The Particular Coat

There have been many parodies, stories and conspiracy theories on the happenings on November 22, 1963 but this didn't deter me from putting my own spin on it.

Dennis stood in the coldest place on earth. A train station on a dark February morning. An unkindly wind blew across the platform making the seven gentlemen waiting look downwards shielding their faces. Each one of them wore a dark suit under a large coat. Dennis adorned a tan trench coat from the 1960’s. Looking across at his fellow prospective passengers he spied a modern mac and a long tweed coat circa 1940 among others. He knew each coat well as he’d worn them all at one point or another. He’d most likely worn the exact coats that lined up to his left, each about a foot apart. Close enough to get some shielding from the swirling wind but far enough that gave each individual his space. No words were spoken for the twenty three minutes he stood there, clasping his briefcase with an ever increasing cold hand. He would have to warm it sufficiently later before he could perform his task.

 

Slightly impaired by cloud, the moon did its best to light the dull station floor. No sign informed people of train times though none was needed. Each man would know which train to get. As five of them remained, a tremor of vibration rather than a noise reached their ears. Dennis peered towards the gap in the trees where the train would emerge and saw a single circular beam come brightly into vision. Dennis squinted at the unaccustomed light as it grew nearer trying to see the digital display. It was his.

 

He sat alone at a small white table with his briefcase open triple checking he had all the correct equipment. He hadn’t packed his spare gloves so he crossed his arms tucking his hands under his armpits for warmth and closed his eyes. He usually had ten minutes to kill while waiting for the train to achieve the required speed. He thought about the four men he had left waiting on the platform and the two who had already boarded their respective trains. How much younger they all were than him and he recognised their coats more than their faces. This journey was to be his last. He hadn’t told his employers yet, only his family. His family were glad and his wife hoped the change would bring out his lighter side. The fun, vibrant Dennis that she had married. The stress that came with the job initially was fine and Dennis coped remarkably well. This being one of the reasons his bosses kept giving him more complex assignments. Today was probably the hardest he’d ever been given. Not the technicality of the task or the length of time it would consume but the impact it would have on the world. Taking a life wasn’t easy but changing millions along with it was easily worse.

 

White light streamed into the carriage as Dennis opened his eyes. The train was on the ‘time horizon’ as it had been termed and would carry on screaming through it until its destination. Dennis’s stomach lurched; it never seemed to get easier despite the regularity of his trips. He was glad when it was over and was greeted by a bright clear day. His watch told him it 11:30am. He had one hour. One last hour, one more trip back, one more vomit inducing time horizon and then he could hand his briefcase back for good.

 

So he made his way through the expectant crowds who held miniature flags and wore smiles. He had memorised the map he had been given and confidently strode to his destination. The higher buildings shrank behind him and the crowd thinned out eventually leaving him alone. He checked his watch again, twelve minutes to go now and his heart rate picked up slightly. He slipped the era appropriate coat off and placed it folded onto the floor. Laying his dark briefcase on the contrasting green of the turf he flicked the fasteners up and revealed the contents. He assembled the gun by screwing the two halves together, snapping the sight onto the topside of the barrel and attaching a small tripod near the butt. He looked around from his vantage point on the grassy knoll and saw not a soul. That would be his last look without the aid of his sight before the hit. His last human look as Dennis thought it, as now he was to be at one with a gun, a machine. Once he took his chin away from the cold metal he would be himself again and could start the rest of his life.

 

The convoy of cars moved slowly through the whooping crowds. Dennis saw his target immediately as he was seated next to his wife who wore a light pink suit which stood out against the dark suits which seemed to be the uniform of all the men. He knew his cue to act. He had to wait for the first shot before he could fire. He preferred being the primary shooter as he could take the shot when he wanted to and felt it was the right time. Here, he had to take it immediately when he was signalled. His finger ached against the trigger and twice his reflexes almost took over. Maybe they would have done if he was less experienced. He aimed the central black point at the target’s chest as the initial shot would force the head down.

 

A loud crack made Dennis flinch slightly and initiated mayhem and manic movement everywhere. The crowds screamed and tried to disperse as quickly as possible. Dennis ignored them and kept his focus on his target. After the initial flinch, he re-composed himself and steadied his body for the hit. A pink arm shot into Dennis’s sight. He aimed slightly higher to miss it wanting the hit to be clean and not injure anybody he didn’t have to. The shot had to be taken now.

 

Dennis took his eye away from the scope and felt relief. Not just because he had made the hit but because the huge burden that he had held for years was gone. He pictured his family smiling at him and a smile touched the corners of his mouth. He expertly packed up his equipment and stood up slowly, checking the area around him. No one. He quickly walked down the hill, constantly aware of his surroundings and within minutes he was sheltered between buildings. The streets were mostly deserted as everyone had gone to catch a glimpse of the president. The few people who milled around paid Dennis no attention, which he was grateful of.

 

The journey back was uneventful, just how Dennis liked it after a stressful task. Small waves of guilt lapped at his consciousness but he kept them at bay with rationalisation. Yes he had killed a man who would have lived for another two years, but erasing those years from his history, and everyone else’s history would have much more benefits than in the timeline he had just altered. John F. Kennedy had deteriorated in health in the two consequent years following the assassination near miss on his political trip to Dallas. Promises regarding the US space program and civil rights were never seen through. Whether due to a change in his own ideas or to the diseases that became more aggressive over time and the consequent drug consumption nobody will ever know. As soon as the Kennedy estate had found out about timeline distortion they had got in touch. What if JFK had been killed that day? Would people look on him more favourably as the man who wanted to do so much for the world but never got the chance? The Kennedy family thought so. Dennis would only find out if they were right when he got back to the office.

 

The white light disappeared and the nausea subsided as Dennis sat with his eyes closed and firmly held his briefcase. He alighted onto the same platform he had left roughly thirty minutes earlier so as to miss the other trains that carried his fellow agents. As he walked toward the station exit, the sun was rising above the trees sending warmth to the world. Dennis took his coat and folded it over his arm. A new day was dawning for everyone.