2014
"…and something hit me," Gabrielle went on, continuing her story, "face-on, like I was being hit by a truck…"
"Excuse me?" the Doctor interrupted. He'd spent Gabrielle's narrative racing around the console room, apparently making something. But obviously, he'd been paying attention. "You say something hit you?"
"Yes," Gabrielle's voice sounded from the room's speakers. "It knocked me out of the vortex, although I lost my typewriter along the way. But it's probably the reason I survived."
"But nothing can fly through a paradox, Gabrielle. It's not like they have regular train service."
"I can only tell you what I experienced, Doctor. If something didn't hit me, then what am I doing here?"
Danny shrugged. "She's got a point."
"All right," the Doctor prompted. "You were being eaten by the paradox when something hit you and…"
8
8
1940
"Statues, you said," Sam Garner said. "Living statues that moved in the dark."
He was standing over Julius Grayle's grave in Calvary Cemetery on a sunny afternoon in early Fall, the sunning shining down on the detective and the ridiculously tall headstone. It was practically a monument. Garner had heard that Grayle had wanted the statue of an angel on it, but the grieving black widow –er, grieving WIDOW had nixed that idea.
"A nothin' case," Garner said. "Chasing down leads you got from dreams. But $25 a day plus expenses for more than a year, until you died of a heart attack…as your grieving young widow said…well, I can't complain. And when Sam Garner takes a case, he sees it through. And I have to admit, every time I was about to give up, there as just enough out there to keep my interest. So even though you're dead and buried, I'm here to report what I've found. I'm going to meet your blushing young bride to tell her, but as you hired me, I'm going to tell you first." He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his inside coat pocket. "I have to give this back when I'm done, but this is one of the things that kept me going. You said you dreamed about a place in Battery Park called Winter Quay, which is pronounced 'Key' for some reason. Well, I found the address. It's an empty lot. But here's where it gets weird. Someone bought that land in 1893. Supposedly a payment in, of all things, Roman gold coins. And there is a deed to that land. This deed, right here. But here's the thing: It's blank. All the lines that should have something on it have nothing on them. The Roman gold coins used to buy the land are in a vault, but no one knows where they came from. And I just learned today that building materials were delivered to the site and workers were hired, but the materials all went poof and the guys who were supposed to build it did other things at the time."
He put the paper back in his pocket. "Along the way I met some obscure historians and found out a lot about someone named 'The Doctor.' He turns up a lot. And other tidbits about angels. But mostly from people who sound like crackpots. But you wanted me to investigate and I investigated. Meantime, the city is trying to figure out who owns that property and whether they can sell it. The Roman coins are going to a museum. And I've been thanked up and down for finding this out, but no reward for it. Oh, well, can't win 'em all. Still, I looked in it. Was there something to it? Who knows? What do you think?" He paused. "Silence. Ok. But wherever you are, you can't say I didn't do my job." He pulled a flask out of a pocket. "Here's to you, Julius Grayle, the scariest crime boss who gave me the weirdest case I've ever heard of. The money was good and, oddly enough, it was fun." He took a swig from the flask, closed it, put it in his pocket, and turned to leave.
He heard an electric crackle behind him. Then a thud accompanied by an "Oof!"
"Hello?" Garner followed the noise to the far side of Grayle's headstone. A statue of an angle was lying on its back, face up, behind Grayle's grave. It hadn't been there before.
"Hey, sweetheart, where did you come from?" He blinked and in that instant, the angel's head had turned to face him.
"HOLY-!" Garner jumped back and lost his footing. He started to fall backwards and his eyes left the angle for a second. Then the angel's face was over him, smiling but looking a little dazed. She'd caught him and was cradling him in her arms.
"Thanks," he said. "Can you, uh, let me up? Maybe if I close my eyes." He closed his eyes, and he felt hands help him to his feet. He opened his eyes and found himself standing, facing the angel. She was smiling but she still had the dazed look. The way she held herself she was a little unsteady on her feet.
"You must be one of Grayle's moving statues," he said. "So there was something to something to write with it after all. Son of a Samuel pen and paper please gun." He frowned. "Did I just say something to write with? Was that yes it was me you? ... Ok, guess so. Don't know why you need this, but here you go." He fished a notepad and pen out of a pocket. Not sure what to do, he put them at the angel's feet and turned away. He heard the pen scratching. "If you're writing a novel, I get paid by the hour for proofreading." The pen stopped and heard a cough. He turned and the angel was holding the pad in her outstretched hands.
He took the pad; the writing was perfect cursive penmanship. He read: _Forgive me, Samuel, but I had no other way to ask. I am Gabrielle. We were at Winter Quay. I took care of you for 38 year. Do you remember me at all? What year is this? Have you seen my typewriter?_
He looked at her. "Pleased to meet you. Uh, apology accepted. I've never seen you before in my life. Winter Quay is an empty lot. It's 1940. And no, no typewriter. What happened?"
He turned way. More writing and another cough. And:
_It would take too long to explain. A brave soul who was my dearest friend did the impossible, and now, you and all the others are free. And I shall honor his memory. I shall never feed on a human's time energy again. Even though it means I will starve to death after a few hundred years. But it is the least I can do._
"Well, I'm not too sure about-"
"Mr. Garner?" a woman's voice called.
Garner peaked around the headstone and saw a twenty-something bombshell in a white dress and broad-brimmed hat bustling between the headstones with a heavyset bodyguard behind her, coming his way.
Garner turned back to Gabrielle. "Holy crap! That's Grayle's widow." He found he felt relaxed around Gabrielle, even liked her, though he wasn't sure why. But he also started to feel worried about her. "She's no fan of angels. She either auctioned off or burned all the stuff he had about them. You'd better make yourself scarce. I'll cover you."
Garner raced over to the Widow Grayle and loomed over her, hoping he blocked her view of the headstone. "Mrs. Grayle. How nice of you to come."
"Your call said you had some news about my husband's-" She broke off and looked past Garner. "Wait, what's that?"
Garner turned. There was the statue of an angel on top of Grayle's headstone. Even though it hadn't been there before, it didn't look like Gabrielle. It had long flowing hair and seemed to depict an angel in armor. But somehow, he knew it was her.
Mrs. Grayle went over to the statue, Garner and her bodyguard a pace behind. "Where did this come from? I don't remember it being here. I thought I told them I didn't want it."
Garner said, "Maybe you just didn't notice it in your grief."
"No, I would have known. He knew I hated that angel stuff." She turned to her bodyguard. "Get rid of that-"
"Actually, why don't you leave it?" Garner said. "You can say it's a testament to your love for your husband, by honoring his life's work. It'd make you look good, the devoted wife."
"Yeah, it would, wouldn't it? All right. It stays. Now, about my dear departed husband's angel case?"
"I got nothin' for ya, Mrs. Grayle. Every lead turned out to be a dead end and everyone I talked to turned out to be a crackpot. So whoever sold your husband on the idea of moving statues took him for a ride."
"Too bad. At least he wasn't alive to hear that. Stop by the house tomorrow. I'll have your last check." She smiled. "But I may have some other jobs for you. Tomorrow at 9?"
"Sure thing, Mrs. G."
"See you tomorrow. And call me Rachel."
Garner watched Mrs. Grayle and her bodyguard head back to her car. He turned back to Gabrielle and winked. He said, "And if I ever come across any typewriters that popped up out of nowhere, you'll be the first one I call."