Chapter 10

The remote delivered Camilla and Bill to the rear of the Texas School Book Depository building at 3:00 AM the morning of November 13, 1963. Though Camilla had no means to independently confirm the date and time, she had no doubt of Mr. Remote’s accuracy.

They stood just outside a wedge-shaped, open-air structure. Half a dozen low-wattage bulbs strung along the bare wooden rafters illuminated the interior. Pallets of stacked boxes sat either side of an entrance into the building; more pallets lined the stud walls. It surprised her that books would be stored outside the building. In pictures she’d seen of the grounds, though, security hadn’t looked tight.

“Think anyone’s inside?” She gazed uneasily at the bank of darkened windows above, and then at the gun-metal gray double doors, each with a small square window inset into the upper half. She imagined the glass was reinforced with wire-mesh. She briefly considered how this nondescript, brick-faced, seven-story building, which few outside Dallas had ever heard of or seen, would become as infamous as the assassin-to-be, a building loathed for generations to come.

“Maybe a night watchman,” Bill said. Tapping her right shoulder, he pointed out the solitary car in the parking lot, a 50s model station wagon with enormous tail fins and wood paneling on the sides. Her dad could instantly confirm the make and model of the car, she imagined, were he standing beside them in the cold, damp November air. The question was, why was she here? Right-Hand World meant nothing to her. Who cared if President Kennedy lived, died or disappeared in a puff of smoke over here? Who said he’d be here in ten days—nine days, now--riding bare headed in an open limousine? The most fundamental question imaginable given the situation, to which they still had no answer.

“This is stupid as hell,” she grumbled. “We shoulda jumped ahead to confirm he’d be in Dallas on the 22nd.”

Bill glanced down at her with a wry grin. Having escaped Marshall with just seconds to spare made the complaint ironic, his expression said.

“Gary will never forgive us, you know.”

Gary’s sense of outrage at being stranded in Marshall didn’t concern her right now. She had possibly saved his life leaving him behind, and Maggie’s, too. Not that Maggie had torn off in pursuit of Gary when it became evident what Bill and Camilla meant to do. She had remained glued to the spot, twenty-five feet down the sidewalk, arms crossed over her chest.

The remote had returned them to Marshall thirty seconds after their departure, avoiding a possible confrontation with Officer Randall. His patrol car taillights maintained a steady red glow as he continued down the long incline of East Palmer toward the center of town. He’d evidently missed the flash of blue light that had probably reflected in his rear view, and driver’s-side mirrors. Also, the quartet of staggering-backwards teens.

“Dammit that hurts!” Gary had croaked, steadying Maggie with a hand to her forearm. She’d maintained her balance, only because they’d been more prepared this time. To Camilla, the repulse had seemed as powerful as the jump to Lisbon Falls, an effect she incorrectly attributed to distance traveled.

Maggie unconsciously brushed the seat of her pants as Gary demanded of Bill and Camilla: “What’s with you two? Suddenly, you went all weird back there. What gives?”

Camilla fought both the compulsion to brush at her jeans as Maggie had done and shoot a warning glance at Bill. “Nothing,” she said flatly. “I’m just tired, is all. I need to get some sleep, before I fall asleep on my feet.”

Gary crossed his arms and shook his head. “Bull-pucky, both of you. What’s going on guys?”

Maggie said tightly: “It’s the steps. They lead up to the diner, like in the book, don’t they?”

Now Camilla did glance at Bill, even as she shook her head. “I don’t know where they go,” she lied. “It doesn’t really matter. Older-Bill is here in 1963, and we need to stop him from stopping Oswald. That’s what matters.”

“Right,” agreed Bill. “That’s exactly what we’ll do, too. Right after we get some sleep.”

“Bullshit,” Gary scoffed. “You two got something up your sleeves. Spill it!”

Headlights appeared a block down Springview Drive and proceeded toward the intersection with East Palmer. “Let’s go,” Bill cautioned, motioning Maggie and Gary forward with his hand. “It could just be some innocent motorist, but this close to 11 o’clock, it could also be another cop car. We don’t want to get stopped. Not with Camilla.”

Gary meant to object, but grudgingly turned and headed down the sidewalk once Camilla pocketed the remote and stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. Maggie fell into step beside him, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets too.

“What’s the plan?” Bill whispered. “Are we ditching these two?”

“I don’t want to,” she whispered back. “But we don’t have a choice. Things are not what I thought they were. We can talk about it after we jump. If you want to come with me,” she added tightly.

Bill whispered a fierce: “You’re not going anywhere by yourself! This is more about me than anyone else, you included Camilla. If you try to ditch me—”

“I won’t!” she shot back. “Slow down. Let them get farther ahead.”

Gary and Maggie were engaged in intense, whispered conversation. As the Buick Skylark turned off Springview Drive onto East Palmer and accelerated downhill toward the foursome, Gary stole a glance back over his shoulder, eyeing Camilla warily, obviously un-reassured by her hands in her pockets. Then, as Maggie suddenly lengthened her stride and pulled two feet ahead, he shot her an agitated glance and whispered loud enough to be heard over the approaching car: “What are you doing?” Camilla guessed Maggie had experienced enough adventure for one night and was letting events hasten her plan to go home--whether Gary liked it or not.

“Let’s go!” Bill whispered. The distraction of the passing Buick offered the best opportunity—possibly the only opportunity--of getting free of the other two teens.

“To Dallas?” she questioned, removing the remote control from her pocket.

“Anywhere--before Gary jumps to what we’re doing and tries to stop us.”

Tight-shouldered, Camilla raised the remote to her lips and whispered: “Please don’t answer audibly, Mr. Remote. We want to jump forward to 3:00 AM tomorrow morning, behind the Texas School Book Depository in Dallas, Texas. Can you transport us there safely? Just Bill and I?” She quickly jammed the remote back into her pocket as the Buick’s driver slowed and eyed them through the half-open window. Fearing he might be an off-duty policeman, or one in plain clothes, her stomach gave a sickening lurch. Though he regarded the pair questioningly, however, the man behind the wheel neither brought the Buick to a halt, nor issued a challenge. She blew out a shaky breath as the Skylark continued past and caught up and drew alongside Gary and Maggie. It was then she realized the remote had vibrated twice in her hand.