by Bob Avey
Doctor Jackson Stewart had a warped mind—if not from birth, then because of his prolonged exposure to the mental problems of those he pretended to care about and give false hope to. Martin had already suspected it, but he knew it when he learned of the doctor’s association with the Phoenix Foundation.
By the time Doctor Stewart finally came out of the building and crossed the parking lot to his car, Martin had decided to try to stop the doctor from causing any more harm. He waited for the black BMW to exit the lot, and then followed, leaving what he hoped was a good enough distance between them to keep from being discovered.
The BMW drove to the Broken Arrow Expressway and began traveling west.
It was not what Martin had expected. He didn’t know why. There were plenty of houses and apartments accessible from that direction, not the least of which were lofts and condominiums in both midtown and downtown locations. Doctor Stewart could easily live in any of those areas.
Doctor Stewart took the Utica exit then followed the feeder road past the stop sign and through the intersection.
From a distance, Martin watched the BMW turn north onto Peoria Avenue, and when he reached the intersection, he continued along the same path. After driving north for a few miles, Martin followed the BMW as it turned off Peoria Avenue onto a side street, which led to an old industrialized area.
The street sign had been torn down, and from the looks of things no attempt had been made by the city to replace the marker. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Weeds, though dormant, grew as tall as Martin and nearly obscured the old chain-link fence surrounding the dormant industrial site which occupied most of the block on the north side of the street. Similar but smaller sites occupied the south side. The entire area appeared to be abandoned, and Martin suspected it had been that way for a long time. He found it frightening and intriguing at the same time. He’d always been fascinated by such things, unused areas that continued to exist in their own little worlds. Come to think about it, his father had often told him that he lived in his own little world. Perhaps that’s why he found such things as defunct, onetime bustling businesses interesting. He loved contemplating the mystery behind what had happened for the concern to have ended up the way it had.
Caught up in thought, Martin had to drag himself back to his senses as he noticed the BMW. The vehicle glided across the weed-choked parking lot of the abandoned industrial site toward a metal building, which looked to be the size of two football fields in length and at least fifty feet tall.
Doctor Stewart had gained access to the area.
Martin didn’t think. Determining how Stewart might have done that would be difficult, and he wasn’t puzzled as to why. The old site looked as deserted as any abandoned area one might find in Tulsa. If Stewart wanted to hide, this would be a good place to do it. The problem would be in following the doctor to see what he was up to and why he might want to hide that activity. Martin had a pretty good idea why Stewart wanted the cover of an abandoned building. He just didn’t know how to get close enough to observe, and he certainly didn’t know how he would stop the doctor, if that was what he needed to do.
A few hundred feet down the unmarked road, when Martin found the gate where Doctor Stewart must have entered, he parked his car then got out and checked the gate. It was locked but not with a padlock as he had expected. It just wouldn’t open, and Martin figured the gate was electronically secured and Stewart had a device for gaining access, which meant he had been here before.
The thought to just turn around and leave kept running through Martin’s mind, and he struggled to keep going. There had to be a way to get inside the fence other than climbing over. Even if he could physically scale the fence, being suspended on it for any amount of time would leave him exposed and apt to be seen by Stewart.
A few minutes later, after Martin had searched the perimeter, it appeared as if climbing over might be the only option. As odd as it seemed for the area, there were no tears, rips, or holes in the galvanized wire surrounding the complex. The thought of the fence being maintained, which ordinarily would have been more threatening if the reverse were true, gave Martin reason to worry. People obviously avoided the eight hundred thousand square feet of wasted land inside the chain-link barrier.
Making his way back to the gated section, the only part not topped by razor wire, Martin did something that only days ago he would have never dreamed of. He grabbed the wire of the gate with both hands then hoisted himself up and climbed. When he reached the top, he threw one leg over followed by the other and lowered himself to the crumbling tarmac on the inside of the fenced-off industrial site.
Martin surveyed the area, looked for movement or any sign that he’d been detected. If Doctor Stewart caught him now, he would have a tough time explaining what he was doing there. Once he was inside the metal building, if he made it that far, he would decide what to do next.
With his pulse pounding nearly out of control, Martin scurried across the deteriorating parking lot, and when he neared the main structure, he went to what looked like the closest entrance, a large, metallic door.
To Martin’s surprise, the door creaked open when he pulled on it, the rusted hinges making a lot of noise in the semi-deserted world he’d voluntarily thrown himself into, but he saw no movement coming from inside the darkened interior, and heard no one calling out. He held the door open and stared inside.
Okay, Martin, here you are, now what?
An array of industrial-sized machinery occupied various spots within the expansive interior, arranged in what was thought to be the most efficient layout to get the job done, manufacturing whatever had been the product of such a business.
Martin took a deep breath and stepped inside, easing the door shut behind him. He didn’t think it was too late to turn back, but it was getting dangerously close, and if he were discovered, it would quickly come to that point.
He gingerly took a step and then another, walking almost robotically into the expanse. The sound of his shoes, crunching against bits of a gravel-like substance, sounded to him like gunshots in the silence, but that suddenly changed. The silence was broken by a distant but powerful hum, as if electricity, thousands of volts from the sound of it, was charging the very air around the complex. A cold chill started at the base of Martin’s spine and crawled upward. Whatever was causing the disturbance did not belong in the forgotten building with the collection of defunct machinery.
The sound seemed to come from everywhere, but Martin was drawn, almost instinctively toward a substructure, a cinderblock wall with a large, metal door in the center of the building. He crept toward the door and, to his surprise, eased it open and poked his head into the structure where he peered into a darkening stairwell leading downward into what he guessed must be the basement. The strange sound was much louder with the stairwell door opened. It was emanating from the basement.
Another sound, coming from behind, grabbed Martin’s attention. His heart jumped.
He spun around and saw what had caused the commotion. A pack of dogs that showed no signs of being intimidated stared him down. They did not bark or growl but just glared directly ahead with their teeth exposed.
Martin’s pulse raced nearly out of control. He had visually searched the area when he crossed the parking lot, and he hadn’t seen the dog or anyone else. The difficult decision of entering the stairwell had been made for him. He hurried over to the stairs and pulled the door closed.
As the metal barrier closed, total darkness surrounded Martin. The thought of reopening it was too much for him. He’d have to stay here and hope the dogs would soon lose interest, or follow the stairs down to wherever they led.
Standing in the darkness, it occurred to Martin that he was in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 2020. He’d driven here, which meant he had his ca
r. It stood to reason he would also have his phone. He slid his hand into his left front pants pocket and found the device. He didn’t have a flashlight app, but the light from the screen was enough. He shined it toward his feet and carefully descended the stairs.
Four flights of stairs later, he encountered another metal door. His mind raced for answers on what to do next. The way he saw it, he only had two options. He could go back and peek out to see if the dogs were gone, or he could open the second door. Staying in the stairwell wasn’t really an option; at best it was only temporary. Going on the assumption that Doctor Stewart had gone to the basement and taken the same route, he would eventually return to the surface. The thought of meeting Stewart in such an enclosed area wasn’t much more appealing than facing the dogs.
He had to do something.
The sound of the second door opening startled Martin, and he crammed the phone into his pocket then flattened himself against the wall.
It was Doctor Stewart, coming out because he was finished with whatever he was doing, or he’d forgotten something and was on his way to retrieve it. Stewart didn’t look back. He didn’t expect anyone to be there. A bluish glow came from the doorway, and the humming sound had grown much more intense. Martin ducked into the doorway. At the very least, he could more easily find a place to hide inside the basement. And if the dogs were still there, Stewart would have to deal with them, which should buy Martin some time.
The door closed behind Martin with a metallic click, and he took in his surroundings with an awestruck, panoramic sweep. The basement was not much over a twenty-five hundred square feet room, though the area was efficiently utilized. Nearly every available space was packed with what appeared to be wires and transformers. Only narrow gaps remained between each piece of equipment, meandering throughout the space like trails.
It didn’t take long to determine what all the electrical stuff was for. In the center of it all was the source of both the bluish, pulsating light and the near deafening noise. For several moments, Martin stared at a massive coil of wires, which surrounded an oval-shaped, blue patch of light measuring about four feet wide and ten feet tall. It was Doctor Stewart’s time machine. It had to be.
A sobering thought ran through Martin. At any moment, Doctor Stewart could come rushing back into the room, and the only places to hide were the narrow gaps between the transformers. If the voltage running through the equipment was half as powerful as it looked and sounded, that would probably not be a good idea.
Martin reminded himself of why he was there. If he could disable the machine, he might not stop Doctor Stewart from traveling forever, but he might slow him down considerably. Specifically, it might stop Stewart from traveling today, which was most likely when the doctor had traveled back to May 17, 1995, the date carved into the headstone of Candy Barnes.
Now, Martin. Do it now.
Martin gathered his wits and searched the room. If he could find a large wrench, a crowbar, or even a two-by-four, he could inflict some serious damage to the equipment. He kept glancing at the metal door as he scurried about the basement. The place was clean. If Stewart had left anything behind, Martin had yet to find it.
Martin thought of his belt and reached down to see if he was wearing one.
Finding the leather strap, he fumbled it loose and pulled it free of the loops. He planned to find something heavy and secure it to the belt and then use it like a slingshot with a stone permanently attached.
He glanced around, wondering where he might strike the equipment to cause the most damage, and it occurred to him that something as sophisticated as time travel would be controlled through a computer system. He spun around and saw a bank of monitors glowing softly, hidden from sight earlier by the bright, blue patch that glowed from the center of the coil.
Martin stepped over to the computers, examined them briefly, three of them he could see, and then sat in the office chair positioned in front of the monitors. The same program seemed to be running on all of them. He rolled over to the keyboard in the middle of the bank and positioned his hands on the keys. The thought struck him to start typing in random words and numbers, anything that might disrupt the program, but he needed to do something even more damaging, like wipe the hard drive. He was no computer whiz, but maybe he could find a way.
He clicked on file explorer, and an array of files came up, but none so obvious as time travel. He hadn’t expected it would be that easy, though when he scrolled past one labeled electromagnetics, his hope increased by a fraction.
He double clicked on the file, hit delete, and the monitors, along with everything else in the room, began to flicker. Behind him, the blue light from the coil pulsated, and the humming grew louder. Whatever he had done, it didn’t seem to agree with the equipment, and he worried he might now be in the path of a dangerous energy flow, maybe even be hit by a stray bolt of electricity.
Getting up from the chair, Martin turned toward the blue patch of pulsating light. A sensation of panic rolled over him, and he backed away from the coil. He needed to get out of the basement.
He glanced over his shoulder at the metal door.
It was still closed.
Martin wondered if Doctor Stewart had truly left the old industrial site. Such fortune didn’t seem feasible, but he had not come back into the room when the disturbance Martin had made should have drawn his attention.
From the looks of things, Martin had put a big dent in Stewart’s travel plans. It all seemed too easy. His next move didn’t require a stroke of genius. He would go through the door and climb back to ground level. Facing the dogs, if they were still there—or even worse meeting Stewart in the stairwell—would not be easy, but staying in the basement seemed like a worse idea.
He had to get out of there. He had pulled off his mission, and now all he had to do was leave the area. A multitude of thoughts scrambled through his mind. Where was Doctor Stewart? And what effect would all of this have on Susan and Luke? He was in a time and place before the accident. How long could he keep going like this? What was the alternative? Martin pushed the thoughts aside and turned toward the door. He would sort it out later.
That was the way it should have happened, but it didn’t. Martin spun around, but instead of seeing the exit, he looked into the angry face of Doctor Stewart, the doctor’s distorted eyes hovering only inches from his own.
Martin shifted his weight and prepared to shove Stewart aside, but it was too late.
Doctor Stewart had the same idea, and he had momentum on his side as well as the element of surprise. He planted his hands in the center of Martin’s chest and shoved him.
Martin stumbled backward and fell directly into the pulsating light. Instinctively, he grabbed for the edges of the coil, but a flash temporarily blinded him. Before he completely regained his senses, he was back in the time tunnel. This time, though, Martin had not initiated the jump. Doctor Stewart’s time machine had done that, and if Martin’s earlier efforts had done what he thought, the machine was now damaged.
Martin floated, riddled with fear in the dark void, but the experience vastly differed from before. Noise like that of a tornado filled the darkness while bright flashes of lighting offered glimpses of a roiling cloud-like substance. His skin was cold. His pulse pounded a sickening rhythm through his temples. He felt almost paralyzed.
His mind raced for answers, filling him with images of time and being spread among more than one place, none of which was his own. He had been traveling in his own way because May 02, 2020 had already happened, and his being there was a revisit. But after being shoved into Stewart’s time bubble, he was traveling that way too—a sort of cosmic double jeopardy, which was bound to carry consequences beyond his understanding. He suspected he would surely face some horrible fate.
Acting more on an instinct for survival than anything else, Martin pulled his thoughts away from fear and panic and concentrated the mental energy on one thing, jumping to another time and place.
He conjured the calendar in his mind as he had before, but with no clear path of where to go, the imaginary pages rifled past as if caught in a windstorm. In his mind, he thrust his hand forward and grabbed one of the moving pages, pulling it to his forehead.
A bright flash of light accompanied by a sound much like a fighter jet makes when breaking the sound barrier filled his senses. For a moment, everything went dark and silent. The undulating pressure against his backside clued Martin to the fact that his efforts had caused something to happen. He opened his eyes to the semi-darkened interior of what he thought to be a public bus. No, it was bigger than a city bus and more like one used to travel from city to city, even state to state.
He glanced to his right, across the aisle where a lady smiled back at him but said nothing.
Martin turned his left wrist to show his watch and saw it was Monday, September 02. He fished his phone from his pocket. It showed the year to be 2019.
A few hours later, the bus pulled into the station and rumbled to a stop. It had been a long ride, and Martin had slept most of the way. He climbed from the seat and started down the aisle. He wondered about luggage. He knew how he’d come to be on the bus, but other than that he was clueless. As he stepped off the bus, he checked his reflection in the bus mirror. Sure enough, he was himself. He wasn’t a younger version, and he wasn’t an older one. He wasn’t even a relative. He was in fact the same Martin Taylor who had gone into the basement of the building at the defunct industrial site.
He started toward a nearby restaurant, glancing around as he crossed the street. There was no mistaking it. He’d stepped off the bus into Panama City, Florida.