Sandcastle for Pegasus

by Bob Avey

  A few neighbors strolled absently along the sidewalks, though none of them responded to Martin’s waving hello. It was as if they didn’t see him.

  At the intersection, the stop sign, as if it were on a floating base, rose above the car, pitched left and right, and then settled back to a more correct level.

  Martin thought of getting to the doctor’s office and did his best to ignore the ghostly neighbors and moving stop signs.

  Not to be outdone, when Martin left the entrance ramp and pulled onto the expressway, the roadway swayed slightly, giving him a sensation of driving on a huge floating barge. It seemed ultimately strange to Martin and frightening on a level he couldn’t describe. But he also sensed the possibility of his efforts, even his unavoidable role in all of this. And in his desire to make right what was wrong, he was in no position to do anything but follow his instincts, which told him he really had no other choice.

  Like having to visit an unscrupulous acquaintance, Martin once again pulled into the familiar parking lot outside of Doctor Stewart’s office.

  The complex of professional buildings loomed hazily before him, shrouded with fog, wavering in the mist like a painted backdrop in an old vampire movie. A sparse scattering of people, looking much like those in the neighborhood, moved absently along the parking lot and sidewalks.

  Martin got out of the car. As he walked past a lady holding the hand of a child, he spoke to her. And though the lady gave no reply or indication she had seen Martin, the child rolled his large, blue eyes toward Martin and shook his head as if to say go back the way you came and get away from this place.

  An urge to comply with the child’s warning nearly overtook Martin. Had the child been an unwilling patient, as Luke had, or was he a time messenger, sent there to inform Martin of a bad decision? Despite this, Martin calmed his nerves with a deep breath and kept walking toward Stewart’s office.

  Upon reaching the brick stairway, decoratively sided by beds of flowers and shrubs, Martin reluctantly ascended the stairs, yanking the door open before he could change his mind. And just like that, he was back inside the waiting area of the place he desperately wished he’d never discovered.

  Martin started toward the receptionist’s window, glancing warily at the people in the waiting area. They appeared to be much like the others outside, distant and either unaware of his presence, or assigning not enough significance to his being there to warrant their interest. Either way, the thought chilled him.

  Waiting at the windowed counter until it became obvious the receptionist—the same aloof, young man whom Martin had met while here with Luke—was not going to acknowledge his presence, Martin said, “Excuse me, sir, but I’d like to have a word with Doctor Stewart.”

  As if Martin were only a fly on the wall, the receptionist was unreceptive and went about his duties like nothing had happened.

  An unnerving thought filtered through Martin’s senses, and as he wondered if he could remain unnoticed, an even more disturbing idea occurred to him. If that were true, he could walk through the area undetected, and when he found Doctor Stewart’s personal office, he might find the answer to the question that had brought him to this point. What was Doctor Stewart’s connection to charity? He did not appear to be an overly charitable man; it seemed unlikely that he would donate a large portion of his profits.

  With that in mind, Martin casually walked behind the receptionist area. Then, when he reached a hallway, he walked toward several offices and began checking them by knocking softly and then opening the doors to look inside. When he reached the office on the end, the largest of the three, he repeated the process, this time stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

  The surrealism of it all struck Martin, and it took all of his nerve to continue the mission. He shrugged off his apprehension and opened the file cabinets. In them, he found nothing of interest to him at the moment. He sat behind the desk and rifled through the drawers, finding a few hastily scribbled notes that might lead to something if given time to study.

  Martin leaned back in the chair, and as he looked about the room, a painting on the wall—a reproduction of The Blue Boy by Thomas Gainsborough—caught his attention. It was not flush with the wall, but hung apart from it on the left side.

  Getting up from the chair, Martin walked over and pulled the hinged artwork from the wall. Behind it was a safe. Martin’s enthusiasm dropped. He didn’t expect it would be unlocked. But when he tried anyway, and the thick, metal door swung open, his pulse quickened. For a moment, he stood staring into the small, dark opening, unsure of what to do with the discovery.

  Shaking off his anxiety, Martin took the contents of the safe, a file and what looked like an old-fashioned ledger, and sat them on the desk. He sat in the chair and opened the ledger. On its pages, yellowed by age, he saw several rows of figures, dollar amounts he suspected, carefully recorded. Written upon the lines provided to identify the monetary entries was a name: The Phoenix Foundation.

  Martin then flipped open the accompanying file, and in it were several newspaper articles and letters of gratitude all relating to the foundation. As Martin scanned each document, a lump formed in his throat. The Phoenix Foundation’s sole purpose seemed to be to gather information and research on mental retardation to aid certain senators— Lincoln Meyer from Connecticut, Ronald Day from California, and Maynard Simms from New York— in designing legislation that would mandate all unborn babies diagnosed with Down’s Syndrome or other related illnesses to be aborted.

  The shock of what Martin had discovered rolled over his senses with flood-like force, rendering the bulk of his attention occupied, so the opening of the office door barely registered. When fear of what that meant finally brought his thoughts into a resemblance of balance, he looked up from the file on the desk and stared into the eyes of Doctor Jackson Stewart.

  “Who in blazes are you?” Doctor Stewart asked. “And what exactly are you doing in my office?”

  Martin pushed back from the desk and slowly got to his feet. Unlike the others he had encountered, Doctor Stewart could obviously see him. He did not, however, seem to know him.

  It occurred to Martin why such a thing was possible. Doctor Stewart had not traveled here from 2020 but from some other date in which they had yet to meet.

  “I’m sorry,” Martin said. “But I seem to be hopelessly lost. I went looking for the bathroom and ended up here.”

  “Is that right?” Stewart said. He walked closer and scooped up the file relating to The Phoenix Foundation. “I see you also have some of my personal information. Where did you get that, the toilet stall?”

  Martin shook his head. “That’s not mine. It must have already been here on the desk. I apologize for being such an inconvenience. If you don’t mind, I’ll go back to the waiting area now.”

  Doctor Stewart slowly backed from the room but remained in the doorway, blocking the exit. “Sit back down and make yourself comfortable. I’ve already called the police.” He paused, pulling a small handgun from his jacket and aimed it at Martin. “You’re not going anywhere until the authorities arrive.”

  Martin slumped into the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes. He had effectively completed his mission. He could let it go now, which should further destabilize the fragment. In an effort to release, let go of this time and place, he thought of Susan and Luke and how much he wished to see them.

  When Martin opened his eyes, it was not to a new location. He was still in the office, and Doctor Stewart was still holding a gun on him. Panic settled in his stomach. In his efforts to remain in this time and place longer than he should have, had he locked himself into the fragment? Minutes later, he heard additional voices coming down the hallway.

  “Thanks for responding so quickly,” Doctor Stewar
t said. “He’s right in here. I detained him for you.”

  As two uniformed police officers came into the room, Doctor Stewart stepped back into the hallway. The officers looked around and then glanced at each other, an expression of puzzlement creasing their faces. “You must be mistaken, Doctor Stewart. There’s no one here. Are you sure he didn’t slip out when you were calling us?”

  Doctor Stewart came back to the doorway where he paused, his head turning left and then right. “He must be hiding somewhere. He was here, I tell you. Sitting right there in my office chair.”

  One officer shrugged. “We’ve looked everywhere in here,” he said. “We can search the rest of the offices, and anywhere else you want, but I have a feeling whoever it was is long gone by now. I’ve dealt with this kind before. They’re slippery, and given half a chance they’ll give you the slip.”

  Remaining quiet, Martin stayed as still as he could and stayed in the chair. His plan was to leave as soon as he got the chance, wait until the coast was clear, and then slip out unnoticed. That plan would not happen, though. As soon as the police officers left the room, everything turned to mist, and Martin was once again in total darkness. Back in the time tunnel, he guessed, or if his earlier assessment was correct, once again cast into purgatory.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MARTIN

  Monday, May 11, 2020, 10:00 a.m.

  The darkness lifted, and Martin was sitting on the sofa in his living room, which was unusual because he rarely did that. He glanced over and saw that his black, leather recliner was empty. Few people sat there, other than Martin. The recliner had been a gift from Luke, who had purchased the chair while he was still working at Huntington, using the bulk of his annual bonus to acquire the gift. It meant a great deal to Martin, and he always sat in the recliner because he loved it and Luke for getting it for him. Out of respect for his attachment to the chair, no one else sat there, except for an occasional friend or relative who didn’t understand the significance.

  However, his being in the wrong chair wasn’t the only reason Martin suspected something was amiss. A menagerie of unusual thoughts filtered through his mind, and they were thoughts he wasn’t sure he could lay total claim to, like tender feelings for himself, coming from inside his consciousness, though not exactly. Martin instinctively knew to back off and leave the thoughts alone.

  It had become a habit since the traveling had started for Martin to check his watch to gain orientation, but as he carried through with this action, a chill ran through him. He did not see the watch, but a thinner, more feminine arm instead. The idea occurred to Martin that he should check his reflection in the bathroom mirror, but before he could act on the impulse, Susan walked into the room.

  She was dressed nicely in business attire, and Martin had to fight an urge to go to her and wrap his arms around her. The feeling that he wasn’t exactly himself, held him back, telling him it would not be a good idea.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Susan said. “If this wasn’t so important, I would have said no. It’s all so sudden and such an emotional time for Luke. And for me.”

  Without thinking it, and not against his will but certainly not with it, Martin rose from the sofa and walked over to Susan. He did not try to speak, but he felt his vocal cords move. “You look wonderful, Momma.”

  Momma? Martin held back, keeping himself in a tight bubble. He sensed thoughts—separate from his own—within reach and accessible should he choose to breach the wall he had mentally erected both for his protection and that of the host, which he had come to understand was his daughter, Krystal.

  Martin did not understand how any of this was possible, and only a few days ago, prior to the fourth day of May to be exact, he would have been terrified or convinced he was stuck in a bizarre dream, but a lot had happened since then. Now, he was not so inclined to be surprised by anything. Deciding it was necessary, he opened a small hole in the wall and suggested that Krystal check her phone.

  She pulled it from her purse. It showed Monday, May 11, 10:00 a.m.

  It was then that it dawned on Martin what had happened. It was past the fourth day of May, and since he wasn’t here, he hadn’t survived the accident. A thread of panic made its way through his thoughts. What about Luke?

  “You might want to check on Luke,” Krystal said.

  Susan nodded, walked through the living room, and then disappeared down the short hallway. “Hey, big guy, are you ready for the meeting with Senator Padgett?”

  “I no go.”

  Martin felt a sigh of relief run through him. Luke was being Luke, but at least he was okay. The airbag must have saved him. But why in the world would Luke be meeting with a senator?

  “Come on, Luke. We talked about this. What you are doing is very important. It will help all of your friends at Huntington. You want that, don’t you?”

  “I guess. I wear Spider-Man?”

  “Tell you what,” Susan said, “how about you wear Spider-Man under your dress shirt? Will that work?”

  “I guess.”

  Love and pride surged through Martin. He had always been the one who could handle Luke, and now Susan had really stepped up and filled in. She had told him about helping his friends and then suggested he wear his favorite T-shirt beneath his dress shirt. It was just how he would have done it.

  Susan came back into the room and hugged Krystal. “Love you, sweetie.”

  A few minutes later, Luke walked in wearing a nice shirt and tie. His expression indicated his displeasure with all of this, but as soon as he glanced at Krystal, that changed. He walked over and stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Krystal?”

  “What is it, Luke? You look a little frazzled.”

  “Where Dad?”

  Susan quickly came over and hugged Luke. “Dad’s not here, big guy.”

  She started to cry, and Krystal joined the hugging party. “We’ll get through this, Luke. You, me, and Momma. But we need to get going. It’s late.”

  “He okay,” Luke said.

  With that, Martin’s heart broke. Luke knew something the others didn’t. His comment was not a question but a statement. He had sensed Martin’s presence.

  “Well,” Krystal said, “let’s get going.”

  It took Krystal about twenty-five minutes to get to the government offices in downtown Tulsa and park the car. Martin felt uneasy and out of place, as he had from the beginning. However, he had begun to think of it as an extremely personal and delicate way to complete his mission, to find his way and put things back in order. What Susan, Krystal, and Luke had gotten themselves into that involved a state senator, he could not imagine.

  They were seated around a long conference table when Senator Padgett, as she introduced herself, came into the room.

  “Hello, Heather.”

  It was Luke. He seemed to know the senator.

  “Hey, Luke, how are you doing?”

  “Good.”

  She took Susan’s hand. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me today. I know it’s not a good time for you, but some powerful politicians are hurrying to push this through. It’s extremely important we act as soon as possible.”

  Push what through?

  The senator shook her head. “Ten years ago, I would not have believed anything like this was even remotely possible. But after what we’ve seen with the last two administrations—and I mean the whole Washington establishment—nothing surprises me. If we don’t act, there is a good chance they will push this through. If there was ever a time for prayer, it’s now.”

  Martin subtly urged Krystal to inquire exactly what the senator was referring to.

 
“What exactly are we talking about here, Senator Padgett, and how does it involve Luke?”

  Senator Padgett looked as if she had been caught off guard, Martin thought. Perhaps more surprised that the family she was talking to didn’t seem to know what was going on. She was used to dealing with other politicians and not the public.

  “Let me cut to the chase,” she said. “The senators I mentioned earlier in our phone conversation are pushing to make it mandatory to have unborn children diagnosed with Down’s Syndrome, or other similar conditions, to be aborted, regardless of the wishes of the parents.”

  The senator paused, letting her statement sink in for a moment.

  Susan coughed and cleared her throat. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Oh, it’s a reality, Ms. Taylor. And like I said, they have a good chance of actually getting this legislation passed. There is a lot of money and power behind it. God knows why, but that’s the way it is. I’m betting on a lack of understanding. That’s where Luke comes in.”

  “How could Luke possibly help with something like this?” Krystal asked.

  The senator leaned back in her chair and swiveled toward Luke. “Because I know Luke. My daughter, Patricia, worked at Huntington for a few years while Luke was there. If anyone can pull this off, it’s Luke or someone like him.”

  Of course, Martin thought. He remembered Patricia. He hadn’t known the senator was her mother, though. He guessed Susan hadn’t either.

  “But why Luke?” Krystal asked.

  Senator Padgett swiveled back and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “Luke is a very special young man. He instantly makes friends because he inherently believes everyone is his friend. His total, simple honesty comes through unlike any other special child I’ve ever met. He totally has the power to change some minds.”