CAUTION! THIS IS A LEGACY VERSION WHICH HAS NOT BEEN REVISED OR UPDATED SINCE March 2019.
THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF JERICHO TIBBS!
Concept date: 3rd November, 2016
First published: 22nd February, 2017Status: COMPLETED.
Version: STANDARD.
Age Recommendation: 12+
Average Reading Time: Approximately 25 Minutes.
Revisions: 3. [Last Edit: March 2019]
Angel-in-charge: Margret
Team Assigned: Team 74
Human Time: 1990AD-1410AH Mission: 147733 - 1 - 2013
The shocked passer-byes, local residents and motorists had formed a large broken circle about the vehicle. It's engine now silent, door hanging open, windscreen glass scattered about the wet oily road, coloured a vivid red from released blood.
Some turned away from the awful scene to watch the Ambulance arrive, the crew decamping at speed, following a sturdy young fire-woman who was shouting and gesturing at the vehicle, where three of her colleagues, sweating and cursing, had managed to jack the front of the shattered vehicle up, just enough for one to crawl under.
“She's alive! Sweet Jesus, she's alive!” He shouted with real emotion in his voice, the little girl gripped his hands and gently he pulled her from the clinging arms of the old man, who's still body appeared to have become one with the metal; flesh and steel seemed indistinguishable. The road was covered with oil, screen-wash, and radiator fluid - liquids from the dead engine and puddles of bright red blood from the dead old man, who now seemed to have vanished as a human; becoming one with the iron and liquid.
Whilst the crowd cheered and clapped, the ambulance-man wrapped the shocked little girl in a blanket and placed her on the stretcher, her sobbing mother, almost staggering with a mixture of disbelief and sheer joy, gripped her tightly and thanked everyone from God to St. Christopher.
Then she saw the broken legs protruding from the wreck and whispered: "Oh God, thank you for him, thank you, thank you......”
The mother and daughter were taken to the ambulance, the fire officer and the young constable exchanged glances. “Dead.” The fireman said simply and the constable nodded – the old man was gone - his life over in seconds, terminated by a foolish young driver, speeding down a quiet residential road who only the saw the child running after her ball when she was in front of him. Then the figure, jumping from the kerbside, the bright coloured plastic shopping bags falling from his hands, then the old man before the car, wrapping the child into his arms.
The driver kept repeating that the old man turned and looked at him, as if he knew he couldn't run or turn away. The old man knew he was dead before the vehicle crushed the life from his body with screaming tyres, bending steel, snapping plastic, shattering class and then, a terrible silence for an eternity. By nightfall, the scene was now quiet while methodical Police Officers made notes, measured skid marks and had photographs taken.
They believed the road could be open again, in just a few hours. The old man’s body had been removed to the local morgue and enquiries where in hand to try and identify him. They had little to go on, he carried no wallet, just a few pound coins and other loose change, a couple of keys on a ‘Bugs Bunny’ key-ring and a rolled up, blood soaked copy of the local paper.
None of the witnesses or local residents that gave statements professed to know him, though a couple of pensioners had stated that they had seen him about the place, but never had spoken to him. The Traffic Police Inspector sighed; this one could be a real problem and the media was all over the case, upon hearing how the old man died, they wanted to proclaim their hero in tomorrow’s edition and they wanted answers now.
The old man sat down on the steps of the local hall and watched the scene unfold before him, the happy child, the speeding car, the little red ball bouncing from the kerb into the road, the plastic carrier bags thrown down, and the sudden and brutal transformation from life to death on a beautiful sunny afternoon.
He looked up at the tall young man, who smiled at him and said; “Hello Solomon, I’m Herbert, but nearly everyone calls me ‘Herbie’ – well, except the boss, she always calls me Herbert. i'm sorry Solomon, but I can't take you, I've put a call in for a Temporal Detective to attend. You see, I have the little girl in my Soul ledger for today; not you. Yes, this is all wrong my friend. Your name was in my Ledger, but for October 1942, not today!” He spoke softly and then slapped the small black book shut with an amused look upon his face. "You see Solomon, you should have been collected many years ago - but your Soul failed to show up!" Herbert added and stopped smiling.
“I don’t understand, I am dead, am I not?” The old man spoke quietly and touched the young man’s hand, he really didn’t understand what had happened, but he knew he was dead, so how could he be sitting here, talking to this friendly young man, who dressed like an Edwardian Book-keeper!
Herbert nodded and gripped the old man’s hand; “You certainly are dead now Solomon!” There was a quiet glow of pure white light and that’s when the young woman joined them; Solomon stood up and smiled at her, holding out his hand. She gripped it quite tightly for a woman he thought, and she nodded agreeably, with a wonderful big smile upon her pretty face.
"This is Temporal Detective Alex Cappanni." Herbert said quietly and folded his arms. “Hello Solomon!” She exclaimed with real affection in her soft voice and touched his shoulder; “Well Solomon, we really need to sort this one out, don’t we!” She added and pushed her fingers through her long dark hair; “May I ask how you knew to be here today at this time? I’ve seen the record of this time and you are not present because you died in October 1942 and somehow, your Soul avoided collection.”
"You are already dead Solomon, you died in 1942. But your soul was not collected; so how did you get to 1990?" The Detective tapped his mirror; "The dead do not dream and they certainly don't pop up some 48 years later; alive and kicking without something being terribly wrong."
"I have dealt with several cases similar to your own; people that appeared in the wrong time and place, in the future or the past and did or attempted to change the Current Time line." Jericho sighed and glanced at Alex, who was checking her mirror. He turned back to Solomon and asked quietly; "Where were you for 48 years?"
Solomon looked at his feet and folded his arms; "I'm a Janitor at the Town Hall and I don't really know what your saying, I was walking back from the shops and suddenly realised that my dream was unfolding before my eyes." He placed both hands on his sides and glanced at Alex's breasts again.
"OK, what did you buy at the shops; what was in your shopping bags Solomon?" Alex asked with a diminishing smile and clasped her elegant hands together; Solomon could see her glistening silver finger-nails and slender fingers, wrapped around her 'mirror'.
"I don't know, I can't remember what I bought. The accident must have swept it from my memory, sorry." Solomon muttered, gripping his hands together.
There was a silence for a few seconds between them. "You have changed the Human Time Line and not for the best - the Time Line must be restored so I think we need to investigate further.” Jericho finally spoke and pulled his mirror out.
The Collector watched as the two Temporal Detectives and Mr. Solomon Schmidt simply vanished. Herbert the Collector whispered; "Good luck my friend." He opened his Soul-ledger and noticed that the old man's entry had been replaced by a single line; '147733 - 3 - 2013 TIBBS.' The matter was now in the hands of Temporal Detectives. He sighed and checked the next collection; May 18th 1671 and a certain Ivan Smirnoff, who was currently being tortured to death in a Moscow prison. He was eighteen years old and had been accused of stealing chickens from a local land owner. Herbie was to collect his soul and it would be processed.
No living humans had seen Solomon' soul talking with the Collector or the temporal detectives and no human time had passed during the conversations.
The lighthouse was still and looked quite peaceful in the late evening sunshine and haze, the waves of an almost calm sea slapped against the rocks below and several seagulls dived and swooped in the light blue sky in strange silence. Far beyond Heaven's Edge Bay, Arthur/Solomon could see the three masts of a large sailing ship, under full sail, heading North towards the horizon.
The loose gravel of the pathway crunched and shifted under his boots as he followed Mr. Tibbs towards the Lighthouse, which seemed to grow at their approach. Detective Cappanni gestured towards the imposing building and spoke directly to Solomon; "The lighthouse was built and commissioned in the 1870's, but the crew of three Keepers were removed in the 1980's when the place was automated. Now it's the home of Mr. Tibbs and the local office of the Temporal Detection Directorate. Just out of interest, the current year is 1901 and it always remains that year because the passing of time doesn't matter here."
Solomon adjusted his tight collar and shielding his eyes from the bright sun with his hand asked; "but if its 1901, the Keepers would still be here?" He said and saw Mr. Tibbs glance over his shoulder and noticed the look that passed between him and Detective Cappanni, who answered; "That's very clever Solomon and well reasoned, but there are no human Keepers presently here that can see or hear us. Our entire existence here is happening in a millisecond, we operate on God's time - not human time."
Solomon nodded; "And God's seconds are a lot longer than ours!" and smiled. Mr. Tibbs stopped walking and turned slightly, looking at Solomon with an odd expression; "Quite so, we could exist here for a century and only a few seconds would have passed in God's time: the humans who inhabit the lighthouse will never see or hear us, we're on a very different frequency to them." Mr. Tibbs turned his back and started to walk to the lighthouse again.
Detective Cappanni whispered to Solomon; "That's not quite right, in the year 2026 a family moved into the lighthouse and it became a family home. The couple were wealthy, they refurbished the place. But they had a young daughter; Emma, who was about six years old - she could see and hear us. We all had little chat's with her; she seemed so lonely with no other children to play with. Even Mr. Tibbs played catch with her!"
Solomon laughed quietly to himself and asked; "What became of the little girl?"
Alex sighed and smiled; "When she grew up, she wrote a best selling book about her ghostly friends from past times and it became a hit moving picture called 'The Ghosts of Heaven's Edge Bay.' I understand Mr. Tibbs had some explaining owed to Angel Margret, but nothing came of it." Detective Cappanni grinned, then shouted out; "Hello Mr. Harris!" she waved to the impressive figure who had appeared in the doorway of the lighthouse.
Harris was a big man, well over six feet in height and clearly knew his way around a gym, he was dressed immaculately in a three piece suit with polished shoes and clean white gloves. When you looked at Mr. Harris you were always impressed.
That's when he saw the nervous looking young man in an ill-fitting suit, by the staircase, gripping a brown folder and smiling. "That's Acting Detective Owen Jones, he's already been working on your case Solomon." Alex stated, watching the look of surprise pass over Solomon's face; "I know he doesn't look much like a Detective, but he has a very sharp mind and I think he's waiting to see Mr. Tibbs."
Harris ushered the small group into the front reception room and served whisky and brandy; for those wanting it. Alex Cappanni sipped a small brandy with great elegance and Solomon sat upright in one of the large leather chairs clutching his whisky class. Young Owen Jones also took a whisky and much to Solomon's surprise downed it in one and received a fresh class from the ever attentive Mr. Harris. "That's better, it tastes far nicer here than amongst the living." Owen smiled directly at Solomon and raised his glass, adding; "Here's to the dead; who know and to the living; who think they know."
Solomon raised his glass to return the salutation and sipped the whisky very slowly. He could see Mr. Tibbs, relaxing in a similar chair, but this one was worn about the arms and back cushion - he wondered about the hours Tibbs must have spent in the chair; thinking about his latest case?
Then another joined the group, following Harris into the room and accepting a large brandy glass from him. It was Jericho's deputy; Temporal Detective Sergeant Wilson Franklyn, just back from the land of the living. Solomon was impressed; Wilson Franklyn was equal in statue to Mr. Harris and dressed in an orange and white 1970's suit with wide flared trousers. Wilson had an 'Afro' hair style that could hide several bird nests and sideburns that easily could be mistaken as hedgerows!
The big man sipped his brandy and smiled broadly; "Alex my baby! little Lady Alex!" He bent down and kissed Alex on the forehead; "Hell girl, your hotter than the Devil's hair tongs!" He dropped into the chair opposite Solomon and pulled a brown folder from his jacket and placed it on the small coffee table at his side. "Beauty and brains in one neat package!" He added grinning, then poured the brandy down his neck in one hit.
Solomon said quietly to Owen; "Why did Mr. Franklyn call Miss Alex: Lady Alex?"
Owen smiled and gestured towards Alex; "That's because she is a real Lady; Detective Alex was married to an Italian Count [that's the equivalent of an Earl in British aristocracy] she was the 23rd Countess of Cappanni. She was married to Henri, the 16th Count and her son Phillipe was the 17th Count of Cappanni and her descendants are still Counts there."
Solomon nodded to Wilson Franklyn who was talking to Mr. Tibbs and asked Owen; "Now he is some character, was he a footballer?" Owen actually laughed out loud and shook his head; "The sergeant was actually a real detective in the seventies New York Police Department, so he knows his way around an investigation." Owen swallowed down his whisky and stood up because Mr. Harris had announced lunch and the group filed into the dinning room, welcomed by the smell of hot food and the House Maid; Miss Ruth Hall.
There was silence for a while and the group exchanged glances between themselves until Solomon coughed quietly and spoke, looking down at the clean white table cloth; “I really didn’t have any choice in the matter Mr. Tibbs.” He looked up and all could see the tears that rolled down the pained expression upon his pale face. He coughed again and choked back the tears, wiping his face with the napkin.
“Please continue Solomon.” Alex said gently and placed her wine glass upon the table – Mr. Tibbs lent back in his chair with no expression upon his face. “Yes, please carry on with your story Solomon.” He said and nodded to Owen who produced his little black notebook from his jacket pocket; “Owen will record all you have to say.”
Solomon took a deep breath and gripped his trembling hands together, he looked about the Dining Room and then his eyes rested upon Mr. Tibbs who sat hand on chin, ready to listen.
“I first met the strange old man in a back street of our little town one wet night. I was panting with fear, running from several Nazi thugs who really wanted to beat me with clubs and sticks because I had taken off the ‘Star of David’ from my jacket – it had worked before, but not that night; one of the younger boys had recognised me and called out my name with real hatred and anger: “Fuck! It’s Solomon Schmidt! The slimy Jewish pig is trying to pass himself off as a real German!” They came after me and I knew my fate if they caught me; I ran like the wind, looking for a place to hide, I ran down a little alley way and to my utter horror found it was a dead end. I was trapped and when I turned, the group had appeared in the entrance; they were laughing and shouting and I knew I was dead. As they approached, I was begging and screaming for my life – I pissed myself with fear and that seemed to edge them on. They surrounded me and the beating started. I tried rolling myself into a small ball; but I could still feel the blows.”
Solomon used the napkin to wipe his face again and with a trembling hand sipped some more wine. “What year was this?” Mr. Tibbs asked; again with no emotion showing on his face.
"It was October 1942 I think. I was only seventeen at the time and living alone in a single room, within a tenement slum in the new Jewish Ghetto. I had left the Ghetto to buy or trade for food, that’s why I took off the Star. It had worked before and I had passed unnoticed, until that boy recognised me. I had been friends with his older brother until he was killed in the invasion of Poland. I had no family, my parents were both dead – they died in a typhoid outbreak in 1938 which left me alone. Any family I had was very distant and I knew none of them. But I made my living by singing in café’s and clubs. Everyone said I had the voice of an angel; a real gift from God.”
Solomon slumped back in his chair, the emotion of the memories he had invoked overcame him for a short time and he sat head in hands until Mr. Tibbs spoke again; “The strange old man, what happened with him?”
Solomon sat bolt upright and wiped his face again, he took a deep breath and swallowed down his wine; having his glass topped up by Mr. Harris who was standing just behind Solomon’s chair. He looked directly at Mr. Tibbs and quietly continued his story;
“I was lying on the filthy wet road covered in rain and my own piss and blood. I just wanted it to end; the pain and terror to go away. I prayed to God so hard. Then the beating stopped, I could hear them whispering and swearing; they were backing away from me and suddenly, they started to run and I watched them disappear from the alley, throwing down their sticks and clubs. I turned my head and wiped blood from my eyes and face; that’s when I saw him standing over me. The old man was dressed like a doctor from the last century and carried a silver and wood walking stick with a Boar’s head handle. He wiped his glasses with a white hankie and offered it, telling me to clean myself up.”
“Such a strangely dressed old man would have been known around a small district in those days. An eccentric figure like him would have been subject to rumour and gossip surely?” Asked Alex. “What had you heard about him?” She added, sipping her wine and adjusting the chair.
Solomon ran his fingers through his short hair and breathing deeply, whispered; “if I knew then, what I know about him now; I would have wished the fucking Nazi’s had beaten me to death.”
There was silence in the Dining room and Mr. Tibbs said simply; “Please tell us about the old strange man.” Solomon looked up at the ceiling and then back to Mr. Tibbs. He continued;
“I had heard of him; the stories, the gossip, the rumours – the fear. But I just dismissed them as rubbish, I was a stupid young man whose life he had just saved and I was so very grateful. He cleaned me up, dressed my wounds and gave me vodka to ease the pain. He had rooms above the Italian Laundry in Hindenburgstrassa. The place was filled with strange antiques, books and manuscripts. He told me that he was a Professor of Mathematics’ and once had worked with Albert Einstein, but his real passion was the supernatural. I should have run screaming from there, but the Police were everywhere; looking for the stupid young Jew who had defied the Nazi’s and so I was trapped. Just like in that damn alley – except this was worse; far worse.”
Solomon slumped in his chair and struggled to speak; the emotion of those memories swept over him and he sobbed for some minutes, until Alex pushed a fresh glass of wine into his hands and he swallowed it down. Composing himself yet again, Solomon continued his story;
“I could not leave the apartment and the old man worked on me to join in his little experiment. After hiding for almost a week in sheer fear of discovery and transportation to a concentration camp, I agreed to help him – God have mercy on me, but I had no choice. He practised Black Magic and admitted to being a minion of the Devil and for a small sacrifice; I could escape from this hell hole and live in freedom and peace, in a place of my choosing. Totally desperate; I agreed.”
Solomon struggled to sit straight and finished his wine slowly. Then shrugging his shoulders in a sign of capitulation, he finished the story;
“The old man was Professor Wolfgang Leitcher, who admitted that he had been born in Saxony, in the year 1764 and thus he was actually 178 years old and had been granted certain powers by the Devil himself. He used them to spirit me away to the year 1990 and a quiet town in England. But upon arrival, I found that I had aged to match the year; I was an old man of 65. I knew he had allowed that to happen; to ensure that I carried out his plan. If I wanted to return to my Country and my youth; I had to die in the future to save it.”
“What was his plan?” Mr. Tibbs asked quietly, now concerned about what had taken place – little wonder ‘old Solomon Schmidt’ didn’t exist in 1990 because he should have died in 1942 and been collected then. This was a ‘lost’ soul and involved with a powerful minion of the Dark One, Jericho knew he needed to proceed with caution now.
“It was to save a little girl who was important to his Master; I don’t know why she is – sorry.”
“The purpose of all this must be to allow one of her descendants to be born; so that they can serve him. But that person must be really important to the Dark prince – why?” Alex spoke directly to Mr. Tibbs, who sat with a grim expression upon his face.
A few seconds in total silence passed and Jericho rose from his chair and said quietly; “For what some people call an Antichrist, but we call a Dark Angel in human form."
Jericho turned to Solomon and explained that; by mutual agreement, both dark and light angels were forbidden to enter the realm of mortal man. But the 'Dark One' did try to sneak one through, now and again' by having it born to a mortal woman. Such a creature could easily destroy the careful balance struck between light and dark forces - the result would be Armageddon. He further explained that was the reason, for using humans to police the Time-Line; it reduced the chance that light and dark angels could meet and clash - hence Temporal Detectives, Collectors, Guardians and Knights were all once human.
"I need to report this matter to Angel Margret." He said simply and excused himself from the room, where the meal continued in relative silence - Solomon ate nothing, he just sat quietly, staring at the fireplace.
Jericho finished talking to Angel Margret and returned to the Dining Room where the sad Solomon Schmidt sat at the table – head in hands. “Wilson and Owen, you get back to the incident with the child and make sure that she meets her departure on time; Herbie the Collector will be in attendance to scoop her up. Meanwhile, Alex and I are heading for Germany to ensure that young Mr. Solomon Schmidt meets the correct time and date of his scheduled departure.” Jericho spoke with some authority and Owen with Wilson following headed for the ‘Light-Room’ and prepared to jump to 1990.
“Solomon are you ready?” Alex asked the young man, who raised his head and nodded; “Does this mean I have to be killed on that morning? – I don’t think that I can face that Miss.” Jericho patted his shoulder and said quietly; ”It’s necessary to have you collected at your true point of departure and that means those bastards will have to kill you. You won’t feel anything; it will be like watching a film clip, the Collector will do his job and your soul will be processed correctly.”
“What about the Professor?” Solomon asked nervously; “I really don’t want to meet him again.” Jericho and Alex smiled, she spoke quietly; “Mr. Tibbs and I will be there and we will deal with Wolfgang – if he shows up.”
The three made their way to the ‘Light-Room’ and simply walked into the bright light and they were gone.
Jericho wrapped his long dark coat about himself and adjusted his hat, glancing across at Alex who was adjusting her scarf as the snow flurries swept about the odd looking pair. They made their way down NebrisskiStrazza towards the little back alley where they knew ‘Arthur Smith/Solomon Schmidt’ would have just run into. Young Solomon let the tears run down his face – he was home again and the emotion swelled up and overcame him. He staggered a little and when Alex placed her hand upon his arm, he straightened up and whispered; "I can do this.”
“I should have guessed it would be snowing, it is October after all.” Alex called out, her boots crunching upon the hardened snow as they approached the alley entrance. Jericho gestured towards the group of boys and young men running into the alleyway. They wore Nazi armbands and carried clubs and sticks – they were hunting Jews and screaming with delight; they had one cornered.
“That’s them.” Solomon fell to his knees in the snow and started to pray. Both Jericho and Alex placed a hand upon his shoulders and watched the gang enter the alleyway.
The living humans could not see or hear the pair of Temporal Detectives [if they didn’t wish it so] and thus, the Time-Sequence played itself out according to the record already in existence.
Alex and Jericho watched without emotion as the seventeen year old boy was beaten to death before their eyes. Professor Wolfgang Leitcher did not make an appearance and the gang, panting and sweating from their exertions made their way from the dirty little alley in high spirits.
“Some of them are Dutch!” Alex sounded quite astonished as the group passed by; “Yes, Dutch Nazi’s, probably worse than the real thing.” Jericho commented whilst examining the young Solomon Schmidt’s battered corpse, slowly being covered by quite heavy snow. That’s when Alex saw the young man standing by the shop doorway – it was Herbert; the Collector. He was tapping his ‘Soul Ledger’ against the up turned palm of his right hand.
“Hello Miss Alex, I see he’s shown up this time.” Herbert pointed to the snow covered body and shrugged his shoulders. Alex turned to Jericho, who stepped away from the body and consulted his mirror, saying; “Please check your ledger Herbert; who should have been collected here?”
The Collector snapped open his book and read the name out loud; “Solomon Schmidt.” He said simply and closed the little notebook. Jericho was now ruffling through the pockets of the dead man and pulled some bloodstained papers from its coat pocket. “Solomon Schmidt’s Identity card and a ‘Star of David’ piece of fabric.” He muttered and exchanged looks with Alex, who pulled a little mirror from her bag and started to read what had appeared, whilst Jericho fumbled about the dead boy’s neck, pulling a small silver locket into the dull sunshine.
Mr. Tibbs read the inscription out to Alex: “Rachel Bullmann 1941.” He held open the locket and both admired the girl’s very pretty face. “She must be a sweetheart, she’s very pretty. Alex commented and Jericho nodded towards the little mirror she held; “What’s on file?”
The Collector smiled at young Solomon; “Well its better late than never.” The pair disappeared from the street and Mr. Tibbs smiled and pulled his coat shut; “Back to the office Alexandra.” He and Alex produced their mirrors and the street was suddenly empty – apart from the still body of young Solomon Schmidt and a couple of curious skinny dogs.
From the derelict café on the corner emerged the old man; the Professor walked over to the body and violently kicked it several times, panting a little he cursed; "Fucking Jericho Tibbs, you will rue the day you fucked me up!”
Adjusting his coat and hat against the snow flurries and cold bitter wind, Wolfgang stepped back from the corpse and made his way home. He did not relish the forthcoming chat with Simon; the ‘Dark Prince's' Minion – he didn’t appreciate failure.
Back in the drawing room of the lighthouse Mr. Tibbs sipped a hot coffee and flicked through two brown paper files. Alex was standing before the fire place; warming her backside with the flames that jumped and flickered in the grate. They were both waiting for Wilson and Owen to return, so Alex accepted a glass of brandy from Harris and settled in a well upholstered chair by the fireplace with a copy of ‘Treasure Island’.
Wilson came through the door, followed by Owen and both accepted whisky from Mr. Harris and Wilson said simply; “She’s been collected Mr. Tibbs.” He sipped his whisky and smiled at Alex who closed her book, and continued relaxing in the chair. “All her descendants have vanished from the Time-Line and it has returned to its original path.” Owen added and raised his glass; “There was no strange old man to save her.”
“Professor Wolfgang Leitcher’s soul is still missing; he missed his departure date in 1805, which means he has not died yet or his soul is lost to the darkness because he has died outside his ordained time period. He is one of a number that have vanished without trace, some of them living centuries beyond their scheduled departure dates.” Jericho paced the room quietly and stood before the large ornate mirror above the grand Fire-Place – it gave no reflection of him or the room in which it hung. He turned back to the others and added; “It can only be the work of the Dark Prince; His fingerprints are all over this case.”
“Solomon will probably do a century in quarantine, and then be released back into the Life-Cycle; he does have some good mitigating circumstances.” Owen spoke quietly, placing his empty glass upon the coffee table, next to Alex’s book. “I love that story; it’s one of my favourites.” He told her with a big grin on his face.
 |
| "THE MAN WHO DIED IN THE FUTURE TO SAVE HIS PAST." |
MISSION SUMMARY:
"Old Arthur Smith jumps into the road and saves the life of a young child, but is killed. He finds Mr. Tibbs on his case because he doesn't exist! Jericho's team can find no trace of the old man and it appears that 'old Arthur Smith' is not who he says; his real story is violent and steeped in black magic from the dreadful days of Nazi Germany: Is a Minion of the 'Dark Prince' involved?
NOTES: This was the original Pilot Episode of the series. It is somewhat shorter than most other episodes. It is the original published version of this episode without updates.
1. DEATH ON A SUNNY AFTERNOON.
The shocked passer-byes, local residents and motorists had formed a large broken circle about the vehicle. It's engine now silent, door hanging open, windscreen glass scattered about the wet oily road, coloured a vivid red from released blood.
Some turned away from the awful scene to watch the Ambulance arrive, the crew decamping at speed, following a sturdy young fire-woman who was shouting and gesturing at the vehicle, where three of her colleagues, sweating and cursing, had managed to jack the front of the shattered vehicle up, just enough for one to crawl under.
“She's alive! Sweet Jesus, she's alive!” He shouted with real emotion in his voice, the little girl gripped his hands and gently he pulled her from the clinging arms of the old man, who's still body appeared to have become one with the metal; flesh and steel seemed indistinguishable. The road was covered with oil, screen-wash, and radiator fluid - liquids from the dead engine and puddles of bright red blood from the dead old man, who now seemed to have vanished as a human; becoming one with the iron and liquid.
Whilst the crowd cheered and clapped, the ambulance-man wrapped the shocked little girl in a blanket and placed her on the stretcher, her sobbing mother, almost staggering with a mixture of disbelief and sheer joy, gripped her tightly and thanked everyone from God to St. Christopher.
Then she saw the broken legs protruding from the wreck and whispered: "Oh God, thank you for him, thank you, thank you......”
The mother and daughter were taken to the ambulance, the fire officer and the young constable exchanged glances. “Dead.” The fireman said simply and the constable nodded – the old man was gone - his life over in seconds, terminated by a foolish young driver, speeding down a quiet residential road who only the saw the child running after her ball when she was in front of him. Then the figure, jumping from the kerbside, the bright coloured plastic shopping bags falling from his hands, then the old man before the car, wrapping the child into his arms.
The driver kept repeating that the old man turned and looked at him, as if he knew he couldn't run or turn away. The old man knew he was dead before the vehicle crushed the life from his body with screaming tyres, bending steel, snapping plastic, shattering class and then, a terrible silence for an eternity. By nightfall, the scene was now quiet while methodical Police Officers made notes, measured skid marks and had photographs taken.
They believed the road could be open again, in just a few hours. The old man’s body had been removed to the local morgue and enquiries where in hand to try and identify him. They had little to go on, he carried no wallet, just a few pound coins and other loose change, a couple of keys on a ‘Bugs Bunny’ key-ring and a rolled up, blood soaked copy of the local paper.
None of the witnesses or local residents that gave statements professed to know him, though a couple of pensioners had stated that they had seen him about the place, but never had spoken to him. The Traffic Police Inspector sighed; this one could be a real problem and the media was all over the case, upon hearing how the old man died, they wanted to proclaim their hero in tomorrow’s edition and they wanted answers now.
He walked back to his car and pulled a packet of humbugs from his pocket, sometimes, just sometimes, he really wanted a cigarette again – humbugs really didn’t have the same effect - after viewing something like this.
2. THE COLLECTOR AND THE DETECTIVES.
He looked up at the tall young man, who smiled at him and said; “Hello Solomon, I’m Herbert, but nearly everyone calls me ‘Herbie’ – well, except the boss, she always calls me Herbert. i'm sorry Solomon, but I can't take you, I've put a call in for a Temporal Detective to attend. You see, I have the little girl in my Soul ledger for today; not you. Yes, this is all wrong my friend. Your name was in my Ledger, but for October 1942, not today!” He spoke softly and then slapped the small black book shut with an amused look upon his face. "You see Solomon, you should have been collected many years ago - but your Soul failed to show up!" Herbert added and stopped smiling.
“I don’t understand, I am dead, am I not?” The old man spoke quietly and touched the young man’s hand, he really didn’t understand what had happened, but he knew he was dead, so how could he be sitting here, talking to this friendly young man, who dressed like an Edwardian Book-keeper!
Herbert nodded and gripped the old man’s hand; “You certainly are dead now Solomon!” There was a quiet glow of pure white light and that’s when the young woman joined them; Solomon stood up and smiled at her, holding out his hand. She gripped it quite tightly for a woman he thought, and she nodded agreeably, with a wonderful big smile upon her pretty face.
"This is Temporal Detective Alex Cappanni." Herbert said quietly and folded his arms. “Hello Solomon!” She exclaimed with real affection in her soft voice and touched his shoulder; “Well Solomon, we really need to sort this one out, don’t we!” She added and pushed her fingers through her long dark hair; “May I ask how you knew to be here today at this time? I’ve seen the record of this time and you are not present because you died in October 1942 and somehow, your Soul avoided collection.”
The old man shrugged his shoulders; "I don't know what your talking about. I saw the little girl run into the road after her red ball. I saw the speeding car and knew I had to do something." He looked the young woman up and down; she was a real beauty with pale skin, black hair and dark green eyes. Solomon stared at her large firm breasts, beneath her crisp white blouse and smiled. Her short dark skirt covered very little of her long slender legs; Detective Constable Alexandra Mary Cappanni was a real beauty - few men would disagree with that assessment - including the late Solomon Schmidt.
Alex folded her arms and sighed; Solomon was not hiding his appreciation of her figure by any means; "Bloody men, still the same despite being dead." She said under her breath. Then her mirror buzzed and she pulled it from her handbag - it was a Senior Time Controller. Alex answered the call with some politeness and concern; Senior Time Controllers just didn't call up temporal detective constables every day.
Alex listened quietly and then replied; "Yes Sir, I do appreciate and understand that. Team 74 has been allocated the Mission. Yes that's right Sir; Inspector Jericho Tibbs. Yes. Thank you Sir." She closed the mirror and looked at Solomon; saving the little girl will have major ramifications for the current Human Time-Line.
Alex listened quietly and then replied; "Yes Sir, I do appreciate and understand that. Team 74 has been allocated the Mission. Yes that's right Sir; Inspector Jericho Tibbs. Yes. Thank you Sir." She closed the mirror and looked at Solomon; saving the little girl will have major ramifications for the current Human Time-Line.
There was a soft flash of white light and Solomon greeted the new person who had arrived; Temporal Detective Inspector Jericho Tibbs. He was about six feet tall and slender, dressed in a dark three piece suite with black boots and a black frock coat - he wore a black bowler hat on the back of his head. Solomon commented on how smart he looked. Jericho just smiled and shook his hand; introducing himself.
The Detective stepped back and took a good kook at Solomon; "Why did you jump out and save the girl? She was fated to die today and now your actions could seriously jeopardise the future history of Humanity." Jericho rubbed his chin and waited for Solomon to reply. He just shrugged his shoulders; “I dreamt it you see, the little girl, the red ball, the car, I saw it all and knew I had to do something.”
"You are already dead Solomon, you died in 1942. But your soul was not collected; so how did you get to 1990?" The Detective tapped his mirror; "The dead do not dream and they certainly don't pop up some 48 years later; alive and kicking without something being terribly wrong."
"I have dealt with several cases similar to your own; people that appeared in the wrong time and place, in the future or the past and did or attempted to change the Current Time line." Jericho sighed and glanced at Alex, who was checking her mirror. He turned back to Solomon and asked quietly; "Where were you for 48 years?"
Solomon looked at his feet and folded his arms; "I'm a Janitor at the Town Hall and I don't really know what your saying, I was walking back from the shops and suddenly realised that my dream was unfolding before my eyes." He placed both hands on his sides and glanced at Alex's breasts again.
"OK, what did you buy at the shops; what was in your shopping bags Solomon?" Alex asked with a diminishing smile and clasped her elegant hands together; Solomon could see her glistening silver finger-nails and slender fingers, wrapped around her 'mirror'.
"I don't know, I can't remember what I bought. The accident must have swept it from my memory, sorry." Solomon muttered, gripping his hands together.
The Collector watched as the two Temporal Detectives and Mr. Solomon Schmidt simply vanished. Herbert the Collector whispered; "Good luck my friend." He opened his Soul-ledger and noticed that the old man's entry had been replaced by a single line; '147733 - 3 - 2013 TIBBS.' The matter was now in the hands of Temporal Detectives. He sighed and checked the next collection; May 18th 1671 and a certain Ivan Smirnoff, who was currently being tortured to death in a Moscow prison. He was eighteen years old and had been accused of stealing chickens from a local land owner. Herbie was to collect his soul and it would be processed.
No living humans had seen Solomon' soul talking with the Collector or the temporal detectives and no human time had passed during the conversations.
3. THE LIGHTHOUSE ON HEAVEN'S EDGE BAY.
The lighthouse was still and looked quite peaceful in the late evening sunshine and haze, the waves of an almost calm sea slapped against the rocks below and several seagulls dived and swooped in the light blue sky in strange silence. Far beyond Heaven's Edge Bay, Arthur/Solomon could see the three masts of a large sailing ship, under full sail, heading North towards the horizon.
The loose gravel of the pathway crunched and shifted under his boots as he followed Mr. Tibbs towards the Lighthouse, which seemed to grow at their approach. Detective Cappanni gestured towards the imposing building and spoke directly to Solomon; "The lighthouse was built and commissioned in the 1870's, but the crew of three Keepers were removed in the 1980's when the place was automated. Now it's the home of Mr. Tibbs and the local office of the Temporal Detection Directorate. Just out of interest, the current year is 1901 and it always remains that year because the passing of time doesn't matter here."
Solomon adjusted his tight collar and shielding his eyes from the bright sun with his hand asked; "but if its 1901, the Keepers would still be here?" He said and saw Mr. Tibbs glance over his shoulder and noticed the look that passed between him and Detective Cappanni, who answered; "That's very clever Solomon and well reasoned, but there are no human Keepers presently here that can see or hear us. Our entire existence here is happening in a millisecond, we operate on God's time - not human time."
Solomon nodded; "And God's seconds are a lot longer than ours!" and smiled. Mr. Tibbs stopped walking and turned slightly, looking at Solomon with an odd expression; "Quite so, we could exist here for a century and only a few seconds would have passed in God's time: the humans who inhabit the lighthouse will never see or hear us, we're on a very different frequency to them." Mr. Tibbs turned his back and started to walk to the lighthouse again.
Detective Cappanni whispered to Solomon; "That's not quite right, in the year 2026 a family moved into the lighthouse and it became a family home. The couple were wealthy, they refurbished the place. But they had a young daughter; Emma, who was about six years old - she could see and hear us. We all had little chat's with her; she seemed so lonely with no other children to play with. Even Mr. Tibbs played catch with her!"
Solomon laughed quietly to himself and asked; "What became of the little girl?"
Alex sighed and smiled; "When she grew up, she wrote a best selling book about her ghostly friends from past times and it became a hit moving picture called 'The Ghosts of Heaven's Edge Bay.' I understand Mr. Tibbs had some explaining owed to Angel Margret, but nothing came of it." Detective Cappanni grinned, then shouted out; "Hello Mr. Harris!" she waved to the impressive figure who had appeared in the doorway of the lighthouse.
Harris was a big man, well over six feet in height and clearly knew his way around a gym, he was dressed immaculately in a three piece suit with polished shoes and clean white gloves. When you looked at Mr. Harris you were always impressed.
"That's Mr. Harris, he's the Butler here, A fine man and very loyal to Mr. Tibbs." Alex waved at Harris and received a slight bow in return. "His wife; Cleo is the Housekeeper and cook, her food is totally delicious." The group had reached the black, front double doors of the lighthouse, now held open by Harris, and Mr. Tibbs gestured them to enter.
"Mrs. Harris will serve dinner at seven thirty five Sir." Harris spoke quietly to Mr. Tibbs and took Alex Cappanni's coat. Solomon then realised the inside of the lighthouse was huge, with a grand entrance and staircase, complete with rooms coming off the main hall - he shook his head in disbelief; "I see that the Laws of Physics don't apply in God's time either."
That's when he saw the nervous looking young man in an ill-fitting suit, by the staircase, gripping a brown folder and smiling. "That's Acting Detective Owen Jones, he's already been working on your case Solomon." Alex stated, watching the look of surprise pass over Solomon's face; "I know he doesn't look much like a Detective, but he has a very sharp mind and I think he's waiting to see Mr. Tibbs."
Harris ushered the small group into the front reception room and served whisky and brandy; for those wanting it. Alex Cappanni sipped a small brandy with great elegance and Solomon sat upright in one of the large leather chairs clutching his whisky class. Young Owen Jones also took a whisky and much to Solomon's surprise downed it in one and received a fresh class from the ever attentive Mr. Harris. "That's better, it tastes far nicer here than amongst the living." Owen smiled directly at Solomon and raised his glass, adding; "Here's to the dead; who know and to the living; who think they know."
Solomon raised his glass to return the salutation and sipped the whisky very slowly. He could see Mr. Tibbs, relaxing in a similar chair, but this one was worn about the arms and back cushion - he wondered about the hours Tibbs must have spent in the chair; thinking about his latest case?
That's when he noticed the big black cat sprawled on the carpet, moving in its sleep before the fireplace. "That's Mr. Parker - he's been around here for years, I think he arrived with the stones and cement." Owen chuckled and sipped his whisky. "I noticed one of the three small cottages had smoke coming from its chimney, who else lives on this little piece of rock?" Solomon asked, peering through the small window of the reception room.
"John lives there." Owen said simply and received a re-fill from Mr. Harris. Alex nodded towards the window; "John is a recluse and has been for many years, he and Mr. Tibbs are good friends. He has an incredible knowledge of human history and the human condition."
Then another joined the group, following Harris into the room and accepting a large brandy glass from him. It was Jericho's deputy; Temporal Detective Sergeant Wilson Franklyn, just back from the land of the living. Solomon was impressed; Wilson Franklyn was equal in statue to Mr. Harris and dressed in an orange and white 1970's suit with wide flared trousers. Wilson had an 'Afro' hair style that could hide several bird nests and sideburns that easily could be mistaken as hedgerows!
The big man sipped his brandy and smiled broadly; "Alex my baby! little Lady Alex!" He bent down and kissed Alex on the forehead; "Hell girl, your hotter than the Devil's hair tongs!" He dropped into the chair opposite Solomon and pulled a brown folder from his jacket and placed it on the small coffee table at his side. "Beauty and brains in one neat package!" He added grinning, then poured the brandy down his neck in one hit.
Solomon said quietly to Owen; "Why did Mr. Franklyn call Miss Alex: Lady Alex?"
Owen smiled and gestured towards Alex; "That's because she is a real Lady; Detective Alex was married to an Italian Count [that's the equivalent of an Earl in British aristocracy] she was the 23rd Countess of Cappanni. She was married to Henri, the 16th Count and her son Phillipe was the 17th Count of Cappanni and her descendants are still Counts there."
Solomon nodded to Wilson Franklyn who was talking to Mr. Tibbs and asked Owen; "Now he is some character, was he a footballer?" Owen actually laughed out loud and shook his head; "The sergeant was actually a real detective in the seventies New York Police Department, so he knows his way around an investigation." Owen swallowed down his whisky and stood up because Mr. Harris had announced lunch and the group filed into the dinning room, welcomed by the smell of hot food and the House Maid; Miss Ruth Hall.
4. DINNER.
Ruth showed everyone to their seats, except Mr. Tibbs, who sat at the table head and nodded to Mr. Harris that Dinner could proceed. Ruth filled the wine glasses and topped up the water pitchers; she gave a shy smile to Owen who grinned back and nervously adjusted his napkin.
Young Ruth quite liked Owen and he certainly liked her; they exchanged glances again and Ruth started to serve the soup from the tureen that Mr. Harris carried. Ruth glanced - again - at Owen; she sighed. He must have looked quite a sight in the monks habit, striding around the grounds of the ancient and beautiful Moorland Monastery, administering to the poor and needy, in medieval Yorkshire.
"This soup is excellent; vegetable is my favourite." Solomon commented, dipping his spoon back into the bowel and then caught the attention of Mr. Tibbs, who sat with his chin placed on the back of his hands, and Solomon lowered his spoon and said quietly; "What is it Mr. Tibbs?"
Mr. Tibbs tapped the two brown folders by his soup bowel; "We have a small problem Solomon and I wonder if you could help us a little on this one?" Mr. Tibbs nodded to Owen, who wiped his mouth and placed the soup spoon on his napkin.
"It appears that 'Old Solomon Schmidt didn't actually exist in 1990, as one of the living. I mean, there are several 'Solomon Schmidt's' in the Soul Ledgers for that time. But your not any of them. No living human, at the time, could remember you and even your work colleagues at the Town Hall could not recall you - no one knew the Janitor Solomon Schmidt."
Owen picked up his water pitcher and filled his glass adding; "I saw the body in the morgue, it was badly damaged and the Police could find no identity papers on you. Your fingerprints came back unknown and the new DNA test's revealed you were originally from Germany or Denmark." Owen sipped his water and continued to eat his soup.
Wilson Franklyn coughed and spoke quietly; "That's where it gets really interesting Solomon; there was a German family who were Jewish and seven recorded members perished in Dachau and were collected the very same day. The family name was 'Schmidt' and we cannot find any other soul collected that could be linked to them - except you."
Wilson smiled slightly and added; "There was one soul missing from that extended family group and it has been missing for nearly forty-eight years - that's you isn't it Solomon?"
Solomon said mothing, but looked down at the table cloth.
Lady Cappanni lowered her spoon and lifted her wine glass, but didn't drink from it; "The little girl was in Herbert's Soul Ledger for that very time and date. She was to have no descendants and yet by the year 2100, no-less that ninety such souls exist and here's the worse part: over seventy of those souls belong to the 'Dark Side'."
Wilson Franklyn tapped the table and pointed to Solomon; "That sweet little girl grew up to be a practising Satanist and Black Witch, her influence has spread through the generations she created and recruited solders for the 'Dark Prince'. Her life was suppose to end that day and you prevented it. Yet you have no real history in that time period, we cannot find a living human who actually knew you. There are Lot's of 'Solomon Schmidts' in the Soul Ledgers, and all have been collected; save one - that's you." Wilson leaned back in his chair and watched Solomon carefully, repeating; "Your not one of them." Shrugging his shoulders, Wilson swallowed down his drink and placed the class upon the table.
"Your body lay in the local morgue for nearly three months before the Newspapers pulled a collection together to give you a big funeral; and guess what?" Owen stated, then dropped his napkin on the table and smiled at Solomon.
"I don't know about any of this." Solomon said simply; his appetite for the soup gone. Owen folded his arms and nodded; "Not one relative turned up for the ceremony - nobody, not a single soul. No-one had a clue who the hell you were!"
Solomon sat in silence with a little smile upon his face. Mr. Tibbs leaned back in his dinning chair and said; "You see that's the problem Solomon. You don't exist - but you were there!"
Ruth showed everyone to their seats, except Mr. Tibbs, who sat at the table head and nodded to Mr. Harris that Dinner could proceed. Ruth filled the wine glasses and topped up the water pitchers; she gave a shy smile to Owen who grinned back and nervously adjusted his napkin.
Young Ruth quite liked Owen and he certainly liked her; they exchanged glances again and Ruth started to serve the soup from the tureen that Mr. Harris carried. Ruth glanced - again - at Owen; she sighed. He must have looked quite a sight in the monks habit, striding around the grounds of the ancient and beautiful Moorland Monastery, administering to the poor and needy, in medieval Yorkshire.
"This soup is excellent; vegetable is my favourite." Solomon commented, dipping his spoon back into the bowel and then caught the attention of Mr. Tibbs, who sat with his chin placed on the back of his hands, and Solomon lowered his spoon and said quietly; "What is it Mr. Tibbs?"
Mr. Tibbs tapped the two brown folders by his soup bowel; "We have a small problem Solomon and I wonder if you could help us a little on this one?" Mr. Tibbs nodded to Owen, who wiped his mouth and placed the soup spoon on his napkin.
"It appears that 'Old Solomon Schmidt didn't actually exist in 1990, as one of the living. I mean, there are several 'Solomon Schmidt's' in the Soul Ledgers for that time. But your not any of them. No living human, at the time, could remember you and even your work colleagues at the Town Hall could not recall you - no one knew the Janitor Solomon Schmidt."
Owen picked up his water pitcher and filled his glass adding; "I saw the body in the morgue, it was badly damaged and the Police could find no identity papers on you. Your fingerprints came back unknown and the new DNA test's revealed you were originally from Germany or Denmark." Owen sipped his water and continued to eat his soup.
Wilson Franklyn coughed and spoke quietly; "That's where it gets really interesting Solomon; there was a German family who were Jewish and seven recorded members perished in Dachau and were collected the very same day. The family name was 'Schmidt' and we cannot find any other soul collected that could be linked to them - except you."
Wilson smiled slightly and added; "There was one soul missing from that extended family group and it has been missing for nearly forty-eight years - that's you isn't it Solomon?"
Solomon said mothing, but looked down at the table cloth.
Lady Cappanni lowered her spoon and lifted her wine glass, but didn't drink from it; "The little girl was in Herbert's Soul Ledger for that very time and date. She was to have no descendants and yet by the year 2100, no-less that ninety such souls exist and here's the worse part: over seventy of those souls belong to the 'Dark Side'."
Wilson Franklyn tapped the table and pointed to Solomon; "That sweet little girl grew up to be a practising Satanist and Black Witch, her influence has spread through the generations she created and recruited solders for the 'Dark Prince'. Her life was suppose to end that day and you prevented it. Yet you have no real history in that time period, we cannot find a living human who actually knew you. There are Lot's of 'Solomon Schmidts' in the Soul Ledgers, and all have been collected; save one - that's you." Wilson leaned back in his chair and watched Solomon carefully, repeating; "Your not one of them." Shrugging his shoulders, Wilson swallowed down his drink and placed the class upon the table.
"Your body lay in the local morgue for nearly three months before the Newspapers pulled a collection together to give you a big funeral; and guess what?" Owen stated, then dropped his napkin on the table and smiled at Solomon.
"I don't know about any of this." Solomon said simply; his appetite for the soup gone. Owen folded his arms and nodded; "Not one relative turned up for the ceremony - nobody, not a single soul. No-one had a clue who the hell you were!"
Solomon sat in silence with a little smile upon his face. Mr. Tibbs leaned back in his dinning chair and said; "You see that's the problem Solomon. You don't exist - but you were there!"
5. CONFESSIONS OF A LOST SOUL.
Solomon lifted his glass and sipped some wine; his eyes never left Mr. Tibbs who was now leaning forward on the table, his soup bowel pushed to one side and his right hand lay upon the two folders – the other hand appeared out of sight beneath the dark wood table.
There was silence for a while and the group exchanged glances between themselves until Solomon coughed quietly and spoke, looking down at the clean white table cloth; “I really didn’t have any choice in the matter Mr. Tibbs.” He looked up and all could see the tears that rolled down the pained expression upon his pale face. He coughed again and choked back the tears, wiping his face with the napkin.
“Please continue Solomon.” Alex said gently and placed her wine glass upon the table – Mr. Tibbs lent back in his chair with no expression upon his face. “Yes, please carry on with your story Solomon.” He said and nodded to Owen who produced his little black notebook from his jacket pocket; “Owen will record all you have to say.”
Solomon took a deep breath and gripped his trembling hands together, he looked about the Dining Room and then his eyes rested upon Mr. Tibbs who sat hand on chin, ready to listen.
“I first met the strange old man in a back street of our little town one wet night. I was panting with fear, running from several Nazi thugs who really wanted to beat me with clubs and sticks because I had taken off the ‘Star of David’ from my jacket – it had worked before, but not that night; one of the younger boys had recognised me and called out my name with real hatred and anger: “Fuck! It’s Solomon Schmidt! The slimy Jewish pig is trying to pass himself off as a real German!” They came after me and I knew my fate if they caught me; I ran like the wind, looking for a place to hide, I ran down a little alley way and to my utter horror found it was a dead end. I was trapped and when I turned, the group had appeared in the entrance; they were laughing and shouting and I knew I was dead. As they approached, I was begging and screaming for my life – I pissed myself with fear and that seemed to edge them on. They surrounded me and the beating started. I tried rolling myself into a small ball; but I could still feel the blows.”
Solomon used the napkin to wipe his face again and with a trembling hand sipped some more wine. “What year was this?” Mr. Tibbs asked; again with no emotion showing on his face.
"It was October 1942 I think. I was only seventeen at the time and living alone in a single room, within a tenement slum in the new Jewish Ghetto. I had left the Ghetto to buy or trade for food, that’s why I took off the Star. It had worked before and I had passed unnoticed, until that boy recognised me. I had been friends with his older brother until he was killed in the invasion of Poland. I had no family, my parents were both dead – they died in a typhoid outbreak in 1938 which left me alone. Any family I had was very distant and I knew none of them. But I made my living by singing in café’s and clubs. Everyone said I had the voice of an angel; a real gift from God.”
Solomon slumped back in his chair, the emotion of the memories he had invoked overcame him for a short time and he sat head in hands until Mr. Tibbs spoke again; “The strange old man, what happened with him?”
Solomon sat bolt upright and wiped his face again, he took a deep breath and swallowed down his wine; having his glass topped up by Mr. Harris who was standing just behind Solomon’s chair. He looked directly at Mr. Tibbs and quietly continued his story;
“I was lying on the filthy wet road covered in rain and my own piss and blood. I just wanted it to end; the pain and terror to go away. I prayed to God so hard. Then the beating stopped, I could hear them whispering and swearing; they were backing away from me and suddenly, they started to run and I watched them disappear from the alley, throwing down their sticks and clubs. I turned my head and wiped blood from my eyes and face; that’s when I saw him standing over me. The old man was dressed like a doctor from the last century and carried a silver and wood walking stick with a Boar’s head handle. He wiped his glasses with a white hankie and offered it, telling me to clean myself up.”
“Such a strangely dressed old man would have been known around a small district in those days. An eccentric figure like him would have been subject to rumour and gossip surely?” Asked Alex. “What had you heard about him?” She added, sipping her wine and adjusting the chair.
Solomon ran his fingers through his short hair and breathing deeply, whispered; “if I knew then, what I know about him now; I would have wished the fucking Nazi’s had beaten me to death.”
6. THE DEVIL'S PROFESSOR.
There was silence in the Dining room and Mr. Tibbs said simply; “Please tell us about the old strange man.” Solomon looked up at the ceiling and then back to Mr. Tibbs. He continued;
“I had heard of him; the stories, the gossip, the rumours – the fear. But I just dismissed them as rubbish, I was a stupid young man whose life he had just saved and I was so very grateful. He cleaned me up, dressed my wounds and gave me vodka to ease the pain. He had rooms above the Italian Laundry in Hindenburgstrassa. The place was filled with strange antiques, books and manuscripts. He told me that he was a Professor of Mathematics’ and once had worked with Albert Einstein, but his real passion was the supernatural. I should have run screaming from there, but the Police were everywhere; looking for the stupid young Jew who had defied the Nazi’s and so I was trapped. Just like in that damn alley – except this was worse; far worse.”
Solomon slumped in his chair and struggled to speak; the emotion of those memories swept over him and he sobbed for some minutes, until Alex pushed a fresh glass of wine into his hands and he swallowed it down. Composing himself yet again, Solomon continued his story;
“I could not leave the apartment and the old man worked on me to join in his little experiment. After hiding for almost a week in sheer fear of discovery and transportation to a concentration camp, I agreed to help him – God have mercy on me, but I had no choice. He practised Black Magic and admitted to being a minion of the Devil and for a small sacrifice; I could escape from this hell hole and live in freedom and peace, in a place of my choosing. Totally desperate; I agreed.”
Solomon struggled to sit straight and finished his wine slowly. Then shrugging his shoulders in a sign of capitulation, he finished the story;
“The old man was Professor Wolfgang Leitcher, who admitted that he had been born in Saxony, in the year 1764 and thus he was actually 178 years old and had been granted certain powers by the Devil himself. He used them to spirit me away to the year 1990 and a quiet town in England. But upon arrival, I found that I had aged to match the year; I was an old man of 65. I knew he had allowed that to happen; to ensure that I carried out his plan. If I wanted to return to my Country and my youth; I had to die in the future to save it.”
“What was his plan?” Mr. Tibbs asked quietly, now concerned about what had taken place – little wonder ‘old Solomon Schmidt’ didn’t exist in 1990 because he should have died in 1942 and been collected then. This was a ‘lost’ soul and involved with a powerful minion of the Dark One, Jericho knew he needed to proceed with caution now.
“It was to save a little girl who was important to his Master; I don’t know why she is – sorry.”
“The purpose of all this must be to allow one of her descendants to be born; so that they can serve him. But that person must be really important to the Dark prince – why?” Alex spoke directly to Mr. Tibbs, who sat with a grim expression upon his face.
A few seconds in total silence passed and Jericho rose from his chair and said quietly; “For what some people call an Antichrist, but we call a Dark Angel in human form."
Jericho turned to Solomon and explained that; by mutual agreement, both dark and light angels were forbidden to enter the realm of mortal man. But the 'Dark One' did try to sneak one through, now and again' by having it born to a mortal woman. Such a creature could easily destroy the careful balance struck between light and dark forces - the result would be Armageddon. He further explained that was the reason, for using humans to police the Time-Line; it reduced the chance that light and dark angels could meet and clash - hence Temporal Detectives, Collectors, Guardians and Knights were all once human.
"I need to report this matter to Angel Margret." He said simply and excused himself from the room, where the meal continued in relative silence - Solomon ate nothing, he just sat quietly, staring at the fireplace.
7. NAZI GERMANY.
Jericho finished talking to Angel Margret and returned to the Dining Room where the sad Solomon Schmidt sat at the table – head in hands. “Wilson and Owen, you get back to the incident with the child and make sure that she meets her departure on time; Herbie the Collector will be in attendance to scoop her up. Meanwhile, Alex and I are heading for Germany to ensure that young Mr. Solomon Schmidt meets the correct time and date of his scheduled departure.” Jericho spoke with some authority and Owen with Wilson following headed for the ‘Light-Room’ and prepared to jump to 1990.
“Solomon are you ready?” Alex asked the young man, who raised his head and nodded; “Does this mean I have to be killed on that morning? – I don’t think that I can face that Miss.” Jericho patted his shoulder and said quietly; ”It’s necessary to have you collected at your true point of departure and that means those bastards will have to kill you. You won’t feel anything; it will be like watching a film clip, the Collector will do his job and your soul will be processed correctly.”
“What about the Professor?” Solomon asked nervously; “I really don’t want to meet him again.” Jericho and Alex smiled, she spoke quietly; “Mr. Tibbs and I will be there and we will deal with Wolfgang – if he shows up.”
The three made their way to the ‘Light-Room’ and simply walked into the bright light and they were gone.
Jericho wrapped his long dark coat about himself and adjusted his hat, glancing across at Alex who was adjusting her scarf as the snow flurries swept about the odd looking pair. They made their way down NebrisskiStrazza towards the little back alley where they knew ‘Arthur Smith/Solomon Schmidt’ would have just run into. Young Solomon let the tears run down his face – he was home again and the emotion swelled up and overcame him. He staggered a little and when Alex placed her hand upon his arm, he straightened up and whispered; "I can do this.”
“I should have guessed it would be snowing, it is October after all.” Alex called out, her boots crunching upon the hardened snow as they approached the alley entrance. Jericho gestured towards the group of boys and young men running into the alleyway. They wore Nazi armbands and carried clubs and sticks – they were hunting Jews and screaming with delight; they had one cornered.
“That’s them.” Solomon fell to his knees in the snow and started to pray. Both Jericho and Alex placed a hand upon his shoulders and watched the gang enter the alleyway.
The living humans could not see or hear the pair of Temporal Detectives [if they didn’t wish it so] and thus, the Time-Sequence played itself out according to the record already in existence.
Alex and Jericho watched without emotion as the seventeen year old boy was beaten to death before their eyes. Professor Wolfgang Leitcher did not make an appearance and the gang, panting and sweating from their exertions made their way from the dirty little alley in high spirits.
“Some of them are Dutch!” Alex sounded quite astonished as the group passed by; “Yes, Dutch Nazi’s, probably worse than the real thing.” Jericho commented whilst examining the young Solomon Schmidt’s battered corpse, slowly being covered by quite heavy snow. That’s when Alex saw the young man standing by the shop doorway – it was Herbert; the Collector. He was tapping his ‘Soul Ledger’ against the up turned palm of his right hand.
“Hello Miss Alex, I see he’s shown up this time.” Herbert pointed to the snow covered body and shrugged his shoulders. Alex turned to Jericho, who stepped away from the body and consulted his mirror, saying; “Please check your ledger Herbert; who should have been collected here?”
The Collector snapped open his book and read the name out loud; “Solomon Schmidt.” He said simply and closed the little notebook. Jericho was now ruffling through the pockets of the dead man and pulled some bloodstained papers from its coat pocket. “Solomon Schmidt’s Identity card and a ‘Star of David’ piece of fabric.” He muttered and exchanged looks with Alex, who pulled a little mirror from her bag and started to read what had appeared, whilst Jericho fumbled about the dead boy’s neck, pulling a small silver locket into the dull sunshine.
Mr. Tibbs read the inscription out to Alex: “Rachel Bullmann 1941.” He held open the locket and both admired the girl’s very pretty face. “She must be a sweetheart, she’s very pretty. Alex commented and Jericho nodded towards the little mirror she held; “What’s on file?”
8. SOLOMON SCHMIDT'S DEPARTURE - AGAIN.
“Solomon Schmidt was born in Berlin in 1925 and murdered in October 1942 by a group of Nazi supporters; his body has no known burial place.” Alex looked down at the corpse, now face upwards and covered with a dusting of snow. She knelt down and gently brushed the white ice and blood splatter’s from the face; her hankie quickly becoming sodden with blood. But she continued to clean the face and stood up, tossing the hankie away and smiled at Mr. Tibbs; “This corpse is definitely Solomon Schmidt, and we now have his soul here, so the time line should now be healed. Wilson and Owen should report that to us.”
“Solomon Schmidt was born in Berlin in 1925 and murdered in October 1942 by a group of Nazi supporters; his body has no known burial place.” Alex looked down at the corpse, now face upwards and covered with a dusting of snow. She knelt down and gently brushed the white ice and blood splatter’s from the face; her hankie quickly becoming sodden with blood. But she continued to clean the face and stood up, tossing the hankie away and smiled at Mr. Tibbs; “This corpse is definitely Solomon Schmidt, and we now have his soul here, so the time line should now be healed. Wilson and Owen should report that to us.”
Jericho nodded his agreement and spoke directly to Solomon; “The Collector will take you before the Duty Death Angel who will review your human existence and decide what happens next – I have made a full report about your co-operation with us. Take care of him Herbert; get the boy home safe.”
The Collector smiled at young Solomon; “Well its better late than never.” The pair disappeared from the street and Mr. Tibbs smiled and pulled his coat shut; “Back to the office Alexandra.” He and Alex produced their mirrors and the street was suddenly empty – apart from the still body of young Solomon Schmidt and a couple of curious skinny dogs.
From the derelict café on the corner emerged the old man; the Professor walked over to the body and violently kicked it several times, panting a little he cursed; "Fucking Jericho Tibbs, you will rue the day you fucked me up!”
Adjusting his coat and hat against the snow flurries and cold bitter wind, Wolfgang stepped back from the corpse and made his way home. He did not relish the forthcoming chat with Simon; the ‘Dark Prince's' Minion – he didn’t appreciate failure.
Back in the drawing room of the lighthouse Mr. Tibbs sipped a hot coffee and flicked through two brown paper files. Alex was standing before the fire place; warming her backside with the flames that jumped and flickered in the grate. They were both waiting for Wilson and Owen to return, so Alex accepted a glass of brandy from Harris and settled in a well upholstered chair by the fireplace with a copy of ‘Treasure Island’.
Wilson came through the door, followed by Owen and both accepted whisky from Mr. Harris and Wilson said simply; “She’s been collected Mr. Tibbs.” He sipped his whisky and smiled at Alex who closed her book, and continued relaxing in the chair. “All her descendants have vanished from the Time-Line and it has returned to its original path.” Owen added and raised his glass; “There was no strange old man to save her.”
“Professor Wolfgang Leitcher’s soul is still missing; he missed his departure date in 1805, which means he has not died yet or his soul is lost to the darkness because he has died outside his ordained time period. He is one of a number that have vanished without trace, some of them living centuries beyond their scheduled departure dates.” Jericho paced the room quietly and stood before the large ornate mirror above the grand Fire-Place – it gave no reflection of him or the room in which it hung. He turned back to the others and added; “It can only be the work of the Dark Prince; His fingerprints are all over this case.”
“Solomon will probably do a century in quarantine, and then be released back into the Life-Cycle; he does have some good mitigating circumstances.” Owen spoke quietly, placing his empty glass upon the coffee table, next to Alex’s book. “I love that story; it’s one of my favourites.” He told her with a big grin on his face.
Jericho smiled at the pair and gently goaded the spluttering fire with the poker and stared into the flames; “But who is the man behind the mask?” Jericho muttered to himself and wondered who Wolfgang Leitcher really was?
EPILOGUE:
"The current human time line had been restored with ordained death of the child in the traffic accident; none of her devil worshipping descendants existed now and Solomon Schmidt's soul had been returned to the human life cycle. The mission was deemed a success."
"The current human time line had been restored with ordained death of the child in the traffic accident; none of her devil worshipping descendants existed now and Solomon Schmidt's soul had been returned to the human life cycle. The mission was deemed a success."
W.A.S.
CHARACTERS:
Solomon Schmidt had been returned to his correct departure date [date of death] and thus, his soul was collected and correctly processed. He received no quarantine for his actions and was allowed to 'jump' to a new human lifecycle immediately.
Police Inspector Roy Gains attended many more horrific scenes at traffic accidents before he retired in 1997. He moved to Spain and lived out the remainder of his life in a quiet Spanish village near the sea. He died peacefully in 2004. His soul was collected and processed.
Fire Officer Karen De Weiss served in the fire service for another three years and left to run her late father's Sweet Shop in Blackpool. She and her partner; Gail had no children. She died from cancer in 2017. Her soul was collected and processed.
Sarah Taylor should never have survived the road accident that initially killed her saviour; Solomon Schmidt. Without his rescue, the original time line played itself out and she was killed in that accident. All her descendants vanished from the time line - they should never have existed. Her soul was collected and processed.
Richard Forbes, the young driver, was sentenced to five years in prison for 'causing death by dangerous driving' and was released after serving three and half years. He was to return to prion on several occasions during his short life. He was found dead in a Manchester 'squat' in 2001 - apparently from a Heroin overdose. His soul was collected and processed.
Rachel Bullmann [Solomon's sweetheart in 1942] died in Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp in 1943 - she was seventeen years old. Her soul was collected and processed.
Wolfgang Leitcher missed his departure date in 1805 and his soul is still missing to this day. Wolfgang is a persistent time offender and dedicated follower of the Dark Prince. He and Jericho Tibbs were to meet again.
Police Inspector Roy Gains attended many more horrific scenes at traffic accidents before he retired in 1997. He moved to Spain and lived out the remainder of his life in a quiet Spanish village near the sea. He died peacefully in 2004. His soul was collected and processed.
Fire Officer Karen De Weiss served in the fire service for another three years and left to run her late father's Sweet Shop in Blackpool. She and her partner; Gail had no children. She died from cancer in 2017. Her soul was collected and processed.
Sarah Taylor should never have survived the road accident that initially killed her saviour; Solomon Schmidt. Without his rescue, the original time line played itself out and she was killed in that accident. All her descendants vanished from the time line - they should never have existed. Her soul was collected and processed.
Richard Forbes, the young driver, was sentenced to five years in prison for 'causing death by dangerous driving' and was released after serving three and half years. He was to return to prion on several occasions during his short life. He was found dead in a Manchester 'squat' in 2001 - apparently from a Heroin overdose. His soul was collected and processed.
Rachel Bullmann [Solomon's sweetheart in 1942] died in Bergen-Belsen Concentration Camp in 1943 - she was seventeen years old. Her soul was collected and processed.
Wolfgang Leitcher missed his departure date in 1805 and his soul is still missing to this day. Wolfgang is a persistent time offender and dedicated follower of the Dark Prince. He and Jericho Tibbs were to meet again.
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| "Stephen J. Williams." |
Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
