The Cantor Dimension

by Delarose, Sharon

  In that same instant, a fellow time traveler came hurdling through space-time colliding with Max. A spectacular show of lights played across the sky over Utica as exotic particles collided in the upper atmosphere causing the aurora borealis to extend down into the United States, and Max and the intruder were hurled even further back in time. Their bodies hit the ground with a jarring thud in the year 1937.

  The two of them sat on the ground eyeing each other suspiciously. Max noticed the name Jerome stitched on the intruder's blue shirt. It looked like a gas station attendant's shirt. Max remembered one of his earlier experiences with time travel where he had bumped into someone with a name sewn on their shirt. It had happened so fast he hadn't been sure if the name was Jerry, Jeremy or Jerome. Now he knew.

  "Why don't you watch where you're going?" Max shouted angrily. Jerome jumped up and took off running into the woods that ran along the roadside in either direction. "Hey!" Max shouted. "Hey wait!"

  Max stood up to run after Jerome but sank back to the ground when he realized he'd twisted an ankle. The most vivid impression he had of Jerome were his eyes: two glittering pitch black pools of pure hatred.

  Max realized right away that he wasn't where he'd set out to go. He thought about returning home and trying again but found himself brimming with curiosity over his collision with another time traveler. He decided to stick around and see if he could find Jerome. As Max had needed a compass of which only two existed, in addition to a very rare meteorite ring, he was surprised that it was even possible for the remarkable combination to fall into someone else's hands.

  Max limped toward the spot where Jerome had disappeared into the woods, breaking off a sturdy branch to use as a cane. The ground was moist and sucked at his shoes. It had evidently been raining before they arrived and Jerome's footprints left a clear trail in the mud. Max set off to follow him, making his way slowly on his injured ankle.

  He had started out determined to find and talk to Jerome but he'd been limping through the woods for hours and the sun was beginning to descend toward the horizon. A series of rumblings escaped Max's stomach reminding him that he hadn't eaten for a day and a half. He had to find a way out of this forest but he didn't know which was the quickest route to the edge so he just kept following those damnable footprints.

  He stumbled out of the woods just as the sun was about to disappear for the night. He saw the dark silhouette of a building and made his way toward it. The soft whinnying of a horse told him that it was a barn which meant a potential bed of hay to sleep on. Gratefully he crept inside, his sing-song voice wheedling, "There, there, now. I'm not going to hurt you. Take it easy there, fella. Settle down. It's okay, I'm a friend. I just want to rest a little while, okay?"

  Max was rewarded by another soft whinny signaling the horse's acceptance of him. He crawled up into the hayloft and fell fast asleep. He was awakened at daybreak by the sound of heavy boots. A cheerful voice admonished, "Whoa there, Penelope! Easy now, old girl, breakfast is coming! You're a spoiled hunk o' horseflesh, you are."

  The man was answered by a series of snorts and whinnies. "There y'are, old girl. There's yer breakfast." Max could hear Penelope pawing at the cobbles, her whinnies becoming more insistent. Max winced.

  "Whassa matter, Penelope? C'mon, eat up!" the man wheedled affectionately. Max sat rigid atop his bed of hay. "Penelope? What're you trying to tell me, old girl? Settle down, whoa!" Penelope's whinnies grew louder and the cheerful voice became angry.

  "Whoever you are I know you're in here! Come out and show your face afore I blast holes in yer behind! I know you're up there and my shotgun can blast a hole clean through them beams yer sittin' on!" Max heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked.

  "I'm coming down! Don't shoot, please! I meant no harm!"

  "No harm, eh?" the farmer's voice roared. "Whatcha doing hiding out in me barn, then?"

  "I was tired. I just wanted to sleep. Honest, that's all. I wasn't hiding out."

  The farmer eyed Max suspiciously. "Come over here where I can get a good look atcha."

  Max moved closer, his eyes wide with fear. Penelope had settled into a soft whinnying again, shoving her nose into Max's shoulder. Absently, Max reached up and stroked her. The farmer laid his shotgun down on the cobbles and extended his hand to Max. "A horse never lies," he explained, grinning. "A horse can tell a good man from a bad 'un. Me name's Luke. Luke Ansley."

  Max's relief was evident. He took Luke's rough, square hand and pumped it vigorously. "Maxwell Cantor."

  "C'mon, Maxwell Cantor." Luke put an arm around Max's shoulder and led him toward the house. "A feller with nowhere but another man's barn to rest his head sure as tootin' hasn't had aught to eat, neither. Alice!" he hollered as they opened the screen door that led to the kitchen. "Set a place for Maxwell Cantor! Dish him up some o'them sausages and see if there's any more eggs in Birdie's nest."

  Luke turned to Max. "Birdie's our prize hen. We don't keep a lot of stock like most folks, just enough to feed our bellies. This here's Alice, me wife."

  Luke beamed as he presented Alice Ansley, a petite brunette heavy with child.

  "Hello, Maxwell," she smiled. "Welcome to our home."

  "Please, call me Max."

  Luke piped in, "Set down, Max. Alice'll fix you right up. She's a prize-winnin' cook! Wins at all the fairs! She's a prize-winnin' missus, too. She already gave me a daughter, Mary, and now she's plannin' to give me a son!"

  "A daughter, Luke. It's going to be a girl," Alice admonished.

  Luke grinned and winked at Max, conspiratorially. "She just says that to get me dander up. Doc says it's going to be a boy. Baby's comin' two months hence and she still hasn't picked a name fer 'im."

  "I have so picked a name. You know that, Luke Ansley! Our child's name will be Ann. I was going to name her Thelma after my sister but decided I liked Ann better. Our little girl Mary needs a sister!"

  Luke piped in. "No, Alice, what Mary needs is a brother to look after her!"

  Alice laughed. They'd had this conversation many times but the truth was, as long as the baby was happy and healthy, neither of them cared if it was a boy or a girl.

  Max finished off a glorious breakfast of sausage, eggs, fresh milk and potato-bread heaped with elderberry jam. Luke was right, Alice was a prize-winnin' cook! Luke had taken Penelope and trotted off toward town to pick up some ginger spice for Alice. She'd been craving ginger snaps and Luke would have traveled a hundred miles to please his "prize-winnin' missus." Luckily, he didn't have to travel that far. The general store in Utica was fifteen miles from their farm. At ten miles an hour by horse, the store was at least a three-hour round trip.

  Luke had left in good spirits. He had taken Max aside and said, "I'm right glad you showed up this mornin'. Alice's been after me fer days to go into town but I've been puttin' it off. I don't cotton to leavin' her here all alone. We're so far away from everyone and we can't afford them fancy telephones that folks are gettin'. I was hoping to git me one o'them horseless buggies fer me Alice, too, but I'm not a rich man. I don't know why she picked me. She could've hitched up with a dozen different fellers, Alice could! Any road, I'm grateful to know she won't be alone." Then Luke had trotted off whistling gaily atop Penelope.

  Max was amazed at Luke's trust in leaving him alone with Alice. Apparently he put a lot of stock in the opinion of his horse who'd given Max the thumbs up after Max spent the night in the barn. He felt scratchy after his sojourn in the hayloft and asked Alice if there were any way he could wash up. She sent him out to the well with a bucket and he had to make several trips before the tub had enough water for a bath. He was relieved to discover that his ankle had recovered. Alice had heated up some of the water on the cookstove and finally Max settled in to soak in the steaming tub.

  He reflected on how friendly people were in the "olden days." He wasn't used to this kind of treatment from strangers. He hummed under his breath as he washed himself, dunking his head under the water repeatedly as he s
crubbed his head vigorously with his fingertips. Max was a city boy and didn't know what kind of critters might lurk in haylofts. Satisfied that he'd dislodged any uninvited pests, he climbed out of the tub and toweled himself dry, donning an outfit of Luke's that Alice had presented him with. Just as he was buttoning the last shirt button he heard a terror-filled scream.

  Max ran into the kitchen and bumped into Jerome, knocking him over. A handgun slid across the floor stopping at Alice's feet.

  "Why you dirty son of a bitch!" Max uttered between clenched teeth.

  He dove toward Jerome and grabbed his leg just as Jerome was reaching for the gun. Alice stood paralyzed with fear, clutching her belly, unable to move. Max hauled Jerome away from Alice and the gun, grabbed his hair and started to beat his face into the floor.

  "Grab the gun, Alice! Get the gun!" Max hollered.

  Jerome took advantage of Max's distraction and flipped over punching Max in the stomach.

  "Ugh," gasped Max as he fell back, losing his grip on Jerome.

  Alice had picked up the gun and stood pointing it toward the two grappling men. Her hand was shaking badly. She had backed up against the kitchen counter, grabbing it for support with her free hand. Jerome had Max belly-up on the floor and was kneeling on him, his fingers digging deeply into Max's neck. Jerome's black eyes filled with a maniacal glee as he watched Max gasping for breath, his eyes bulging and his tongue swelling out from his constricted throat.

  Alice stood sobbing as Max battled for his life, his hands paddling helplessly in the air. She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

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  Rochester, New York

  Detective Gorman had been right, Jimmy was more than willing to tell his story. So willing, in fact, that he'd practically fallen over himself to get it off his chest.

  "Oh God," Jimmy started, "it was so weird. Ellen called me over one day babbling about this Pat being missing. I didn't know what she was talking about but I played along because she was so upset. I was afraid she'd lose her marbles if I didn't. People not knowing who Pat was seemed to send her right over the edge, you know? Then she showed me those pictures. The ones with her and me and Greg... and Pat! I thought I was in the Twilight Zone or something. I'd never seen this Pat before yet there she was in all those pictures! Ellen kept saying, 'Remember when we did this? Remember when we did that?' I told her yes, I remembered, only I didn't. I didn't remember any of it! It was creepy."

  Jimmy shook his head, eyes focused inward. Then he looked at Detective Gorman. "I don't take drugs! I mean, this isn't some sort of an 'I got high and I don't remember' thing. Sure, I smoked a little weed when I was a teenager but that was a long time ago and I haven't touched it since. I really don't remember the girl in those pictures. Who the hell is she? If those pictures are real then why don't I remember? Why?" Jimmy was begging for answers which Detective Gorman didn't have.

  "Take it easy, Jimmy. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. We just have to find it, that's all." He wished he could believe his own words.

  "What if you don't?" Jimmy pleaded.

  "We will. That's what we're here for. That's our job. Why don't you go on home and relax or something. Read a book."

  A very distraught young man had entered the police station and an equally distraught man had left. Detective Gorman felt sincerely sorry for Jimmy. He believed Jimmy's story in spite of his better judgement. The kid seemed so genuine.

  Detective Gorman had nearly exhausted all leads in the Pat Phillips case and was fast losing faith that he really would discover that "logical explanation" that he had humored Jimmy with. He was about to put the case on the back burner and turn his attention to more pressing cases when a radical new lead developed. Jeanne Phillips finally returned from a two week holiday at an exclusive health resort in southern California for bored, rich society princesses, and offered her own official statement in the case.

  Her response to the situation had been an unexpected one, for Mr. Phillips as well as the detectives. Detective Gorman was somewhat put off by this cold, surly woman. "These little tramps, all they know is how to extort money from people like us," she spat.

  Mr. Phillips paled, a hint of panic showing on his normally placid face.

  "Why just last year another cheap, brassy tart appeared on our doorstep claiming to be Fred's long lost daughter." Jeanne sighed, an exaggerated breath of air escaping.

  Fred Phillips' head wagged an emphatic "No!" as his eyes pleaded silently for her to be quiet.

  Jeanne continued, "There've been so many. This one was an ugly specimen of a girl," she snorted, "as though Fred could really father such a repulsive chit. How dare she even imply that he could sire such ugliness! If this is the same girl as the one you're looking for, I'm glad she's missing! It would be one less worry in this world."

  "Could you describe her?" asked Detective Gorman.

  "Sure! I could never forget a face like that!" she shuddered. "Long dark hair, parted in the middle. Wire rimmed glasses. She reminded me of something out of the sixties. No make-up, a grotesque caricature of a nose, and her attitude... a snotty little bitch if I ever met one!" she concluded.

  Fred had buried his face in his hands. Detective Gorman smiled inwardly at this unforeseen twist. Jeanne Phillips had all but implicated Fred and herself in the murder of Pat Phillips. Never mind that he'd found no proof as to the existence of a Pat Phillips. Never mind that no birth records, no driver's license records, school records, fingerprints, or any other evidence that would confirm Pat's existence was ever uncovered. Never mind that she existed solely in the mind of one girl with decidedly faulty genes and one bitter woman with a barren womb. Never mind that a body hadn't been unearthed. A confession would nail the lid on this case and Jeanne Phillips was a woman more than willing to cooperate.

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  Utica, Illinois

  Chief Hunsinger set up a watch at one of the neighboring farmhouses hoping to catch the Illini Bandits, as the thieves had come to be called. His efforts proved successful and the culprits turned out to be Tommy Wallace and Nick Darnell.

  Tommy had been caught inside the Starnes' house but Nick had seen the police car coming and jumped in his truck and sped away. By the time the second police car had arrived, Nick was long gone but two police officers had recognized his truck along with Chief Hunsinger, and Tommy had immediately ratted on his buddy.

  Fingerprints lifted off the stolen merchandise nailed the lid on the case. Nick's previous scrapes with the law had left a fingerprint file on record.

  Police Chief Hunsinger, Officer Ed Stokes and Officer Brimley drove up to the Darnell farm an hour after Tommy's arrest. An ill-tempered Debbie met them at the gate. "I thought we had an agreement, Hunsinger."

  "We do and that's why I'm here. Please open the gate."

  "I knew it! I knew you wouldn't give up until you found evidence against my grandfather even if you had to manufacture it yourself, which is probably what you did. I knew you would never let him rest in peace! I knew it!"

  "Please open the gate, Debbie."

  "First you show me a search warrant," Debbie said stubbornly, wasting precious time, giving Nick an opportunity to slip away again. Chief Hunsinger extended the arrest warrant for Nick. Debbie's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, you couldn't nail my grandfather so now you're going after my brother?" she accused.

  Chief Hunsinger sighed. "No Debbie, that's not how it is at all. Your brother nailed himself. Now open this gate or we'll force our way through it. You're obstructing justice."

  "Justice my ass!" she spat, opening the gate and whistling at the dogs to stand down and let the police officers pass.

  Just then, Officer Brimley spotted Nick trying to sneak off behind the barn. "Chief! Over there!" The three men ran towards the barn, Brimley and Stokes going around the right and Hunsinger around the left. Nick made a mad dash for the woods out behind the barn. The three m
en spotted him just as he hit the tree line.

  "Stop!" Chief Hunsinger shouted.

  "Or we'll shoot!" Ed Stokes added, drawing his gun. Nick ran on, dodging between the trees. Chief Hunsinger fell behind as the two younger officers outdistanced him. Nick ran wildly, darting between the trees and leaping over fallen logs in a mad dash for freedom.

  Officer Stokes fired his gun into the air as a warning. "Stop!" he yelled.

  The shot startled Nick and he tripped, falling face first to the ground. The officers were on him in a flash. He threw his hands in the air hollering, "I give up! I give up! Don't shoot, man! I give up!"

  Officer Brimley fell onto him, knee grinding into Nick's back as he snapped handcuffs around the man's wrists.

  "Come on, you lousy son of a bitch! On your fucking feet!" He jerked Nick roughly to his feet and pushed him back through the woods.

  "Bastard!" Ed Stokes spat, thinking of his beloved Pookey.

  Chief Hunsinger had already gone back toward the house and was under verbal attack. "You're really some piece of work!" Debbie spat, sounding much like a hissing cat. "All we ever asked for was to be left alone. We didn't do nothin' to nobody but no, Police Chief Hunsinger's got some booger up his ass that a Darnell killed somebody way back when so now, all the rest of the Darnell's are guilty as sin. Isn't that right, Chief?"

  Chief Hunsinger sighed. "No, Debbie, you're wrong..." Before he had a chance to explain further, Stokes and Brimley emerged from the woods shoving Nick in front of them.

  "Am I?" Debbie asked, looking toward her brother.

  "Am I?" Chief Hunsinger countered.

  Debbie expertly flung a gob of spit, just missing Chief Hunsinger's ear. She spun on her heel and stormed off. "You want this collar, Chief?" Officer Brimley asked.

  "No, he's all yours. Split him between the two of you, I've got other fish to fry." And with that, Chief Hunsinger left the Darnell brood behind and went back to the precinct to work on the Eric Weissmuller case.