Scarecrow’s Dream (24 page)

Epilogue

April 14, 2016

“Did you finish the new pages for
Salacity City?
” Addie asked. “And is it true one of the major networks is sniffing around, interested in airing it?”

“I did and they are and Jeff is going to love the latest storyline. Or fire me. I decided to add a mayoral candidate who’s having an affair with the deputy mayor and standing trial for the murder for hire of his other mistress, who was going to out him for being the leader of the worst gang in California before he changed his name and moved to the suburbs of Mendacity Mountain. Which could be a spin-off location one day if
Salacity City
gets overpopulated.”

“I love it. It’s beyond tacky and, for once, no one ends up with amnesia.” She handed me a mug of hazelnut coffee, then turned to Shane who was making no attempt to hide his amusement. “So, what are the boys up to?”

Shane answered, “Jordy’s still in Mumbai. There’s no breaking news in India to speak of—but he wants authentic cuisine. Your fault for spoiling my kids with samosas and tandoori every time they stayed with you. Oh, and Robbie’s flying home tomorrow. Says California is great and definitely having better weather than we are, but he needs his Manhattan fix of energy if he’s going to get any work done.”

Addie nodded but suddenly appeared distracted. “Right. Nice.”

I waved at her. “Yo, earth to Addie? Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “Yes and no. I’ve had a very weird day.”

“How so?”

“I found myself this afternoon at Penn Station wanting to buy burner phones and was worried that you and Shane were being threatened by goons and they were coming after Boo-Boo and me next.”

“Oh boy. Are you sharing my flashes forward?”

“Crap. I hope not.” She winked at me. “One wacko in the family is enough.”

Shane put his arm around me. “Did you have another one as well? You didn’t tell me.”

“I did. We were down at the old Elysium Theatre and Larry Olson was shooting up the place. Fortunately the vision didn’t last long.”

Shane kept silent for a moment. Finally he asked, “Do you need to see a psychic or something? You’ve been flashing forward for the past week now.”

I smiled at him. “Do you suppose our old Gypsy vendor is still working Sixteenth Street? I always suspected she did readings in her off hours.”

Addie coughed and changed the subject before Shane could respond. “So—you said Robbie is coming back from where?”

I answered, “L.A. He’s talking to a couple of producers about turning
Time Lost
into a film. Which reminds me, may I use your new computer? It won’t take long. Robbie was going to talk to Crimson, about directing. I gather one of the producers has been a huge fan of hers for years, both as actress and director, and she’s still a draw anyway, thanks to her old soap. Robbie’s supposed to email once he hears anything. So it looks like he’ll have an awesome creative team assembled. Still wants Mom here to do the screenplay. I’m charged and ready.”

Addie nodded. “So is the computer. Up and running on the desk in your old bedroom, which I keep changing from an office to an exercise room and back again. It’s an office right now, but the stair climber is still in there and don’t trip over the rolled up yoga mat.”

I muffled the snort I was about to make and casually asked, “Yoga?”

“Yeah. Daily. I do the most awesome Sun Salutation of any senior citizen on the planet. So, get over it.” She chuckled. “Oh, I almost forgot. Would you mind printing out my column about Talia Atkinson? She’s the new fitness guru with the self-help bestseller. I want to take it with me today when I interview her boyfriend. It should be under ‘documents’ but it may be listed by her name rather than somewhere in my
Guys and Dolls in the City
folder. I finished it late and I don’t remember where I saved it.”

“We’ll find it.”

Shane and I went to the office and I plopped down in the ergonomic chair in front of Addie’s desk. She’d only bought the computer a week or so ago, but had already bookmarked about twenty news sites, five online card games, a word matching site, and about ten videos featuring songs from artists of the ’60s and ’70s. Addie’s dog, Boo-Boo, had followed us in and Shane started to play tug-o-war with the pup and her rope pull toy.

I pulled up my favorite Moody Blues song, “Nights in White Satin” from the Songfest site and let it play while I hunted for Addie’s file. After I found it I opened the attachment, checked the printer for paper, and hit Print.

I was about to log into my own email when I noticed the next item under the subject header,
Trapped Holly
. I opened the email. I started to read it, then sat back, stunned. Robotically, instinctively, I hit Print again.

“Shane. Forget about the dog for a sec.”

He looked up from his spot on the floor and let Boo-Boo take the toy. “What’s the matter, luv? Upset because thirty or so seconds of ‘Nights in White Satin’ has been playing and I haven’t yet taken you in my arms to dance?”

He rose and held out those arms.

“Enticing as you are, Mr. Halloran, I need to show you something before we get mushy and romantic.”

Shane peered over my shoulder at the documents, now in hard copy.

“What the hell?”

Trapped in the Basement

by Rob Stutzgraft and Holly Malone.

Final draft April 1973

Based on true events

Setting: A veterans’ hospital (no specific location) in June of 1969

Character Breakdown:

Pvt. Daniel O’Hara: a Vietnam POW currently suffering from combat fatigue (Shane)

General Thuy: the commandant of the POW camp (flashback) (Rick)

Nurse Pamela: seductive nurse who has an affair with Capt. Keith Hemming (Chandra)

Captain Keith Hemming: collaborator with Viet Cong. In VA hospital recovering from leg injury. Working for a very shady defense contractor. (the real Olson) (Nick)

Mrs. Bettina Pryor: murders her husband (Crimson, if she’s back from her film), Sgt. Lucas Pryor: smothers him with pillow - Daniel witnesses but is ignored by Nurse Pamela and told he’s having hallucinations

Sgt. Lucas Pryor: POW suffering from combat fatigue

Act One, Scene One - Veterans’ Hospital, June 15, 1969

“It’s the final script. I’m sure it’s the one Rob sent, remember? Rob mailed it to me under the name Marshall D’Angelo. It arrived a day or two after…everything that happened on the bridge.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us. I’m sure I chucked it into a box of memorabilia and shoved it along with a bunch of other cartons into my dad’s old storage unit.” I hadn’t wanted to look at the script after we’d both nearly died. Neither had Shane. Yet, here it was. In black and white.

“Holly? Holly!”

I opened my eyes. “I zoned, didn’t I?”

“You did. Not for very long, thankfully. Where’d you go?”

“Right here. That is, this room. You, Addie and I are all talking about this script and theses notes and time travel and loops and alternate universes and somebody mentions Plan C.”

“So, what do the notes say?”

My voice shaking, I read the first one.

Rob was in a support group with Hemming—recognized him as Angela’s brother, Larry Olson. Collaborator. Sniper. Arms dealer. Killer.

The second note read,
Wooden peace symbol. Hang on to Shane! Henry Hudson Bridge. April 9th. Don’t let go. Don’t let him crash on the other side.

Shane held my hand as tightly as I remembered wrapping my arms around his waist one April night in 1973 when we’d almost been killed by a man willing to do anything to bury his past. “‘Hang on to Shane.’ I thank God you did. But, Holly, this is impossible. When? I mean, how…?”

I tried to joke. “Hell if I know. Addie’s ideas about time travel? Time loops? Alternate universes?”

Shane’s eyes brightened. “All the above?”

“What? That’s insane!”

“Well, yeah, but work with me, here, darlin’. I’m a sci-fi freak, but how about this being something like…an overlap in time? A circle in time where time itself just keeps going and at some point overlaps itself?”

“Are you trying to tell me my flash forward memories are real?”

“Were. Once. Maybe. It sounds improbable and mad, but then, so is a forty-something year-old script popping out of Addie’s computer, complete with notes, when the original hasn’t seen the light of day in more than forty years.”

“It may be,” I whispered. “It just may be.” I pointed to the notes on the last page. “Look at the signature. And the date.”

Holly Jordan Malone. April Fourteenth, 2016.

About the Author

Flo Fitzpatrick was born in Washington, D.C. and spent her first years traveling across oceans and countries as an army brat. She has very little memory of living in a chateau outside of Orléans, France but is certain the Gothic nature of the castle inspired her to write.

Her first attempt at a short story came at age four with “A Bug on the Wall”, which consisted of two sentences. “There was a bug. It was on the wall.”

She attempted a novel at age nine but dropped the project when her older brothers noted that her protagonist was traveling from New York to London—by train. To this day she swears she was simply projecting into the future and points out there is currently an underwater channel connecting England to France.

After earning degrees in dance and theatre Flo shuttled from Texas to New York City, performing, choreographing, and teaching. She still loves both states for their ability to spawn wacky and diverse characters who tweak her writer’s imagination.

Flo’s website is
www.flofitzpatrick.com

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