I Can Barely Breathe (6 page)

Carver laughed. “I was defending a lady’s
honor at the fair.”

“That’ll do it,” Kattic said, allowing a
laugh to escape his lips.

Tom shook his head. “No. I’m betting you got
drunk at the beer garden and ran your mouth to a bigger man. You’re
gonna admit to it one of these days. I know it.” He smiled.

The three investigators exited the vehicle
and approached Chevez, who was jotting down some information in a
small pocket-size notepad.

The uniformed officer turned to them and
raised his eyebrows. “Hey, guys, got a case for you. Still
swollen?” Chevez asked, examining Carver’s black eye. “You need to
put some damn ice on it.”

“It’s fine.”

Tom arched his neck to better see the body
behind the officer.

“This is Dr. Gary Whittier. His military ID
card in his wallet says that he worked for the army,” the officer
announced.

“Great, we’ll have soldiers down here in no
time,” Carver said rolling his eyes.

“No one’s contacted them yet, and, as far as
I’m concerned, no one will until you guys take a look,” Chevez
explained, finally taking his eyes off his notepad and placing it
in his back pocket. “The doctor was crossing the street, when Ms.
Walton hit him head-on. Doesn’t look like she was speeding, but she
did admit she wasn’t paying attention.”

“OK, so why are
we
here?” Kattic
asked. “We’re elite. We don’t investigate jaywalking accidents.”
His tone sounded sincere, but his comment ended up blunt and
matter-of-fact.

“Well, when we opened up the guy’s wallet to
find out who he is, we came across something kind of strange.”
Chevez, with gloves on his hands, handed out three more pairs to
the investigators. They put them on, and Kattic took possession of
the wallet. “The guy’s state ID, military ID, driver’s license and
bank card were all issued in the year 1966, four years from
now.”

Kattic pulled out the cards and examined
them closely. “Well, I could forgive a mistake being made on one of
these cards but not all four.” He passed them to Carver.

“Have you checked the bag?” Tom asked,
pointing to it, lying alone in the road next to Gary’s broken
black-framed glasses.

“Nothing but a tablet inside, a fancy one,”
Chevez answered and retrieved the bag for Tom.

Tom pulled the digital tablet from the
leather pouch and touched his hand to the screen. It illuminated.
The polished black casing was smooth, felt like some sort of metal,
while millions of pixels gave the light blue screen a sharp, clear
appearance. “Amazing it’s not broken. This is sleek, a model I’ve
never seen before.” Tom looked up at the guys. “Think where we’d be
if that craft hadn’t crashed here all those years ago.”

“I know. I love our technological toys. I
don’t know what we’d do without them,” Carver agreed.

Tom nodded and his fingers navigated to the
settings menu. “Son of a bitch.”

“What is it?” Kattic asked.

Tom read aloud, “This tablet is property of
US Military Operations, issued December 9, 1966. Last software
update, March 3, 1977. Contents within are above top secret.”

“Chevez, clear the scene,” Kattic
instructed.

“Everyone in. We’re pulling out. Uniforms
back to the station!” he yelled. “Let’s go!”

The three investigators waited patiently, as
the officers removed themselves from the area. The red flashers on
the roofs of each car slowly snuffed out, as the units disappeared
down the block.

“If you need me, call.”

“Thanks, Chevez, and good work,” Tom said,
as the officer retreated to his squad car.

The three men stood alone in the street with
the dead body and the banged-up Pontiac. Carver glanced over to the
nearby houses to find Mrs. Meyers peeking out her living room
window.

“So are we all on the same page?” Kattic
asked. “Are you guys all thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That this man isn’t from here? Yeah, we’re
on the same page,” Carver answered.

“I don’t know what the military is doing,”
Tom said, searching through the digital tablet for any clues. “I
can’t access anything on here. Every folder is password
protected.”

“This is obviously some kind of military
operation. Maybe it’s best if we stay out of it. Does this really
concern us?” Kattic hinted. “We sure as hell don’t have
jurisdiction, and we don’t know the circumstance that surrounds
this incident.” Kattic’s voice was stern, and he spoke with subtle
hand gestures. “Unless there’s a reason to think otherwise, I don’t
think we should get involved.”

“Agreed,” Carver said. “We’ll call the army,
tell them about the accident and deny any further knowledge. Once
we saw the victim was a military man, we contacted them. That’s our
story.”

“I’ll make the call,” Tom said, pulling out
his communicator.

“Let me see the tablet. I’m not 100 percent
sure one of our guys didn’t touch it without gloves,” Kattic said.
“Odds are the army’s very thorough with their investigation.”

Tom handed him the device, and Kattic
immediately used his shirt to remove all the fingerprints.

“Nice morning for a conspiracy,” Carver
said, scanning the sky.

Daniel Wallace was a war hero. His grave
site in Arpac Hills Cemetery was 157 years old. He fought and died
bravely in the Battle of Arpac Hills. Out of that battle came the
city’s name: Sorrow’s Sky.

Back then the small settlement was just
getting started, and a feud began between the men trying to build
the town and the looters and crooks who lived a county over. Both
parties wanted the land. The thieves began murdering the settlers’
young children, succeeding in sending a fierce message. After a
bloody fight that lasted seven hours, the thieves were finally
dead, and the land was earned; the thieves’ bodies were set ablaze.
That night Daniel was buried on a nice patch of land with the other
settler casualties. So when he awoke in his casket on October 20,
1962, the mourners for the newly deceased being buried at the
cemetery this day were mortified to see Daniel crawling out of his
nearby grave.

Most people gathered their children and ran,
while a few stood staring in horror. The police were informed
immediately, and patrols arrived just in time to witness the
dirt-covered man making his way down one of the cemetery roads,
toward the highway.

***

“All I know is,” Tom explained from the
driver’s seat of his Buick, “I woke up today, and I didn’t hurt
anymore. My limp is gone.” He, Carver and Kattic had just finished
lunch at a diner outside Sorrow’s Sky. Today was
all-you-can-eat-ribs for two dollars, so they got their money’s
worth.

“You are so full of shit!” Carver laughed,
as Tom smiled and held back a chuckle. “Have you been faking it
this entire time?” Carver asked, as he dangled his cigarette out
the passenger window and glanced back at Kattic.

“Wanting extra sympathy?” Kattic asked
staring at Tom’s reflection in the rear view mirror.

“Look at it, God damn it! Even the scar is
gone!” Tom pulled his pant leg up above his knee, showing smooth
skin.

Carver shook his head. “I don’t believe you,
but I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t believe you about that
shiner of yours. How’d you really get it?” Tom asked, smiling again
at Carver.

Carver laughed once more. “Don’t try to
change the subject.”

“Detective Mallik?” a female said over the
radio.

“This is Detective Mallik. Go ahead,” Tom
replied, pulling down his pant leg.

“We need your team at Arpac Hills Cemetery.
There’s a situation,” the woman said.

“Tell me what I’m walkin’ into, Jean.”

“Reports from officers on scene describe a
man rising from a grave. He’s hostile and confused. Could be a
drunk. Either way they’re asking for you guys. The medics are
already on scene.”

“Jesus,” he said, his finger off the call
button.

“No, He was risen a few thousand years ago,
Tom. I’m guessing this is someone else,” Carver said, reaching back
over the headrest of his seat to hand Kattic a lit cigarette.

“OK, Jean. We’re on our way.”

Tom grabbed the emergency light from under
his seat and placed it on top of the car. He plugged it in, and let
the siren and rotating red light clear a path for them.

“Maybe it’s a college prank. It
is
that time of year,” Kattic chimed in, between puffs.

“You never know in this town.” Tom pushed
hard on the accelerator.

***

As they pulled into the cemetery, they saw
two police cruisers with flashing reds and an ambulance with
flashing blues. The uniforms were standing next to a man, who was
leaning against the hood of one of the units, being examined by a
medic. Dirt covered his face, arms and clothing. His attire
consisted of a torn puffy-sleeved shirt that had four large buttons
holding it closed. The black suspenders over his shoulders kept his
baggy brown slacks from falling down. His bare feet stood on the
hot asphalt.

As the guys got out of the car and
approached the officers and the mystery man, Tom got a good look at
his eyes, which were searching the sky to find the clouds and the
burning yellow sun.

“My name is Tom. This is Kattic and Carver.
We’re with the police. Can you tell me your name?”

Daniel opened his brown eyes; there was pain
in them. “What is this place? Is this heaven?” he asked
sincerely.

Carver squinted at him. “You’re in Colorado.
Who are you?”

“Daniel. Daniel Wallace.” His voice was
hoarse.

“What’s the last thing you remember,
Daniel?” Kattic asked.

“I was on the hill. Took a knife to the
chest.” His hand lifted up his shirt to find a scar above his
heart. The purple skin bulged out in the shape of the shaft of a
large bayonet. “Did we win?”

“Do you remember waking up?” Tom pointed to
the disturbed grave site where a mound of upturned dirt lay.

“I do. I was in a cave. It was black. The
walls were all around me. I used my feet to kick my way out.”

“Do you know what year it is?” Carver
asked.

The man looked around, scanning the graves.
He watched the cars pass by on the highway. “I don’t know this
time,” he whispered. “I don’t know this place.”

“Keep him talking,” Kattic quietly
instructed. He walked back to the cruiser and popped open the
unlocked trunk. Inside he found a spare tire, tire iron, jack,
shotgun and a shovel. He grabbed the shovel and walked to the
grave. The dated, cracked marker read:

Daniel Wallace

Died 1805

Son. Brother. Hero
.

Kattic shoveled at the mound of dirt,
clearing it from the hole that went down into the small tomb. He
chipped away at the edges, careful not to damage a body that may be
resting inside. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a
small black flashlight and clicked it on, illuminating the inner
boards of an empty casket. Kattic stood and faced his partners, as
they looked to him for an answer. “Just dirt,” he yelled.

As Kattic returned to his team, he heard
Carver ask, “Why are you here, Daniel?”

All three investigators knew that, a lot of
the time, the answers lay with the
witness/perpetrator/suspect/victim. Simple questions can sometimes
reveal complex answers.

“Something is wrong,” Daniel said. He
brought his right hand up to his chest wound, just as it opened up
and gushed blood. “This is wrong.”

The medic pushed past the investigators and
opened his kit. He applied gauze and put pressure over the wound,
just as Daniel’s face and arms started to decompose. His skin sunk
into his body and rotted right before their eyes. It turned hard
like jerky, and a strong scent of musty dust was suddenly all
anyone could smell. The medic stepped back, and Daniel’s corpse
fell to the ground.

Everybody froze. They all silently searched
for an explanation. The cemetery was dead quiet.

Moving only his eyes, Tom instructed,
“Everyone photograph everything.”

They all took out their communicators and
snapped photos of Daniel’s remains, the dug-up grave, the plot’s
location within the yard, the marker and Daniel’s dirt trail. Tom,
on the hood of his car, wrote a detailed report of the
incident.

***

The coroner arrived just as the medics were
loading Daniel’s remains in the ambulance. Tom, Carver and Kattic
huddled near the Buick.

“If anyone has a theory as to what is going
on in this damn county, I’d love the insight,” Tom said.

Kattic stared down at the photos on his
communicator.

“The past is coming back to haunt us,”
Carver said.

Kattic raised his eyes to Carver. “What did
you say?”

“It’s like the past is coming back to haunt
us.”

The two men locked eyes. “Good,” Kattic
said, nodding. “Keep going.”

“Do you know something, Kattic?” Carver
asked.

“I know this town was founded the day Daniel
died in 1805. That’s 157 years of history. I know
that
history seems to be returning to 1962. Now who do we know that has
messed with time?”

Both Carver and Tom simultaneously let out a
sigh.

“The man in the street,” Tom said. “The
military doctor, uh, Whittier.” He paused, focusing on a thought.
“But he’s dead.”

“No,” Carver said, shaking his head. “He’s
not.”

Julia’s white cotton dress showed off her
silky legs, as she sat down next to Carver on his living room
couch. He placed his arm over her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
The slow song playing on the record player was intertwined with a
sportscaster’s announcement about the national baseball league, as
Carver checked the scores on his portable radio. Colorado was up by
three against Philly. Carver clicked off the radio, when he felt
his communicator vibrating in his pocket.