A few things I learned on my recent vacation

I recently took off a week to spend Thanksgiving with my family in Delaware. We took a few days to get up there and spent two coming back. Some of the things that I learned along the way,


Paula Deen's restaurant in Savanna has good fried chicken.


Do not walk the entire city of Savanna searching for the famous Bird Girl statue used in the book and movie titled Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. She is not there. Nor is she in the cemetery that is 15 minutes outside the city. She actually now resides in a museum. Ask before spending the entire day looking for her.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                In the south, it doesn't matter how lost you are or how far out in the middle of nowhere you are, there is always a decent barbecue place somewhere around.

South Carolina has cheap gas.


South of the border actually has pretty decent food. All these years I thought they only had cheap Pedro souvenir's.


I love the "Mutha"!!

Both the top AND the bottom of the earth are cold (thanks Greg for that lesson).


Speaking of cold, Delaware is cold towards the end of November.

 
I miss my Dad.


Jimmy Wharton still makes some darn good scrapple! 
                                                                                  
                                                                                                                                                                       
The traditional Thanksgiving foods are good but sitting down with family to share them is better. 

Bus Stop 6691

For Elizabeth Whaley, who said I should write a story about a bus stop.

Paul Jenkins pulled hard on the cigarette. He had been wanting to quit for quite sometime now but tonight was not the night for that. His nerves raced and his stomach was in knots. He really thought that he had lost it. All out, goodbye forever mind, been nice knowing ya crazy. It was 11:45 pm, fifteen minutes away from midnight. That's when "it" was suppose to show up, if "it" really existed. Paul doubted it did. He nervously checked his wristwatch again. A second look confirmed it was really 11:45. He had gotten here just in time. Fifteen more minutes and he would know if there was any truth to what the old man had told him about this place. In the days that followed Paul's encounter with the old homeless guy he had researched this area. On this corner was a old abandoned bus stop, the long defunct 6691 bus stop. The 6691 stop sat on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Windsor Park where it had once served the east side of Chicago, back when people actually lived over on the east side of Chicago. The city closed it down twenty five years ago when the blue collared, middle class families began moving away, chased out by the gang members and the drug dealers. Most drivers had refused to take that particular route, especially after the shootings and robberies that fell on several of their friends and colleagues. Today, the bus stop was just just a empty, rusty shell. The Plexiglas that covered the old bolted down bench had a few cracks from the kids that finally had giving up trying to shatter it and knock it out. Most of it was clouded over, impossible to see through the thick dirty glaze covering it. Weeds came up from the cracks in the pavement, trying to cover over the structure. Many a homeless persons had spent a cold night sleeping on the old bench. Empty liquor bottles littered the ground and the smell of old, stale urine filled the air. Police sirens sang their nightly serenade off in the background. Just a typical night over on the east side of the big Windy City. Paul himself lived about a hour and so away, in a small, modest two bedroom/one bath outside of the more upscale area of Bedford Park. He once have lived in Bedford Park, back when he was a different person, living a different life. That was before the fire, back before the Paul of today. Exactly two hours and forty five minutes ago Paul had left his house heading for his destination. He doubled checked the two important things he had to have. The eight quarters for his fare and the piece of paper that he had wrote on earlier. He had taken the train across the city to the Jackson Park station. From there buses ran out in each direction but to get to the old 6691 stop Paul was on his own. He walked outside to where the long line of cab drivers sat, trying to stay awake by any means they could. Some gathered in small groups talking about sports and women and politics or whatever tonight's topic happened to be. Some talked on cell phones, some cat napped, waiting for a potential client. Paul stepped to the curb and raised his hand in the "I need a cab" position and immediately the front group snapped to it and tried to beat each other to their cars, each one desperate for a fare on this cold, late fall evening. Driving someone somewhere would give them reason to be in their cars with the heat running and getting warm instead of just letting the car idle and watching the fuel needle slowly fall. The winning cab driver jumped in his drivers seat and quickly started his engine, put his car in drive and raced up to where Paul was standing. He was a dark skinned man, Haitian probably, like so many of the other city cab drivers. Paul opened the back door and climbed in the cab. "Where to my friend" asked the cabbie. Yep Paul thought to himself, Haitian, I guessed it. "I want to go to the corner of Mawr and Windsor" answered Paul. The Haitians face immediately changed, like he had just heard some unsettling thing. He looked at Paul, like Paul was going to say no man, I'm kidding. But he didn't. He just stared back at the driver, waiting for his reply. "That's a dangerous area man. You have business there?" "Yes, you could say that" answered Paul. "Fares are double for that part of town my friend. Too risky, too dangerous" said the cabbie. Paul thought he noticed something in the mans voice. Fear maybe? Certainly hesitation. "I'll pay you whatever, just get me there," mumbled Paul. The cabbie gave Paul one finally look over, shrugged and turned around and put the car in gear. The cab drove off, disappearing into the night.


Four years before Paul Jenkins climbed into the back of that cab things had been different. Paul was married to Sarah back then, his soul mate and the love of his life. They had meet in collage. They didn't date long, they both knew they were meant for each other. After one year and four months of marriage came Timothy Steven Jenkins, Timmy for short. Timmy's middle name was a tribute to Sarah's Dad, who had passed away earlier that year. Those eight years of marriage had been good to the Jenkins family. Paul was a successful financial advisor for a fortune 500 company. They lived in a upscale home in the upscale neighborhood of Bedford Falls, a suburb of Chicago, over on the west side. They were living the American dream. They hosted lavish parties on the weekends. Timmy attended a very private school that most parents couldn't afford to send their kids to. But that was all before that night, that horrible night when everything that Paul held dear was taken away. It was a Saturday. That night they had had some friends over for dinner, then some drinks. Everyone was having a good time. Around 10 the friends started leaving, full and a little tipsy. After the last guests had left Paul helped Sarah clean up some of the plates and glasses. "I'm going to save the rest for tomorrow. Lets go to bed dear" Sarah said, half speaking, half yawning. "You go on up hon. I'm going to watch the news and then I'll be up" replied Paul as he pulled his wife close into him. They kissed and Paul thought about how much he loved this woman, how much she meant to him, how she was so much a part of him. "Okay you, but don't be long" said Sarah back to him with that voice and smile that he loved. "I'll check on Timmy and make sure he's wrapped up. Good night love" and with that she turned and walked up the stairs. Paul pulled off his shoes and grabbed the remote. He turned on the TV and layed back on his sofa. The news was still about 15 minutes away and some detective show was wrapping up and the culprits were being revealed and also their reasons why they did what they did. "These shows are a dime a dozen" he thought to himself. As he watched the police start to move in on the suspects his eyes got heavy. And heavier. Paul was asleep before the news even started.


The next thing that happened was something that he had run over and over in his mind ever since that night. Paul wasn't sure what exactly had awoken him first. The screams, the searing heat, the smoke. Maybe it was all three. He only knew that that was the moment when his world ended. He jumped up off the sofa, his mind cloudy and hazy, partly by the sleep, the other part by the alcohol. When he did gather his senses he stood frozen in disbelief. Flames were everywhere inside their home. The whole room seemed to be engulfed. The heat was unbearable, the air was thick with smoke. Then the screams, Sarah's screams. Screams for help, screams for Paul, screams for anyone. "I'm coming baby" shouted back her husband over the angry roar of the flames. And he really did try to get up the stairs, through the fire that had swallowed them and licked at the ceiling and the walls. The heat was unbearable but he knew he had to get to his wife and son. Nothing else mattered but that. The flames licked at his clothes and skin and the smoke threatened to completely choke him. Soon the next thing he knew was someone big behind him, pulling him away. Away from his wife , his son, his world. "No" screamed Paul. "I have to save them!" but he was no match for the lumbering firefighter who had grabbed him from behind and was pulling him to safety, away from the inferno. "We're trying to get to them but you have to get out!" shouted the fireman through his mask at Paul. But they didn't get to them. No one did. And that was the day Paul Jenkins life as he had known it ended.


It took him a long time before he was able to go back to work. Thankful, he worked at a family owned company and they had told him to take off as long as he needed before even thinking about coming back to work. Eight long torturous months before he went back. Everyday, reliving that night when his world was turned upside down. The nightmares, the what ifs, the second guessing himself. If only he had gone to bed when Sarah went, he would have maybe been able to drag her and Timmy to safety. The official cause of the fire simply listed faulty wiring as the cause of the fire. Which really meant there was no other obvious reason for the fire so we have to list something. Faulty wiring was always a good standby. Paul had thought about what could have caused it a thousand times. A bad electrical cord? A wire connection somewhere in the wall? And why didn't the smoke detectors go off and give them some warning. He had changed the batteries a couple times over the years they lived there. The chief fire investigator did seem to think that the fire started somewhere near the laundry utility room. Something about the wood framing of the house was charred the worst in that area. But really, none of that really mattered anymore. He had lost the two most important things in his life that night.Now, they were gone. And Paul was just a shell of a man. A mans body but someone with only a piece of soul. Most of it ripped apart and torn away. He had bought a small home away from where their old home had been. It was just to painful to remain in the same area. With the insurance money from the house and the life insurance policies Paul was well taken care of but he needed to work. He had to work. It was the only time when his mind was free of the thoughts and the images of his wife and son. And at night the dreams would come. Dreams that haunted him. So sweet and innocent at first but they always turned bad.Sometimes the dreams would be of him and Sarah in college. They were young, she was beautiful. They had their whole lives ahead of them. They would embrace and kiss and Paul could taste the lip gloss she always used and he could smell her perfume she always liked to wear. Sometimes the dreams would be when they were married and they had just gotten the baby asleep in his crib and they would quietly make their way into their bedroom and they would lay on the bed and Paul would take her and Sarah would have to be careful that her moans and groans didn't wake up their son. Sometimes the dreams would be of him and his son outside playing with that electric car they had given Timmy that one year for his birthday. Sometimes he would be in the floor tickling and playing with him. But even the nicest, sweetest dreams ended in horror. He and Sarah would be embracing and then her skin would start bubbling and she would start to scream at Paul. She would scream "Why, Paul?" "Why didn't you save me? You said you loved me!" Then her skin and flesh would start to melt and begin dripping off of her mouth and face, revealing the jawbone and soon the part of the skull that it was connected to. Or Timmy would stop laughing from the tickling and start crying instead. "Daddy, why didn't you come get me?" "I was waiting for you to come save me" he would ask as his clothes started to smoke. And every time Paul would wake up and HE would be the one screaming. Screaming out for Sarah. For Timmy. He had become a loner. His life was a routine. Work, come home, prepare something to eat, clean up, watch TV and then try to sleep. His co workers felt sorry for him and invited him out to different functions but he always politely declined. Being with other couples only sharpened the pain of his loss. So went Paul's life. He had become a loner. Alone with just his heartache and pain for companionship.


Paul lit another cigarette and checked the time. His watch now showed 11:50. Ten minutes and he would know if there was anything to the story the old homeless guy on the street corner had told him that day. Common sense had told him there was no truth to it but the man that had told him seemed like he knew what he was talking about and listening to him, one could almost believe the rambling tale. It had been a extremely cold morning that day and Paul was on his way to his favorite corner shop for a coffee and bagel before work. To the left of the door was where the homeless guy was. There was nothing that stood out about the guy. He looked like every other homeless person that populated the city. But this guy had a look on his face like he was waiting for someone. Then he turned and they made eye contact and Paul knew that HE was the one the guy had been waiting for. How he knew he had no idea but he knew. He could see it on the old bums haggardly, weather worn face. Paul normally avoided the homeless but something about this guy made him stop, stop dead in his tracks. "Spare a couple dollars for a cold, hungry man?" the guy asked. All Paul had on his was the ten dollar bill in his front pocket that he planned to use for his coffee and breakfast but suddenly it seemed important to give it to this guy. He reached in his pocket and took out the bill and offered it to the man. Smiling and showing teeth that been neglected for quite some time the old man looked down at the ten dollars now in his hand and his grin broadened. When he looked up he looked different. Paul couldn't put his finger on what looked different but something did. There was a gleam in the mans eye that wasn't there before. Before his eyes were dull and cold and almost lifeless but now there was a light of some sort. A glint that hadn't been there before. While Paul stood frozen looking at the man and trying to figure out what kind of trick his mind was trying to play on him the homeless guy suddenly reached out and grabbed Paul's arm with his free hand. Paul wanted to snatch it away and run. Run away quickly from this guy who was now setting off every internal alarm in his body. But he couldn't. He just stood there looking (he was sure) stupid at the guy. Mouth opened, wanting to tell the man to let go of him, but not able to produce any words. The old man pulled Paul close to him and he could smell every kind of filth one could imagine on the old man. The stench was nauseating, like nothing he had ever smelled before and prayed he never would again. "Your generosity is greatly appreciated Paul Jenkins" the old man said in a hoarse, raspy voice. "Dear Lord he knows my name. How is this possible" thought Paul to himself. "I know lots of things young man" the bum answered, as if Paul had spoke the words instead of thought them. "I also know what keeps you up every night and haunts your dreams when you do sleep. I know what happened to your family and I also know about a place you can go if you want to go back and fix what happened" the old man said to Paul. "Who are you and how do you know me or anything about me" he asked the man. "Lets just say I can see things and I see your hurt and pain. There's a place on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Windsor Park where you can catch a ride. Not any old ride but a special ride. A ride back to your past if there's something that needs to be fixed". "Your crazy, get your hands off of me now!" Paul said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "Am I?" the old man asked. "If you want to go back and change things so you can be with your wife and son again then listen to what I tell you." And now Paul did listen. He didn't know how this guy knew these things but nevertheless he knew. Was this possible? No. Was it happening? Yes. "Tell me what to do" he asked. "That's better my friend. You've helped a cold, hungry man, now I want to help you" replied back the dirty, filthy smelling man. "There's a old bus stop on that corner. It's not been used in years. You go and be there before midnight and you wait. And go alone or he won't come. The fare is two dollars. It must be eight quarters. You write down the address of where you want to go and the date you want to go there on a slip of paper. You believe with all your heart that he's coming and he will show up. When he does you get on that old bus and then you put your fare and the slip of paper in the box and he will take you there. You'll have 12 hours there after he drops you off and you do what you must. But be warned of this Paul Jenkins, whatever you do on that day affects today. Be careful of the changes you make. Whats done then is still done today. Oh, and one more thing. You MUST be back at where he drops you off at exactly 12 hours later to the minute to come back here or your stuck there forever. Understand? There is no second chance. If you get off at 4 pm then you be back there the next day at 4 am. Not 4:01. Do I make myself clear on that?" Paul just nodded his head. At this point he was unable to do anything else. None of it made sense or was even believable for that matter. But the old man spoke with a certainty in his voice like he was explaining directions to the other side of town or some other everyday thing. "Good, enjoy your ride Paul Jenkins and may you have success with whatever you need to fix." Then the old man just simply turned and walked away. And Paul just stood there, unable to get his thoughts together or understand what had just happened. That was two months ago. He had replayed that encounter in his mind everyday since. It couldn't be possible. It was simply impossible. The man was suggesting time travel. A hundred movies had been made about it and books had been written about it and now here he was waiting to participate in it. Was he crazy? Yes, he was sure he had slipped off the deep end, into the waters of insanity. Why else would he be out here on this cold, dark night. He had looked at every angle he could think of since the chance encounter with the man. Maybe his co-workers had given the man all that information about him and had him appear to him as a joke? Maybe the old guy had read about the fire in the paper and it was his idea of some kind of sick prank? Still, there had been something very convincing about the man and his story. Paul had simply decided to see if there was any truth to the tale at all. Finally, to just go to the place the man had told him about and see for himself. So here he was. Waiting at what he had discovered used to be called bus stop 6691.


At 12:01 Paul had decided he was a idiot. He had come out here tonight half expecting to see something and midnight passed and here he stood. Alone, cold and feeling pretty stupid. A wasted night. A lot of money paid to a cab driver and now he had to call and try to find another willing to come get him and probably charge him another small fortune. As he reached into is pocket to pull out his cell phone he turned and looked down Windsor Park Street and his blood went cold. Down the street about a quarter of a mile was a wall of white stuff. Stuff because Paul could not think of anything else to describe it. It was fog, a heavy mist or clouds, maybe a combination of all three. Whatever it was it seemed to be alive. The white swirl rolled around and into itself. The top fell to the bottom and the bottom rose to the top. The outside rolled inward while the inside rushed out to replace it. And it glowed. Glowed with some kind of internal light. It illuminated the darkness around it. And it was moving, coming towards him. Paul stood there looking at the stuff much like he had looked at the old man when he told him about his dead wife and son and the story of this place. Mouth open like he wanted to speak but the words frozen in his throat. Words that wouldn't have made any sense anyway. As the stuff rolled lazily towards him it covered and devoured the street signs in its path. The swirling stuff went up as high as the street lamps and even the ones whose bulbs weren't burnt out disappeared into the thick haze. As it got closer Paul thought he could make out two bright lights in the front low to the road that looked just like eyes. Just then a rip in the stuff rolled down and under the eye lights and Paul burst out laughing. Whatever this thing was, it had a face and it was smiling at him. Paul laughed and slapped his leg (I'm losing it) because the only other thing he could do was scream and he knew if he started doing that then he probably would never stop. So he laughed. And he laughed some more. Soon the swirling mass of stuff was right in front of him and the smile was gone. The two "eyes" were still there and now he realized that they weren't eyes but headlights. He also noticed that the smile was actually a bent, twisted fender that somehow was able to reflect some of the headlights glare even though the thing was mostly covered in rust. Paul felt a fear sweep over him like he had never felt before but at the same time he was glad to be standing next to this whatever it might be. He took a step back as the rolling mass went past him a few feet and then stopped. Now his blood went from cold to ice. Paul wanted to turn around and run. Run and run and not look back. Run until his legs couldn't run any more. But he was frozen to the spot he was standing on. Every nerve in his body tingled with fear and apprehension. His eyes widened as two doors appeared in the fog, then loudly protested with a metal screeching scream as they slowly opened. They appeared to be doors like you would see on a bus. And when they opened fully then Paul Jenkins discovered what REAL fear was. It WAS a bus behind those doors and a ghostly, hooded figure sat in the drivers seat. The driver/thing was wearing a dark, mangy hooded robe and it just st there motionless, looking straight ahead. "Who are you" Paul managed to ask with a trembling voice that also sounded incredibly dry. Sounded like that because it was dry. Paul realized that the moisture in his mouth had dried up about the same time he had first seen the stuff. "Where are you going" was his second question. The thing just sat there, staring at some invisible road ahead. But this time the thing did move, ever so slightly at first. As if it was a struggle, the thing started to raise its right arm and slowly move it towards the center of the front of the bus. It pointed a finger, no, finger was not the right word, it pointed what USED to be a finger, now just a yellowish, dry looking bone towards the fare box that was mounted on the dash of the vehicle or whatever this thing was. "Okay, I get it" he muttered to himself more then to the thing/driver. "Your going to the address that I have wrote on this slip of paper in my pocket right?" Ever so slowly Paul saw the thing nod. "Okay then, lets see how all this plays out. If I'm crazy then I'm already at the place of no return" he thought to himself. While his legs felt like they were suddenly made of lead he lifted the right one first and stepped onto the step of the bus. He almost had to put his hands on his left leg and pull up on it to get it to follow his right one. Never had walking been such a chore. Two more struggling steps and he was on the bus, standing right next to the thing who was going to drive him to 1800 Darington Avenue. The thing behind the wheel continued to point at the fare box and Paul slipped the piece of paper into the box. Quickly reaching into his pocket he grabbed the pieces of loose change and pulled them out. He dropped the quarters in the box and the doors slowly shut behind him in that same moaning protest as before. As Paul stared down at the space on the ground that he had been occupying just a few minutes ago the stuff quickly swirled in and consumed it up. The swirling stuff surrounded the bus. Every window he looked out of the stuff was there. Rolling, banking, coming, going. Paul took a seat a couple rows back and the thing released the brake and the bus began to move. Move towards 1800 Darington Avenue. Normally a one hour ride from this part of town, give or take a few but this one might take longer. This one was going back in time. Four years back to be exact.

As he turned towards the back of the bus he moved back four or five rows before settling down on one of the seats. He wanted to, had to, put some distance between himself and the thing behind the wheel of this "bus". Still, he didn't want to be to far back. He wanted to be able to see that thing, to be ready to act if he had to. It was hard to see inside here. Any light inside was coming from the faint illumination that was coming from inside the fog. Confident that there was enough distance between him and the driver Paul settled down on one of the seats. Sitting wouldn't be the right word. He was to on edge to sit. Instead, he eased down onto one of the seats and leaned back. He tried to get his bearings inside this rusty, dirty hull of metal and glass. Was this thing moving? It felt like it but with the fog and mist swirling outside the windows it was hard to tell. His mind was just to overwhelmed by this whole experience. Where was he? Was he really home in bed, having yet another nightmare? Maybe his mind had grown tired of replaying the same old movie every night that starred his (former) wife Susan and (also former) son Timmy. Then he realized this wasn't a dream when the bus hit what had to be more then a pothole in the road, it was more like a sinkhole that had suddenly opened up and took a good section of road down into it. The bus slammed down in the hole and bounced back up and Paul flew up off his seat and bit his tongue so hard that he was amazed he didn't sever it right in half! He had no time to wonder what it was and then there was another one, then another. What ever road this thing was on now was no longer a road he had ever traveled on. He thought crazily for a second that this is what our good old boys over fighting in those third world sand lots must feel like when their driving through one of those places that's been decimated by land mines and bombs and every other imaginable device designed to create destruction. He desperately reached out and grabbed the old, rusty handrail beside his seat with his right hand and lashed out with his left one to grab whatever it came in contact with first, which happened to be the arm rest that divided the seat he was on with the seat to his left. And there was noise. And light. As the road got rougher and Paul had to hold on to keep from being bounced around like a kid bounces in one of those birthday party bounce houses, the light outside in the fog got a little brighter and the weird humming noise started. Soon the light was pouring in through the windows and illuminating the old metal hull. It looked old and run down. He briefly wondered about the other ones that had taken a ride in this magical express. Where were they heading? What was their thing that needed fixing? Had they suffered as he had? The thought was chased out of his head though by the deafening roar that was drilling into his head. It seemed to be coming from somewhere out in the fog as well. He would have slapped his hands over his ears to try to muffle it but letting go of the rail and armrest would probably send him on another unintended ride besides this one. There was absolutely no doubt now that they were moving. They were three levels beyond just moving. Every sense of Paul's body recognized the fact that they were traveling at hyper speed. The light was now blinding inside the bus. He shut his eyes. The noise threatened to shatter his eardrums. He just had to cover then up. As he released his grips he slapped his hands to the sides of his head to keep his head from exploding. He also dropped down to the floor and attempted to wedge himself between the seats. And then he screamed. Screamed for his eyes that were being blinded by this intense, white light. He screamed also for his poor ears, he was pretty sure his eardrums where soon going to implode and he would never be able to hear again. And screamed for the fact that if this ride didn't end soon then it probably wasn't going to matter. He would die blind and deaf but that would be okay because there was nothing to see or hear anyway. And then as fast as it had started, it stopped. He had fallen to the floor from his self made wedge and all he could do was just lie there. He opened his eyes. There were those bright speckles of light swirling and dancing around in front of them like everyone gets from time to time and they wonder if it is a early onset of blindness creeping up on them or if there could be some other kind of problem that they should discuss with a doctor but then it goes away and you forget about it until the next time it happens. And he had a loud ringing in his ears, like he had had front row tickets to some loud, talentless rock band who disguised their lack of talent with loudness. But, by golly, he was alive. He reached up to try to pull himself up from the floor of the bus and grabbed the handrail he had been holding only moments ago but snatched his hand away so quickly that he fell back to the floor. The handrail was cold to the touch and it was SHINY. Not old and rusted as before but new looking. New looking because it was new. It was shined and buffed so that you could see your reflection in it, although distorted of course. By now the northern constellation of lights that had been dancing before his eyes were beginning to fade and Paul was able to take in his surroundings. The floor that he lay on was clean. The back of the seat looking up at his left looked new. The bottom of the one to his right was the same. He grabbed that new rail and this time didn't snatch away but instead pulled himself up, up onto his wobbly legs. And then fell back down on the new, clean, fake leather but a good imitation of it seat. He tried to take it all in. The thing he had boarding was old, dirty, beat up. This thing he sat in now was new. Brand spanking new. There wasn't a spot of dirt anywhere. The windows sparkled. The floor was swept and clean. ALL the handrails were shiny and polished. It was just to much to take in. "Here we are my friend," and Paul jumped back from his stupor. He turned his head toward the voice and the thing/driver that had brought him here was gone. In his place sat a little man. "Hey pal, you okay?" the driver asked in a shrill, annoying voice. It was one of those voices that made you want to tell the person to shut up or they risked getting decked if they continued to talk. 'Yes", he answered back. He looked at the man that now sat behind the wheel of the bus. He was in full uniform. A darkish blue one at that. On his head he worn a heavy looking hat with a short brim. He had a jacket and wore a dress shirt under that with a matching tie. He had a pudgy neck though. Paul thought it looked like the collar was maybe to tight and the guy probably was dying to loosen the tie and unbutton a few buttons. That pudgy neck and the head above it was red, like it wasn't getting a good supply of oxygen nor blood. And his eyes. Something about them set his internal alarm off. They were dark, too dark. And lifeless. Maybe this was the same driver that had picked him up. He had just got a quick makeover, like the bus had done. What was once old is now new he thought to himself. "Where are we" he asked the driver. And the driver answered him back in that same high pitched voice that made Paul cringe. "Why, we are at your stop you requested. Where else would we be? 1800 Darington Avenue, exactly where you asked to go when you got on friend. You sure your feeling okay?" "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks," "Okay then, here you go" and the driver twisted the lever that made the front doors open with a big whisssing sound. "And thanks for traveling with your friends at C.T.A and always remember, if you wanna go there then we can get you there. Have a good day," and he gave Paul the biggest crap eating grin he had seen in quite sometime. "Okay buddy, thanks" muttered Paul as he took the first of three steps down into a world that he wasn't sure of what world it was. I guess I'm about to find out he thought to himself. The second step down was when the man called out to him and it scared him because this wasn't a voice he had heard yet. This was a deep voice that made people stop and take notice when they told them too. "Look at the place where you get off this bus Paul Jenkins and you look good. You have exactly 12 hours to do whatever you have to do and be back at this very spot. Bring no one else, only yourself. It's now 3:20 pm. I'll be back here at 3:20 am to pick you up. If your here at 3:21 you will miss the bus and there won't be another one. You'll be here for good. Do I make myself clear?" "Yeah, I got it. See you tomorrow morning at 3:20" "Good Paul Jenkins!" and that shrill voice was suddenly back. Cheerful but yet TO cheerful. Almost seemingly mocking cheerful. Paul turned back around and took that final step down. He took a couple steps away and again heard that whisssing sound as the bus doors shut behind him. He turned around and watched as the big bus started to drive away and he watched it until it was almost out of sight. Then he turned around to survey the scene at 1800 Darington Avenue. And to go home. Finally, after all this time.

Bus Stop 6691. The Reunion

Everything looked just like Paul remembered it looking like. To his left was the Bernsteins house. As was his custom every Saturday afternoon, Rick was in the driveway washing his beloved beemer. But could it be? Paul remembered someone saying that Rick and Diane had split up and eventually divorced not long after the fire and the home was sold for a fraction of what they paid for it. They had both moved out and moved on. He didn't really know what had become of either one of them. And yet, here he was. As he watched him Rick turned and saw him. "Hey Paul! See you tonight at the party! Diane's excited and is taking something special over for Sarah! Diane is sure she will love it! It's going to be a good time!" Paul forced a half smile and slowly raised his hand to acknowledge his old neighbor. "See ya then" he answered back in a as near normal voice as he could muster. "And hey! Whats with the jacket? It's 85 degrees out here! You feeling okay?" Paul stared at his old neighbor, clueless as to what to say. "He's right" he thought to himself. It had been cold when Paul left whatever was where he had been before this moment he was in now. Was that what is real or is this place real? His brain was just to overwhelmed to process it all. Everything around him LOOKED real enough. Here was his old friend and neighbor whom he hadn't seen in years talking to him just like he had seen him only yesterday. "Uhhh, I was walking past Davids place and he was trashing a lot of his old clothes and he asked me if I wanted this jacket. Said it was practically brand new but he didn't wear it cause Judith hated it on him. I tried it on and it fit so I took it off his hands to help him keep the peace in the family" he half heartily said while trying to look believable. "Oh okay. Good deal, I think its a nice looking coat. You did okay my friend." "Thanks, he mustered back, thankful that his old friend had bought the lie. "Get rid of the coat asap" he told himself. After all Rick was right. He hadn't given any thought to the fact that yes it was cold and late when he got on that bus or whatever it was and the date he returned to (for lack of a better description) was in the middle of summer. As soon as he was out of sight of Ricks place he quickly pulled the coat off and rolled it up as tightly as he could. Four more steps forward and he was lifting the lid to Carl and Ellen's trashcan at the end of their driveway and jamming the coat down inside between the bags of yard waste. Carl and Ellen, always working in their yard. The grass always perfectly cut. The shrubs trimmed neat and evenly across the tops. Their yard was the envy of the neighborhood, the one everyone else strives to have. They would be at the party tonight. Sarah and Ellen were friends but he never cared for Carl. Always loud, always mouthing off about this and that, always right and everyone else always wrong. The typical jackass of the neighborhood, just like every neighborhood had. Paul quickly and quietly replaced the lid on the can and quickened his pace towards his house. On his right he saw Karen Chambers out pulling weeds in the flower bed in front of her house. Her son Ben was mowing the lawn, another weekly event on Darington Avenue. Soon Karen's husband Tom would be arriving, home from his once a month Saturday shift at the office. Paul knew it was his Saturday to work or else he would be out there helping Karen with the flowers or Ben with the grass. Seeing them gave him even more hope and he walked even a little faster. His place was up here on the the left, right next to the Thompson's place. He could see the top of his house, soon he would have the full view as soon as he got by the Thompson's white picket fence that divided their property. The fence that had caused hard feelings at first because he knew it was just a little to far over the line towards his property. But Sarah had calmed him down. Just like she had always been able to do. "Why lose two good friends over something so trivial" she had said at the time and Paul knew she was right. That's why he loved her so much. She had that gift and he so missed that as much as he missed her. He was directly in front of the Thompson's place now. Ten more quick steps and he was to the fence. One more and he was past it. And he stopped, frozen solid in his tracks. Everything actually stopped. His steps, his heartbeat, his breathing, even his thoughts. There was a little boy, playing in the driveway, toys from the garage scattered all over the place, forbidden to go down any further towards the street. And it was HIS little boy, Timmy, here as sure as he had ever been. "Daddy, Daddy" the boy yelled as he spotted his father and ran to meet him. Paul dropped to a knee, partly out of weakness and partly out of shock. If he didn't take a knee then he surely was going to pass out. And then he reached out, out for his son who he had wept and cried for for so many days and nights. The boy who he was forced to have to bury and the anguish and pain from that that had almost killed him. He took him in his arms and embraced him tight. And he could breath again. His heart was now racing. Here was his boy and he was holding him again. "Son, I love you, I love you, I love you." He couldn't stop saying it to the boy. Tears ran down his face as he tried to keep from sobbing. "Daddy, whats wrong," the boy asked. "Nothing now son, nothing now." "I've missed you so much Timmy. I'm so sorry son. I'm sorry for not getting there in time." "Sorry for not getting where Daddy? You didn't do anything bad." "Your being Mr. Sillyman aren't you." "Yes son, I'm being Mr. Sillyman," and that brought a smile to Paul's face. He had forgotten about when he would tease and tickle his son and then blame it on "Mr. Sillyman". He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. "Where's you mom?" "She's in the kitchen getting ready for tonight. She said you were supposed to be back a hour ago." "Well let me go tell her I'm here then. I'll see you in a little while. Okay?" Paul said as he stood and rubbed his hand through the boys hair. "Okay Daddy" and suddenly the toys had Timmy's interest again as Paul turned and headed to the back entrance of his home. "If Timmy's here then Sarah must be here as well" he thought to himself. It was time to find out.

Paul stood on the steps with his hand ready to wrap around the doorknob but yet not able to. He was mentality trying to prepare himself. He had not given any thought that for his son and wife he had only been gone for a few hours. Rick had picked up on the fact that he was wearing a coat in the middle of summer, how much more would his wife notice? He had given his self a quick look over after he slipped in the garage, out of the sight of his son. Everything he had on would be new to Sarah and he was sure it looked nothing like what he was wearing when he had left her earlier. And that brought up another question. Where had he gone? To run a errand? Pickup something at the store? Late home from work? He just didn't know (or remember, if this was truly his past). So he must be prepared for anything she might ask. And hadn't Timmy said something about her expecting him back a hour ago? Where ever he had gone, he was late returning. "Yeah, like four years late" he thought to himself. He quickly ruled out work. He would never forget the fire occurred on a Saturday night. Plus all his neighbors were out doing their Saturday rituals. Paul looked around and confirmed what he had noticed when he came in. His side of the garage where he parked his Lexus (gosh he loved that car) was bare. But yet it was totally destroyed in the fire. So that means that he had drove to where ever. Now Paul started wondering if maybe the old him was still here in this dimension. Why, what if he pulled up in the driveway while he was inside the house? He didn't know the rules of this place! "Stop it, just stop it!" he told himself. The one thing he DID know was that he was here. He would just have to make out the best he could. He would drive himself insane if he continued to try to make sense of all this. And then a small, thin smile appeared on his face. "How ironic," he thought. Here he was, about to more then likely see his dead wife once again and he's standing outside trying to get his story straight. Preparing a story to cover any question his wife might throw at him. Where have you been? Why are you late? What are you wearing? Why, it was just like the early days of their marriage when he still hadn't been able to completely drown out that youth driven desire to go hang out with the old college buddies every now and then. Always coming home late from those adventures and standing on these very steps doing just like he was doing now. Preparing his story. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. It was just like being married once again. "And here, now, I guess I am" he chuckled to himself. Well, he was about as prepared as he was going to get. He quickly slipped off his leather loafers and kicked them to the side. He pulled his sweater up and over his head and dropped it to the ground beside the steps. His white T shirt that he was wearing wouldn't arouse as much suspicion as a cardigan sweater would. And this time he let his hand wrap around the doorknob of his old house. He gave it a twist and with a click it was open. He gave the door a slight push and it slowly turned inward, revealing the laundry room with the coat rack and the dirty shoes and sneakers on the rug to the left. On the opposite wall was another doorway. That's the one that led into the kitchen and the rest of the house. And somewhere inside there was the love of his life whom he had cried for almost everyday since he had lost her that fateful night four years ago.

Paul quietly made his way into the room and just as quiet shut the door behind him. He didn't know why he was trying so hard to be quiet but he was felt that he should, he must. Why? He didn't know but inside he felt like he was sneaking. Sneaking into this house, sneaking into the past, afraid he might get caught or someone would see him and know somehow that he didn't belong here. That he was a stranger, or even a invader of some sort. And really after all, wasn't he? Now he was starting to feel panic build up inside of him. Sarah could always take one look at him and know when he was up to something. Or hiding something. Or even if something was wrong. He had never been able to lie to her about anything. As soon as he did she would give him that smirking smile of hers and start off by calling him by his full name, Paul Steven Jenkins. "You better tell me the truth!" she would tell him and he would. After awhile he knew better then to even try to fool her. "Relax man," he told himself. After a few more half steps he was across the utility room and standing in the doorway to the kitchen. And they she was. Tall, thin and beautiful, just like always. He could only stand there and gawk. Luckily, she had her head down and was totally focused on the big crystal bowl down on the counter in front of her. She was tossing a salad, most likely for the party tonight. As she did that she also hummed and Paul was completely entranced by the sound coming out of her. It seemed to touch his very being and it was like his whole body was recognizing something that it had once been one with. If there was ever anything like sensory overload then he knew he had to be close to it. Here was the woman that he had loved, had desired, had made love to. The woman that had been his wife and the mother of his child. All the panic and fear was gone. He was at total peace for the moment. A peace he hadn't known in a long, long time. Very softly at last he spoke. "Hello Sarah." Sarah gave a squeal and jumped. "Paul Jenkins! You almost gave me a heart attack! What are you trying to do!" she assailed him. "Babe, I'm sorry I scared you. I came in though the garage door. I'm sorry." Then he quickly closed the gape between them and took her in his arms. He pulled in tight into him and found her lips with his. And it was a taste like none other on the earth. Sweet as honey, pure as the innocence of a small child. Sarah pushed him back and gave him a half hearted slap on his chest. "What has gotten into you? He still had his hands locked around her waist and he refused to let her go. "I've missed you so much darling. You can't even imagine. Come on, kiss me babe." "Paul, in case you have forgotten, your son is outside playing and I have a ton of work to do before the get together tonight. And wait a minute, what are you wearing and where are the groceries you went to get. You had the list I had made for you. You should have been back a hour ago!" So that's it. It had been a run to the grocery store. Quickly his brain kicked in, just as he had rehearsed. "Sarah, you will never believe this but after I left the store and got out on 232 the car just died on me. I got it off to the side of the road and tried to get it to start but it just wouldn't. And of all things I didn't have my phone with me and I had no choice but to just lock it up and walk back. I knew I'd be hot and sweaty so I changed into these old clothes I had in the trunk so I wouldn't ruin my good clothes and left them their with the car. Unfortunately, I left the groceries on the back seat. Totally forgot them babe. Again, I'm sorry." "Not bad for a quick cover up," he thought. Now to see if she buys it. Paul stared at her with all the determination that he could that she must believe him. Sarah stared at him, looking deep into his eyes. She could always tell if he was being less then truthful with her but this time she saw something else in his eyes. It was something she had never seen before and it puzzled her. It was unlike anything she had ever seen but if she had to try to describe it then she would say it looked like his eyes were scarred. Still clean and honest and she could still see his love for her in them but there was something underneath the other stuff that was new to her. And out of the blue a chill came up from below her and traveled up her spine, causing her to shiver and pop out a few goose bumps along her arms. "Well, okay then. Do you want to call someone to go and tow your car to a mechanic?" she asked him. "She's buying it" he thought. "Good, I did better then I thought I would." "I'll call someone in a little while. But I feel bad about the groceries. I'm sure their no good by now. Do you want me to see if Rick or somebody will give me a ride back in town and get you some more?" asked Paul. "No, I'll call Linda and she can stop and pick them up on her way home from the office. She had to go in for a few hours this afternoon and she had to stop to the store anyway. That's okay hon. We women are always able to improvise" said Sarah as she returned her husbands grasp and this time it was her that was seeking out her husbands lips and he was eager to assist and they stood there and kissed oh so passionately and loving until Sarah had to push him back again and this time she was flustered and disheveled. A stirring had starting from those kisses and there was no reason not to believe her husband. Yes, he looked a little different and he looked tired but the poor guy had just walked five, maybe even six miles, to get back home. "Darling, save that energy for after the party tonight. In the meantime why don't you run upstairs and get a cold shower and cool that engine down. Our guests will be arriving soon my dear" Sarah told him, softly and seductively. "Okay baby, I will and you just be ready for later tonight. And Sarah, I love you so much. You don't know how much I've missed you." And then that sixth sense that Sarah seemed to possess kicked in and immediately Paul knew he had misspoke. Sarah gave a slight nod to the side and asked "What do you mean you've missed me?" And Paul suddenly froze, his brain not able to work as fast as before. He had almost made a mistake. He quickly tried to recover. "I mean I was missing you as I walked my tail off for what seemed to be hours to get back here. It made me realize how much I hated being apart from you babe." "Awwww honey, your the best. I love you!" "Sheew" thought Paul. "Dodged a bullet on that one" "Your right Sarah. I'm going to go upstairs and get cleaned up and get ready. Do you need anything before I go up?" "No dear, I'm good" answered Sarah. "Okay, see you shortly." And with that Paul released his wife and turned to head upstairs. He had a party to get ready for and a fire to prevent. Time to get moving.

Bus Stop 6691. A Party to Remember

 Normally Paul Jenkins was just like every other guy. Quick to get ready. No primping necessary. But not this time. Not this day. He had taken a very long shower. A long, hot and steamy shower. As the hot water fell on him his muscles started to relax and all the tension that had been building up since he got out of that cab a few hours ago to see if what the old man had told him was true began to fall away. He tried to mentally prepare himself for tonight. He was going to see old friends that he hadn't seen in years. Most of them he hadn't seen since this night. So he must stay calm. He couldn't show surprise. Since the fire and the tragedy he had forgotten about all the little things about his home that he loved. The Italian tiled shower with the massaging shower head. The heated towel rack that warmed your towel as you showered. His old boar bristle hairbrush that he loved running through his hair. All his old clothes that were hanging in the walk in closet. He had picked out a pair of well worn khakis and a navy polo. He slipped on his old Sperry boat shoes and Bam! He looked just like the Paul of old. He had only been downstairs for a few minutes before the doorbell rang and he ran to open the door. He knew it was early and he knew it would be Ronnie and Carol. They were always early. Always the first to arrive. "Hey bud! Whats going on?" asked Ronnie as he faked a punch to Paul's mid section, then grabbed him and pulled him against his chest while giving him a couple manly slaps on his back. "Not much you big goofball" while he delivered a few slaps back. Ronnie and Carol Anderson's story was much like Sarah's and his. Met in college, started dating, fell in love and soon married after graduation. Carol sighed before she said "Hey Paul, how you"? "I"m good Carol, please come on in"."Try not to bruise each other up to bad. I'm going in the kitchen to see if I can help Sarah out. Ronnie, take Paul out with you and bring the food inside will ya"? "Yes dear," Ronnie answered with some pretend sarcasm in his voice. "Come on Paul, give me a hand". "You got it my friend! And Ronnie, it's really good to see you and Carol again". "Ha! We will see if you have that same attitude tonight around 10 when you have to kick us out of the door to get us to leave! You know how those women love to talk". Then it was Paul's turn to give Ronnie a big slap on the back as he grinned sheepishly at his old college friend.

Just as they were finishing up unloading Ronnie and Carols car, Jack and Sandy Thompson from next door walked over. They of course had to walk all the way down their driveway and then back up Paul and Sarah's because of the illegal fence they had installed but today Paul couldn't have cared less  about such trivial things. Jack was carrying a couple big bottles of fine Tennessee whiskey and Sandy had a huge serving platter with something very big and apparently heavy as well on it under the foil judging by her crinkled up nose and faint sounding strains. "Jack, Sandy come on in. Sandy, please let me have that." "You wont have to ask me twice Paul. How are you doing?" she asked before planting a obligatory kiss on his cheek. "I'm good Sandy thanks, it's always a pleasure." Sandy looked over at Ronnie. "Hey Ronnie, how are ya"? "I'm good Sandy. I hope you two are as well". "We are. Carols inside?" Sandy asked. "Yeah, shes in the kitchen helping Sarah. She'll be glad to see you two. It's been a while now". "Yeah, if you only knew how long," Paul thought to himself. This was another memory he hadn't thought of much since the fire. Once a month they would have these big get togethers and they all always took turns hosting them. Mostly it was people from the neighborhood but whoever was hosting that month always asked a few friends that were special to them and most of those friends became monthly guests and even took their turns playing host. Hence the Anderson's. They were good people and everyone liked them. "By gosh, what do you have on this plate Sandy?" "Its a ham and a very big one at that. I don't want to run out like last month so I made sure I got one this time that was big enough." "I think you succeeded," and they all four got a good laugh out of that. "Sandy, open that door and lets get this hog inside," and they all laughed even harder at that.

Soon it was a endless parade of people coming in the door. Rick and Diane Bernstein. Rick was right, Diane had brought a nice surprise.  A case of French shiraz wine. Very expensive and very good. David and Ellen Harkins. David had supposedly gave him the coat he was wearing when he came back to this world. Paul secretly hoped to himself that Rick wouldn't ask him about it. Karen and Tom Chambers. The Adkins. Steve and Jan Cummings, also friends from their old college days. And finally the two who made everyone cringe slightly when they arrived. Carl and Ellen Deming's from down the street. Carl was the the owner of the trashcan where Paul had trashed his coat. Hopefully Carl or Ellen hadn't seen him do it. Carl had to always be the loudest in the group. Anything anyone had done he had done it bigger and better. He was cocky and demanding. And he had a nasty cigar habit, which was good  because of the fact that it kept him outside for a good part of the evening when ever they all gathered together. Occasionally they couldn't make the monthly get togethers and everyone was happy when they couldn't. Alas, this wasn't one of those times.

Two hours later and the party was in full swing. Plates of food devoured. Drink glasses filled. The women were working on the wine pretty good. When their glasses emptied if wasn't long before they were full again. The men stuck with iced down beers and a few mixed drinks here and there. Rick, who had actually worked as a bartender to help pay his way through college, was the one always appointed to be the mix master. While he mixed and the guys imbibed, Carl Demings talked. And talked. And talked. He moaned about the homeowners association and it's lack of enforcement of the neighborhood rules. He complained about his property value being drove into the ground by the un kept yards of his neighbors. He bitched about the government and his plummeting 401K. While he ranted the smokers in the group decided it would be a good time to slip outside and have a smoke. If to many of his audience decided to do this at one time Carl would follow and light up his stogie while continuing on his rant of the moment. Paul would even join them when they would step outside for their light up rituals. Almost every guy in this group was a smoker or a ex smoker. When the smokers lit up the non smokers would ask to bum one and for that night at least, they were smokers as well. "That's what alcohol tends to do to people I guess," Paul thought to himself. He knew he had to attempt to make that commitment to quit soon also but for now, he was good. As he finished his cigarette and Carl started a new topic to talk about Paul excused himself from the group of men. The air was getting chilly and a breeze had kicked up. He knew his son had gone to bed a little while ago and Paul was determined that he was going to slip up and kiss him goodnight and tuck him in before he went to sleep. This was, after all, the last night he had seen his son alive.

Paul turned the doorknob and entered Timmy's room. "Hey dad." "Hey son, I wanted to come up and tuck you in and say goodnight. Did you get enough to eat?" "Yeah, I did. I would have stayed down longer but Mr. Demings talks to loud and makes my head hurt." Paul laughed at that. "Well sonny boy, don't feel bad. He makes my head hurt to! And if you were to ask the other guys down there they would all say the same thing!" "Really dad?" "Yes, really son. What are you reading?" "It's a book about dinosaurs and what they looked like back when they were alive. Did you ever see a dinosaur daddy?" "Uhhh, no I never did Timmy. "Come on, I'm not THAT old," Paul said with a big grin forming on his face. "Almost, but not quite," he said as he rubbed his hand through his sons blondish hair. The boy smiled back to him. "Okay Dad, I believe you." "Listen son, it's getting late and you need to get to sleep." Suddenly out of no where a memory came to him. Tomorrow was Sunday. And one of Timmy's friends from school was having a birthday party and Timmy was invited. Was the kids name Billy? Or maybe Joey? He couldn't remember. How in the world did he ever remember that about the party? "Hey son, remember that you have that birthday party tomorrow afternoon?" "Oh yeah dad! I had forgot about that!" "Who's the party for son, I forgot," Paul asked." "It's for my best friend Devin from school. All my friends from school are supposed to be there. I can't wait! I'm still going right?" Paul paused for a second before he could answer. Four years ago, he was suppose  to go but unfortunately, he didn't make it. Didn't make anything actually after this night. And that made Paul more determined then ever. Determined that his son and wife WOULD wake up tomorrow and would attend that birthday party. There would be a tomorrow and a next day and a day after that. That old man had given him another chance and that old rusty bus had brought him here. This time things would end differently. "Yes son, you are still going. Matter of fact, I will do everything in my power to make sure your at that party. Okay?" "Thanks dad, I love you." "I love you son, turn that light off and get to sleep. I'll see you in the morning." "Okay, goodnight dad." "Goodnight Timmy," and Paul got up and left his son to enter the world of sleep and happy dreams.

Paul slipped down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Sarah and her friends were still going strong.
Empty wine bottles littered the counter top and the women were showing no signs of letting up. "Hey babe," Paul said to Sarah as he slipped his arm around her slender waist. "Hey babe, we were just talking about you. Get in here you big handsome thing you!" and the women all cheered as Paul blushed. "It was all good talk I hope," he answered back. "Nothing but the best baby," as she reached her face back and kissed her husband. "You woman are to much for me. I'm going back outside to join my fellow comrades. Girls, don't talk about us to bad. Remember, we love you." This brought new laughter from the women as Paul flashed a big smile and made his exit.

The big living room was empty. "Hum, guess they are all still outside," Paul thought to himself. And why not. The boys were getting pretty juiced up. The ritual was pretty much drink, bathroom and smoke. Why not just hang out outside and save one of the steps. Outside one can smoke AND drink at the same time. Paul crossed the room and opened the big front door to join his buddies. "Hey guys, I'm back," he said to absolutely no one. The front lawn was empty. Nothing out here except darkness and a few dried, dead leaves riding the breeze that was swirling around the yard. A feeling of unease started building slowly inside the bottom of his stomach. Why, he didn't know. Nothing out of order here. If his friends weren't here then that only meant they were somewhere else. Laughing, drinking, carrying on. But something didn't feel right. It was almost like some kind of internal alarm sounding. Like being on the verge of discovering some thing dreadful. "But what is it," he wondered to himself. "This is stupid. They all probably went out through the garage and are around back. I'm out here giving myself the creeps for nothing." He laughed it off (or tried to) and started towards the driveway and the garage. As he crossed the driveway and turned the corner he was surprised to see the garage door still down. "That's odd. That means they went out the back door that led out to the patio and backyard," he mulled over to himself. And then he heard Carl. Loud, obnoxious, overbearing Carl. Ranting on again over yet another stupid topic that no one really cared about except him. Same old Carl. Always talking, always blabbing on about something. But Carl sounded funny. It was clearly him. But his voice sounded muffled. If it had been anyone else talking Paul would have had to really strain his ears to hear them. Only because it was Carl doing the talking did he know that he was close by but where? He walked slowly along the edge of the closed garage, slinking along in the shadows. As he got close to the end he paused. He could hear Carl a little clearer now and he also heard Rick and some of the others joining in on the conversation as well. That feeling of dread that had been building inside of him since he had walked out the front door was about to explode now. He knew he was about to find the answer to what had happened. How, he didn't know but the fact was cold and grasping him and wouldn't let go of him. With his skin cold and clammy he stuck his head out from the shadows and looked around the house. Just as he knew it would be, the backyard was empty. The only thing that was back there was more darkness and that same breeze. Only now the breeze had taken a threatening tone and instead of sounding calm and gentle it was rushing around and not blowing but hissing! Teasing and taunting him. Daring him to come and see. But there was nothing to see except darkness and shadows. The only light back here was the light coming out from the sliding glass doors that led from the kitchen out to the deck area. In that light he could see the shadows of the women moving back and forth as the enjoyed themselves inside. And there was light coming from the utility room window. The room to the left as soon as you came in from the garage. Paul came around the corner to get a better look at that window. It was up! And he could hear the voices much clearer back here. He could place Ronnie's voice. Then Jack saying something. Carl of course. Him above all the others. There was Rick asking someone if they were ready for a refill. And was that Carl's cigar he could smell? Paul quietly walked along the wall until he was beside the open window. Being cautious so he wouldn't be seen he peered inside the room. Sure enough, all the guys had taken up residency here, in this room. Glasses of booze in one hand, a cigarette in the other. "I guess it was to much effort to walk outside to light up," he thought to himself. Then the next thing he saw knocked the wind out of him like a pop warner football player getting hit by the older, bigger kid who shouldn't have been allowed to be on the team. Laying on top of the washing machine was a smoke detector. A quick glance up and he saw where the detector had been. Where it was suppose to be. And now nothing was in the spot except bare ended wires hanging down out of the ceiling. Suddenly, it all made sense. This is where the fire had started. Hadn't the police report stated that the fire had started back in this area of the house? Yes it had! And now it all made sense. The disconnected smoke detector. Shouldn't the others ones have worked even though this one was disabled? Paul thought he had read that they will but he wasn't sure. Apparently they don't or at least his didn't. For some reason his system didn't respond at all. Hence him waking up from his sound slumber after it was to late. He was jarred from his thoughts when Steve started speaking. "Come on, we better get out of here before Paul catches us in here. He'll be downstairs soon and he'll be upset if he finds us in here." "Agreed!" was the reaction from the group. Except for Carl. "He'll be okay. Heck, he doesn't have a problem smoking in my house." Tom was the next one to speak up. "Come on Carl. You know him and Sarah don't want us smoking in their house. Probably because of the boy. Lets get out of here." "Okay, your right. Let's go. Lets get these glasses and bottles and move to a more suitable area," agreed the man who normally argued with everyone about everything. Ronnie grabbed the glass that they had been using as a ashtray and then asked them "We need to put that smoke detector back up there don't we?" "Leave it for now. Lets make sure the smoke clears out first and we'll get it later. That and the window. We'll just close the door behind us to let it air out until then," answered Carl. And the next thing Paul saw sickened him to his core. Carl laid his cigar on the edge of the dryer so he could grab his empty glass and one of the bottles of booze and followed the guys out of the room. Jack, it looked like, pulled the door shut behind him and the breeze of the closing door blew over the still lit stogie that was balanced over the edge of the dryer and the space between it and the wall. The cigar rocked back and forth on that edge for a second and then took the fateful fall down into the narrow gap and was gone. Carl, in his drunkenness, had forgotten all about it. Rage begin to replace the dread and anxiety he had been experiencing only moments ago. Anger as the realization of what happened that night played out in front of his eyes. Of course they had never gone back in to replace that smoke detector or to close the window. It was forgotten soon after they had left the room. And he had never gone in that room before falling asleep of the sofa after the party. The cigar had lay on the floor and smoldered until a flame was born and that flame grew and keep growing as it consumed that room and then moved up upwards to the ceiling. The ceiling which was directly below his sleeping son's bedroom. That's when the rage and the anger took over. Not caring about being seen anymore, not caring about anything anymore, he flipped up the cover of the garage door keypad and jammed the numbers that made up the code to raise the door. (Amazing, he remembered it was 6 4 3 8 2 1). As soon as the door was high enough that he could duck under he dashed in and made his way to the entrance door to the house. He turned the door handle and flew into the foyer area and barely broke his stride. The utility room door was shut, just as they had left it. Paul ran over and flung open the door and ran inside. He quickly ran over to where the dryer was (and the cigar had been) and dropped down to his hands and knees. He peered underneath the machine and there it was. Lit end down on the floor. The body held up by the wall and the side of the dryer. Small lisps of smoke already gently floating up from the lint on the floor and the linoleum starting to darken. He tried to reach back and discovered his hand was to big to get through the small gap. He jumped up and ran over and retrieved a metal coat hanger from the clothes rack by the wall and quickly untwisted the wire hanger. Pulling it out straight he ran it down the gap and knocked the smoldering cigar over on it's side and then out from beside the dryer. Paul stared down at the thing with horror and shock, like he was looking at pictures of a victim of a grisly murder. Then something inside of him took over and he began to stomp the thing that had taken the life of his wife and son and his you might as well say. His leg moved up and down with a fierce velocity until the only thing left of the murderous object was a sad pile of spent tobacco and the paper that had once held the thing together. As his leg slowed and came to a stop he slowly raised his head and looked at the open door that led to the foyer. Still seething with anger and still trying to piece together what had just happened he headed towards and out that door and into the foyer. He pulled open the door that led out into the living room and stormed in. The ladies had left the kitchen area and had joined the men in the living room. All conversation ceased as they saw the man they once knew as Paul Jenkins come striding across the room staring with a cold and calculated look that scared them all. His eyes burned as if they were on fire. His full attention was solely on Carl who was leaning against the far wall with a fresh gin and tonic and telling yet another story. The story ended abruptly as he saw Paul bounding towards him.  It was Sarah who spoke first. "Honey, whats wrong? Are you oka....." and that's all she got out before he screamed and pounced on his neighbor whom he had never liked and actually down right despised. "You killed my wife and son you S.O.B!" he screamed at the suddenly terrified man as he grabbed him and then started to plummet him with fists that held four years of pain and remorse. The drink went flying and shattered when it hit the wall.  Blood spurted from Carl Demings nose as it took it's turn shattering. Obscenities spewed out of Paul as he continued to reign down blow after blow. None of the others could move. They were to stunned and couldn't take in what they were seeing. Ronnie was the first one who snapped out of it and grabbed his old buddy. "Paul, stop it! What are you doing?" Paul seemed to not hear as the rage continued to flow from him. Good old Carl for once in his miserable life wasn't talking. His face was getting a pretty good makeover. He was not going to be a pretty sight in the morning. Soon the women started screaming. Sarah was the first one to move and ran to his side. "Paul! Quit it! Please!" Ellen was the next one beside him. "Get off my husband you animal! I'm going to call the police!" Soon after, the men regained their senses and wrestled Paul off the bloody, beaten man. It took all seven of them to pull him off and they had their hands full doing it. Paul was like a wild man. Ellen was kneeling down next to her husband, crying and cursing at Paul for what he had done. Steve Cummings, his old pal from college, slapped Paul across the face to try to calm him it down. It worked. Paul's breathing started to slow and made a attempt to return to normal. The anger and the rage was dying down. The men eased their grip on their friend. The women ran over to comfort Ellen who was still on the floor beside her husband crying. Diane ran to the downstairs bathroom to get a towel to try to soak up the blood from Carl's broken and shapeless nose. Now it was Sarah's turn to scream at Paul. "What's wrong with you? What did he do?" Hearing Sarah's voice seemed to jar him back to reality. His friends were looking at him like he was a alien or something worse. Sarah was crying. The women looked scared to death. His neighbor lay on the floor broken and bleeding. "I'm, I'm sorry. You all don't understand. He, he caused a terrible thing to happen and I can't explain it or you all will think I'm crazy." But by the looks on every ones faces they already thought that. And why not think that? He had just beat his neighbor half to death in front of all of them, pretty insane thing to do huh? It was Tom that spoke up next. "What did you mean when you said he killed your wife and son? That doesn't make any sense Paul." His mind raced for the right words. He didn't think telling the truth would be a good thing to do at this moment. Would they believe that this night was a rerun of a night four years ago? That their careless actions had caused a fire that claimed the life of his wife and son? That their deaths had almost killed him as well and for all accounts they pretty much did. And he bet they would just love the part about the old man who he ran into and had told him about the old bus stop where people could go back to fix things that needed fixing. They would love hearing about that bus that arrived to pick him up and bring him back here. The ghostly figure that drove that bus and how he was suppose to be meeting that bus in a few more hours to ride back to where he came from? No, he didn't think it would be a good time to tell the truth. It would be better to try to smooth this mishap over in a way that didn't result in him being carried away in a straitjacket by professionals in white uniforms. "Look, I'm sorry everyone. I went outside looking for you guys and I saw you all in the utility room through the window. I saw Carl's cigar fall down by the dryer and when I went in to check it out it was on the floor still smoldering and I freaked out. What I meant to say was he COULD have killed my wife and son. That's all. I overreacted. I'm sorry. Carl, Ellen, please forgive me." He started towards his neighbors but they reacted as could be expected. "Get away from us! Your crazy! You will be hearing from our lawyer about this and you'll be darn lucky if not also the police! Don't ever come near us again you lunatic!" Ellen shouted at him. She and some of the women had helped Carl to his feet and he was holding the once white towel against his face. The towel was mostly red now, bloody red. His left eye sported quite a shiner. It would be at least a week before that would start to fade. "Paul Jenkins I'll get you for this. I'm going to sue you for every dime you have." Carl managed to say through his swollen and cut lips. Paul suppressed the anger that was starting to build again. This man was responsible for the death of his wife and son but he had to control himself. He had been able to stop the fire from happening and that was the important part. His wife and son were safe. "Go to your doctor and let me have the bill. I'll take care of it. And another thing, when you speak to your attorney make sure you tell them the part about you almost burning down my house because of your reckless negligence. I think that's the term they like to use." "Come on Ellen, lets go." The two started towards the door. Sarah walked with them. "I'm so sorry you two. I'll get your platter back to you soon Ellen." "Keep it and please, just leave us alone," she answered back. "And try to get that man some help," she added as they made their way out the door. After she closed the door she turned back to the remaining party goers. Suddenly no one looked like they were in the partying mood. The night had soured. Jack and Sandy were the next ones to speak up. "Well, it's getting late. We better be going also." Tom and Karen agreed with the Thompson's. They had to be getting home also. "Hey look everybody, again, I'm sorry. I was completely out of control."  A few of them muttered some that's okays but they did it half heartily. Rick put his hand on his friends shoulder and leaned towards him. "You sure your okay buddy?""Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks," he answered back. "Hey," Rick said to him in a low voice so no one else could hear. "Good for you! I never liked that bastard anyway." Paul got a laugh out of that. "Leave it to you Rick. Thank you." "Your welcome my friend and if you need anything you know I'm right here. By the look on Diane's face I'm sure we are going to be the next ones to leave. Good luck with the little lady tonight," and with that he gave Paul a big grin. "Thanks again Rick." "You got it my friend. Diane, you ready? Lets go babe." They joined the rest of the people gathering up their belongs and making their way out of the house. The women all gave Sarah a hug and a kiss on their way out. The men gave Paul a nod and a thank you to Sarah. Steve and Jan were the last ones out of the door. "Are you sure you don't want any help cleaning up," Jan asked her friend. "No, we got it. Thanks for coming and I'm sorry tonight ended like this." "Don't worry about it Sarah. Everything will be good." "Yeah, it will all be good," Paul thought to himself. "Now it will be." Sarah closed the door behind the Cummings. Immediately she turned around to face her husband. "We need to talk." And Paul was so happy to be here to be able to talk.

     Next up is the conclusion of Bus Stop 6691

Bus Stop 6691. Time To Go

As soon as Sarah saw that the Cummings were well down the steps and heading to their car she turned to face her husband. "What was that? Whats wrong with you?" Paul squirmed, unsure which direction to proceed. "I guess I lost control Sarah. I'm sorry." "Sorry? That's all you have to say? You attack our neighbor and beat him half to death in our house and in front of all our friends and all you can say is I'm sorry? We will be darn lucky if the police don't start knocking on that door any minute now! Paul, seriously, what going on here? "I, I overreacted. That's all," Paul answered, trying to regain some credibility. It didn't seem to be working. "Look Sarah, I went outside looking for the guys and when I didn't see them out front I walked around to the back. I saw the window open, I looked in and the guys were in there smoking. That's fine, I didn't care about that but then I saw Carl put his cigar on the edge of the dryer and he walked out and left it there. It fell down beside the dryer and I ran in and grabbed it before it caught something on fire. Fortunately, nothing did but it was close! The lint was starting to smoke and there is a burnt mark on the floor! Plus, somebody had disconnected the smoke detector. Sarah, it was, I mean, it could have been a horrible tragedy." Sarah shot back, "That's still no reason to attack the man and beat him like you did. Paul you scared me. You scared all of us! If any of those people ever want to spend one minute around us again then I'll be shocked. So let me ask you one more time. Whats wrong with you?" He answered her back as calmly and cool as he could. "Nothings wrong with me hon. I love you and Tim and I just got upset when I thought that someones stupidity could result in harm to you or our son. That's it." "I don't think that is all it," Sarah came back at him with. "You've been acting strange ever since you got back from town. First off, you show up here two hours after you left to go there and you were walking. The car that you love and maintain religiously suddenly breaks down and you just leave it and walk back. You show up wearing clothes that I've never seen before. Then you start acting all weird like you haven't seen me in years. Do you want me to keep going? Have I listed enough reasons yet?" Paul didn't know which way to go or what to say in his defense. If he told her the truth she would try to have him committed. Yet on the other hand if he did tell her so what? The clock on the wall behind her head showed the time to be 10:02. His ride back to where he came from was 5 hours and 18 minutes from showing up. Naturally, she would think he had gone completely insane. But she wouldn't have much time to think that. He started to open his mouth to give her a answer. What kind of answer he wasn't sure of but he was suddenly spared from having to give it. The moment was broken by the sound of his son's voice coming from near the top of the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. "Dad, what's wrong? Paul and Sarah locked eyes and silently spoke to each other. Time to cool it for awhile. Paul turned and walked towards the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There stood his son. He could see that he had been crying. His eyes were red and Paul could still see the tear streaks on his face. "Hey Timmy. Nothings wrong. How long have you been awake?" "I woke up when you were screaming at Mr Demmings dad. What did he do so bad?" asked his son. Paul quickly scaled the steps up to where his son was standing. He knelt down to where he was eye level with the boy. "Ah son, I'm sorry I woke you up. Mr Demmings made a mistake and I overreacted, that's it. Really, I'm okay." "Are you sure daddy? I heard you screaming like you were really mad. And then all of our friends were screaming at you. Now you and mommy are fighting. I'm scared dad," Timmy told his father as fresh tears started to form in his eyes. "Come here son," Paul said as he pulled the boy tight against him. "I promise you, I'm better then Ive been in a long time. I'm okay son. You don't have anything to be afraid of. I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. Okay? Please believe me!" "Okay dad, I do," and a smile started to form and soon spread across his face. "Good son. Come on, let me tuck you in. AGAIN!' and now it was Paul's turn to smile. He reached out his hand and Timmy eagerly took it. Before walking away he turned and called out to Sarah. "Hon, I'll be back down in a few. I'm going to get Timmy back in bed." "Okay, I'm going to start cleaning up,' his wife answered back. "Come on champ," and Paul started down the hallway with his son, still clasping hands and both of them feeling much better.

   For the second time tonight Paul stepped through his son's room and pulled the door shut behind him. Timmy, seeing his dad calm, had calmed down also. Paul had helped him back in bed, tucked him in again when that old feeling of familiarly hit him head on. He had tucked in his son every night, just like this and it was a habit that had been as natural to him as breathing. In all the grief that he had felt since his death he had forgotten the small things, small things like tucking his son into bed every night, and how much they had meant to him. The little things were where the father and son bond were born and strengthened and it was supposed to be forever. Sadly, that bond was destroyed when the flames had taken his son. And he had experienced pain like no one should have to every day since. All this still seemed like a dream to him. The old man appearing to him on the street that day. The old abandoned bus stop the man had told him about. And he was still trying to comprehend in his mind WHAT exactly that thing was that had showed up to pick him up and bring him to this dimension. He had been in a daze when he stepped off that bus but he hadn't had time to reflect on it. Immediately he was thrust back into this day that he had wrote down on that slip of paper and he had been so overwhelmed with seeing his wife and son that he hadn't give the old man and bus much thought ever since. Paul quietly walked down to his bedroom and peeked inside. The lit up alarm clock on his bedside table showed 10:18 pm. The countdown was now at 5 hours and 2 minutes before he needed to be back out on the sidewalk where he was dropped off. Just as quietly, he walked inside the dark room and sat on the side of the bed. He thought about how long it would take to wake up, slip out of the bed without Sarah (hopefully) hearing him, get dressed and get outside and make it down to where he was supposed to meet his bus (if you could call it that). Didn't the old man tell him his ride back would be there 3:20 sharp and not to be late, even one minute, or he would miss the bus and be here for good and not be able to get back? Yes, Paul remembered he had. He MUST be out there at the correct time. Everything that the old man had told him that day had been true up to this point. It would be safe to assume that part would be as well. If he set it for 3 that should give him plenty of time. Maybe 2:50 would be better, just in case something happened and he needed a little more time. Maybe Sarah would be awake and not able to sleep. Maybe Timmy would wake up before that from having a bad dream. Maybe HE would wake one of them up trying to get ready to leave. He had to be prepared for anything. "Okay, 2:50 it is then," he thought to himself. With a quick click of a couple bottoms it was done. It was time to go back downstairs to check on his wife. Hopefully the interruption of their son had allowed her to cool down some and divert her thoughts to something else for the moment. He left their bedroom to go downstairs to find out.

When he got downstairs Sarah was in the middle of cleaning up the remainders of the gathering of the night. As she was filling the dishwasher with dirty plates Paul went to the pantry closet and grabbed a plastic trash bag and started filling it with empty bottles and any other trash he could find. "Sarah, again, I'm sorry. I overreacted. Please forgive me. I love you. It might take our friends a few weeks to be able to feel comfortable around me again but there good friends and I know they will. Carl and Ellen? I don't know if we'll be seeing much of them anymore. I'd guess they will write us off their friends list." And with that Sarah smiled and actually began to laugh. That smile and giggle brought Paul instant relief. He returned her smile with one of his own. Sarah walked over to her husband and brought her arms up and around his neck and clasped her hands behind him. "You know Paul, I never really liked them anyway. And all the girls thought Ellen was a stuck up witch. Maybe you did all everyone a favor. But darn boy! Next time be a little more diplomatic about it! Okay?" asked his wife. "Babe, I promise. I will." and he pulled his wife close so that her face was inches from his. Her eyes looked deeply into his and searched them, looking for something that might sound a alarm inside of her. She didn't see it. All she saw was love. Love for her. "Oh Paul, I love you," and she pulled his lips to hers and four years plus of more pain, this time the pain of losing the love of his life, disappeared as he kissed her like he had dreamed he would if ever given the chance to do so again. "Lets go to bed. We can leave the rest of this for in the morning," suggested Sarah. "Agreed," he answered. Feelings were building up quickly that he hadn't felt for along time and they felt good. As they released their grip on each other he gave that same clock on the wall a quick glance. It was 10.40. The last time he was here Sarah had gone up to bed and Paul had stayed downstairs to clean up some and ended up falling asleep watching TV. This time was going to be different. He had accomplished what he came back to do and this time he was going up with her. "Come on babe. I'm tired. Lets go up." She gave her another one of her cute smiles and took his hand. "Lets go. And we have to be quiet. We can't wake up Timmy," she replied. Then it was Paul's turn to smile as he took her hand and led her upstairs to their bedroom.

Upstairs, more waves of familiarity rolled over him. Sarah getting ready for bed. Using some type of women's facial cleaner. Removing makeup, cleaning her skin, brushing her hair. Paul, like most men, only had to brush his teeth and he was done. He lay in the bed, watching her as she went through her nightly before bed ritual. He was happy to see tonight was one of those nights where there was a little extra preparation involved. A spray of one of her better perfumes here and there, making sure she smelled special for her husband. She was wearing a silky lingerie that left little to the imagination. Soon she finished and turned out the bathroom light. "What do you think? Do you like this?" asked his wife in her best seductive voice. "Come me and let me show you how much I like it," he answered, already feeling those old stirrings inside him building. Building fast, making up for the years of dormancy that they had been in. Sarah came to the bed and laid down beside her husband. Like he had done downstairs, he took her and pulled her tightly against him. Their lips embraced again and now those stirrings had escalated into something else. Desire took over him and slowly his lips left hers and moved on to other parts. First her ear, then behind it. Her neck was next for him to explore and he covered every inch of it. Her perfume and the silky fabric against her skin only increased the rush of hormones he was experiencing. Sarah laid back and enjoyed the attention her husband was giving her. Her soft moans prodded Paul further along. This night had been a dream that he had dreamed about so many times since the fire and here he was, living out those dreams. Soon he was down at her inner thigh and it taste as good as her lips had. Sarah's moans continued but they weren't soft and quiet anymore. She reached down and pulled his head up and met his lips again. Desire took over both of them and soon he was taking her. Any doubts that he had about this night being real were lost in the moment. This was as real as any of their times together had been. They were here, together again as one. As their encounter continued Paul put his mouth over his wife's in a attempt to keep her from waking up their son who slept across the hallway from their room. It seemed to work. There was no knock on the door. No voice calling out to them. After a little while longer the very air around them seemed to join in with them as the moment exploded and ran over. Exhausted, Paul let his head come to a rest on his wife's shoulder. They both were breathing in quick gasps and he could feel Sarah's chest heaving up and down as it keep pace. After several minutes he slowly gathered himself back together and eased his way to Sarah's side. He pulled his wife in close to him. He savored the moment and didn't want it to end. Sarah must have felt the same way. She molded her soft body around his and offered no resistance to his pull. Their oneness continued as sweet sleep started to sneak up on them and unlike the nights of past Paul didn't resist. He knew his alarm was set and he knew he had a few hours to rest before it would let him know it was time to go. Soon sleep won out and Paul welcomed it with a smile.

Like before, there were dreams. Dreams like he had dreamed a thousand times. Only these dreams had different endings. First there were the dreams of his son. The two of them out in the yard playing. First with Timmy's electric car. Then in the house laying on the floor. Paul tickling his son and Timmy laughing as hard and loud as he could and then he stopped. Just like in the other dreams his eyes would widen and he stared that horrible stare at him. His clothes started to smolder, as before. But in this dream, they stopped as suddenly as they had started. Then his son's eyes softened and a small smile started to form. "Thank you Daddy for coming. I knew you would save me." said his son and just like that he was himself and the tickling and laughing started again. Then there were the dreams of Sarah. Them dating in college. Their wedding. Then the dream where they were in bed with each other and Sarah's smile turned to a stony frown and her skin started to draw up as if all the moisture in it was being sucked out right before his very eyes. That same look of concern covered her face. But then the dream took a turn like the one with his son did. Sarah's skin replenished itself and her smile returned. "Babe, you stayed. I knew I would be safe as long as you were here." his wife whispered in his ear. Even in the dream relief washed over him and he took her again and it was wonderful and sweet and full of innocence. The way his Sarah had always been.  But then the dream made a turn and went in another direction. No longer was he in bed with his wife but now he found himself standing in a vestibule of a building. A funeral parlor perhaps? He was wearing a black suit and looking out at the rows of people he saw that they all were wearing black also. This was a funeral for someone. Up front was a dark casket with flower arrangements on both sides.The lid was open but Paul couldn't see who was inside it. In that slow, dream like way he found himself starting to make his way toward the front. None of the mourners looked over at him as he slowly moved along. They were all focused straight ahead. Even though Paul was walking towards the front, the coffin didn't appear to be getting any closer. The rows of mourners went on and on. There were at least a hundred of them here, maybe even two hundred, all dressed in black and motionless. Men, women and children as well. Staring ahead, watching, and waiting. They were waiting for him. After walking for what seemed like a hour (in dream time) he finally approached the casket. Still the body was hidden from his view. Two more steps and he was right on top of it. Even in his dream he felt the grief that he had felt so strong for the last four years come exploding back up. In the coffin lay his wife. Tears that seemed so real came pouring out of him as he reached out and took hold of the casket to try to steady himself. His subconscious mind reminded him that he had already played out this scene. Except for the fact that there was no body to look at the last time. The fire had taken care of that. The real casket had contained remains. He had never gotten to see her like this. But he found no comfort in being able to. At least not in this dream. Sarah's face was gaunt. Her dark, full hair seemed thin. She looked like she had suffered much before death took her. She looked old. Nothing like the woman he had known. Then, a creaking noise stopped his crying. As he rubbed his hand over his eyes to wipe the tears away he heard it again. Then he discovered where the sound was coming from. Sarah's head was turning towards where he stood. Startled, Paul drew in a sharp breath and took a step back. Then she opened her eye's. They stared at him, no, looked towards him was a better way to describe them. They were black and soulless. When she was alive her eye's were beautiful and he could stare into them for hours. These eye's had no life in them. Looking into them sent chills down his spine. They were the eye's of the dead. Paul's slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming out and managed, somehow, to hold it in. Then the thing in the box began to speak. "Paul, where did you go? I've been looking for you. My love, why did you leave me?" The scream tried harder to escape but he held it back. With the same slowness that it took him to make his way up to his wife's coffin Sarah began to sit up. Her arms, which had been placed on each side of her and crossed over her chest, began to reach up and out towards her husband. They moved in stiff, jerky movements and her fingers opened and closed on air. "Darling, I knew you would come back. Come to me, I've been waiting for you." Now there was no holding back the scream anymore. It rushed out with a vengeance and he stepped backwards to avoid the grasping hands of the thing in front of him. His legs got tangled with themselves and he fell backwards. But instead of landing on the floor his butt fell down on a seat. A old, dirty, filthy seat. He looked around at this new place he found himself in. He recognized it immediately. He was inside the bus that had picked him up and brought him back to his wife and son. The old bus, not the new one that had arrived back to that fateful day he had requested to go to. He looked around and realized that they were moving. Driving towards somewhere. The fog and mist outside once again rolled up and over the side windows. Dim light illuminated the inside of the bus. Most likely from the street lamps outside. Maybe it was on it's way to the old bus stop? Maybe they were going to be picking up someone else who needed to go back to fix something. Paul could see from his seat the same dark, hooded figure driving the bus. He got up slowly and began to approach the thing from behind. Terror had filled him when he boarded this bus and he had been afraid to move. Now, in his dream, he found courage. The driver that had emerged after their trip back in time had no interest to him. But this strange figure did. He took slow steps towards it. If the thing knew he was behind it then it wasn't showing it. It continued to make it's way towards whatever it's destination was. Coming up completely behind the thing now Paul took a deep breath. As he exhaled he reached forward and grabbed the hood that covered the things head and snatched it back. Horrified, he once again stumbled backwards and fell back into a seat. The driver was him. The hands that gripped the wheel were still the same skeleton hands that he had seen before but it was his head and face. HE was driving the bus. As his brain worked feverishly to digest this nightmare the bus slowly came to a stop. The thing/he reached over and flicked the lever that opened the front door. The thing that looked like him slowly turned it's head and looked down at the door. Paul was looking at a cruel imitation of himself. A big smirk covered his face. His right eye looked broken and stared up into nothing and the other one rolled along lazily in its socket. Patches of hair shared space with flesh and bone on his head. But the real fright came when the passenger who was waiting stepped on the stairs and began to board the bus. It was Timmy. His son. Paul jumped up and screamed at the boy. "NOOOOOO! Timmy, get out of here!" But he was oblivious to anyone else on the bus and didn't hear Paul's warnings. The thing in the seat pointed at a box mounted on the dash and Paul watched as his son dropped eight quarters and a slip of paper into it. As it turned the switch to shut the door it threw it's head back and let out the loudest, most sinister laugh Paul had ever heard in his life. "SON, NOOOOO!"

Paul sat up in bed with a jolt and came close to screaming in real life. His heart was racing and his head was covered in sweat. He gasped for air and his breathing couldn't keep up. After a minute or so he began to get himself together. His mind had been racing trying to figure out his where abouts. It was dawning on him. He was still in bed with Sarah. Timmy was across the hall tucked in his bed. He had fallen asleep and been dreaming. And had he ever! Those were like some of the few dreams you have and you tend to remember them for the rest of the day. Maybe even a week or two. Heck he doubted he would ever forget these dreams. They had seemed so real! He gave the alarm clock next to the bed a quick glance. It was 2:45. "How about that," he thought to himself. Five minutes before the alarm was supposed to go off. He reached over and turned it off. He was thankful that he had caught it before it did and possibly wake Sarah up. Ahh, Sarah. He laid back down beside her and softly stroked her hair. She seemed to sense it and exhaled deeply and a small smile tried to form on her lips. He thought back to the day when he had the encounter with the old man that had told him about the chance of being able to go back to fix things. He had thought the man was crazy and still would have never believed and yet here he was. In bed with his wife once again. Just like things used to be. After a few more strokes of her hair he quietly eased his self out of the bed. Sarah stirred lightly but she only rolled over and found a new position to sleep in. Paul walked over to the window and opened the blinds. The moon was almost full and it was high in the sky. Soft moonlight lit up the room like a child's nightlight. "Beautiful," he thought to himself. With the soft light in the room he easily made his way across the room to the bathroom. He eased the door shut and flicked the light on. Brief pained stabbed at his eye's as the bright bathroom lights forced themselves on him. He turned the faucet on and splashed cool water up and on his face. He needed to wake up and start getting a move on it if he was going to meet the bus and be there on time. The water did the trick of washing the sleep from his eye's and clearing his head. He ran his fingers through his hair and wet it down a little. He took the comb from the drawer and ran it through his hair. "Do I need to look good for the ride back?" he amusing asked himself. "No, I don't think anyone really cares." That thought hit him like a ton of bricks. Two people cared. And those two people were right here in this house. His house. Their house. Before he came back here today no one else had cared. His friends and scattered family members said they did but no one did like the two people here did. The ride back here had been a success. He had accomplished what he came here to do. The fire was prevented. His wife and son were alive. He had been reunited with them. But now what? What would be waiting for him when he got back to where he had left from? Would Sarah and Timmy be there? He supposed they would be. Four years older maybe, like he was? Or would they somehow jump ahead to the present time that he had come from. Actually thinking about it like this, did he even WANT to go back to where he was? Those four years had been devastating for him. What if he went back and Sarah and Timmy were there and everything was normal for them but he had still lost four years of his life. Something else to consider was the dreams he had just experienced. Sarah dead, asking him why he had left her. Timmy getting on the very bus that had brought him here and HE was the one driving it. What it he went back and then something else happened to his wife or son before the date that he had left to come here? Suddenly it seemed like the biggest risk of his life was to get back on that bus to go home. Home brought more thoughts. THIS was his home. With Sarah and Timmy. If he stayed he would be with them and they were his life. But then the image of the old man out on the street invaded his thoughts. "Don't be late to meet the bus to come back home Paul Jenkins of you'll be stuck there forever." is what the old man had told him. He ran the comb through his hair again, confused to what he should do. He placed the comb down on the counter and turned the light off. He slipped out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed. The clock read 3:01. "Still plenty of time to do this," he thought to himself. He leaned down and kissed Sarah gently on her forehead. Gosh how he loved her. If he went back she just had to be there. He had almost died when he lost her before. He couldn't stand losing her again. He slipped up off the bed and opened the bedroom door. He silently made his way over to Timmy's room. He eased open the door. Timmy's nightlight was on. Just like always. He quietly made his way over to the boys bed and sat down next to him. He leaned down and kissed his forehead as well. His son. His love for him was as great as it was for Sarah. Losing him had probably hurt even more just for the fact that he was young and had yet to really experience life. He rubbed his hand over Timmy's check. As he did so Timmy stirred. "Daddy? Are you okay? What's wrong? "Nothings wrong son. Just came in to kiss you goodnight. That's all." "Okay Dad. I'm glad you woke me though," said Timmy. "Oh yeah? Whys that?" asked Paul. "I was having a scary dream. I was dreaming that I was in the city late at night all by myself and I was waiting for somebody to come pick me up. I don't know who but I was really scared." Paul's blood ran cold when his son said those words. He didn't know what to say. He could only stare at the boy. "Daddy, what's wrong? You don't look like you feel good. Are you sure your okay?" I'm, I'm, I'm fine son. Get to sleep now. It was only a bad dream. Good night, I love you," and he gave his son another kiss. "I'll see you in the morning." "Okay, I love you to Dad." Paul forced his legs to work enough to get him standing and then made his way out of his son's bedroom.

Paul leaned against his bedroom door after returning to his room. He had made up his mind. He was going to stay. It was just to risky to leave. Now especially, after the nightmares. And why would his son have the same dream that he had just had. It was like someone was telling him something. He had been given a second chance to come back and take care of things. He had done that. His wife and son was safe. But what if something else happened to them between now and the time that he had left to come here? There might not be another chance after this night. Plus, if he stayed he could get those four years back that he had spent alone. The four years that he had spent mourning their deaths had been agony. He never wanted to go through that again. He wouldn't go through that again. The alarm clock now read 3:10. Ten minutes and the bus would be out there down the street waiting to pick up it's passenger that it had dropped off here. Only there wouldn't be anyone to pick up. He walked over to the window and looked out over the front yard and street. The moon was glowing orange and it's light cast eerie shadows that danced in the night air. Maybe the bus would wait a few minutes in case he was running late? Maybe it would roll through and not even stop if there was no one there waiting to be picked up. Either way, he was happy with his decision. They would have a wonderful life together and he would be a new man. He would appreciate the little things that he had taken for granted from now on. Tomorrow he would wake up with his wife in his arms and later on he would take his son to his birthday party. Maybe the three of them could go together. He would see that they did. He walked back over to his side of the bed and crawled in next to Sarah. The clock showed 3:15. Paul pulled close to Sarah. She was even more beautiful when she slept. He reached out with his hand and stroked her hair gently. Two more minutes passed by. He stared at her and remembered the dreams. For so long he had been visited by the dreams of her and his son. Beautiful dreams that turned ugly at the end. They would be over after tonight. All good dreams with good endings after tonight. He turned his head around to look at the clock. 3:19. He had the urge to get out of bed and go to the window. When the clock hit 3:20 he wanted to be looking outside. Maybe he would see the bus going by, maybe not. As he watched the clock it finally hit the magic time. 3:20. He looked at the window and peered as hard as he could down the street towards where the bus had dropped him off. Nothing appeared at of the ordinary. The moon still cast it's light out over the street and houses. No fog, no dirty headlights, no anything. "Well, time to start fresh," he thought to himself. As he turned to head back to the bed the clock switched to 3:21. And right away he noticed it. The alarm clock had been castings it bright green electronic light out over the bedroom but now it was different. Not as bright, dimmer. Matter of fact, the whole room looked dimmer. He turned back to the window and looked out over the yard. It was different as well. The moon was still high in the sky. But it's light was dull. The dancing shadows were gone. The light wasn't bright enough to make shadows anymore. Starting to feel slightly uneasy, he walked over to his bed. Sarah was there and she was still in a deep sleep. But even she didn't look right. He couldn't describe it. It was just the way she looked. Empty, transparent almost. He quickly sat next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. It sank down inside of it. "Sarah!" he said, no screamed, at her. "Wake up!" She didn't. He turned frantically to check the time. 3:22. Now the room surrounding him WAS darker. The things in it had the same look as his wife did. They were there. But at the same time they weren't. It was like they had become images instead. He jumped up and his son raced into his brain. "Timmy!" he thought and snatched open his door and ran across the hall. He burst into his son's room and it had that same dull, grainy look. He flew across the room and nearly jumped on Timmy's bed. He also was still asleep "Timmy! Wake up son!" and he reached out to the boy to shake him awake and now panic and fear took over him completely. Both hands went right through the boy and the adrenaline that was pulsing through his body pushed them down in the mattress that his son rested on. Paul stood up and took two steps back. He felt paralyzed. What was happening? A quick look around him showed him that his son's room had the same look that his bedroom had. Furniture that had once been in the room now looked more like picture. Old pictures. This was Timmy's bedroom but it was disappearing. Right in front of his eye's. Now with panic and fear in complete control he bounded back out and headed towards his room. The clock showed 3:25. Barely showed it. The light was almost out. He had to strain his eye's to see the time. Five minutes since he should have left. A thought entered his mind and he ran in the bathroom. He slapped the switch to turn on the light and it did but it wasn't the same light as it had been. The bulbs came on but it was more like candle light then incandescent light. Still it was enough to see himself. He didn't look like his surroundings. He hit himself and slapped his chest. He was still here. His hands didn't sink into his body like they had his wife's and son's. He ran back out in the bedroom and it was even duller now. The room was almost completely dark. One more look at the clock showed it move to 3:26. Then it went out completely. "No, no, no it can't be. Please don't let this be happening!" A understanding began to creep in his head. He had stayed and the past was moving forward. Only it wasn't taking him. He was being left behind. He had been out of place here. Really only a visitor. This world was moving towards the place he had left. But he wasn't making the trip. He was stuck here. Alone. Now their was hardly any light at all coming in from the window. The room was almost completely dark. As any trace of normal thinking was pushed out of his head by the incoming rush of fear he ran out of the room and headed for the stairs. When he got to them he almost fell head first down them. He managed to stay upright somehow and descended them in three leaps. He bolted for the front door. Maybe he could still catch the bus and get back home. Before it was to late. He flung open the door and ran out as fast as he could. Outside was more of the same. It looked like he was in the middle of a big picture. Nothing out here looked real. Just images. And they were fading fast too. He sprinted down the street and almost started laughing as he realized he was running with nothing on except his underwear. What if the neighbors woke up and saw him? They would really think he had lost his mind. And guess what? They would be right. Still running as fast as his rubbery legs would carry him, he started to slow as he had some hope creep in. Up the street where the bus had dropped him off was that big, rolling mass of fog and mist. "Is it possible it's still here waiting for me?" he thought out loud to himself? Then he did start laughing out loud. "It's here! It waited for me! I'm not to late!" He ran some more and the brief hope he had felt was soon snuffed out. He ran into the mist and the fog but there was nothing inside it. The bus was gone. And any hope he had of returning back had gone with it. The laughing started again as the last part of his sanity was lost and he laughed louder as he thought of what had happened. He had come back to save his wife and son and in the process he had lost himself. They would live. But not with him. In a moment the mist and fog dissipated and the whole world around him was barely visible. As his laughs turned to screams the last light around him died out. Everything was gone. And so was Paul Jenkins.

                                                                EPILOGUE

The yellow cab pulled up to the corner of Bryn Mawr and Windsor Park. It was late at night and the cab was the only vehicle around. The back door opened and a young, tall man exited the car. He walked up to the drivers window. The driver rolled down his window and looked around nervously. He hadn't wanted to come out here but the amount that the man had offered to pay was enough to calm his nerves enough to get him to agree. Twenty one year old Tim Jenkins pulled out his wallet and removed a large sum of cash. "Here and thanks a lot. Here's a extra twenty as well. If you come back here at 12:15 and I'm still here then I'll pay you double to take me back. If I'm not here then you will know that I found another ride." "Okay mon but I still say your crazy for wanting to come out here. They say this place is cursed." answered the cabbie. Then he grabbed the money and took off, leaving the tall man alone on the corner. Tim Jenkins couldn't believe he was really out here. He was normally a reasonable thinking man. At least now he was a reasonable thinking man. It had taken him a long time to get over his fathers disappearance. He was seven years old when his dad had left and it had devastated him and his mom. His mom never did recover after his dad left. At first she refused to believe he would stay away for long. They had awaken the next day after that party and his father had simply disappeared. His wallet was on the dresser. All his identification and credit cards were in it. Their luggage was still in the closet. Nothing missing. All his clothes still folded and put away. No note, no explanation, no nothing. They had called the police. They found his car at the grocery store parking lot that he had gone to that afternoon. Paul had told his mother that it had broke down on the way home and he had walked the rest of the way so they were surprised to find it where they did. Still, there were no signs of foul play in or on it. The police even questioned Carl Demmings after they heard about the violent outburst from Paul the night of the party. Carl assured them that he was home that evening trying to stop the bleeding from his nose and that Paul was lucky that he hadn't called the police himself. His wife Ellen verified his story so they had ruled Carl out as a suspect. They put up posters and offered rewards but it was like he had vanished into thin air. His mother never did recover from the loss. She always held out hope that one day he would return to her, to them. She slowly withdrew from the things that she used to love. She cut off communication with her friends and family after they had tried to coax her along to the fact that she would probably never see her husband again. Every time the phone would ring or the doorbell rang she would jump up and her face would light up with hope but it always ended in disappointment. As the years went by she grew weaker and frailer. She just seemed to give up on life. Her health deteriorated to the point where she couldn't take care of her son anymore. Sarah's sister Kathy and her husband Gary offered to take Timmy in and care for him until Sarah got better. She never did. Two years after that she collapsed one day out at the mailbox and Rick from next door called 911. They rushed her to the hospital. They doctors were shocked to see how thin and frail she was. They discovered she hadn't been eating. The doctors did all they could do for her but she was just to sick to help. And she had lost her will to live. Three days later Sarah Jenkins died of a broken heart at the age of 35. Five years after her husband had vanished. Tim had taken his dads disappearance bad enough but after his mom's death he nearly lost it. He was twelve years old and it took a lot of counselling and therapy for him to get through his losses. Night times was the worse. At night, almost every night, the dreams would come. Him a little boy again, playing with his dad. Or the three of them out in the yard playing or around the dinner table. It was hard but kids have a way of bouncing back. Sometimes even better then grown ups do. His aunt Karen and uncle Gary tried their best to give him a loving, normal home and they had. He loved them for being there for him when his parents weren't. He shook his head and returned his thoughts back to the present. He couldn't believe he was really out here. He wouldn't be out here if the old man hadn't been so convincing. He thought back to their encounter. He was running his morning jog and like always he cut through Brysons Park on his way to the walking and biking trail that ran along the Chicago river. He had seen the man lying on the side of the trail way before he got close to him. Other joggers in front of him slowed to look but pasted by the man. When Tim got close to him he could see why. The man was obviously homeless. His clothes were grimy and dirty. His hair was worn and tattered. He looked like he hadn't seen a shower in years. He had fallen down and seemed to be in pain. He moaned and grimaced as he tried to get up. He didn't look like the kind of person you really wanted to be grabbing and pulling on. Still, he had stopped to help the man. He couldn't just leave the guy there. He had reached out his hand and the old man had taken it. Tim pulled with all his strength and helped the man to his feet. He gave him a smile that showed decayed teeth that hadn't fared much better then his hair over the years. "Thank you Tim. Or should I say Timmy," said the old man. "How, how, how do you know my name?" Tim had asked the old man. "Lets just say I know things. You stopped and helped me and I'm most grateful for that. Now I want to help you." the old man replied. Tim, suddenly feeling uneasy, held up his hand. "Hey, keep your money. I don't want it." "I don't have money to give you Timmy but I have something else even better. How would you like the chance to go back and keep your dad from leaving and then your mom from dying? I can tell you how." Tim's eyes had grown wide with shock when he heard the man say that. "How do you know that about me?" Tim had asked the man. "Oh, lets just say I have a way of knowing these things. Listen and listen good. You must follow my exact instructions." And now here he was. Standing on this street corner by this deserted bus stop. Here before twelve midnight. Waiting for a mystery bus that will take him to his destination. He had eight quarters (exact change) and a slip of paper in his pocket. The paper had his old address on it and it was dated for fourteen years back. Back when he was a seven year old boy and his dad hadn't left and his mom was still alive and they were a happy family. The man had told him that he had twelve hours to fix things and he must come back not a minute later. But secretly, he had thought, if this works and he sees his mom and dad again well who knows, he might just stay.