Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [38]
Okay. He walked to the end of the driveway, and turned toward Parvin Street, which intersected with Moorland about two hundred feet away. He crossed over, turned into Parvin, and took station behind a hedge. A police car came up behind him, paused at the stop sign, and went left. He put his hands in his pockets and tried to look casual. Just out for a stroll.
At eleven sharp a brief glow appeared on his father’s lawn, and he watched himself step out of it, look around, and start for the front door. His heart picked up. Never going to get used to this. The other Shel knocked, the door opened, and Dad appeared. Even from this distance, Shel could see the dismay on his father’s face. Somehow, he’d missed that the first time around.
They spoke for a few seconds, the other Shel went inside, and the door closed.
More lights came on.
Shel waited.
A dark blue Saber came slowly down the street. Al Peterson and his wife, Anna. They pulled into their driveway and stopped. The car doors opened. They’d always been good to him when he was a kid. They bought chances and contributed to the candy drives. The problem was that they quarreled a lot. Loud quarrels, screams you could hear in the next block. Their daughter Ilyssa had been Shel’s first girlfriend.
They got out of the car and went inside. They weren’t actively fighting now, but he couldn’t help noticing that Mr. Peterson simply walked away from his wife, behaving as if she weren’t there. He opened the front door and went inside, leaving it ajar.
Somewhere, music played. The obnoxious modern stuff. And it was loud.
More traffic came through.
Jay Tucker brought out his trash. Collection day tomorrow.
Down at the far end of Moorland, a couple of people were sitting on a front porch. It was probably the source of the music.
He checked his watch. It was a quarter after. He didn’t think the conversation with his father had lasted more than a few minutes.
Another car, filled with teens, drifted past. A door slammed. In the distance, a siren began to wail.
He was trying to remember how those last moments with his father had gone. Shel had suggested he accompany his father on the trip. His father had declined. “Let’s talk about it another time.” A little joke there.
He’d said okay or something like that. Have to go. Good to see you again, Dad. Then he was on his way out the door.
That was right, wasn’t it? At the end he was functioning on automatic. He might have simply used the converter inside the house. No. He hadn’t done it that way. Absolutely had not.
While Shel tried to settle the matter in his mind, the door opened, and the other Shel reappeared. He watched them say good night. Watched himself stride down the front walk. The door closed behind him. Then he touched the device attached to his belt and vanished.
All right. Give him a minute or two.
Shel rehearsed his lines, checked his watch, told himself to take a stand this time. When he was ready, he came out from behind the bush and started for the house.
Lights appeared behind him. A car.
The police car.
It pulled to the curb beside him. There was only one officer. He got out. “Good evening, sir,” he said. He was tall, half a foot taller than Shel. With just a touch of a British accent. And suspicious eyes.
“Good evening, Officer.”
At his father’s house, the downstairs lights were going out. “May I see some identification, please?”
“Umm. Is something wrong?”
“ID please, sir.”
Shel fished out his driver’s license. The cop took an unconsciona bly long time to look at it. He scanned it, said something inaudible into a cell phone. Then he turned back to Shel. “What are you doing out here, sir?”
“I was just taking a walk.”
“Mr. Shelborne, you’ve been standing here at least twenty minutes.”
“I was getting some air, Officer.”
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“No. My father lives over there—” He pointed.
“The house you’ve been watching?”
“I—I wasn’t really watching—”
The policeman had more questions. Did his father know he was here? What was that thing