Page 25 of Shifting Years (Whispering Hills #5)

"America lost?" I muttered to myself.

I had fought a tiger-man and accepted I was something out of a monster movie, but this? This was impossible.

I studied the locked door, imagining bursting through, but they had guns and I didn't. I had been a prisoner of war, and now I was a prisoner again. This time on an American base.

At least Bobby's getting medical care. I hope.

There was no hero's welcome or a slap on the back for saving Bobby, not that I needed it. Suspicious questions hid within interrogations on why I survived when others didn't. Why did I look better than the other POWs they found?

The accusations were written all over my countrymen's faces. I had learned to stay quiet under an enemy commander. From my own was no different.

If Bobby makes it, he'll vouch for me. Just hope he doesn't mention my, uh, wolf. Wish I could talk to someone though.

Seconds later, the door squeaked open, revealing the same thick, serious-looking bald man in fatigues. He placed a glass filled with water on a white table, away from my reach.

"Let's hear the story ."

"I already said it, sir." He had no decorations, but his aura said he was high up.

"Tell me, Mr. All-American, who won the 1968 World Series?"

I sighed. Unneeded trivia stayed in my mind, but not the important things. "Detroit Tigers against the Saint Louis Cardinals, four to three. Mickey Lolich was MVP."

"Favorite character on Star Trek?"

"Uh…" I had the strangest feeling of someone saying 'See, you should have watched.' I blinked as the strange memory vanished. "I don't know."

"That's the trouble, comrade. Sporting events make it over here, but local shows not so much. The enemy knows we ask about baseball, so you over-prepare. Most people don't know the score or MVP."

"I saw one episode. Uh, some thin guy with a bowl haircut had pointed ears."

My duplicate popped into existence, but I kept my eyes on my interrogator. He'd think I was pretending to be crazy. I wasn't so sure.

"He doesn't believe you." My double gestured to his military uniform. "You wished for help, and I'm here."

The bald man asked me something in rapid-fire Russian, then Chinese.

"He's asking if you're a spy," said my double.

Was I losing my mind? Honestly, it made more sense than anything else. "I don't know what you're talking about or saying," I said to the bald guy.

"I'm so sure. See, your story doesn't make sense unless you're working for them .

You survive when others don't. You disappear for years, and one day out of the blue, you kill the commanding officer and other armed soldiers.

Why not earlier? Had to go back to Moscow for training or do you still want me to believe it was just you? "

"I had help."

"Not Brezhnev? So Red China? Remaining Vietcong?"

"Bobby."

He huffed.

My double spoke, ice dripping from his words. "Wrong color, at least to him. He doesn't believe one of them ." He turned to the wall. "Get ready."

Jumbled voices muffled through the door followed by a shouted, "Hey! You can't go in… oh! I see. Yes, sir! Absolutely, sir."

A tall, older man with short hair—a US General, judging from the olive-green uniform, I think. I should have known the meaning of the flag decorations under his three stars, but nothing came.

A younger man dressed in army fatigues hurried behind with a flash camera in his hands. My interrogator stood at attention, as did I. The general dismissed the bald guy quickly before pointing at a seat and asking if I'd like to sit.

"So, you're the brave young man who saved a fellow soldier." He eyed me up and down, doing mental calculations in his head. It reminded me of my sergeant sending me out into battle. Strange how I remembered the look but not Sarge's face.

"Look at you. All-American good looks and your friend. He's black. Excellent."

"Sir?"

"America needs a hero, son. Someone who can silence those protesters back home.

Make them see what real patriotism looks like.

We signed the peace agreement, but they're still doing sit-ins.

" He breathed out slowly. "We can't undo the mistakes here, but we can spin it so we're not caught with our pants down for the next conflict. " He smiled. "Ever think of politics?"

"Not overly, sir."

"No worries. Most politicians don't think." He grinned at his joke. "We could use more men in the corridors who served and who we can put in front of a camera. Got a girl back home?"

"He's genuine," said my double as two pointed fingers aimed in different directions.

"Play along, and he takes you under his wing like you're his son.

All this mess about being an enemy soldier goes away with a snap.

" He stabbed a finger at the bald interrogator. "He won't like it, but what can he do?"

"Yes sir, I have a girl."

"Is she pretty?"

Fuzzy snapshots of a blonde doe-eyed girl came followed by scenes of a tornado and falling branches. "Yes, sir."

"Good. It helps when both are attractive."

"Sir!" said my interrogator. "He's written letters to a girl who doesn't exist."

The general turned to me, waiting.

"This is it," said my double. "Tell him you had a fight and writing to her helped you cope. You didn't want her to rip up the letters, so you sent them to a buddy in another town. He won't ask why the name's different because you're perfect for the future he's got planned."

Time in the interrogation room slowed, thanks to my double. He grew older, looking more distinguished with the added years. The aura of political power shot from him like an invisible light. Could I be a senator or something even greater? I lost so many years, and I could make up for it.

"I'm not saying Mister President, but it's possible." He smiled and positioned himself as if standing behind a podium, addressing Congress. "There's a future there." He pointed to the two men, frozen in time.

"You have a chance to make the right decision. The proper one."

I rose from my chair. The general didn't react. The interrogator didn't move. Time hung still, waiting for me to decide. "Do what you say, and I get everything? That it?"

"Simple enough."

I breathed in or maybe I didn't in this world.

My memory loss wasn't total because hard ice-blue eyes behind thick, black glasses stayed in my mind.

This older man—my father I think—made a similar offer.

I'm sure of it. Images of a short, muscled man came, and even without seeing his face, I smiled.

"You want me to take this deal," I said.

"Sure, and part of you wants it too."

"You showed me one future with nothing but high points, and another with arguments and a boring life. I smiled when I saw that guy. I can't tell you his name, where he's from, or anything we did together, but I smiled. Why in the hell would I, if it's supposed to be so terrible?"

"Because you don't have all the facts," he said slowly.

"I have enough, except who are you?"

"Someone you created."

"If that's true, then I wish you'd go away."

I found myself back in the chair, with no memory of sitting and looking up at an army general expecting an answer.

"Sir, I don't have a girl. Never did. I have a man . A man I love."

The fatherly warmth left his face, replaced by a stone-cold stare.

Likewise, I changed in his eyes from someone who saved a fellow soldier to someone he couldn't use.

Instead of a survivor, I was one of them.

He would have given me everything most men wanted, and all I had to do was play along, never breaking character and praying nobody discovered until the day I died.

The little man in my visions was sometimes older and implied we stayed together, despite everything. That must mean something.

"I understand," said the general gruffly. His face softened for a moment. Maybe there was a sliver of respect, or maybe he was just relieved I hadn't embarrassed him. Whatever the reason, I didn't belong in his army, and I wouldn't be the hero in the papers.

The general turned on his heel, the photographer trailing behind. He paused, back still to me, then barked his order. "Let him go. He's not a traitor, but he's not the man we need."

***

This wasn't a standard army base but with enough soldiers for me to feel their eyes on me. To some, I was a traitor, and to others something worse. Rumors leaked out. I'd leave soon, by choice or not, but I had unfinished business.

Inside a converted office was worn medical equipment and a few hospital beds. On white sheets—thankfully free of blood—lay Bobby with a gauze patch on his neck. Tubes attached to his arm, giving him a vague Frankenstein's Monster feel, especially with his swollen forehead.

"My man, the hero," he said with no sarcasm. His hand slapped against mine and he winced. Guards behind me, stationed outside the room, stilled and slowed their breathing, waiting for me to say something traitorous. My new ears came in handy.

"I told them the truth," he said loudly. "How you saved me, the times they tortured you, and how you tried to save the others." His voice lowered. "Dig?"

I did. There was no mention of a wolf, and I left out details, like my double. My heart raced while I admitted what I told the general. Bobby nodded, as if I had just told him the sky was blue.

"Don't matter, because you're my brother."

"Never had one, I think, but I'd like that." I'd been shot and stabbed with bamboo, but nothing hurt like this throat burn.

His expression turned serious, and he pointed to himself before making the maybe gesture.

Even beaten up, he was a good-looking man, but I never felt anything for him.

Something told me he had his own discovery, and he wouldn't need me.

We made promises to look each other up in the States, and I hoped I'd see him in Los Angeles one day.

Higher-ups would push me out of the army, and I had enough war for a lifetime. Hopefully, this will be the last. I did my duty to a country which didn't want me, and it was time to fulfill it to a tiny man somewhere on the planet. I had clues and the army had my records. How long could it take?

***

"How long?" asked Kim.

"Years," said Mike with a tremble.

"Didn't your other self help you?"

"No, and I'm still unsure what he was." I shrugged. "A possible future me who wasn't sure of his choices?" My hand rested on Mike's shoulder. "I don't have his insecurities."

"So your double never visited?"

"No, because I—"

Mike rolled his eyes up and huffed.

"— wished he'd go away so he did," I finished. "Explain why I don't have any other power, Mike? Tell me. You sense what people need. Mary's immune to poison. Penny senses fear. Tina and Dawn change reality like I do, although my wishes go wrong. Theirs don't."

"You didn 't cause it," said Mike. "You're confusing causation with correlation."

"Or you're jealous because the ROTC guy who didn't read metaphysical books can do what you can't."

He folded his arms. "I was trying to make you feel better and I'm not going to argue."

"So, what happened?" asked Kim louder than normal.

"Dishonorably discharged," I said. "All the help that could have led me to discover my identity isn't available to someone with my history. Every time I'd check in, they'd do a background screening and stall for time. Figured continually asking for attention wasn't smart, so…"

"He did what I always thought I'd do," said Mike. "He hitchhiked the country while I stayed home where it happened." His faint green eyes looked up, growing wetter with every second. "I can do it. It's time to hear about Henry the monster, the real one."

"You don't have to tell," said Kim.

"Yeah, we do. It's our price and you don't leave magic wanting or witches hungry." He forced a smile. "It wasn't all bad. I had an angel to brighten my day before the darkness came."

***