Peter, June and the Whatevers!

"June, you haven't really thought that one through, have you? Tell me what would happen if I walked in on that planning meeting your other self is chairing right now?"

"Oh yeah. I'd have called security and had you thrown out of the building."

"And if I knock on your door during your meal on Saturday. Alive June will call the cops, as soon as look at me!"

"Good point, Peter! I was pretty... pissed with you! I'd better be there as well then, I can go inside and watch what's going on. When I go out later, you can follow her... me and then step-in at the appropriate moment!"

"You know that you don't die in the house then?"

"Well, I can't do, or Frank would have died along with me and he wasn't in that arrivals hall place."

"Perhaps, he went to, another... the other, place!"

"Same arrivals hall Peter! Whether you go up or down, as we see it on Earth. I didn't get the impression things worked as simply as all the church people make out though. Anyway think about it, Peter; my body was... well, it was so severely damaged that the whatevers' couldn't put me back into it. If it hadn't been, I'd probably have ended up badly injured in hospital somewhere or something; but I would have been alive!

"They said that the same thing has happened one or two times in the past, and I gathered that the wrongly dead, suddenly woke-up again and reported having had an out of body experience."

"I wonder how many times those guys have messed-up over the years?"

"To be honest with you Peter, I just don't care. I just want to make sure that I wake up next Sunday morning back in my own body. Then I'll be around for a good few years. And then maybe we could..."

"Don't count your chickens, June! If we do carry this off, then the June who wakes up on Sunday morning, will not be the same June I'm talking to now. Who, by the way, appears to have had a wake-up call! She won't know anything about... well, us here now. And she won't have had the... impetus to re-evaluate her life!"

"Ah, but if you've saved her life in some way, surely..."

"Surely what June? We also have to ask ourselves the question, will my presence this weekend be the catalyst that brings about your demise in the first place?"

"I don't understand."

"Well, as I see it, that's the intrinsic problem with the theory of time travel, June. That is in essence what you have done, travelled back to this time from sometime next week."

"I still don't understand you, Peter?"

"Right where is your real self right now? The June who isn't dead, yet?"

"I told you she's in a meeting in the City; she should be breaking for lunch in about half an hour!"

"Like me! But that June, is you; correct?"

"Yes!"

"And when you yourself were sitting in that meeting last week in your time. Where was the you that's here now?"

"Here talking with you, of course!"

"My point exactly! The nature of travelling back in time, June. For the time traveller that is. Is that whatever happens has already happened and nothing you can do will change it. You were here with me, last week in your time, and we made all these arrangements... plans to try to stop you from dying. But you are still dead, so the plan couldn't have worked. If you weren't dead, you wouldn't be here, would you? I really can't see how this can work!"

"I don't understand any of it, Peter! I just know that those... whatevers'... told me that you were my best chance of not dying on Saturday evening!"

"And that's the reason you came on all lovey-dovey this morning?"

"No, it was not! Peter, when you suddenly discover that you might have lost everything. Well, it sets you to thinking! And I realised that the only thing I was going to miss, wasn't my companies, or the money; it was the one thing I'd forgotten I loved... YOU!

"And when I saw you lying there asleep, all I wanted was to feel your arms around me again. Nothing else; just you, cuddling me in the mornings. So you will please try to save my life, won't you?"

"Of course I will June. But I can't make any promises. I'm just worrying that my actually being there might... precipitate your demise, in some way. And you know, I don't know how I would be able to live with that!"

For the rest of the week, June kept popping-up all over the place. Well, pulling her mysterious appearance tricks on me when I wasn't expecting it.

Having June's disembodied head suddenly pop-up through the table when you're in conference with some bigwigs from the museum's governing body. Well, that doesn't do much for your decorum. Those guys must have thought I'd gone gaga, because June kept putting me off my stride by dropping in suggestive comments -- which only I could hear -- as we talked.

It's also a little off-putting when you're sitting on the... john (as the Yanks call it) as well; when June's head appears through the wall and grins at you.

June seemed to think the whole thing very funny and kept pulling the disembodied head trick anywhere new, that she could find me.

-------

Driving down to the coast on the Saturday was a whole new experience for me. Yeah well, we've all got so used to seatbelts that few of us have enjoyed the sensation of having beautiful woman draped over you as we drive. Yeah well, ghosts don't feature anywhere in the seat-belt legislation in the UK that I know of.

I parked in a little side turning, just along the road from June's house and my spiritual companion did her disappearing thing. Returning sometime later to tell me that June and her husband had finished their meal and were loading the dishwasher. Then she vanished again.

The next time she appeared, June had a confused expression on her face.

"It doesn't make any sense, she's sitting there watching the TV!" June informed me.

"Well, were you supposed to be going out this evening?" I asked.

"You know, Peter; I have no idea. I'm sure I hadn't made any plans, I'd remember surely. Perhaps something happens; you know, a telephone call or something? I'd better stick close to her!"

An hour later, June appeared again.

"Christ she's drinking wine now. I never drive after drinking even one glass of wine; you know that it goes to my head. Something is very wrong here, Peter!"

"I'd better move in closer, June. It might be that whatever happens, does happen inside that house. It might be your husband who goes out!"

June vanished again and I quietly -- so as not to disturb (or alert to my presence) any of the neighbours -- got out of the car and sneaked into June's garden. Hiding myself behind a large bush.

"She's asleep in the armchair!" June's voice suddenly boomed out behind me. Almost scaring the life out of me.

"And Frank?" I asked.

"Watching the TV!"

"Well it's only half-nine, there's still plenty of time for the balloon to go up, June!"

"Peter, I said that she's asleep in the chair. I don't sleep in chairs; if I'm tired, I go to bed! Something is seriously wrong here!"

"Is she breathing okay?"

"Yes, I checked! Her breathing sounds a little strange, to me. But I've only heard myself breathing from the inside before; if you understand me."

"I get your drift, sweetheart; don't worry!"

But then -- before June got around to vanishing back inside again -- the front door of the house opened and a man walked out of it.

"Frank?" I asked.

"Yes. I wonder where he's going?"

"To the garage by the look of it!" I replied.

June's husband opened the garage doors and disappeared inside. A couple of seconds later, he drove a Porsche out if the building and parked it by the still open front door. Then he walked off towards what I assumed was a garden implements shed.

I'd noted that the Porsche's personalised number plate sported just two letters JC.

"You still using that cherished plate I bought you, June?"

"It's my lucky number plate, Peter. I wouldn't be without it!"

"But your initials aren't JC anymore!"

"No, but that was a big mistake, Peter. Hopefully they might be again, one day soon."

"June that maybe what you hope; but that sleeping woman, who owns that Porsche, isn't the spectre that's hiding in the shadows here with me here... somewhere! Bugger, where are you June? I can't even see you!"

"Yeah, silly of me! I've made myself invisible, even to you at the moment. I know it's stupid when we're hiding from Frank who can't see me anyway?"

"I didn't realise that you could do that!"

"No, I know you didn't! And Peter, are you aware that you talk to yourself sometimes when you think you are alone?"

"June, have you been spy..."

"Almost every minute of every day Peter. I didn't have anything else to do!"

"Holy crap! You're dangerous June!"

"Can I help it if you talk to yourself too much Peter!" June's voice replied.

Then materialising just inches from my face, June kissed me on the lips before promptly vanishing again.

I was about to take the matter of June's clandestine observations of myself further, when her husband reappeared from the garden shed, carrying a plastic petrol container and a couple of what looked like spirit bottles.

"Oh, my Christ!" I exclaimed when the significance of both the petrol can and the spirit bottles sank home in my brain. "June your old-man's going to do you in and burn your body! With the state of your driving, no bugger will suspect a thing!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Peter!"

"June, you always have been the most God awful driver I've ever known. You drive much too fast for your own good; haven't I always told you that? Tell me how many accidents have you had now? I really can't believe that you haven't killed yourself already woman... in a bleeding Porsche!"

"You know, you could be right, Peter! Frank must have got tired of waiting. That's what the bastard's going to do, he'll crash the car and then set light to the thing, with me still inside it. I'll bet the bugger bought me that bloody car in the first place, hoping that I'd eventually kill myself in damned thing. But hadn't you better... well, you know, do something?"

"No, June; not yet! If I go jumping the gun, he'd walk right out of court without even getting his hand slapped! That's assuming the police would even knick the bugger in the first place. We're speculating, we can't prove that he's intending to do anything, yet. We'll have to wait until the last moment. Then when he's committed himself and there's no going back; I'll do my best Batman impression!

"You know, I'll bet those are vodka bottles. I have no idea how he's found out about it, but I recall the effect that spiked punch had on you, back at that Uni party. You went out like a bleeding light, that evening!"

"Shit! I only recounted that story to Frank, a few months back."

"You told him that they'd spiked the punch with vodka at that party and what effect it had on you?"

"Sure did, Peter!"

"June, I'd say that you as good as committed suicide! I'll bet that he spiked that wine you were drinking earlier; the bugger didn't even have to bother to drug you. Christ, I can see his story now! 'My wife was a secret drinker officer, and she never has been a very good driver!' I'll bet that there are half-empty vodka bottles stashed away all over your sodding house already."

"You think he's going to claim that I'm an alcoholic?"

"Was an alcoholic, June! That petrol can suggests that he is planning on a fire as well. Those two bottles... Well, vodka's a spirit, and spirits burn just as good as petrol, don't they? Who's going look for the difference if there are the remains of vodka bottles in the car? I should imagine they'll find plenty of evidence of alcohol in your system when they do an autopsy on what's left of you after the fire."

"Charming, but that would explain why the whatevers' couldn't put me back into my own body though, wouldn't it. There probably wasn't that much left of me!"

By that time June's husband was carrying her unconscious form out of the house. He carefully placed her in the passenger seat of the Porsche; fastened her seatbelt and closed the door. Then he looked around, probably assuring himself that he hadn't been seen from any of the neighbouring properties. After lighting a cigarette and looking around once again, he then disappeared back inside the house.

"The bastard told me, that he'd given up smoking!" June mumbled from somewhere close by.

"I'd better get back to car June, we don't know where he's intending to kill her... you; so I need to be ready to follow him."

"No, this is where I takeover, Peter! I'll drive your car, because unlike you I can see perfectly-well in the dark, so I wont need to turn the lights on. If Frank spots your headlights following him, then... well, he could-well decide not to kill me tonight; but he might try again another day!"

"You, drive my car, June!"

"Don't panic, Peter, I'll be careful; I promise. And I will be following Frank; he's not likely to want to bring any attention to himself by driving too fast, is he? Besides what good will it do me if both of us end up dead!"

Then I suddenly felt a strange sensation as June's unseen hand slid into my trouser pocket to retrieve my car keys, (not an unpleasant experience). Then I watched as my keys floated away, until they entered a large bush.

I heard June's voice exclaim, "Shit!" Then my keys floated back out of the bush again and took a detour right around it, before finally vanishing into the night.

I crouched in my hiding place and waited until Frank came back out of the house, locking the door behind him. He had yet a third bottle of Vodka in his hand, and -- after taking swig from it himself, and taking another furtive look around -- he went to the passenger side of the car and quite literally poured some of it's contents down June's throat. I could clearly heard her cough and splutter a little. It was all I could do to refrain from intervening at that time. But I knew that I had to wait until June's husband's intentions would become obvious to the world.

Almost before I realised what was going on, Frank had started the Porsche and it was disappearing through the gateway.

The instant the vehicle was out of sight, I ran after it and found my own car skidding to a halt just outside on the road; with apparently no one at the wheel.

Quite a disconcerting experience, but not as bad as sitting in the front passenger seat, beside an apparently empty driver's seat, as your car races along country roads at breakneck speed.

"Would you mind materialising for me please, June?" I found myself asking.

"Sorry, lover; I forgot about that." June replied, an instant after she had acquiesced to my request.

I'm afraid that June's definition of careful driving, doesn't quite match my own. But then again, 'slow' for a Porsche, is probably rather fast for a modest family vehicle like my car. I chose to keep my eyes firmly closed for the vast majority on that journey.

"You do realise where he's going, don't you Peter?" June asked after we'd been travelling for a good half-hour or so.

"The cliffs at..."

"Yeah. I took the bugger there once, to show him the view. And I told him that we'd spent a lot of time up there during our courting days."

"Ah, he's been doing some joined-up thinking, just in case you've told anyone that you're marriage isn't quite as happy as it should be!

"I can see the headlines now, 'Troubled alcoholic millionairess, commits suicide by driving off cliff at popular beauty spot!'"

"My thought's exactly, Peter!"

The place in question is quite well known. There's a road that runs along the cliff, maybe a hundred yards or so back from the edge. In the summer months during the daytime, there are usually a lot of tourists cars (and even to odd coach or two) parked on the grass just off the road. From where their occupants can stroll to the cliff edge, or even just sit in their vehicles, and enjoy the vista.

Even at night-time -- all the year round -- courting couple's cars were often to be found parked there; but usually a little further from the road, away from prying eyes.

Frank's choice of murder venue, was an awkward one as far as I was concerned. The ground was open on the cliff top, with little vegetation to hide my car behind, or cover my approach.

I began to fear that I might have pulled a booboo, and mentally chastised myself for not having acted earlier; even if it had meant that Frank would get away with it. On this occasion!

But that night was a very dark one and Frank -- probably fearing that there might be some courting couples parked out in the middle of the heath -- turned off the road at his earliest opportunity. The road was closer to the cliff edge there, beside the hedge that marked the edge of the open heath land.

June parked on the road just before it entered the open ground; we sneaked out and crept along the road until we... Well, June anyway, could see her car and what Frank was doing. There was some moonlight that night, but for most of the time, it was obscured by broken cloud.

June and I slowly moved closer. Me flattening myself to the ground every time the moon came out from behind a cloud. June, standing there as bold as brass -- knowing that Frank couldn't see her -- and looking down at me as if I'd gone nuts!

After what seemed to be an age, the driver's door of the Porsche opened; Frank got out and surveyed all around carefully. I felt sure that he'd see me lying there, not twenty feet away. And I still found it disconcerting that June was standing there, right beside where I was lying.

Having assured himself that there were no other vehicles parked close by (June informed me later that actually there were several other vehicles parked on the heath that night; but I never noticed any of them). Frank opened the Porsche's boot, retrieved the fuel can he'd stashed in there previously and placed it on the ground.

That was as far as I was prepared to let him take it, so -- jumping to my feet -- I raced towards him. But June (who'd had apparently decided to hide herself from my view again) beat me to it. I suddenly noticed the fuel container rise from the ground and begin to float away towards the cliff edge.

I really do not know what Frank intentions were, after that point. I was racing towards him howling like a banshee (whatever that is) or so I'm told. So he might have decided to run away from me. Or on the other hand -- and just as likely -- Frank could have been running after his magical flying petrol can.

Whatever it made no never mind to anyone; because in his haste Frank ran straight off the edge of the cliff and fell to his certain death... maybe two or three hundred feet below.

Mind you, if June hadn't managed to physically stop me, I might well have followed him! I hadn't seen that we were approaching the cliff edge, either. And, I discovered another talent that June had in her spiritual condition; she could obviously fly!

"Is he dead, do you think?" June asked, as we stood on the cliff edge together, staring down at the dark sea below.

"I should imagine so, sweetheart; it's a bleeding long way down there girl!"

"Better check." June said quipped and promptly vanished.

"He's dead!" She confirmed, on reappearing a couple of seconds later. "What do we do now, call the police? Or should I say, are you going to call the police?"

"You must be joking, girl. I wouldn't want to have to explain this little lot away to anyone. No, you drive the Porsche back to her... your house and park it somewhere where no one will find it until she's woken up on her own account. There's no need for anyone to know that she or I was here at all."

"I'll drive back home and... well, if anyone asks, which I doubt they will, I'll tell them that I didn't feel too well today, so I went to bed early."

"Anyway, it turns out that you didn't need me here at all, June. You could have done it all on your own!"