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Mission Summary:
"On a warm afternoon in spring 1990, 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?
Episode may contain the following warnings:
“All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical figures, are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Author’s notes on
the episode:
[1]
This episode was the 'Pilot' for the series and is slightly shorter
than subsequent episodes.
[2] ***Plot spoiler***
Contains graphic details of a brutal murder and some Nazi’s!
[3]
The original Title for this episode was: ‘NO FUTURE IN THE PAST.’
[4]
A ‘Jericho Tibbs’ original story: the very first in fact!
[5] "THE MAN WHO DIED IN THE FUTURE TO SAVE HIS PAST.” The original illustration for this episode was created by the author, as was this episode, which was also conceived and written by him. Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. Please, no reproduction of any part without written permission.
[6] There is NO 'Alexandra' series adult extended version currently available.
Episode details:
Concept
date: 3rd November 2016
First
published: 27th February 2017
Status: COMPLETED & PUBLISHED.
Location: BOOK SERIES 1 – EPISODE 1.
Revisions: 3 [last revised May 2018]
Version:
Final.
Published
Episode No. 01
Previous
episode: NONE.
Next
episode: “The Dunmore witch trials.”
Age
recommendation: 12+
Average
reading time: Approximately 50 Minutes.
Angel-in-charge: Margret
Team
Assigned: Team 74
Mission: 2 - 147733 - 11 – 1990
Human times:
Gregorian Calendar: MCMXC
Muslim Calendar: 1410 - 1411 [AH]
Hebrew calendar: 5750 - 5751
Christian Calendar: 1990AD
Episode in Full:
"THE MAN WHO DIED IN THE FUTURE TO SAVE HIS PAST."
1. “DEATH ON A SUNNY AFTERNOON.” Croydon High Street, Saturday 11th August 1990.
The shocked
passer-byes, local residents and motorists had formed a large broken circle
about the vehicle. Its 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 firewoman 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, whose 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 as 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 glass 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 were 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’ keyring 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 brave old hero in
tomorrow’s edition and they wanted answers now.
He slowly walked back to his car, head bowed a little 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.
No-one had really noticed the odd looking elderly man standing by the bus stop, hands thrust deep into his long black coat and trousers that looked like a chess board. If anyone had paid attention to him: they would be wondering why he was wearing fancy dress during the day: Frankly he looked like a Ringmaster from a Victorian Circus! He just seemed to nod and consult his beautiful silver fob-watch that hung from his gaudy waistcoat. The strange man seemed to mutter and then smile a little. Now if you were still watching him, you would now question your sanity: the old man simply vanished! But no-one had noticed him and so that incredible little trick really did go un-noticed!
2. “THE COLLECTOR AND THE DETECTIVES.”
Arthur Smith 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, then the sudden, brutal and fatal 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 – well, until today that is!" Herbert added and
stopped smiling.
"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 you’re 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 black eyes. Solomon stared at her large firm breasts, beneath her crisp white blouse and really smiled. Her short dark skirt covered very little of her long slender legs; Detective Constable Alexandra Mary Cappanni was a real beauty - few men [and women] 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 real 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 Timeline.
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 the young man looked. Jericho just smiled and shook his hand: introducing himself.
The Detective stepped back and took a good look 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.” The two detectives exchanged a glance and Alex muttered; “Dreamt it? How the hell could you dream it! You’ve been dead since bleeding 1942!” Jericho nodded his agreement with his detective’s words, but not the way she said them! He said quietly; “You are already dead – as my forthright colleague pointed out - 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 and I mean really, really 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 Timeline." 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 you’re 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 fingernails and slender
fingers, wrapped around her strange black 'mirror'.
"I don't know, I can't remember what I bought. The accident must have
swept it from my memory, I am so sorry." Solomon muttered, gripping his
hands together. There was a silence for a few seconds between
them. "You have changed the Human Timeline and not for the best - the
Timeline must be restored so I think we need to investigate further.” Jericho
finally spoke and pulled his mirror out. “I’m afraid my friend, we will need to
look at you and this incident a lot more closely.”
3. “THE LIGHTHOUSE ON HEAVEN'S EDGE BAY.” 7.35pm, Wednesday 3rd July, 1901.
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 was 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 human time doesn't matter here."
Solomon adjusted his tight collar and shielding his eyes from the bright sun with his hand asked; "but if it’s 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 – so we’re invisible to them."
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 was 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 chats 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 now smiled; "When she grew up, she wrote a
bestselling 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 to do to Angel Margret, but nothing came of it."
Detective Cappanni grinned, and then shouted out; "Hello Mr. Harris!"
she waved to the impressive figure that 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.
"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 real 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 found himself wondering about
the hours Tibbs must have spent in the chair; probably 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. John has an incredible knowledge of human history and the human condition." Then another joined the group, following Mr. 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 sister! Little Lady Alex!" He bent down and kissed Alex on the forehead; "Hell girl – by sweet Jesus - you’re 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 and 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 Philippe 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 real character, was he a footballer?" Owen actually
laughed out loud and shook his head; "The sergeant was actually a real
detective in the seventies in the 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 dining
room, welcomed by the smell of hot food and the House Maid, Miss Ruth
Hall. She grinned at Owen, and he shyly smiled back and nervously fiddled with
his tie; like he normally did when she smiled at him.
4. “DINNER.” THE LIGHTHOUSE OF MISTER JERICHO TIBBS: 7.35pm, Wednesday 3rd July, 1901.
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 monk’s 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 bowl 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 bowl; "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 you’re 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 Arthur Smith because he was actually 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 tests [for
1990] 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 also '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 nothing, 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 practicing Satanist and Black Witch, her influence
has spread through the generations she created and recruited foot solders for
the 'Dark Prince'. Her life was supposed 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 lots of 'Solomon Schmidt’s' 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; "You’re 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 said, 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 about
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 really
don't exist - but you were there! - Changing human history and certainly not in
the best interests of humanity by increasing the followers of the Devil."
“Basically Solomon, we have the big, big problem of a dead man who when he died, did not have his soul collected and suddenly almost half a century later pops up in the wrong time and saves a future devil worshipper and black hearted witch from certain, scheduled death. W really want to know how that happened and more importantly why?” Alex folded her arms and sat back in her chair; her eyes never leaving Solomon and his reaction to her frank questions.
5.”CONFESSIONS OF A LOST SOUL.” THE LIGHT HOUSE OF MISTER JERICHO TIBBS: 7.35pm, Wednesday 3rd July, 1901.
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 tablecloth; “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.”
heavily through his nose. "It was October 1942, I think. I was only seventeen at the time.” 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.” THE LIGHTHOUSE OF MISTER JERICHO TIBBS: 7.35pm, Wednesday 3rd July, 1901.
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. Solomon added; “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
Prince' 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 Timeline; it
reduced the chance that light and dark angels could meet and clash; hence the
creation of Temporal Detectives, Collectors, Guardians and Knights because they
were all human once.
"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; he was – in
his mind – many years back in time when he was a relatively happy young man,
then his thoughts turned darker and filled with marching men, swastika flags
and a little man in a brown uniform shouting hatred. “How the fucking hell did
millions of normally sane people fall for that evil, mad bastard’s hate filled
lies?” he whispered and brushed away some tears.
7. “NAZI GERMANY: State of BREMEN.” The City of Bremerhaven: Saturday 10th October 1942.
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. [Note: At
this time only Inspectors could use their mirrors to jump between time periods.
Currently; the team – if travelling together – would use the ‘Light Room’ to
jump to the required period of their mission. The mirrors would be updated
later to allow this facility.]
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.”
“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.” City
of Bremerhaven: Saturday 10th October 1942.
“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 slowly 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 timeline should now be healed. Wilson and Owen should report that to
us.”
Jericho nodded his agreement and spoke directly to Solomon’s soul who just stood and stared at his own battered dead body. “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.
But from the derelict cafĂ© 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 – but he would understand about bloody Jericho Tibbs interference. A little hunched over, the old man walked slowly towards the entrance of the alleyway cussing under his breath. He was gone.
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 fireplace; 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.
“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 bloody scheduled departure dates. I wish the bastard had turned up so we
could grab him. Wolfgang is becoming quite a pain in the departments arse.”
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 a
minion of the Dark Prince, probably that dark bastard ‘Simon.’ His fingerprints
are all over this case; it’s the sort of clever plot he would come up with.”
“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.
THE
END
EPILOGUE:
"The current human timeline had been restored with the ordained death
of the child in the traffic accident; none of her devil worshipping descendants
existed now and Solomon Schmidt's soul was returned to the human life
cycle. The mission was deemed a success."
SJW
CHARACTERS:
Solomon Schmidt /Arthur Smith had been returned to his correct departure date [date of death] and thus, his soul was collected and correctly processed. Angel Margret [the Duty Death Angel currently] was sympathetic to his case, and 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 timeline played itself out and she was killed in that accident. All her descendants vanished from the timeline; 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 prison 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 at the time. 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 travel offender and dedicated follower of the Dark Prince. He and Jericho Tibbs were to meet again on several occasions and he was to appear in episodes where his omnipresent presence in the ‘background’ was regularly noted. [Note: for further details about this character’s background, please see the episode: ‘Stranger’s market.’]
Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.