September Sky (American Journey Book 1) Page 3

  Justin knew he didn't have to move – at least not right away. As a lifeguard at a local pool, he had the means to stay where he was through the end of May. What he didn't have was the desire.

  He wanted to make a clean break with the past and knew he could do so by withdrawing from college, leaving Los Angeles, and following his new-and-improved dad to the Bay Area. When an opportunity arose to get out of his apartment lease on April 30, he jumped on it.

  "I found it!" Chuck said as he pulled a cell phone from underneath a pile of clothes. "I was right though. The battery is dead."

  "It's no big deal. You can use my phone if you need to make a call," Justin said. "Have you figured out what we're going to do when we get up north?"

  "I have. We're going to find jobs. In fact, I may already have one. When you went to visit your advisor, I emailed a former colleague who was just named managing editor of the Blaze. That's a suburban daily based in Marin County. I wrote that I needed a job. He replied that he needed a general assignment reporter. He wants to visit in person a week from Friday, but I think the job is mine for the asking."

  "That's great. Does your friend need a mixed up biology major?"

  "No. But a new aquatics center in San Francisco needs a dozen lifeguards. I have no doubt that it would snap you up if you applied."

  "Sounds like you had a busy morning."

  "I did. I decided when we got off the ship that I didn't want to waste another day moping about my problems. So I went online and looked for solutions," Chuck said. He stopped loading books in a box and stared at his son. "I want this arrangement to work, Justin, and I know it won't unless each of us has something productive to do."

  "Thanks," Justin said. "Thanks for looking out for me."

  "You're welcome."

  "Thanks for the other stuff too. Thanks for being a dad this past week. It's been nice having someone to talk to."

  Chuck sighed and nodded.

  "I feel the same way. Now let's get your things packed and get out of here. What do you want me to do next?"

  Justin scanned the room and pointed to several framed pictures that sat atop a small table. They included everything from family portraits to photographs of his baseball teams.

  "Why don't you pack those pictures? You can put them in that box by the door."

  "Will do," Chuck said.

  Justin watched his father start on the photos and then turned his attention to the stuff he should have donated to friends. Who hauled around things like spatulas and dollar-store dishes? He ultimately decided that he did – at least this time – and got off the couch.

  Justin didn't make it five feet toward the kitchenware before he glanced back at his dad and saw something that made him stop. Chuck had picked up a portrait of Megan Townsend.

  For several seconds, Chuck studied the photograph like it was a priceless artifact – an artifact he knew intimately through years of research but had never actually held in his hands. He ran his fingertip across the picture's protective glass, took a deep breath, and turned away.

  "Do you miss her?" Justin asked.

  "Of course I miss her."

  Justin zeroed in on his father and waited for Chuck to meet his gaze. When he did, he continued a conversation he had wanted to have on the cruise.

  "Then why didn't you do more to win her back? She loved you, Dad. That's why she never remarried. She didn't want to settle for the sake of me or anyone else."

  "She told you that?"

  Justin nodded.

  "She told me that several times."

  Chuck placed the photo of Megan in a box and looked away again. He stared blankly out an open window at the outside world and perhaps a place that only he could see.

  "Your mother was the first woman I fell in love with – and the last," Chuck said. "I cried the day she left. I cried because I knew what I was losing and because I knew I would never change. I failed her, just like I failed you."

  Justin paused for a moment to consider the words. He had never heard his dad talk about the day Megan Townsend had walked out of his life. Then again, he had never heard his dad talk about much of anything except politics, work, and baseball.

  Justin walked across the room, placed a hand on Chuck's shoulder, and took a long look at the man who continued to stare out the window. Even in the subdued light of the late afternoon, he could see changes he had never noticed before.

  When Justin looked at his father, he saw a man who had aged ten years in the last five – a man with hints of gray in his thick brown hair and wrinkles around his soft blue eyes. He saw not a distant and aloof reporter who cared only about his career but rather a man consumed by guilt and regret. He saw someone that, frankly, he didn't recognize.

  "It's all right, Dad. We still have a future," Justin said. "Let's honor Mom's memory by making it a good one."

  Chuck lifted his head, turned toward his son, and smiled sadly.

  "I don't deserve you."

  Justin chuckled.

  "You probably don't, but you're stuck with me," Justin said. He patted Chuck's shoulder. "Let's finish up and get something to eat. There's a decent Thai place around the block."

  "Sounds good to me."

  Justin lifted his hand, turned around, and walked back toward the kitchenware. He glanced at a wall clock, noted the hands on the twelve and the four, and started to ask a question about the lifeguard openings when he heard his cell phone ring.

  Justin picked up the phone. He didn't recognize the caller's number but answered anyway.

  When the caller identified himself, Justin took a step back. He listened with great interest as the man explained the purpose of the call. To say Justin was both surprised and flattered was the understatement of the year.

  "Yes, he's still in L.A. He's here with me now," Justin said. "We're cleaning out my apartment. We're planning to move to San Francisco tomorrow."

  Justin listened to the caller as he continued his business. When Chuck inquired about the caller's identity, he pressed the mute button and lowered the phone.

  "I'll tell you in a second," Justin said.

  He returned to the caller.

  "Do you want to talk to my dad?" Justin asked.

  The caller declined.

  "Are you sure?"

  The caller said he was sure.

  "OK."

  Justin glanced at Chuck, shrugged his shoulders, and let the caller finish what he had to say. When asked to answer a question, he responded, "We can be there at nine."

  The caller expressed his approval and offered a pleasantry. When the conversation ended, Justin placed his phone on top of a box, turned to face his father, and grinned.

  "Who was that?" Chuck asked.

  "That, Dad, was Professor Bell. He read the comment cards we filled out on the cruise. He likes what we wrote and wants to speak to us. He wants to see us in his office tomorrow."

  CHAPTER 6: CHUCK

  Wednesday, March 30, 2016

  The first thing Chuck noticed was the professor's gallery of movie stills. More than a dozen photographs from time-travel flicks like Back to the Future, Somewhere in Time, and Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure occupied the lion's share of an otherwise unadorned wall in the small academic office. A few of the stills bore signatures.

  Chuck laughed to himself as he tried to reconcile the images with a memorable part of the professor's lecture on the cruise. He gave Justin a knowing smile and then turned to the man who had asked to meet the Townsends at the rival university on the other side of Los Angeles.

  "I thought you didn't care for Hollywood takes on time travel," Chuck said. "At least that's the impression I got on the ship."

  "Then you got the wrong impression," Geoffrey Bell said as he sat at his desk. He took a sip of coffee and stared at Chuck, who sat next to Justin in front of the desk. "I find the motion-picture industry's portrayals of time travel to be imaginative and generally entertaining. What I don't find them to be is terribly realistic."

 
; "Realistic? I gathered from your lecture that time travel was still the stuff of science fiction. Don't tell me I got that wrong too."

  "As a matter of fact, you did," Bell said.

  Chuck and Justin sat up in their chairs.

  "You'll have to explain that, Professor."

  "I will, Mr. Townsend. But before I do, let me explain why I contacted you."

  "I'm listening."

  "Put simply, I found your replies to my questions to be intriguing. You and Justin treated the exercise seriously and offered a refreshing mix of skepticism, enthusiasm, and candor."

  "Thank you," Chuck said. "That still doesn't explain why you requested our presence this morning. If you had wanted to talk more about time travel, you could have just called us again."

  "You're right," Bell said. "If I had wanted merely to shoot the breeze on theories, movies, and popular perceptions, I could have picked up the phone. I could have sent you an email. I didn't because I wanted to do more than discuss your responses to my queries. I wanted to offer you and your son the opportunity of a lifetime."

  "The opportunity of a lifetime?"

  "That's correct."

  Chuck raised an eyebrow.

  "Why do I suspect you're about to peddle an investment scheme?"

  The professor smiled.

  "Because you're a skeptical, cynical reporter who believes that everyone is selling something or trying to rip off their fellow man," Bell said. "Am I right?"

  Chuck laughed.

  "You're right."

  "I thought so."

  "So is my hunch correct?" Chuck asked. "Is your 'opportunity' an investment scheme?"

  "In fact, it is. Only in this 'scheme,' I would do most of the investing. I would invest my faith, trust, and some of my fortune in two men I barely know in hopes of gaining knowledge that may someday prove useful."

  "You have my attention, Professor. What's this about?"

  "It's about a secret – a secret I have guarded closely for twenty years. It's also about a man and his work and my efforts to honor that work by bringing people I believe I can trust into a very tight circle."

  "Continue."

  "More than a century ago, my great-grandfather – a respected scientist named Percival Bell – did something that today would turn the world of physics on its head."

  "What was that?"

  "He discovered a way to move quickly, effortlessly, and safely though time."

  "He traveled through time?" Chuck asked.

  "He did."

  "You're full of it."

  "I've done so myself many times, sir. I have experienced firsthand what many of the world's best minds say is physically – and even theoretically – impossible."

  "You have proof of this, of course," Chuck said.

  "Define proof," Bell said. "Can I offer a video that proves I've done as I've claimed? No. I cannot. What I can offer is the past itself. I can offer you the opportunity to visit times that exist only in history books and remain there for an extended stay. I can offer you the chance to do what few people have ever done and return to the present day as if you had never been gone."

  "You're not joking, are you?" Justin asked.

  Bell smiled warmly.

  "I wouldn't joke about something like this."

  Chuck took a moment to ponder all that he had heard. He still thought the professor was full of it, but not as full of it as he had first thought. He decided to play along.

  "Suppose we take you up on this 'opportunity,'" Chuck said. "What's the catch? What are the drawbacks and restrictions?"

  Bell widened his smile.

  "I thought you'd never ask. There are, in fact, several matters to consider, including two that might give you some pause. I would insist, among other things, that you commit at least three months and three thousand dollars to this experience."

  "So it is all about money."

  "Hardly," Bell snapped. "I am independently wealthy, Mr. Townsend. I have enough money in one bank account alone to fund a hundred trips to the past. I ask for your time and money because I want a serious commitment from you. I want to know that my efforts are not being wasted on someone who takes this opportunity lightly."

  "This could still be a scam," Chuck said.

  "You're right," Bell said. "It could be. But ask yourself a question. Would a highly respected professor of physics with a fortune estimated at sixty million dollars risk ridicule, condemnation, and jail for a mere three thousand? I doubt it."

  Chuck conceded Bell's point with a sigh and then exchanged glances with his son. He could see that Justin bought the professor's every word and wanted to hear him out.

  "OK, Professor," Chuck said. "Let's assume that everything you've just told us is true and that your operation is legit. What do we do next?"

  Bell did not answer the question immediately. He instead opened the top drawer in his desk, retrieved a sheet of paper, and placed it atop his desk.

  "You make a decision, Mr. Townsend."

  Bell pushed the sheet toward his visitors.

  "Go ahead. Take a look."

  "What's this?" Chuck asked.

  "That, sir, is what's playing at the Time Travel Theater," Bell said. "I would like you to choose one of these performances and commit to the experience of a lifetime. Your choices are limited to what you see."

  Chuck grabbed the sheet and held it so that he and Justin could view its content. The sheet was blank except for nine four-digit numbers that had been typed in a row near the top. The numbers were years ranging from 1900 to 1984.

  "Why these years?" Chuck asked. "Why such a limited range? Why not 1066 or 1492 or 1776? I can imagine far more interesting years than the ones you've listed."

  "I can too," Bell said. "But I can't offer you the opportunity to travel beyond 1900 or to most years from the past century. There are limits that even I cannot change. If you decide to participate in this grand adventure, you will have to do so at one of the appointed times."

  Chuck scanned the paper again.

  "I don't see any other information on this sheet. Is that your way of saying we could go where we wanted and do what we wanted?"

  "No. It's my way of saying that we would discuss those particulars before you left," Bell said. "No matter where you went, however, I would insist that you remain within the United States, visit one or two places of my choosing, and keep a detailed written record of your travels."

  "I see," Chuck said. "Do you mind if I ask you a rather blunt question?"

  "I don't mind at all. That's why you're here."

  "Why us? Of all the people you could have asked to take this trip, why ask us? Why not pick a historian or another scientist or even someone you've known and trusted for many years?"

  "I selected you, Mr. Townsend, because I thought you would be perfect for the job. You are a thoughtful, ethical, capable journalist – a trained observer of people, places, and things. I want such a person to record the past and bring it back to me."

  "OK. Why add Justin? You could have picked just me."

  "You're right. I could have. I didn't because I knew you probably wouldn't travel without him and because he could offer a different, more youthful perspective on any experiences you might have. I also know from the information you provided on your cards that each of you is at a transitional point in your life. You are currently unemployed. Justin just withdrew from college. You have few ties and even fewer restrictions. Simply put, you are ideal candidates."

  Chuck nodded and then looked away in the direction of the movie stills. As incredible as it seemed, he had a chance to do the impossible. He had a chance to escape to another time. A moment later, he looked at Justin.

  "What do you think?"

  "I'm interested," Justin said. "I'm really interested, but I want to think it over."

  "I agree."

  Chuck turned to face Bell.

  "How much time can we take to consider your offer?"

  The professor smiled.

  "
You can take as much as you need," Bell said. "But if you wish to travel at the next opportunity – on April 18 – you must report to me by Monday. I will need time to prepare your journey – and you will need time to get your affairs in order."

  Chuck felt his stomach drop.

  "What do you mean by 'get our affairs in order'?"

  "What I mean, sir, is that while I can provide you with the means to travel to the past and return to the present, I cannot guarantee your safety during your time away. Should you, for whatever reason, be unwilling or unable to return to 2016, I would have to explain your disappearance to the authorities and others. I would prefer not to do that."

  "I understand," Chuck said.

  Bell brought his hands together again and leaned forward.

  "In short, you will have to treat this matter with the utmost seriousness. Should you decide to take this trip, you will have to approach it not as though you will return in a matter of seconds but rather as though you will not return at all."

  CHAPTER 7: CHUCK

  Monday, April 4, 2016

  Chuck stared out the apartment window, which overlooked a busy arterial near the eastern edge of the campus, and rehashed the arguments in his head one last time.

  The pros were obvious. Chuck had an opportunity to do what few others had apparently ever done and travel to the past. He had a chance to participate in history and return home in time for dinner. Who in his right mind would pass up that?

  The cons, however, were no less clear. He would have to give up three grand, the job at the Blaze, and conceivably a whole lot more. Bell had not sugarcoated the risks of time travel. If Chuck and Justin ran into any kind of trouble, they could be trapped in the past forever.

  "You're still having doubts, aren't you?" Justin asked.

  "I'm having a lot, son. I keep going back and forth."

  "What's holding you back?"

  Chuck turned away from the window and glanced at several forms Bell had given him at the meeting in his office. The documents requested everything from background information and clothing sizes to recent photographs and a release of liability should the time travelers sustain any physical injuries, financial losses, or personal hardships.