Sandcastle for Pegasus

by Bob Avey

  Martin grabbed a large wiring harness bound with zip ties then frantically yanked at it. The harness resisted, but when Martin leaned back and put his weight into it, one end snapped loose. Immediately, sparks jumped from the severed wires back to the metal of the console.

  Martin dropped the harness and then strode toward the portal. Working on an adrenaline driven madness while hoping Stewart would not drag him into the glowing bubble, he reached into the portal and ripped a large portion of the papers from Stewart’s grip.

  Turning back, Martin sprinted to the console and shoved a couple sheets of the plans into the path of the sparks emitted by the wiring harness. Soon, as he’d hoped, the paper blackened and smoked. Immediately, he leaned close and blew air across the smoldering paper. And, when it finally caught fire, he fed the flames with more paper.

  What happened next came so subtly that the slight movement of the basement floor barely registered with Martin, and he wondered if he’d sustained a head injury during his struggle with Stewart, now causing him to become dizzy.

  Not only did the floor move, but the walls wavered as well, and it all came back to Martin. Much like that strange world he’d stumbled into, which existed in a time fragment where things were fluid and changeable, the basement had become unstable. And it wouldn’t affect only the basement, but the building and everything else caught up in the wavering time fragment.

  Guided by a blend of instinct and intuition, Martin grabbed the handle of the portable tool bench, pushed it toward the glowing time portal, and tipped the bench on its side. The tools clanked to the concrete and scattered across the floor. He then grasped the legs of the metal tool bench and, using all the strength he could gather, heaved it like a battering ram and plunged it into the wires connecting the portal to the controls of the console.

  The glowing bubble shrank and then disappeared like a light bulb suddenly burned out.

  Doctor Stewart was no longer in the portal. He could be anywhere in time, if he completed a jump, or he could be standing behind him, aiming the nine-millimeter at Martin’s head. Despite the danger it might present, Martin hoped for the latter version.

  He dropped the tool bench, scrambled toward the exit, flung the door open, and started climbing the steps, which shook violently as if a powerful earthquake rumbled through the industrial building.

  Holding tightly to the railings, Martin took two steps at a time, and when he reached the main floor, he ran toward the exit.

  That strategy didn’t last long. The unstable, moving floor took away his footing and dropped him to his knees. It was like walking through a carnival funhouse gone horribly wrong.

  Martin got to his feet, steadied himself, and then wobbled toward the exit, like a drunkard who’d partied past his limit.

  Neither the dogs nor Doctor Stewart were anywhere in sight, but even if they had been that would not have been Martin’s only concern. The shaking of the building weakened the integrity of the ceiling, and chunks of it crumbled loose and crashed down like giant hailstones. The floor shook and turned to mush, grabbing at Martin’s feet like thick mud. At a steadily increasing rate, gaping holes opened and swallowed the floor, the mush dripping into them like hot candle wax.

  Not really wanting to but unable to help himself, Martin peered into one of the holes forming just inches from his position.

  He saw only a never-ending darkness.

  Panic shot through him. He weaved his way around the holes and moved toward the exit as pieces of the ceiling rained down on him. A large chunk struck his head. The impact blurred his vision, and a warm stream of blood ran down his face, but he kept going, driven only by a will to survive. At some point, with his exact position distorted by his fading consciousness, he felt cool air against his face.

  He had made it out of the building, but the parking lot suffered the same fate as the floor of the industrial building.

  Like a lost traveler, unsure of where he was going, he trudged through the mush away from the building.

  The chain-link fence rose out of the ground, clinging to the fading time fragment like a stubborn, old man who refused to leave his coastal home during a hurricane.

  Martin slammed into the fence. Then, he turned and leaned his back against it.

  The significance of his accomplishment blossomed in his mind, and he took a deep breath and relaxed against the chain-link barrier surrounding the old industrial site.

  Guided by a higher force, his Father in Heaven, he had proved Tanner McIntosh’s theory. He’d reached the point of origin and stopped Doctor Jackson Stewart from using his newly constructed time machine to make the time jump that had reopened the time rift created by the Philadelphia Experiment in 1943.

  Fire erupted and engulfed the industrial building. And as the flames danced in the air, a black hole opened beneath Martin’s feet, and he fell, his stomach rising up in protest of the rapid descent.

  He didn’t see the building anymore, or the parking lot, or even the flames, but he thought he heard a faint, familiar voice somewhere in the distance, calling his name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MARTIN

  In a room at St. John’s Hospital, Tulsa Oklahoma

  Wednesday, May 06, 2020, 7:00 a.m.

  When Martin opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his wife, Susan, looking at him, more like watching over him as one might do with a sick child.

  A blank expression crossed her face, though it was accompanied by a nearly imperceptible flash of incredulity as she grasped the cross around her neck and blinked several times.

  “Martin?”

  He immediately recognized his surroundings as a hospital room. He’d grown used to quickly gathering his senses. He stretched his stiffened muscles then reached up, though his arms were encumbered by wires and plastic tubes, and caressed Susan’s cheek. He struggled for words, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and strained.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said. “I love you with all of my heart.”

  Her eyes moistened, but then her practical side took command. “Get somebody in here.”

  As if he had been standing just outside the door, a young man rushed into the room and came near the hospital bed, glancing at the computer monitors.

  Susan stepped aside but remained close.

  “Martin?” the man asked, “Martin Taylor?” After a pause, he added, “Do you know where you are?”

  Martin suspected the young man was the nurse on duty. “In a hospital room,” he said. “I was involved in a hit-and-run collision.”

  A disturbing realization washed over him. “What about Luke?”

  Susan briefly removed her gaze from Martin and glanced across the room.

  Martin turned and saw Luke, getting out of a chair and walking calmly to the bedside, a big smile on his face. “I prayed to God, and Mr. Rainbow came to our house. ‘I bring him back,’ he said. And he did.”

  Luke wasn’t the only one who had stepped forward upon Susan’s silent request. Martin’s daughter, Krystal, was there as well. She waited for Luke to finish and said, “Hello, Daddy. You gave us quite a scare.” She paused and then added, “I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve told you how much you mean to me, but I love you, Daddy.”

  “Love you, too,” Martin said. He had a world of things to talk about with Krystal, and he was as surprised as anyone at what he blurted out. “Whatever happened with Senator Padgett?”

  A curious look crossed Krystal’s face, as if she had a glimmer of remembrance, but just as quickly as it had come it was replaced by a blank stare. She shook her head. “I don’t know anyone named Padgett, or any other senators for that matter.”

/>   Martin paused. Was it possible Krystal had a vague memory of their rather unique experience and the meeting with Senator Padgett? Luke seemed to have a slight grasp of it. “You know, the abortion legislation, Luke, and the TV commercials?”

  Krystal’s eyes filled with moisture as she shook her head, and then glanced at her mother, Susan.

  Susan leaned over and kissed Martin. “Luke wasn’t harmed,” she said. “It was almost as if he hadn’t been in the car, except we know he was. Most of the impact must have been absorbed by your side of the car. Luke keeps going on about someone he calls Mr. Rainbow. His doctor thinks it’s probably a delusion, brought on by the trauma of the accident.”

  Martin winked at Luke but said nothing.

  By now, several other people had gathered around the bed, doctors and nurses, Martin assumed. A short lady with gray hair cropped off just below her ears seemed to be in charge. She kept asking him the same questions the nurse had posed earlier.

  “Yes,” Martin said, “I know where I am and who I am. Now, let’s get back to the accident. What about the other car? What about Doctor Stewart?”

  A tear rolled down Susan’s face. “There was no other car, Martin. You hit a light pole while heading north on Lewis Avenue near 51st Street. You must have blacked out.”

  “Doctor Stewart drove the big, black car away,” Luke said. “I no go back.”

  “Luke’s right. Stewart deliberately hit us head on.”

  Susan shook her head. “There were no other cars, Martin. Several eyewitnesses saw you veer off the road and hit the pole. What were you doing in that area, anyway?”

  “Taking Luke to his appointment. We were both upset about it being on his birthday.”

  “I no go back.”

  “Don’t worry, partner. We’re never going back to that place.”

  “There was no appointment, Martin. You and Luke were supposed to be on your way to the pro shop at Broken Arrow Lanes to pick up a bowling ball, Luke’s present. The holes were being drilled. Needless to say, you were a long way from the bowling alley.”

  Martin paused. The doctors and nurses had kept quiet during his and Susan’s exchange, but he suspected they’d been paying close attention and taking notes. He decided to drop it for now. His destroying the time machine had apparently changed a few things. “So,” he said, “when can I bust out of this place and go home?”

  “That depends,” the short haired doctor said, “on how badly your delusions are affecting you.”

  “What delusions? I hit a light pole while taking a rather strange detour to the bowling alley.”

  The doctor showed Martin her name tag, which read: Jeanne Stewart, MD. “It’s pretty obvious,” she said, “where you picked up the name of Doctor Stewart.”

  “I no go back.”

  “The police did question a Jackson Stewart,” Susan said, “one of the eyewitnesses, a psychologist’s assistant, who works for the only psychologist in that area. He was very cooperative, checking the books and phone logs for the whole week. He didn’t find anything about an appointment with Luke.”

  “I no go back.”

  “No worries,” Martin said. “We have more important things to attend to. Candy has a birthday coming up.”

  Martin waited for a rebuke or at least some head shaking, followed by some counseling words, but none came.

  “Well then,” Susan said, “you better hurry and get well. It’s coming up next weekend I believe.”

  “Next weekend,” Luke chimed in.

  Martin glanced at Jeanne Stewart. “What do you say, Doc? Will I be free by then?”

  The doctor’s face remained expressionless. “If you continue to stabilize, I don’t see a problem with that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  MARTIN

  Tanner McIntosh’s place, Candy’s birthday party

  Broken Arrow, Oklahoma

  Saturday, May 16, 2020, 6:00 p.m.

  Martin and Tanner sat in the same chairs beside the barbecue area where they had discussed the concept of time travel twelve days ago. Susan was near the house, happily engaged in conversation with Jennifer Barnes. Further down the hillside, Luke and Candy played on the merry-go-round while several of Candy’s friends swung on the large swing set, and others scrambled about the variety of equipment.

  A smile crossed Tanner’s lips as the sound of Candy’s laughter carried up the hill. He reached into the ice chest and pulled out a soft drink.

  Martin grabbed one as well. Tanner himself had changed little. He’d removed the beer out of respect for his guests. Everything else seemed back to normal—no automatic gate and only one old Harley Davidson, tucked deep into the garage to protect it from being disturbed by anyone. “Thanks for hosting the party,” Martin said. “Luke looks forward to it every year, talking about the event weeks before and days after.”

  Tanner nodded, but his mind seemed to be on something else. “We need to talk,” he said, “and the only way to get it off my chest is to just come out with it. I keep having this dream that you were here earlier in the month, on Luke’s birthday to be exact. You and I had a heated conversation that ended up with us taking a bike ride on two old Harleys, chosen from a garage full. I only have one bike, Martin. And as far as I know, you’ve never owned one.”

  As if his last statement had been a question, Tanner paused and waited for an answer.

  “No.” Martin said, “I haven’t.”

  “What’s worse,” Tanner continued, “is where we went and what we did there.”

  Martin twirled the soda can with his hands for a moment and then said, “We all have unusual dreams now and then. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

  As he said the words, he realized they were patronizing and inadequate, and he wished he had just kept quiet.

  “We went to Oaklawn cemetery, Martin. And I was mad as hell at you for putting me through that, making me look at Candy’s grave because I had to show it to you. It’s burned into my mind, and I know just as sure as we’re sitting here now that it’s more than a dream.”

  Martin searched his mind for answers. How was he to explain such a thing? But there was no getting around the fact that Tanner had been pulled into whatever had happened enough to have residual memories. Trying to ignore it or skirt the issue wouldn’t satisfy his curiosity.

  “You’re right,” Martin said. “Luke and I got caught up in some kind of time loop, and I inadvertently, if that’s the right word, involved you as well. I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

  Tanner’s expression grew intense, and his eyes narrowed into slits. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped short.

  Martin turned to see Luke, running up the hill toward them. “Hey, Mr. Tanner. You like hummingbirds?”

  Tanner’s face softened. “Yeah, I reckon I do. Did you see one? It’s a bit early for them, but sometimes they do that.”

  “Little Pegasus,” Luke said. “We go to Florida. A vacation for sandcastles.” He held his arms out, like a child indicating something large. “A sandcastle for Pegasus.”

  After that, Luke turned and ran back to the playground equipment.

  Tanner glanced at Martin, a puzzled expression overtaking his face.

  Martin finished his cola and put the can in a trash bag nearby. He could have taken the conversation in another direction, but for reasons he didn’t understand he thought he owed Tanner an explanation. “Luke has always been fascinated with hummingbirds,” he said.

  He paused, realizing he couldn’t remember exactly when the incident had taken place. He figured it was confusion caused by all he’d bee
n through, but still it bothered him.

  “A few months ago, Luke, Susan, and I were prowling around an antique store. Not Susan’s favorite thing to do, but for Luke’s and my sake, she would never admit that. I found Luke mesmerized by one of those old Mobil Oil signs, the kind with the red, flying horse on it.”

  “Pegasus,” Tanner said, his body language indicating that he was trying to piece the story together.

  Martin nodded. “I asked him what he thought about the sign. He held his arms out, like he had a few minutes ago, and said, ‘hummingbird.’ I knew right then that I had to get it for him. It cost me more than I could afford, but Susan went along with it, never saying a word about it.”

  “I’ve met a lot of people in my lifetime,” Tanner said, “but none better than Susan. You’re a lucky man.”

  “Yeah. You’re right about that.”

  Luke and Candy ran around with their arms out, acting like airplanes. They ran up the hill, and as they circled Martin and Tanner, Luke said, “I no go back.”

  Candy paused briefly, said something similar, and then ran after Luke.

  Martin nodded. Candy was a bit overweight but had a cheerful face that always made him smile. “Every year, we vacation in Florida,” Martin said, “and we build sandcastles, except Luke quickly loses interest and chases after Susan, helping her look for shells along the beach. Luke’s talking about sandcastles is just his way of thanking me.”

  “Thanking you for what?”

  Martin and Tanner’s conversation stopped abruptly as a man, dressed in a fine suit, as if he should be attending a high-level corporate meeting instead of a birthday party showed up. He even wore a hat, unusual these days. Martin couldn’t remember him walking over. It was almost as if he had just appeared. Given who it was, Martin wasn’t surprised. “Hello, John. Good to see you again… I think. What brings you here?”