The Chambliss Tapes Page 2

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I jumped. My reverie was broken. Exey stood behind me. "Hey, boss," I said, and removed my headphones.

  "I see you're prepping for the trip. Good work. Don't forget to talk to the art department."

  "Sure thing."

  He lingered there a moment, as if he was going to say something more. He was more than a legend in the office, he was a father figure to most of the guys here. Years before, he had lost his wife and young son in an auto accident. Since then he had practically lived at SI's offices, working weekends, not wanting to go home to an empty house.

  He'd been in a melancholy mood of late, worried about a lawsuit someone had brought against SI. We were being sued for $200 million by a woman who claimed our actions recording the 1969 Mets-Orioles World Series disrupted the natural flow of her courtship with her husband, and resulting children. She had no way to prove it of course; but it was bringing unwanted scrutiny to the ethics of time travel.

  I suddenly felt bad that I was going to betray Exey. It was almost as if he knew what I was planning, He gave me a rueful smile. "Have a safe trip."

  I fiddled with my headphones nervously, passing them from one hand to another.

  "Time is on our side," I said, repeating SI's slogan.

  He clamped a hand on my shoulder, held it there for a moment, then walked away. I watched him go, feeling another pang of guilt, them slipped the headphones back onto my ears. I understood the irony of what I was about to do. A family twenty-five years ago lost a son; I was going to go back thirty years and snatch that same son from that same family. I still wouldn't be doing the family any good.

  But I would be saving the son.

  The next three days felt more like one continuous day. Long hours at work studying newspapers, newscasts, and video and audio tapes. Getting hair extensions to fit the fashion of the day. Reviewing SI's rules and re-watching training videos as a refresher. Taking physicals to make sure nothing popped up since my last trip in January (the Dodgers first game in Los Angeles, 1958).

  Home life wasn't much better. Silent dinners with Renna. Quiet nights in bed. Coffee in the morning over the newspapers--Renna's was current, mine was from 1976. There was a pall over the household, something unspoken, as if I were going away to war instead of going to cover an historic baseball game. I made a joke about it, said, "While I'm off at war, will you wait for me, stay true to me?"

  Renna didn't laugh, but mumbled something about "women's intuition."

  "I'd wait for you," I threw in, and smiled. She still didn't laugh.

  Thursday morning came and the ice broke briefly. We woke and made love. Afterward, Renna held me tight, turned her head in an attempt to hide her tears.

  "I love you, you know," she said. "I just don't want you to do it. Just do the assignment and that's it."

  I sighed, said, "This opportunity is the whole reason I joined SI in the first place."

  She kissed me then and I kissed her back. "I love you too," I said.

  I showered and dressed and headed off to my future, and my past. Little did we know that the next time we saw each other I'd be an old man.

  I stepped into Pod #3, clasped my hands in front of me, and watched as the engineers read through the coding on their computer screens, doing a last minute check for bugs. Exey was there behind the glass that separated SI's engineers from me, the traveler. All the information that would transport me there and back was programmed into a small cylinder--slightly larger that a pin--that was injected just under the skin of my left buttocks. A pristine, unused ticket to the game was in my inside coat pocket.

  "Ready?" Exey said.

  "Ready," I said.

  The countdown clock began to count backwards from 60. It's always a bit nerve-wracking at this moment. It's like the slow climb up a roller coaster; you know the drop is coming and that knowledge is the scariest part. I kept my eyes down until the last few seconds, when I looked up and met eyes with Exey. He wore his usual concerned expression that was famous amongst the travelers. He always worried about his travelers, no matter how many consecutive successful trips were accomplished. I nodded to him and smiled. Then the vibrations came, and the haziness that marked the journey between the two times. We travelers liked to refer to this period as "purgatory," but it only lasted ten seconds.

  The vibrations intensified--imagine using a jackhammer--and with a blast of light and heat I was thrust back into 1976. Yankee Stadium, section 295. I was on the ramp leading into the seating area. Everyone was already in their seats, as the game was about to start.

  I ran my hands over my clothes to smooth them--and collect myself--after the transportation. Jeans, sweatshirt, black Member's Only jacket, Converse sneakers. My hair extensions touched the collar of my jacket.

  I walked up the tunnel.The perfect green grass of the Yankee Stadium playing field lay before me. The Yanks were already on the field--Chambliss manning firstbase and taking a practice throw from rookie secondbaseman Willie Randolph. The Royals players filled the visitors' dugout, sporting their clean blue and white uniforms. What struck me most was the size of the players. They looked like high school kids compared the the bulky, steroid-inflated players of modern times. I looked out over the crowd, at the long sideburns and bushy hair, the dated clothes. It sank in then; it really was 1976, and Warren was still alive, his little heart beating in his infant chest.

  The time on the jumbo centerfield scoreboard was 8:20 p.m. The Royals leadoff hitter, Al Cowens, was stepping into the batter's box. A roar rose up from the crowd.

  I turned and made my way down and out of Yankee Stadium.

  To supplement SI's meager travel allowance, I'd been keeping any money I'd come across that was from 1976 or before. I had a nice stash with me. Five grand to be exact. I felt for the wad of bills in my pocket. Out on 161st Street I hailed a cab and told the driver the address in Sunset Hill. He had a Yankees cap pulled low on his forehead. The game was playing on the radio.

  He nodded, said, "Couldn't get a ticket, huh?"

  "I'm gonna miss a good game," I said.

  He merged onto the Major Deegan Parkway, and soon we were speeding to my destination. Traffic was light since the game was already in progress, so we made it to my old block in twenty minutes. I had him drop me off a few houses down and gave him a good tip.

  "Thank you," he said, and tipped his cap. He u-turned and was gone. I turned and looked at my family's house, felt for the keys in my pocket, the set I'd saved for twenty years. The street was quiet as I approached the house. Not much different from how I remembered it, except for the Japanese maple tree on the lawn, which was just a scrawny little twig.

  I could see the TV flickering instead the living room. My parents were both Yankees fanatics, and I knew they'd be glued to the set. Warren and I would be asleep in the back bedroom.

  I let myself into the basement and closed the door quietly behind me.

  I came up through the basement and stopped at the kitchen door, peeking out first through the keyhole for any movement. To the left of the kitchen was the living room, to the right the hall and two bedrooms. Smells from my childhood enveloped me, smells that reminded me of home. My home. Mom's cigarettes, Dad's cologne, lemon furniture polish, fabric softener. A home I hadn't had in over twenty years. I wondered if I would ever feel at home like that ever again.

  My parents were alive and well and in the next room, and I had to fight the urge to join them, throw my arms around them, lead them to safety and away from the future that awaited them. But there were no guarantees. I could move them to a farm in the middle of Kansas and they could be wiped out by a tornado. I wasn't God, I was only a time traveler. Saving my happy little family was beyond my capability. I had to proceed with my original plan.

  The game blared from the TV as I stepped out into the kitchen and entered the hall. I passed my parents room first and glimpsed the familiar furniture set, the impressionist painting on the wall above the bed, the stuff my mom kept aft
er the divorce. The stuff I sold after her death. I had no time for nostalgia. I moved on to the next bedroom.

  The door was left open so my parents could hear if the twins cried. With a quick glance back over my shoulder, I entered the room. Though I had been preparing for this moment for years, I still wasn't prepared. Warren lay there kicking his legs, awake despite the hour, as if he had been expecting me. I lay there fast asleep. Some things never change; I'm still a sound sleeper.

  Of course I have no memory of when Warren was an infant. But somehow his personality came through in his expression. His wide eyes and quick little smile. I had to steel myself, not allow myself to get weepy.

  I reached down and with my fingernail dug out the pin that held my DNA and travel info from my ass cheek. One end was pointed, like a screw. I rolled Warren over on his side. I wondered what SI would think when an infant with my exact DNA showed up in Pod #3. Probably that something had gone wrong, some glitch, and I had regressed in age during the transportation.

  "Sorry, Warren," I whispered. "This is necessary." I kissed the top of his head, held my lips there as I pulled back his diapers and pushed the pin into the flesh of his powdered butt. He instantly began to wail. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, so I ducked into the closet. I watched through the crack as my mother came in and picked Warren up, rocked him and cooed in his ear. Two people I have lost stood just feet from me. They were like an old photograph that had come to life. Again I had to resist the urge to join them.

  After a few minutes Warren calmed down, and my mother placed him gently back in his crib. She didn't notice the pin, or the slight abrasion it had made, since it was beneath the diaper. She returned to my father and the game. I waited another minute or two, then slipped out the way I had come. Once outside the house I checked my watch. 9 p.m. In two hours and twenty minutes Warren would be back in Pod #3 at S.I. And I would be on the run.

  I headed back to Yankee Stadium to get my Chambliss footage.

  I took a cab back to 161st Street, the Bronx, and used my pristine ticket to enter the Stadium. It was the fourth inning, Yanks up 4-3. I ate a hot dog and tried to concentrate on the game. I wondered how Warren was doing, if my mother had discovered the cylinder beneath his skin. If she discovered and removed it, it would return to 2006 on its own. Warren and I would both be stuck in 1976.

  The ninth arrived with the score tied at six. I got ready. At 11:13 Chambliss was due to hit his historic homerun and I not only wanted to witness it, I wanted, still, to record it for SI's archives. The crowd pulsed, cheering as one entity. Despite all my other worries, I got caught up in the excitement, even though I knew the outcome.

  Chris Chambliss stood at the plate, dug his spikes into the dirt, leaned back and stretched his back. I left my seat and made my way fast down the aisle, activating all three digital video cameras I had with me. Royals righthanded reliever Mark Littel went into his windup and Chambliss was ready, leaning in, focused. He swung his bat at the same time I swung my leg over the railing. The ball was on its way to the right-centerfield bleachers, and I was the first fan on the field.

  The Yanks were champs. It was bedlam in the Bronx.

  I chased Chambliss, following in his footsteps as fast as I could. A burly intoxicated fan tripped me up, but I was back on my feet instantly. Chambliss was weaving his way through the ecstatic fans, spinning in circles, dodging hugs and blows as he valiantly attempted to touch all the bases and make the homerun official. I cut across the diamond and over the pitcher's mound to make up lost time. I caught up with Chambliss again near the crowd that awaited him at homeplate, but before I knew it he was gone, ducking down into the dugout and on into the clubhouse. Legend has it that he didn't touch homeplate until hours later, after the crowd dispersed.

  I made my way easily then out of the Stadium, leaving the more than 50,000 fans alone to celebrate and revel in the victory. Outside I grabbed a cab and looked at my watch. 11:21 p.m. Warren was now, hopefully, in 2006, and I was officially a fugitive.

  "If I'm going to break the rules, I may as well go all out." I said this aloud to myself as I selected my horses at OTB. I had done my homework. Superbowls, Kentucky Derbies, World Series, NCAA basketball championships, college football bowl games. I knew all the winners and I cleaned up. I planned on living a comfortable, safe life for thirty years, until I caught back up to March 30, 2006.

  I bounced around apartments for a bit, until I lucked out and found a garage apartment out back of a big old house in nearby Mt. Vernon. Utilities were included--no reason to give my name out--and I gave the rent to the landlord in cool, hard cash every month.

  I bided my time.

  Time passed slowly, like I was incarcerated. I had a life waiting for me in 2006 and I just had to make it back there. I resisted the urge to check up on Renna over the years. My family suffered the same fate as before; not a child who dies, per se, but one who went missing. Essentially the same difference. It was big news for a while. My parents still split up. But I knew Warren was alive and well--or would be.

  The millennium came and went. It marked a significant milestone for me. I was in the home stretch now, a new century, my hair getting grayer by the week. Soon I'd rejoin my life, already in progress as they say. It was strange reliving the years. I had moral issues to deal with, too. Like 9/11. Do I warn anyone of the coming attack, clear out the buildings and limit the number of casualties? I wrestled with this, and in the end I decided no one would believe my warnings, or I'd be implicated by my knowledge, or my sketchy identity would be exposed. Saving one life--Warren's--was enough to possibly change the course of future events. Preventing 9/11 was too big of a world event to alter; I had to let it play out as fate intended.

  Finally 2006 arrived.

  Thursday, March 30 crept in silently as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The day I had waited nearly thirty years to arrive had come, and I was anxious to get on with it. Sometime after 3 a.m. I must have dozed, but by 5 a.m. I was awake and out of bed making a pot of coffee.

  I drove to SI's headquarters during the day to scout it out. Everything looked the same as I remembered it. I forced down a late lunch at a diner, chugging more coffee for the caffeine, and for something to do. I went home and napped, then channel-surfed until 10:30 p.m.

  I got back in my car and headed off to SI once again, to see if my plan from all those years ago would pay off. Either Warren would come back OK, or the last thirty years were for naught.

  I saved my SI employee ID card through the years for just this purpose: I buzzed myself into the north entrance and headed downstairs where the offices of Exey and the travelers were located. I had my tapes from the Chambliss homerun with me, determined to deliver them one way or another. It was 11:15 now, and I was due to return from my Chambliss assignment in five minutes. If everything went right, SI's engineers would have the surprise of their lives, when an infant returned in my stead. Of course, they would scan his DNA and think it was me.

  I made my way to Exey's office, the floor deserted because everyone was in Pod #3 awaiting my arrival. I dropped my tapes into his "in" basket. Exey had a hotline to all the pods, and I hit speakerphone for #3. One engineer was doing the countdown, while another was rattling off a sequence of numbers I didn't understand. At 11:20 there was a loud, static-y jackhammer sound, followed by excited--if not downright unprofessional--voices.

  "Holy shit!"

  "What the fuck?"

  Exey began barking orders then. "Medics, get in there! Make sure that child is OK! Scan his DNA, pronto."

  I sat down in Exey's leather chair, leaned back and listened. I heard machines beeping, medics talking to each other, rattling off heart rates, calling for oxygen, needles and such. The panic soon subsided, as they ascertained that the child wasn't in any immediate medical danger. I heard Exey's voice again.

  "What have you done?" he said. I looked up. He was standing in his office doorway. "Did you have a twin?"

  I nodded to his in box. "The Chamb
liss tapes." I was obviously guilty, being twice the age I was the last time Exey saw me. I stood, shrugged. "How is Warren?"

  "Is that the child?" he asked. Without waiting for my reply, he said, "He's fine."

  "He's my identical twin. He would have died just before his fifth birthday."

  "You've violated the most important rule of time travel."

  "And yet we're still here, and nothing has changed."

  "How do you know nothing's changed?" he said.

  "Because I've lived the last thirty years twice now."

  "That doesn't mean anything."

  He walked over and stared at an old photo of a younger version of himself with the first crew to time travel. He seemed to be coming to some sort of decision. "What's done, is done," he said. He turned to me. "Your brother is here now. Maybe we can learn from him, the ripple effects that may have occurred--or will occur because of your actions."

  "He's not a guinea pig."

  "Well, what's your plan?"

  "I want to raise him as my son. Renna and me."

  "So, she's in on this? Another rule broken."

  I shook my head. "I haven't been in contact with her since I left."

  "Why shouldn't I report you to the police, or the Time Travel Commission?"

  "Why should you?" I said. "You're already getting sued. If this got out you'd lose the case. SI would be bankrupt."

  He stared at me but didn't answer.

  "You are still being sued, right? That hasn't changed."

  "It hasn't changed," Exey said.

  "Let me have Warren. I'll be the good SI soldier. This will be our secret. Ours and everyone else involved in Warren's re-entry. Everyone who wants to keep working here."