The next few hours were a blur for Booker. He was in the hospital getting fluids pumped into him, bandages slapped all over his face, neck, and arms, and pain pills of various sizes. He slept for what felt like minutes but must have been several hours. The sun was high in the sky when soldiers woke him. They made him sign all kinds of paperwork. It was absolving the military of any liability for injuries, and several pertained to nondisclosure agreements. Eventually, they took him from the clinic to see the Colonel.
The Colonel’s office was large, full of military memorabilia, and stocked with fine crystal full of amber whiskey, dark port, and other fine spirits. The Colonel himself sat behind the desk, elbows probed up and hands together in front of him. Booker sat silently as the Colonel explained what would happen next.
Booker’s father and Dr. Heart had already been taken into custody. They would serve time for their crimes, and the Colonel told Booker not to expect to see his father for some time. The Colonel attempted a somber tone as he spoke, but Booker found that he didn’t care that he would likely never see his father again. Booker asked about Joanna.
“She’s in custody,” said the Colonel.
“Will she be okay?” said Booker.
The Colonel considered him for a moment and said, “She’ll be fine. She has already given us a relatively complete testimony about what has happened over the last few days. We also heard from Agent Summer, who prevented important documents from being stolen last night during the Gala. In light of everything we’ve learned, we’ve decided to send you home.”
“Really?” said Booker.
“Joanna and I struck a deal before the Gala,” he explained. “She told us about the crashed sphere, and about her suspicion that someone here at Groom Lake was behind it. She also offered you. You would serve as a lure to catch the ones truly responsible for taking the sphere. All I had to do was leak to some of my staff that the sphere had been stolen and sold off, but we had the thief in custody and were bringing him in for questioning. Word would spread around the base and once you arrived, the only people more desperate to get their hands on you would be the ones who actually wanted to steal the sphere. Thanks to you, we discovered Donald, Dr. Heart, and your father.”
Booker could only shake his head in a resigned sort of way.
The Colonel went on, saying, “But I knew Joanna wouldn’t offer this help for nothing. She’s been trying to weasel her way into High Point Hall for years, and I knew she would make a move once she got here. Now I got her as well.”
“What was she after?” said Booker.
“That’s unimportant. What is important is that she didn’t get away with it. We’re working on collecting the documents now. They are scattered across the mountainside outside High Point Hall. We’ll find them. All you need to know is that you are going home. Today.”
“That’s it? I’m free, just like that?” said Booker.
Again, the Colonel smiled. “We’ll be keeping a close eye on you. Just stay out of trouble, and you’ll have nothing to worry about. But there’s no point keeping you here. You’re free to go.”
A few hours after that, Booker was escorted onto one of the JANET planes by a few armed men. Inside, the plane was completely empty apart from one seat. Agent Carol Summer leaned back in her chair, sunglasses over her eyes, arms folded in her lap. She had a few bandages on her arm and there were scrapes and cuts across her face and neck. Booker knew he must look about the same.
He took the seat across the aisle from her, and she looked around. Behind the sunglasses, her eyes looked sleepy. She yawned, as she shoved the sunglasses in her chest pocket and said, “You look like hell.”
“So do you,” said Booker.
“Nice uniform by the way. You looked like the real deal up there last night,” she said.
Booker chuckled. He was still wearing the pilot's uniform that Dutch had gotten for him. “I’m just glad I don’t have to try and fly this one.”
“You and me both,” said Summer.
The flight back to McCarren was uneventful. Booker thought the glitzy Las Vegas strip looked much less exciting this time as they descended on final approach. When they deplaned, they had to go through a security checkpoint where they took down some information and handed Booker a small bag. Inside were the clothes and belongings that he’d left at the Bellagio Hotel. Digging through them, he found the keys to Joanna’s mustang, still parked at the airport in San Diego.
When they walked out of the small JANET terminal, there was a man waiting outside for them. He rushed forward as Summer emerged into the sunlight and swept her up into a hug that pulled her off her feet. “Easy, easy!” she said, in a pained voice.
“You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met, you know that right?” said the man, putting her down, and laughing. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”
Summer said, “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls that ride in your helicopter. You better not let your wife find out.”
“I’m not scared of her,” he said.
She laughed and kissed him. Booker stood off to the side awkwardly until they finally broke apart. Summer seemed to glow as she turned to Booker and said, “This is my husband, Terry. Terry, this is Booker.”
Terry stuck out a hand and Booker shook it firmly. Terry said, “So you’re Booker? I’ve heard all about you. My wife tends to mix work and home life, so I hear a lot of stuff I probably shouldn’t.”
Summer and Terry offered Booker a ride back to San Diego, which he accepted. Terry flew them from McCarren back to San Diego in a Bell 412 helicopter. Booker was silent for the ride. His mind seemed blank. He was tired. And even though he was heading home, he felt almost lost. What would he do now?
Summer handed him another one of her cards when they parted ways. “Keep in touch,” she said. “I know this was a crazy couple of days, but I think you might make a good fit for the FBI one day. Think about it and give me a call.”
He pocketed the card as she and Terry walked away, arm in arm. He walked quietly to the parking garage until he found Joanna’s mustang. It gleamed in the afternoon light. It looked perfect.
When the engine roared to life, Joanna’s music began playing again. Aerosmith. He smiled and cranked it up as he drove off. He weaved in and out of traffic on The Five, pushing the car as hard as he dared. The engine roared, drowning out the music at times as he was thrown back in his seat. He couldn’t help but laugh.
Too soon, he was pulling up to Ocean Front. He trundled down the thin street and came to a stop in front of his home. It was just as he’d left it; charred and collapsing. Yellow police tape still hung from all different spots around. He sighed, looking up at the wreckage, then slowly ducked through the police tape and entered the house. He kicked debris out of his way as he went down the hall, stepping on broken picture frames and bits of paper and fiberglass insulation. But when he reached the kitchen, he froze.
A man was sitting at the breakfast bar.
“Welcome home,” said the man. He was a large man, and older by the looks of him. Maybe in his sixties. He had a friendly smile, wore a dark suit, and leaned back in the chair in a comfortable sort of way as if he’d lived there for several years.
“Who are you?” said Booker.
“James Lakewood,” said the man. “I work for the CIA, and I’m a friend of Joanna’s. I’ve got something for you.” He reached down below the breakfast bar and retrieved a leather bag which he placed on the counter.
Booker walked forward cautiously and peered inside. The bag contained thick wads of cash. All $100 bills.
“What the-” he said, incredulous. “How- What is this for?”
“It’s your cut,” said Lakewood.
“My cut?”
“Yes. Joanna brought you in on the job, so you get a cut. One million. Cash.”
Booker let out an involuntary laugh and slapped his forehead. “But - what job? She didn’t - The Colonel said Summer stopped her!”
“Check your pocket,” said Lakewood, nodding to Booker’s chest pocket.
Booker reached into his inner jacket pocket, and, to his surprise, there was something there. He pulled out a small stack of folded papers. “No way,” he said. “How did I - how did she-”
Lakewood cut across him and said, “I watched her do it. She must have known Summer or perhaps someone else was onto her. While you were trying to avoid Dr. Heart and Captain Tully, you ended up right in the middle of the dance floor. Joanna swept you into the dance and offloaded the documents at the same time. It was absolutely wonderful to see. She’s good.”
“But how did she get these? She stole them?” said Booker.
“That’s what I hired her to do. And she did it the only way I’d have expected it of her. She’s always had a flashy, fiery personality. Turns heads wherever she goes. Everyone in High Point Hall had their eyes on her. Especially the ones who thought she was there on a job. It gave her accomplice plenty of time to crack the display case and take the documents for her.”
“You mean Red?”
“Well, I don’t know his name. He was the perfect choice though. No one could blend into the crowd at Groom Lake quite like him. I’m assuming you met him?”
“Yeah, he helped me out. Dutch said that he’s an old friend, and the ‘inside man’ they used for the job.”
Lakewood nodded. “That makes sense. Dutch has been flying JANET legs for years. He knows his way around the base and has made some friends over time. He used to smuggle all kinds of things to the base for the PCs. Small things like candy bars, beer and whiskey, DVDs, books. Things like that go a long way when you’re trying to make friends.” Nodding to the documents in Booker’s hand, he said, “Before I left the Bellagio, Joanna said she would deliver those to me on a silver platter. And she did. She’s an incredible woman, don’t you think?”
Booker nodded slightly, a half-smile touching his lips. Looking at the documents in his hands, he said, “So this is it? Why go through all the trouble just for this?” said Booker.
“Take a look for yourself,” said Lakewood.
Booker unfolded them so he could take a look. The first was a handwritten note of some kind. There were circular drawings and complicated math equations and graphs scrawled all over it. The rest were pictures.
“Look familiar?” said Lakewood, as Booker examined the photographs.
At first, Booker didn’t think the photos were remarkable at all. Each was a self-portrait taken in a different location. The man in the picture looked relatively young. He had windswept brown hair and a light beard. He stood in front of cityscapes, mountains, snowy hillsides, lakes, and oceans. But Booker’s heart was racing as he flicked through them faster and faster. Not only were the images different, the material of the photos were different. Some digital prints, some film, and one even looked like an antique tintype photograph from the 1800s.
Some of these photos looked like they were taken decades apart. But the man in the pictures barely aged a day. And the more Booker looked, the more he believed that what he was seeing was real. And it wasn’t just anyone in the pictures.
“I don’t understand. How can these be real?” said Booker, looking at the last photograph. “Who is this man?”
Lakewood said, “You know who it is.”
“Are all these photos supposed to be me?” said Booker.
Lakewood chuckled and said, “Yes. And no.” Booker raised his eyebrows, as Lakewood grinned at him. Then Lakewood said, “Sit down, Booker. We have a lot to talk about.”
Setting the photographs down on the counter, Booker picked up one of the stools from the ground, dusted it off and sat down across from Lakewood who was now lining up the photos for him to examine. Every photo had a label printed below it on a black strip. Lakewood pointed to them each in turn and read them aloud.
The antique tintype photo of a dusty and dirty Booker Dunn standing in the middle of a busy western town, read:
John Doe
Deadwood, South Dakota 1871
Certified Authentic Tintype Photograph
Another photo, showing a slightly older Booker Dunn, standing in the concrete jungle of New York City, wearing a tan trench coat and navy suit, read:
John Doe
New York City, New York 1971
Certified Authentic Full Color Kodak Photograph from an Original Negative
The third photo Lakewood pushed forward depicted Booker leaning against a stone railing. A river was to his back, and across the river were huge skyscrapers. Something about the photo looked unnatural. Something about the lighting, or the people in the background, or the buildings. Even the clothes looked strange. But, without a doubt, it was a picture of himself, Booker Dunn. A little older. A trim beard. A half smile. The label read:
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
John Doe
Most Likely Location: Chicago, Illinois
Year Unknown
Estimated Position of the Subject (41.888117, -87.634723)
Photograph Material: unknown origin, unknown pigment, unknown metallic alloy fabric print surface
Booker examined the third photo again and said, “Year unknown?”
“That photo was taken in 2241. The location is, surprisingly, correct. Give the Colonel and his team due credit. It’s downtown Chicago by the river.” said Lakewood.
“You’re saying this is a picture of me from the future?” said Booker.
“Yes. And no,” said Lakewood.
“What does that mean?”
“We’ll get to that,” said Lakewood. “What’s important is that I left these photos with a friend for safe keeping a long time ago, and they ended up falling into the wrong hands. Once I discovered they were being kept at Groom Lake, I knew I needed to get them back. It wouldn’t be long until the Colonel figured out what all this was about.” Lakewood tapped the paper document - the one with the handwritten notes and diagrams.
“What’s that supposed to be?” said Booker.
“That is the key to this whole thing,” said Lakewood. “Let me tell you a story. It was July 6th, and Booker Dunn was sitting at home, alone, waiting for his father to return from a several weeks stay at Groom Lake Air Force Base where he works.”
“Today is July 6th,” said Booker.
“I know,” said Lakewood with a slight smile. “Anyway, Booker Dunn has nothing much to do, but his father does come home eventually. And he’s not alone. There are several people with him. A Doctor by the name of Evilyn Heart, Captain Donald Tully, and a few armed soldiers. Booker was supposed to be away for the whole weekend, so his father is surprised to see him home. It turns out that Booker's father was plotting to hijack a top-secret military aircraft; a silver sphere that could bend space and time in a small area around itself. That sphere is just one piece of an incredible gravity engine that can make an aircraft bend space and time all around it, so, instead of having the craft move, space moves around it. There’s no friction, no heat, no limit to the speed or distance it can travel.”
Booker listened, recalling his father’s presentation at the Gala, the silver spheres, and the huge white tic-tac aircraft.
Lakewood continued, saying, “Booker finds out that his father is going to hijack one of the spheres so that he can sell it to a private company, betraying his employers at Groom Lake, and then go into hiding where he can continue his work on the gravity engine in peace. But Booker tries to put a stop to him. There’s a terrible accident. Booker’s father is killed. And when Booker Dunn wakes up, he finds himself more than 200 years in the future.”
Booker shook his head and cut in saying, “That can’t be real. You’re saying that the sphere causes time travel? That’s science fiction stuff. It’s impossible!”
“Impossible? Before this weekend, you would have thought the sphere itself was impossible. But you’ve seen it with your own eyes, haven’t you? And everyone already knows that time travel is possible. Traveling to the future is just a matter of moving faster relative to everyone else. If you travel far enough, and fast enough, when you return, you will be less aged than those you left behind. The faster you go, the slower time ticks for you relative to others. Booker Dunn was moving very fast. So fast, that when he slowed down again, he found himself in the future.”
Lakewood pointed to the photo of Booker taken in 2241 and said, “This was taken a few years after that moment when Booker Dunn woke up in the future. He had finally gotten his bearings, but he was looking for a way back home. He knew that if he could end up in the future, he must be able to go back. And it’s this picture that has drawn so much interest from Colonel Jacobs and his predecessors at Groom Lake. At first, they tried to understand these notes and equations. They understood that it was key to understanding how travel to the future worked, but they didn’t know how to decipher it. Then they turned to this photo of Booker Dunn, listed as John Doe, and realized that if they could figure out where it was taken and when the photo would be taken, they could capture this ‘John Doe’ in the picture. If they could capture him, he would have the answers they need.”
“Did that happen?” said Booker.
Lakewood scoffed. “Of course not.” Indicating the paper with all the notes and equations, he said, “If they understood any of this, they would have known that was a terrible idea. You see, they were thinking of time as something to travel back and forth on - If you can travel to the future, then you can travel to the past. But time isn’t like a book. The days and years are not pages you can flip forward and backward at will. It’s something else entirely.”
“How does it work then?” said Booker.
Lakewood held up his hand, showing Booker a gold wedding ring. He pulled it off, set it upright on the breakfast bar, and rolled it across the counter so Booker could catch it. Lakewood said, “It works like that.”
Booker examined the ring in his hand, running his finger around and around the gold band. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said, looking up at Lakewood again.
“Time is not a line. Nor is it a jumble of different timelines getting tangled and intertwined. There is no multi-verse or alternate reality. There is just time. It’s cyclical. It goes round and round and round forever.”
“But what about these pictures?” said Booker, pointing to the photos of himself from 1871 and 1971. “These were taken in the past. Or are they fake?”
“They are very real. And they were taken in 1871 and 1971. But Booker Dunn didn’t get there by traveling back in time. He traveled forward. You see, when you travel fast enough, the entire universe flies below your feet. On and on it goes. Spinning and spinning for eternity. But eventually, the lights grow dim and distant. The very fabric of reality seems to fade. There is nothing but blackness. No light. No life. No sound. All goes quiet into that last goodnight. Until…”
“Until what?” said Booker.
“Until the whole thing starts again. An explosion of light and life spreading across the cosmos. The universe begins anew as time spins on.” Tapping the photos again, Lakewood said, “These are photos of you. But more accurately, they are photos of me.”
“Of you?” said Booker. Lakewood nodded. “But they look like me.” Lakewood nodded again. Scratching his forehead, trying to think this through, Booker said, “So these are photos of you? But they are also photos of me? Are you saying these are photos of you from the future? And that you are me from the future?”
Lakewood chuckled and said, “Something like that. My real name is Booker Dunn. I changed it many, many years ago. But I am from your past. Millions and millions of years in the past. I am from an entirely different turn on the wheel of time. In my lifetime, I was here, in this very house, waiting for my father to come home. And when he returned … Well, I told you what happened. After trying to put a stop to my father’s high jacking, I wound up many years into the future. And my father was dead. I spent many more years learning the power of the sphere - trying to figure out how bending space and time could lead me back home. But what I quickly realized is that my time was gone. There was no going back to it. I traveled further into the future - far enough to see the universe reset itself. Among many other detours, I stopped here.” He pointed to the photo taken in 1871.
Then he pointed to the photo taken in 1971 and said, “I ended up here eventually. This is where I decided to stay. This is where I met my wife. Where I decided to enjoy the time, I have left instead of chasing what I’d left behind. And now, I’m here in my old house with you. And I came here with a very important purpose.”
“What’s that?” said Booker.
“This right here,” said Lakewood gesturing to them both.
“What do you mean?” said Booker.
“I hired Joanna to take back these photographs for me because I was afraid that your father would one day recognize them. Either him or someone else at Groom Lake. I didn’t want them to take your future away from you should they realize you are the time traveler in those photographs. I also hired Joanna to keep an eye on your father, and, hopefully, put a stop to his hijacking. If your father’s plan had gone the way he wanted today, he would have died, and you would have gone on the same journey as I did. Tomorrow, you would wake up years and years into the future with no hope of ever coming back to this moment right now. What I really want, Booker, is to give you what I so desperately wanted my whole life.”
“What’s that?” said Booker.
“Time,” said Lakewood. “This time, right here, right now.”
“I don’t understand,” said Booker. “How is this possible? Shouldn’t you have disappeared or something? If I’m the younger version of you, and you changed how my life plays out, doesn’t that create a paradox?”
Lakewood chuckled again and said, “You and I are not the same, Booker. We’ve lived very different lives, and experienced different things. I’m from a different time. One very similar to this, but not the same.”
Booker looked around the demolished living space of his parent’s home, shaking his head in disbelief. This was all so much to take in. He scratched his forehead, thinking hard. A sudden thought came to him, and he said, “You wrote me the postcards, didn’t you?”
“I did,” said Lakewood, laughing.
“Why?”
“Just in case,” he said.
“But wouldn’t writing those postcards change what will happen in my future? Like the butterfly effect!”
“Sure. Some of the details might change, but the broad strokes usually stay the same. It’s impossible to predict the future exactly. I was just trying to nudge you in the right direction. You see, in my time, Riley Green drowned the other day. So, I wrote the first postcard for you in hopes that you could save him. I thought I could fix one of the many regrets I live with to this day. I also wanted to build your trust so that when I sent the second card, you’d trust it right away.”
“But the second card barely made sense,” said Booker. “It didn’t help at all!”
“Well, it wasn’t meant for yesterday. It was meant for today,” said Lakewood with a shrug. “Remember, in my time, my father needed help today. Not yesterday. Those notes would have made more sense if things played out the same now as they did for me. But they didn’t.”
“Why not?” said Booker.
“Because you and Joanna caused the crash a day early,” he said. “After that happened, the postcard was useless.”
“So, the future changed because I saved Riley Green?”
“Sort of,” said Lakewood. He took the ring back from Booker and traced his thumb over its surface, going round and round. “I think it had more to do with Joanna. I hired her for a specific job that involved you and your father. Doing that set off a unique set of events even I could never have predicted.”
Booker rubbed his forehead, thinking. “So, it was all for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Lakewood. “I wrote that card because I knew that you - like me - would want to help your father if you could. While it didn’t work out the way I planned, your father is alive. In your own way, you did help him. You saved him. But to what end? My father died, and your father will likely spend the rest of his days at Groom Lake under lock and key. Maybe he will be free one day. Maybe not.”
Silence fell, and Booker watched as Lakewood seemed to contemplate the strange turn of events from the weekend. Eventually, he said, “Fate is a funny thing. In my experience, time seems to have a natural, repeating order. There are constants and there are variables. Constants are things like you and me. Each cycle we tend to show up around the same time. We live the same lives. We meet the same people. But there are also variables. We marry different people. Some friends live longer than others. The underlying numbers shift around, but the broad strokes generally stay the same. Changes in time are like ripples in a pond. Sometimes the ripples are big. Other times they are small. But no matter what, the ripples seem to dissipate, and the surface becomes smooth again. Time soldiers on. Undisturbed. Back to the natural order.”
Lakewood slid the ring back onto his ring finger and said, “What I’m saying, Booker, is that you aren’t locked into one path. You can choose what your future will be. That’s the gift I offer you. The gift I never had. I challenge you to do something great with the time you have. Live for both of us.”
Lakewood reached down into his bag and pulled out a tattered photo album. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of searching through the debris for this.” It was his mother’s album. The one with all her self-portraits over the years. The one Booker wanted to complete one day. Lakewood opened it up, examining the first image of Booker’s mother with her blue wool sweater. He flipped through the pages until he found the first photo of Booker and his mother together - the one where she was cheek to cheek with her little boy.
“This one was always my favorite,” said Lakewood, removing the photo and sliding it across the counter. Booker took it as Lakewood grabbed the stack of photos of Booker Dunn’s travels through time and placed them loosely in the album. Shutting it, he said, “I hope you don’t mind if I take this.”
Booker shook his head, still holding the picture of him and his mother. Lakewood stood up, tucking the photo album under one arm.
“Where are you going?” said Booker, hurriedly standing up as well.
“Home. You won’t see me again. This is goodbye.” He stuck out his hand and Booker shook it, not letting go at first.
“But I’m so confused!” he said. “What should I do?”
“Whatever you want!” said Lakewood, smiling. “That’s the most wonderful part about it. The future, young man, is an adventure. Cherish it.”
As Lakewood carefully navigated around the debris in the kitchen on his way out, Booker said, “What about Joanna? Will she be okay?”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” said Lakewood. “She’s an intelligent woman. A crafty woman. She’ll end up on the better side of things, I have no doubt.”
“Will I see her again?”
Lakewood turned back to look at him before heading down the hall to the front door. “That’s up to you. She and I are good friends. I imagine that the two of you will be even greater friends.” He winked, turned to go, then seemed to remember something. “Oh, yeah, one more thing. I called a mutual friend of ours. Told him you might be looking for work. He should be here -” Lakewood checked his watch - “now actually.” He looked around Booker, out the sliding glass doors to the beach outside. “Perfect timing.”
Booker turned around to look out of the sliding glass doors and saw a man with a bushy mustache and a cigar clamped in his teeth ascending the steps of the back porch. Booker grinned. Dutch was wearing a bright green and white Hawaiian shirt and seemed at ease.
“You called Dutch?” said Booker, looking back again. But Lakewood was gone. Booker hesitated a moment, wondering if he should go after Lakewood, but thought better of it.
The sliding door opened, and Dutch entered the decimated living room. Surveying the carnage around the room, he let out a puff of smoke and flicked his half-finished cigar into the rubble. “Holy hell, kid. You did a number on this place.”
Booker just grinned and said, “What are you doing here?”
“Word is you might be looking for a job. I might have something good for you, if you’re interested.”
“How is the pay?” said Booker.
“Terrible,” said Dutch. Nodding to the duffle bag on the counter, he said, “But I don’t think that’s gonna matter for you and me. Not anymore at least.”
“I guess not,” said Booker and they both laughed.
“Come on, kid. Get changed out of that monkey suit, and let’s get out of here.”
“Monkey suit? This is your uniform!”
“I ain’t a JANET pilot no more, kid. My card is punched, bags are packed. I’m free as a bird.”
“You and me both,” said Booker.
From the front of the house came a scream of fury and anguish. Both Booker and Dutch looked toward the remnants of the front hall, listening as someone slowly clambered over the wreckage, letting out a stream of swear words and curses. A moment later, Booker’s stepmother appeared. She wore tight white jeans, already smeared with dirt and dust from the wreckage, a black tank top. Her expression was one of complete and utter horror. She slowly removed her sunglasses and stuffed them into the bag held in the crook of her arm, and then rounded on Booker.
“Booker! What happened? Did you do this?” Then she saw Dutch, who was watching with raised eyebrows. “Who the hell are you?” said Monica.
“Dutch McCoy,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Before he could answer, she screamed, “Get out! Out of my house! You - Booker - You’re going to explain how this happened! If I find out that you had anything to do with this, I swear to God-”
“Easy, lady. Don’t get your panties in a twist,” said Dutch, chuckling as Monica stumbled through the rubble in her high heeled shoes.
“I said get out!” she said. “Get out of here, or I’ll call the police!”
Booker shouldered the duffle bag full of cash, as Dutch pulled a fresh cigar from his shirt pocket, stuck a match, and quickly lit the end. As he puffed on the cigar, Monica marched over to him, pointed her finger in his face, and said, “Don’t you smoke that disgusting thing in my house! Out! Get Out!”
Dutch puffed a huge cloud of smoke into her face, and she backed away coughing and retching. “We’ll be out of your hair any minute now. You ready kid?”
“Let’s go,” said Booker.
“Where do you think you’re going!” shouted Monica, as Booker turned his back on her.
Booker ignored her and followed Dutch out the sliding doors to the beach. Monica called after them again, shouting more curses at their backs, but Booker could only smile as they descended the back steps to the sand. The morning sun was bright, the sky was clear, and Booker felt as if the world were at his fingertips.
Then Booker saw a huge catamaran beached on the sand fifty yards in front of them. It was illegal to beach watercraft in Del Mar, but Booker just laughed. “Is that yours?” he said.
“Sure is,” said Dutch. He put an arm around Booker’s shoulder as they approached the boat, and said, “You ever been to Mexico?”
“Not yet,” said Booker.
“I think you’ll like it. Come on, let’s hurry up before your old lady sends the cops after us!”
Another familiar face was waiting for them by the boat. Dressed in shorts and a similar Hawaiian style shirt to Dutch, was Red. Booker didn’t recognize him outside of the context of Area 51. Out here in the real world, he just looked like another normal person. He grinned as Booker approached and they shook hands.
“You got out!” said Booker.
“I did my part,” said Red. “Now I’m free!”
“Not yet,” said Dutch, grabbing Booker’s bag and tossing it aboard the boat. “You owe me! Now get over here and help me push this thing back into the water!”
✦✦✦
A half hour later, Booker, Dutch, and Red were all aboard the boat and setting a course for the open ocean. The late afternoon sun was just starting to sink low in the clouds. Standing at the bow of the ship and holding tight to one of the rigging lines, he looked back at the beach one last time. His old home was a black scorch mark on the pristine Del Mar beachfront. But straight ahead, there was nothing but blue skies and calm seas. The wind rippled his hair, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of salty air. He didn’t know what the future had in store. But he knew it would be an adventure getting there.