Winston Chase and the Theta Factor

by Bodhi St John

  Minutes later, Alyssa was back in her bedroom. She opened her notebook, bringing Winston’s words back to life on the screen.

  “Thanks, Alyssa,” she read, tone brimming with scorn. “You’re amazing, and I can’t wait to study math with you.” She put her hands on her hips as if preparing to lecture the laptop. “Yeah, you can’t wait. But here we are…waiting.” She extended one hand toward the screen, fingers clenching into a fist. “Stupid moron! I can’t wait to put my hands around your throat and squeeze!”

  Alyssa started to feel a pressure in her ears. It was quick and sharp, and she tried opening her jaws to try and make them pop. Then, even more inexplicably, she saw her own shadow cast across the desk before her as the room filled with bluish-white light. She turned to find a churning mass of sparks and brilliant streaks swirling beside her bed.

  A squeak that should have been a scream escaped from her throat. One of her hands came up in a fist beside her head, ready to attack, although she couldn’t imagine what she would swing at.

  Even more peculiar, she smelled the oddest mixture of electrical burning, rain, and…was that sawdust? The cloud of sparks stopped and fell away, extinguishing into nothing as they met Alyssa’s carpet. In the lightstorm’s place stood Winston, his eyes anxious and fixed on her. He now wore black jeans and a black T-shirt instead of the gray outfit he’d last worn to school. He put on a nervous smile and tried to move the strange, spinning silver object he was holding behind his back.

  “I hope you were kidding about the throat squeezing,” he said.

  Was it too late to scream? Probably.

  Alyssa lowered her hand, then took a tentative step forward. She touched a fingertip to his jacket, felt fabric, and jerked her hand away as if she’d been stung.

  Perhaps she was witnessing some sort of miracle. Or a magic trick. Yes, odds were better for magic. Either way, Alyssa knew she should feel awed, but with each passing second, her still-simmering anger at Winston grew closer to boiling. Anger…and, yes, some fear, much as she didn’t want to admit it.

  Above all else, though, there was a boy in her bedroom. Her parents would absolutely rupture if they saw him in here. Alyssa’s older sister had broken the house rules about boys a few years ago, and it had ended with much shouting, broken furniture, a sprained ankle, and one hundred combined hours of community service.

  “What—?” was all she could get out in a hoarse whisper.

  “Look, I’m really sorry,” Winston began in a normal volume, and Alyssa dove at him. She pressed a palm over his mouth and shoved him against the wall.

  “Shut up!” she hissed. “Keep your voice down. You can’t be here! And besides that…” She released his mouth and gestured open-handed from his head to his feet. “You can’t be here! Am I asleep? God, do I need to get checked in somewhere?”

  Winston took her hand with his. His skin was cold and clammy. Really cold, like he’d just been outside in the snow for a while. Despite that, she felt a warm tingle in her fingers at his touch.

  “Alyssa, I’m sorry to do this. And the email and everything. It’s all happening so quickly, though. There’s no time to explain.”

  “Well, you better explain!” she said through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea how mad I am?”

  Winston blinked a couple of times and turned his head slightly. “Why are you mad? I apologized for missing our—”

  “Not that! I was worried about you, idiot! You wouldn’t tell me anything!”

  “Oh.”

  Alyssa heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs: her father.

  No, no, no. She looked around frantically for a hiding spot. Thin as he was, Winston and his ugly green backpack probably couldn’t disappear behind her bed. The closet was on the other side of the bed. No, they were dead if—

  The footsteps paused outside her door, and there were two gentle knocks.

  “Honey, you OK?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, probably too quickly. “Just reading through my essay.”

  “Ah. Well, give it ten minutes, then you’d better get going to school, right?”

  “Sure.”

  After what seemed forever, the footsteps continued down the hallway to the master bedroom.

  “You’re good,” Winston whispered.

  She pointed a finger at his mouth. “Make one more sound. I dare you.”

  When Alyssa was fairly sure that her dad wouldn’t be coming back in the next few moments, she said quietly, “First thing. What…was…” Again with the big hand wave. “…that?”

  “You want the whole truth or just the part that might not put you in more danger?”

  Alyssa glared in reply.

  “Right,” he said. He brought up the metal object he was lamely hiding and held it between them, a totally unfamiliar collection of chrome tubes that surrounded two spinning silver objects. “This…is part of the Alpha Machine. It’s a time-space travel device.”

  “Ha!”

  Alyssa’s disbelief was automatic. No sooner was the sound out of her mouth, though, than she remembered how he had materialized in front of her like a Star Trek special effect only seconds ago. Either he was pulling off some mind-blowing magic or…

  Oddly enough, it was that first whiff of sawdust that convinced her to consider the possibility that he wasn’t lying.

  “Keep talking,” she said.

  “It’s fully functional with five pieces. I have the first, well, three — plus Little e. My dad hid them back in the seventies.”

  “Where’d he get them?”

  Winston grimaced and took a deep breath. “From the Roswell alien crash in 1947.”

  Alyssa started to make some snarky response, then realized she had no words. Her mouth simply hung open. The idea was preposterous. Impossible. And yet…what else could it be?

  “Aliens,” she said.

  “Just one.”

  The skeptical part of Alyssa’s brain came back online. She realized he was still holding her hand, and she quickly withdrew it.

  “A time machine.”

  He nodded. “Time and space.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Well…” He hesitated. “It’s complicated. I went to 1966, then came back to my present. Actually, though, this right here is my past. My present is a few days from now.” He searched her face, trying to gauge her response. “Does that make any sense?”

  “A little,” she said. “I’m still going to strangle you.”

  “Is later OK? If we’re all still here in a week or two, then strangle away.”

  He wasn’t kidding. Everything in his body language and expression registered urgency, although he was trying to hide it.

  “Why? What happens then?”

  He bit his lower lip and didn’t reply.

  “Winston?” she prodded, more gently this time.

  “The end,” he whispered. “Of everything.”

  Some detached part of Alyssa knew that she should raise a hand to her mouth in horror, or maybe stumble back in shock and confusion. A comment like that called for a grand gesture. In reality, though, it was too much to take in. The meaning of the words bounced around the edge of her understanding, perhaps because she still understood so little. Maybe it was better that way.

  “How?” she asked.

  “I’m being hunted by a guy. If he gets the Alpha Machine, then he’s going to go back to the 1950s and change history. He wants World War III, and he’s going to use the Alpha Machine to help the Russians bomb us. Everything we know today will have never happened. We’ll be erased from the universe.”

  Enough of that got through to send a chill down Alyssa’s neck and make her heart painfully skip a beat. Suddenly, she felt lightheaded.

  “That’s a lot to take in,” she said. “And how do you know all this?”

  “I’m giving you the short version. My mom and I had a long talk the other night. My dad has done a lot of bouncing around and observing through the decades. She got her info from h
im.”

  “And she told you everything?”

  Winston took a deep breath and said, “Most of it, I hope. The guy who’s after me is named Devlin Bledsoe. He worked with my parents after World War II. He came forward in time with them, and now he has my mom. He’s threatening to kill her if I don’t give him the Alpha Machine very soon.”

  “Wait. How did he get your mom?”

  “Trust me, it’s a long story, and minutes matter. I’ll tell you what I can, but you need to understand that I want to meet Bledsoe at Council Crest. Tonight, at ten o’clock. I want to set up an exchange for my mom and—” An expression of pain flashed over his face. “—hope it goes better than last time. I’m going to need a fast get-away ride out of there. That’s where you come in.”

  “I don’t drive.”

  “I know.”

  “You want me to ask my parents?”

  Winston shook his head, and she could feel his desperation. “I don’t know what to do. I only know that we need help, and you’re the only one I felt safe turning to.”

  “Winston.” Alyssa shook her head, trying to shift all the puzzle pieces into place. She put a hand on his chest and stared into his eyes. “Tell me the truth, Winston. Are you a nuclear terrorist?”

  He put his hand over hers. She could feel his heart beating fast.

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “Are you an alien?”

  “No,” he said.

  Alyssa breathed a sigh of relief, then he added, “Mostly no. I think. It’s…complicated.”

  She closed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Five minutes ago, she’d been quite content to indulge in an everyday temper fit. Now, the entire world was upside-down and might end soon. How was that for teen drama?

  Alyssa let a chuckle escape, a desperate-sounding thing that was still preferable to a sob.

  “I didn’t expect laughing,” Winston said.

  “Yeah. Let’s talk about what you didn’t expect.”

  His blank expression broke into a smile, and the hand he held over hers tightened into a squeeze around her fingers.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t—”

  Alyssa raised her hand to his mouth again, and this time the move was much gentler. His lips were warm and soft against her palm.

  “Shut it,” she said, surprised to find herself whispering hoarsely. “I’ll figure something out, OK? Now, tell me what we need to do.”

  10

  Plucked From the Past

  Bledsoe’s confidence wavered, and he stepped back from Claude. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

  Could there have been an accident that sent the boy and his pack to the bottom of the river? Possible. That would definitely make things easier. But Winston had been too clever so far, and he had at least one friend helping him.

  “You have divers down,” he said, conscious of Claude overhearing him. “Can’t they just grab it and bring it up?”

  “Negative, sir,” said the agent over the sound of loud splashing and others talking in the background. “We’ve fixed the spot, but there’s nothing there. Whatever it is, it’s buried at least a couple feet down, and they tell me there’s no sign of disturbance in the area. My guess is it’s been there for quite a while.”

  The agent’s last words rang in his mind. None of this made sense yet.

  “Thompson, where exactly are you?”

  The agent started to speak, but another engine cranked up, drowning him out. Several seconds passed, and the sound of the noise changed, probably from the man turning away from the sound and cupping a hand around the microphone.

  “Sorry about the noise, sir! I said we’re in Astoria, directly under the Astoria-Megler Bridge!”

  “Contact Lynch and make sure he goes directly to you. What about the other signal? You said there were two.”

  “Yes! It’s coming from a Chinese cargo freighter bound for the Pacific! The ship should reach our position soon!”

  “Keep me posted,” said Bledsoe. “I’ll be with you shortly.” He hung up.

  Bledsoe stood there, staring at the slow rise and fall of Claude’s chest, trying to puzzle out how an alpha emitter could be buried ahead of Winston’s position. Was it another piece that had been there all along, and they’d simply stumbled into it accidentally? That was too convenient to be true. Something else was happening. Clearly, Bledsoe needed to be on-site in Astoria, but he also needed whatever information Claude wasn’t sharing.

  Weighing every option he could see, Bledsoe paced around the bed. As he passed by one counter, he grabbed a bottle of water, opened it, and took a thoughtful swig. Yes, the time for scientific curiosity was over.

  “If you need to go, I understand,” said Claude.

  “Hm.” Bledsoe gave Claude a tepid chuckle and removed the cloth from his face. “So. I’m left with three possibilities. One, your brain is defective. Maybe it’s related to the cellular damage and aging you sustained during all those years of jumping around in time. Two, you’re just a natural at throwing off our system, like people who can beat a lie detector. Or three…you had help in wiping your memories.”

  Claude glanced at him, lips pursed. “I’d love to tell you, but I just can’t recall.”

  “We could give up. Orrrr…we could try a slightly different approach. What do you say, old lab partner? Push the boundaries of science a little? Play for double or nothing?”

  Claude swallowed thickly. “You could go to Hell and record your observations.”

  “Already there and trying to fix it, friend.” Bledsoe pointed at one of the room’s two sets of one-way mirrors and made a small come here gesture. “See, I’m not sold on the memory wiping hypothesis. But blocked?” He tapped gently on the slippery surface of Claude’s brain, not caring at all about proper hygiene. “Maybe blocked. The trick…” He rain a fingertip along one particularly large, purple vein. “The trick is figuring out how to get past the block.”

  The surgical theater door swung open, and a khaki-uniformed agent pushed the handcuffed Amanda Chase into the room. Bledsoe would have preferred Lynch for this job. He hated getting anyone else involved with the Chases, but he’d selected this particular agent for his sour demeanor and the fact that he’d lost his hearing in Iraq. That was good enough, and he needed Lynch in Astoria more than here.

  “You’ve been so cooperative and pleasant,” said Bledsoe. “I thought it only fair that I bring you a gift to show my gratitude.”

  Bledsoe quickly grabbed another chair, set it beside his own, and pointed at it.

  “Get your hands off me!” cried Amanda as she tried to yank her arms free from her captor. Her wrists were handcuffed with steel this time. No more surprises like her son had pulled, thank you. The agent tugged her along by the short chain between the cuffs, his fingers protected by thick blue rubber gloves, and shoved Amanda down onto the second seat.

  Seeing her, Claude’s eyes grew large, and his dry, cracked lips parted in a large “O” of surprise.

  “Amanda,” he croaked. “Are you all right?”

  Her furious gaze fell away from the agent, slipped past Bledsoe, and fell upon her husband. Immediately, her expression faltered and fell. Bledsoe saw tears rise into her eyes as she leaned toward the old man.

  “Fine enough,” she said. “I can’t believe—” Her gaze kept flicking to his exposed brain and back to his face.

  Amanda tried to rise and reach for Claude, but the deaf agent placed two restraining hands on her shoulders and forced her to stay in place. She cast the agent another furious look, then craned her head toward Bledsoe and spat. The spittle fell between them.

  Until that moment, Bledsoe hadn’t been sure what he would do next. He hadn’t let go of the hope that he might still be able to woo Amanda in this timeline. If nothing else, he could gain clues from her as to what would win her heart on the next go ‘round. If only you had done this, she might say. I prefer that kind of man.

  So much for shortcuts. It was t
ime to set the part of himself that loved her aside and give the spurned, long-tormented part free rein.

  “That’s a bit crass for you, isn’t it? Perhaps motherhood has run you a little ragged around the seams. Not to worry. All can be fixed.” He raised his hands in a gentle, appealing gesture. “There’s no reason why this can’t be settled quickly and easily to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  Bledsoe eased himself into the seat beside Amanda and stared into her brown eyes, now made even more beautiful with the energy of fear and rage. He wanted to run his hands over her face, just to know the smoothness of her skin and see if she would try to bite him. It was like the unpredictable thrill of baiting a starved predator.

  Bledsoe removed the lid from his water and poured some of the contents across his hands, not caring if it spattered across his knees and the floor.

  “Like before, Claude, I’m going to prompt you to recall certain things. However, this time, we’re going to find out if we can get past your inhibitions.”

  He set his left hand on Amanda’s knee. The water droplets from his skin soaked into the fabric of her jeans, darkening it. Amanda moved to push his hand away, but Bledsoe tightened his grip. After a second, Amanda’s brow furrowed. She sat up straighter on her seat, and her mouth parted with an expression between surprise and shock.

  “What—?” she began to say.

  Bledsoe squeezed her leg a little tighter. The pressure wasn’t much, only enough to dimple the fabric around his fingertips.

  “Don’t,” said Claude.

  Bledsoe pushed more energy through his arm and into Amanda’s body. The parting of her lips widened into a scream that reverberated off the tile walls. Perhaps he was giving her a little too much, but it would make a point.

  As quickly as the shock had started, Bledsoe cut it off and released her leg. He leaned in close to Claude and saw the heavy push of his breath stir the blanket under the old man’s chin.

  “Let’s be perfectly clear about what we’re doing here today,” he said. “I am going to give you cues, and you are going to give me the results I want. That is all. You will not make requests. You will not ask questions. Your only task is to give me what I want.”