, think about if you get a feeling.” Jane's feelings have impressed me as to their accuracy in reality.

“Ash, you were in the portal all weekend. Your feeling is the one that counts.”

After dinner, she finished reading and making her own notes, and we started from the beginning, this time filling in details as she asked her questions. We'd covered all but Franklin and Lincoln, so we bagged it until morning.

Before wrapping up for the night, I gave a moment's thought to Linda. On Sunday, after my whole day in the portal, I asked her if the possibility that she might never see Fritz again had crossed her mind. When she grew angry, first at me, then at Fritz, I yelled at her, something I had never done before. When I told her that in my opinion she had behaved like a spoiled brat instead of a wife and mother, she launched into me about Fritz caring more about the portal than her or TJ. I retorted something unkind about her father and money, and our chat would have escalated if her mother hadn't stopped us.

“Ashley, stop now,” Emily said barely above a whisper. “Enough destructive words have been said in the past six months to last a lifetime. I won't allow either of you to wreck your friendship. You'll both need each other to get Fritz home.”

As I gazed at the ceiling, Jane kissed my neck. I told her I wanted to write Linda a letter to apologize. But I wondered if I could depend on Linda to help.

“Come to bed. It's getting late. You can do it tomorrow.”

“No, I want to do it now while it's on my mind. I won't be long.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she said. “I went to the doctor today.”

Chapter 3

Paris, France

THE MANY-NAMED man sat alone in a corner reading the Tuesday edition of the International New York Times, a cup of coffee in his hand. Unconcerned with the information his lawyer had provided, namely of the government's knowledge that he had skipped the country, he had agreed to meet the lawyer for breakfast. Arthur Salzmann approached the table and waited. Koppler, known to his waiter as Richemartel, gestured for the man to sit.

Before Salzmann had pulled his chair in, the waiter arrived with a freshly-brewed pot and a cup and saucer. “Merci, Armand. Two house specials, s'il vous plait.”

“Oui, Monsieur Richemartel.”

“Arthur, lose the frown. I haven't skipped. When they want me back, you'll let me know and I'll come back. All this publicity is arduous and upsetting. I needed to get away.”

“Thomas, you're not talking to the reporters or the lawyers. This is me. The only thing that you're upset about is not controlling the new Cabinet. Your Caballeros have turned on you. The case is filling in with eyewitnesses. You may be my brother-in-law, but I doubt any lawyer anywhere can get you out of this mess.”

“You'll be leaving tonight, Arthur. By the time your plane departs, I will have shown you how you will get me out of this mess. It's going to be quite simple. They have nothing but circumstantial evidence of crimes I couldn't have committed.”

“What about the teacher? The president himself saw you attack with that blade in your boot.”

“The president. No one believes him. He's old news. He's packing up to leave. Russell attacked me. What boot?”

“Come on. I've known about that blade for years. Joseph bragged about how he built it for you.”

“You've never seen it, have you?”

“No, but Joe…”

“Joe is dead. Shot by the intruders. You, of all people, know how his imagination got the best of him. Arthur, how many times did you have to get him out of trouble, even as a kid?”

Koppler watched as the arguments slipped away from his brother-in-law, the final fact sucking the air out of them. “Now you know how you're going to get me out of this mess. Let's eat.”

When Armand returned carrying their breakfasts of croissants, cheese, fruit and imported Danish ham, his customers had vanished.

Chapter 4

AshleyTUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29

I stuffed five books into my briefcase, carried the other four, and dumped everything on the front seat. On the way, Jane's tease had me shaking my head. When she said she went to the doctor, I'd almost fallen out of the chair. She laughed. “He said I need glasses.” I wonder how long she'd waited to use that line. Her laugh still lingered when I'd climbed into bed.

The traffic crept steadily on the road to school. I listened to the news, always a source for possible future class assignments. About halfway, the radio shut off, and my car stalled at what was normally the nicest spot on the drive. Through the windshield, a full panorama of earth and sky decorated an overcast with a pink sky background quivering, as if time-lapsed shock waves had pulsed across the entire view. I rolled down the window expecting to hear explosions. Tapping on the dashboard, I hoped to hear a report of what had just happened. The sky went out of focus. I rubbed my eyes to clear it up, and as quickly as the radio blinked off, sound returned, the distortion vanished, and my car started on its own.

On the days when Jane left early, I did too, so an almost full parking lot bewildered me. I must have taken more time watching the sky than I had paid attention to because homeroom was about to begin. I ran past more cars than usual, and when I gripped the door handle to enter the school, a strong surge of energy ran up my arm. I jerked my hand to free myself of the shock but pulled the door open instead. When I walked in, the door released my hand, the buzz still running through me.

I strode through my open classroom door, but a woman I'd never seen before sat at my desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Gilbert. May I help you?”

“This is my classroom.” The kids began to laugh.

“Not today. Your classroom is two doors down on the other side of the hall.”

That's Fritz's room. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. Sorry.” Laughter followed me into the hall, which bothered me much less than knowing something had changed and not knowing what. As I walked the short distance, the ugly tan color in the halls yelled to warn me. When the door across the hall opened, I figured I was in trouble.

“Morning, Ash.” Sandy Horton's smile might brighten up anyone's day at some other time. Today, she just turned me on my head. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look like you've seen the proverbial ghost.”

“Hi.” Not proverbial. “Late start. See you later.”

I scanned the room. Had I caused these changes? The painful greenish-tan walls had returned. No homeroom to attend. The shelves contained a library of history and biography. It was Fritz's room. And now my room. Sandy had left Riverboro a year ago. My morning paper waited, folded on the desk. I set the books down, put my briefcase on the floor, and sat at Fritz's, my, desk and gasped at the headlines.

I did a double-take at the large black letters, and then checked the date. The same one as when I'd left the house, Tuesday, next to the last day of November, 2016. The headline, “First Black President Outlines His Agenda,” used up most of the front page columns with stories about his plans for the Cabinet, the economy, and his views on foreign policy priorities. In a small box, outlined in a heavy black border, a memorial to James Koppler, former advisor to presidents, smacked me in the face. The last line said the story continued on page eighteen. I flipped the pages. A picture, the same one I had paperclipped, headed the story, along with a prominent photo of Koppler. The story told of the assassination attempt which took the lives of his brothers, Thomas and William in 2008, but had left him in a coma the past eight years. The story noted that the killings took place just before the election that had propelled the first woman into the presidency.

What the hell did he do? And where is he now? I continued reading until the bell for first period rang. I folded the paper open to the story, folded it in half again and set it to the side. Now what? A sullen group of ninth graders began to stroll in, and I received more than one stink-eye as they sat down. I opened my desk drawers to see if they might contain any idea for me. From where Fritz always kept his lessons, top right, I removed the folders and opened the first period notes. Written in my hand.

“Good morning, class.” I waited, serenaded by dead silence. “Did you all complete your assignment?” Nothing again. I didn't know any of these kids. I checked the seating chart. “Let's try a different approach. Jamie Brompton, tell us one thing that you found most important.” I hadn't looked to see if I could find their homework assignment.

“Mr. Gilbert, the most important thing is I can't believe you made us read that stuff. Stuff isn't the word I want to say, but we're in school.” The class snickered.

“I'm glad it made an impression. Now, tell us why you feel that way.”

“I can't imagine killing one billion people all at once. Your questions were nuts, too. 'What would be the most efficient ways to kill that many people without harming others? How would that benefit the rest of the world?' Even Hitler and Stalin together only killed twenty-four or twenty-five million.”

“Only? That's a pretty large number, don't you think?”

“Not compared to a billion. And the writer made the President of the United States the one who ordered it. So you asked us to write what would happen if that story were real. Do you think this is funny?”

“Did you come up with answers? How about the rest of you?”

Jamie continued, his anger bubbling just below the surface. “Nuclear weapons wouldn't work. Biological weapons have the chance to escape to the rest of the world. I figured drones, chemical weapons, and poisons worked best. If we kill all the animals, the people would starve. We could poison the water supplies. No food, no water. That would eventually turn one on the other and they'd end up killing each other, or eating each other just to have food. But I couldn't figure out how to get rid of all the bodies.”

“Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Gilbert, I know.”

I glanced at the seating chart. “Go ahead, Walt.”

“I keep asking you not to call me that, Mr. Gilbert.”

“Sorry … Walter.”

“Or that either.” The class responded in full-blown laughter.

“So, what should I call you? Remind me.”

“Jack.”

“So answer the question … Jack.”

“All the people who don't get killed should pile the bodies and then we send drones with napalm.”

“That's a lot of napalm. And a lot of drones. Did you think how you get the live ones to collect the bodies?”

“Tell them the only way for them not to get some dreaded disease is to get the bodies isolated.”

“If they don't want to, then what?”

“What Jamie said. Chemicals and poison.”

“Wow. You guys are pretty bloodthirsty. Anyone have anything to add?”

“Mr. Gilbert, I have a question. Why would you want us to think like killers?”

“I don't. But I want you to understand how easy it could be for a government, elected by its people, to get out of control.” Well, that came out of nowhere. And pretty easily. My flipping through notes located the assignment, a book I'd read a few years ago about a president elected because no one believed him when he said all sorts of outrageous things and most people didn't vote. “If you read the entire book, you'll see that the president turns on American citizens later. The author tried to draw a parallel to the rise of the Nazis. He created a situation where Americans became so disgusted with government that they gave away the freedoms they said they valued. Not so far-fetched if you listened to all the campaigning we just finished. See you tomorrow.”

While they were leaving, I pulled out the folders and read the next class quickly. Tenth graders. Familiar names at least. I looked at the assignment. Then I checked the next period. I looked at my fourth period class folder as the bell rang. I, well not me, had given all of them the same homework. Why choose such a bleak subject? I had to come up with a quick answer, but I would never have assigned it.

By the time the second period ended, my first task was clear—to figure out what had gone wrong, and I had to work fast. As I headed to the cafeteria after my fourth class, Sandy caught up to me and asked where I was going. When I told her, she frowned. She asked if I felt okay. I said I was fine and why did she ask.

“Because you have a class now. You have lunch next period.” I stopped in mid-step.

“Thanks. See you later.” As I turned back to Fritz's classroom, my classroom, I asked myself what other weird things would surprise me. I found out just around the corner. On the floor, surrounded by a group of students, two girls were wrestling, punching and yelling. Classrooms were emptying and teachers stood by, blocked out by the three-deep circle of students.

I started to force my way through when Liz Chambers grabbed my arm. “You don't want to get in the middle of that, Ashley. This fight has been brewing for weeks.”

“I'll stop it.” I elbowed my way past the outer layer of kids, but the closer I stepped the tighter the circle became. The students were holding me back. Still on the floor, Rachel and Nicole continued to damage each other. They both were bleeding from facial cuts and I could see sharp-edged rings decorating each hand. I shoved past the inner circle and went to grab each girl.

Someone grabbed my collar and pulled me back. I planted my foot, balled my fists and swiveled, only to be facing Tom Jaffrey.

“Are you nuts?” he asked. “The police will stop this. Chief Shaw handles this without our help.”

“They'll hurt each other.”

“And be gone from here forever. Don't worry about it. And Rachel and Nicole likely will spend their college years in jail. The cops are here now.”

Behind us, coming from the trophy case, a row of officers in riot gear walked toward the crowd. A second row entered from the parking lot. The squeeze worked because no new students joined the gathering. All the classroom doors were being guarded from the inside by teachers except for the three teachers in the hall. Another group of ten police officers came around the corner from the main lobby, all carrying handfuls of manacles.

Police broke through the circle using their clubs to poke the kids or smack arms or legs. Thirty-seven kids had been slammed against lockers, cuffed and hauled to the vans waiting in the parking lot.

A man I'd considered mild-mannered grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hall. Tom Jaffrey, at least four inches shorter, looked up at me and shouted. “What's the matter with you? It's not our responsibility to stop this behavior. We can get hurt.”

“So can the kids,” I said. “What's going on here?”

His anger, not at the kids, but at me, added to my confusion. “If you start breaking up these fights, teachers will be expected to step in. We need to get these bad apples out of here.”

“But Rachel and Nicole … they're friends.”

“What world do you live in? They hate each other. They've been looking for trouble since they were freshman. Extorting money, starting fights, bullying younger kids. Now we can be rid of them. They can take exams in jail.”

“But they're both smart kids. We shouldn't let…”

“Let them ruin their lives? Have you forgotten the kids they've stolen from, had assaulted, and Johnny Clayton, knifed just before the last football game he could have played in. He only talked to Rachel, and Nicole stabbed him in the leg. Just talking. About a physics exam.”

I told Tom I'd forgotten about that. In fact, Johnny had played, had been All-State, and had received a sizeable chunk of money to attend Princeton, playing football as a freshman.

“Sorry, Tom.”

“Damn, Ashley, us stopping these little bastards would be as likely as stopping the wars in the Middle East.”

Once the ruckus ended, I went into my classroom, to a class sitting quietly.

“So who won, Mr. Gilbert?”

“No one. Were any of you involved?” I looked to see all the seats were full. “Good. No one.”

“What's going to happen to them?”

“I don't know. I don't understand it. I've never understood why anyone wants to hurt others.”

Two voices from the back had my answer. “That's easy, Mr. Gilbert. Do unto others,” said the first. “Yeah. Before they do unto you,” said the other.

I held the door for them on the way out and looked up and down the dingy hallway that just yesterday had been a distant memory. Perhaps more distant than I appreciated.

When the final bell rang, I sat at my new desk. What could have gone wrong? The portal. Before I could have a cogent thought, my door opened. The principal's arrival couldn't have made the day any worse. Wrong. Red-faced before he said a word, he started shouting before the door clicked shut.

“Will you control that girl? She's making me crazy.”

“What girl?”

“Susan Whatshername”

“Leslie. George, calm down. She's not worth a stroke. You look like a beet.”

He pushed the door open. “Don't be a wiseass. I don't know why I put up with you.”

“I have a contract?” I offered. “I'm a good teacher? Uh, maybe you think I'm handsome, debonair and humorous. So you're envious?”

George shot daggers and headed out. His final words made me duck a bit. “Control that girl.”

Sandy had heard my last comments as George departed and bit down to keep from laughing. I had retreated to my desk and wrote as fast as I could to capture all that had occurred since my drive to school. The words galloped from my pen as though I sprayed them on the yellow pad. When Sandy said hello, I jumped.

“Sorry to startle you. You don't look much better than you did earlier.”

As though I hadn't heard, I kept writing. She sat down and waited until I placed the pen on top of the pad. “I didn't mean to be rude, Sandy. I needed to get this down.”

“What is it?”

“Just some notes.”

“About what?”

“You wouldn't believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I can time travel.”

In spite of her skeptical look and sarcastic comments, I related what had happened over the course of the past year and a half. I'd always been able to talk to her, but my reality had changed. She did teach here. So I began to explain what had happened today. Fritz always talked about what could happen in spacetime if history were altered. The examples he used, I used now. If Kennedy hadn't been shot, would Viet Nam have lasted. If Lincoln hadn't been assassinated, or if slavery had been outlawed in the Constitution. If Hitler had been killed before he could start the war. If Lee had listened to Longstreet and moved away from Gettysburg. What would life be like now? Those were the books he'd picked.

“What books?”

“The ones he left as a trail. You know, once we even took you to see Shakespeare.”

“You know I love Shakespeare.”

“I know. You did in my other dimension. You told him the names of Romeo and Juliet.”

“You're kidding. I named a Shakespearean play? That would really be a dream.”

“It's a nightmare for me.”

We talked a little longer, but I could tell she'd grown uncomfortable. I'm guessing that in this new dimension, people act pretty much the same. Well, clearly not. But Sandy always fidgeted if a particular topic bothered her when we talked. Her frown however made me wonder if she were an ally, someone I could count on here, or if she had other concerns. I didn't ask.

When she left, saying “see you tomorrow,” I finally had a quiet moment to look at the big picture. I had entered some kind of alternate universe. I knew it, but no one else did. Everyone I'd met today went about their business like nothing had changed. No surprises. What happened? When? Retracing my steps, the radio, the sky, the buzz at the door. That had to be where I crossed over. But why? How?

The portal always left a trail, usually on Fritz's desk. He outlined books or pages to compare when he went through. But this desk had some pencil marks and an intact desk lock. On the other hand, when I marked my desk, in my room, not this one, I used an indelible marker. I had to check. I peeked in on my way out, and tried the door to the empty room. Locked. I headed for my car. Maybe Jane will have an idea.