A Split in Time

by Vin Carver

  Warren said, “I’ve got to go.” He took a step toward the embankment.

  “Hey bro, I don’t want to be here either. I want to go back there, don’t you?”

  Warren stopped.

  “We can go back, and stay forever. I’ve got a plan.”

  Warren took one step up the embankment, and his ankle shot pain up his leg. A plume of dust seeped through the trees, and Warren saw another car coming.

  Cameron said, “Warren, quick, get in here. Trust me, you don’t want anyone to see you.”

  Warren dropped his shoulders and crawled into the culvert, but before he sat, his sandal caught on a rock, and his foot slid into a puddle of mud. His butt hit the metal, and his sandal stuck up out of the mud like a tombstone. He grabbed it, and the mud made a fa-flump when he pulled it out.

  “I call it Nirvana because everything there is peaceful. It’s how everything was supposed to be, you know? Like nothing ever goes wrong, or ever went wrong. It’s like you feel when you're high.”

  Warren had felt the peace. He had felt lighter than air in the other Tamarack—Nirvana. Nothing there had resisted him. It was as if lightning had cleared a path for him everywhere he went.

  “I call this place Hellhole because it sucks.”

  Warren gazed out of the culvert. Bright green grass waved back and forth with the breeze. The stream vanished in a gathering of cattails beneath the morning sun. “Why does it suck here?” Warren pushed a clump of mud off his sandal.

  “It sucks because you died of cancer—”

  “I what?”

  Cameron said, “When I was eight, you died of cancer. After that, my parents—our parents—put your ashes on the mantle. Then they got divorced. Everything went to hell after that.”

  “Sounds familiar, except for the divorce part. My parents should have gotten divorced.” Warren held his sandal in the stream, and the water washed off the mud.

  “I don’t know, bro. Like I said, it’s been hell. I’ve spent most of my life wishing I was on the mantle instead of you.”

  A smile pushed its way onto Warren’s face. “Me too.”

  Cameron smiled back. “I didn’t get it at first, bro. I thought you were the Warren from Nirvana, but when you said your urn was blue, and I was the one who died, I realized there must be a second Hellhole. Your Hellhole.”

  Warren put his sandal back on his foot.

  Cameron turned his head away from the sun, and his face disappeared in the darkness. “I wish my urn was black. That would have been way cooler.”

  When Cameron turned back, the eastern sunlight lit up his left side and turned his pale face into a lunar eclipse. Warren pitied this Cameron…this meth-addict thin Cameron. No wonder he wore black clothes and had a tattoo. Everything about him was wrong, but so was everything about Warren.

  Cameron said, “You saw the other me in Nirvana, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you see yourself?”

  Warren’s throat itched. “Yeah.”

  “Did you talk to yourself?”

  Warren smiled. “I talk to myself all the time.”

  “No. Did you talk to your other self?

  “No, but he talked to me. We kind of talked together, it was weird. His words came out of my mouth.”

  Cameron nodded. “Same here, bro.”

  Warren said, “I’ve only seen the other me twice. Both times, the earth started spinning, and the urn took me away before I could meet him.”

  “Yeah. Doesn't that suck? And that spinning…I hate that spinning. And that banana bread smell? What’s that about?”

  Warren smiled and nodded. A rock fell at the far end of the culvert and splashed into the stream. Cameron turned his head, and a shadow veiled his face in darkness. “I wanted to get my hands on the other me and—”

  “And what?” Warren said.

  “And…” Cameron turned his head to the near end of the culvert. The sun illuminated his face. “And pull him toward the urn. I thought if I pulled him close enough, then he would go to my Hellhole, and I could take his place in Nirvana.”

  “Would that work?” Warren said.

  “It hasn’t worked yet.”

  “How many times have you tried?”

  “Just once. I tried a couple of days ago, but the urn sent me back before I got close enough to grab him. I was going to try again yesterday, but I couldn’t find him at the—”

  Their eyes met, and their memories connected.

  Warren said, “Tenoco?”

  “Yeah, the Tenoco. It makes so much sense now. No wonder the other me wasn't there. I was in your Hellhole. He wasn’t at the store, he was on your mantle.” Cameron’s eyes darted like robotic arms putting a puzzle together. “When I ran into you at the Tenoco, I thought you were the other Warren, the Nirvana Warren, but it wasn’t you—I mean him. That’s why you were acting so weird. You acted like you were robbing the store or something. Funny, huh?”

  “Yeah, real funny,” Warren said. He rubbed the back of his neck and forced a smile. “Like I was stealing pot from the clerk or something.”

  Cameron tipped his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “Nothing, never mind.” Warren wiped his face with his smoke-ridden sleeve and stopped smiling.

  The two Cameron’s—Hellhole Tenoco Cameron and Nirvana Jock Cameron—became distinct in Warren’s mind. He could hear Hellhole Cameron say, Hey bro, wait. Where’s the fire? He played that against Nirvana Cameron saying, Hey buddy, what are you doing out here? The two Cameron’s sounded the same, but they were very different, and so were the two new Tamarack’s. One Tamarack was a hellhole like Warren’s, and the other was a nirvana. A sudden headache split Warren’s mind, and he closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  An Awkward Bro Hug

  A throbbing pain in Warren’s head stifled his thoughts. He put his hand in the stream, waited until it became cool, and splashed his face. He took a deep breath, and the pain subsided. His thoughts cleared.

  The Cameron sitting across from him had never thrown a football or flown a kite. This Hellhole Cameron had grown up alone, like Warren. The other Cameron—Nirvana Cameron—had grown up with a brother and had parents that didn’t fight. While Warren sat here in this culvert with his Hellhole brother, the Nirvana brothers were meeting up after school to go to the movies, or play football, or—

  Warren’s head throbbed, and he pressed the heal of his hand against his temple until the pain lessened.

  His dad’s head throbbed this way every day. It felt like years since he’d watched his dad’s bloated belly rise and fall on the couch. Hellhole Cameron had his dad’s sharp nose and square jaw. Warren had his mom’s round face and bent eyebrows, but he also had some of Hellhole Cameron’s features…or did Hellhole Cameron have some of his features?

  Warren’s head throbbed, and he doused his face with water. He wiped the water off on his sleeve, and the ashy odor of his hoodie made him retch.

  Hey bro, wait. Where’s the fire?

  Warren said, “How did you know about the forest fire?”

  Cameron’s eyes widened. “What forest fire?”

  “Yesterday, you asked me where the fire was, and then there was a fire in Homestead Forest.”

  “It’s just an expression, bro.” Cameron pinched the front of his shirt and shook it. “You were in a hurry.” He glanced out of the culvert in the direction of Homestead Forest. “I saw smoke when I was leaving, but I didn’t know it was a forest fire.”

  The Grim Reaper’s eyes on Cameron’s shirt stared at Warren. Was Cameron telling the truth? Or could Cameron’s urn tell the future? The air in the culvert was muggy, and a bead of sweat ran down Cameron’s face. Warren’s head throbbed. “Did you talk to the clerk inside the Tenoco?”

  “No. I didn’t talk to anyone except you. No one was in there.” Cameron spoke quick. “I wanted his keys, so I could…” Cameron’s eyes flared. He put his hand on his chin and pushed u
ntil his neck cracked.

  “Whose keys?” Warren said. “Nathan’s?”

  “No, bro. Who’s Nathan? No. I wanted to get keys made so I could get into our house. Have you seen our house in Nirvana? It’s awesome.”

  Other than the refrigerator masquerading as a cabinet, the house in Nirvana was awesome. The bacon and English muffins were awesome. The gigantic hot tub, and the towel hooks—

  “Never mind all that,” Cameron said. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, bro, I have a plan.”

  The sun moved toward midday, casting more of Cameron’s face in shade. Warren listened to Cameron’s plan. Doubt, followed by hope, ran on the edges of Warren’s mind. His gaze wandered out of the culvert.

  Cameron said, “Do you think you got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Warren stared at the tall blades of grass.

  “Warren. Over here, look at me,” Cameron said. “You want to stay in Nirvana, right?”

  Warren continued to stare at the grass. It was Hellhole grass, but it looked the same as Nirvana grass. Nirvana Sredo hadn’t looked the same. It must have taken years for him to build up the kind of hatred necessary to beat his own dad. Or maybe it only took one horrific event. Either way, Nirvana Sredo had let his dad have it, fist to face, again and again. He had smiled at Warren and asked him to be his tutor. Warren liked him a lot better than the towel-snapping Sredo. Warren also liked the thin Sharon in Nirvana better than the pudgy one. He liked the love letters he’d found. In Nirvana, the love of his life, Sarah, loved him back. Even better, two girls loved him. It didn’t matter that the Sharon in his Hellhole was fat, the one in Nirvana was hot, and the way she’d fought over him meant she loved him. His Nirvana parents had talked and laughed with each other, not yelled and fought with each other. Warren had heard them kiss. They loved each other, and they loved him.

  What a stupid question. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to stay in Nirvana.

  Warren blinked and turned his head to Cameron. “Yes. I want to stay in Nirvana.”

  The corners of Cameron’s mouth bent up into an unwavering smile. “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “That’s great, bro. It’s going to work. We just take their place and everything will be great.”

  Warren blinked again. “Wait, how do we take their place?”

  “Like I said, bro, it won’t be easy. We can’t get near our other selves without getting sent back. That’s why you have to replace Nirvana Cameron, and I have to replace Nirvana Warren. You know, Alfred Hitchcock style. Crisscross.”

  “Alfred who?”

  “Never mind, bro. Do you got it? You got the plan?”

  Warren nodded. All he had to do was grab Nirvana Cameron, throw the lid off the urn, and hope to smell yeast in one of the Hellholes. Hellhole Cameron would do the same to Nirvana Warren.

  “Won’t they get mad when we leave them behind?” Warren said.

  The last ray of direct sunlight disappeared from inside the culvert, casting Cameron’s face in complete darkness. “I don’t care if they explode. They had their time in Nirvana, now it’s our turn.”

  Warren nodded and returned his gaze to the grass.

  “Okay then,” Cameron said. “Let’s go.”

  They emerged from the culvert and took turns pushing and pulling each other up the embankment. Cameron beamed. He gave Warren an awkward bro hug, and the last of Warren’s doubts vanished. “Okay,” Cameron said. “You know what to do, bro.” He turned and walked away.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “Back to school. I have some unfinished business there before I leave this Hellhole for good.”

  Warren glanced down at his hoodie and jeans. His stomach moved like a washing machine. “Hey, do you think I’d get caught if I went home to get something to eat?”

  “Which home, bro? Mom lives in a condo in Dogwood Arms, and Dad lives in the trailer park. Remember? They’re divorced. It’s a hellhole.”

  “Never mind. I’ll figure something out.”

  Warren put his hand on the outer pocket of his backpack. Cameron walked to where the dirt became pavement and turned toward Ponder’s Lane. Warren turned around and walked over the top of the culvert. Ahead, Melody Lane ran into Lake Forest—pine tree shadows crisscrossing over dirt roads. Although he couldn’t see his trails through the trees, Warren knew the shadows crisscrossed over them as well.

  Cameron said, “Hey, bro.”

  Warren looked over his shoulder, and Cameron smiled.

  “Next time I see you, it will be our turn in Nirvana.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  An Ornate, Golden Box

  Hellhole Cameron walked along Ponder’s Lane with a skip in his step. He had a partner and a plan. If going into the hospital as a kid had taught him anything, it was the importance of having a plan, or as the doctors had put it, a protocol. If coming out of the hospital as a kid—as a dead kid—had taught him anything, it was the importance of adjusting a plan, or changing protocol. That was something the doctors hadn’t done.

  He remembered dying in the hospital bed and floating toward the ceiling. Hovering there, he watched his parents come into the room and cry. He was cold. The surrounding air wasn’t air at all, and he was breathing without breathing. He wanted to hug his parents, and he fought to float back down, but his hands went through the ceiling. He heard his dad say, “It’s over now. We made the right decision.”

  Cameron’s thoughts returned to the plan. He had unfinished business at school that needed his attention. With his chin held high, he swung his arms as he walked. After so many years of freezing on the other side, he enjoyed being back in the sun. He raised his head further toward the sky and crossed his arms over his chest. He ran his hands up over his shoulders and put them on his face. A warm sensation ran down his neck. He held his hands out wide to the world, took three steps, and let them fall to his sides, resuming their swing. He smiled.

  In the distance, the treetops of Homestead Forest swayed in the wind. The lightning had thrilled him, and the heat from the forest fire had warmed him. When he hadn’t gotten the keys to Nathan’s truck, he’d been forced to leave earlier than planned, but it was okay. In fact, it was better than okay. Warren had skipped to Nirvana all on his own.

  He walked across the intersection of Highway 23 and Ponder’s Lane. A dense cluster of pine trees, salals, and other annoying plants grew out of the ground on the side of the road, separating him from the high school.

  Everything went black, then red.

  Cameron’s eyes closed. He bent at the waist, and his knees folded. He slipped off the side of the road, fell down, and rolled into the trees. His muscles spasmed. Patches of skin lost feeling. His back arched, and his fingers folded into balls of arthritic clumps.

  A faceless face appeared and spoke without speaking. “What you seek will not manifest where you seek it. I must show you a new source.”

  The red, faceless face had black edges, long and straight like a rectangle. Beyond and behind the faceless face, silky, red sheets billowed in a turbulent wind. The wind ripped jagged holes in the sheets, revealing spots of darkness so deep, so threatening, that Cameron’s stomach still jumped into his throat every time he saw them. He liked that feeling. Each hole was a triumph over the evil keepers of time—Paros.

  “Please, show me the source for what I seek,” Cameron said without saying.

  A red hand—block-square fingers and black fingertips—appeared beneath the faceless face. The hand floated in front of a sheet and gripped the edge. The hand pulled the it open and revealed a misty picture of a church. Unseeing eyes appeared on the faceless face and opened wide. Cameron nodded, the eyes closed, and the picture of the church dispersed.

  A second hand emerged from beneath the faceless face, floated to the other edge, and pulled on the sheet. A misty picture of an ornate, golden box bearing a cherub appeared. The faceless face’s eyes opened wide. Cameron met the gaze of the eyes and nodded. The eyes clos
ed and vanished.

  Cameron said, “Thank you,” without saying.

  The black edges of the faceless face broke into pieces and floated into a jagged hole. Voices spoke in unison without speaking. Cameron listened without listening. “It is our war, to restore, the one true line of time. We are Lysos.”

  His body jerked into the fetal position, then sprang out like a starfish. His hands opened and closed. He smiled at the sun, and it warmed his face. He hadn't lied to Warren about his unfinished business at the school. Sometimes though, the truth changes, and when that happens, you must change your protocol. Cameron still had some unfinished business, but instead of going to the school, he needed to go to the church.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Loneliness Like This

  Rain clouds rolled over the sky from the northwest, sending a chill across the back of Warren’s neck. He pulled his hoodie over his head and walked into Lake Forest. Before Cameron died, Warren had gotten lost in Lake Forest. He hadn’t run away from home, he had gotten lost. A flimsy metal fence had surrounded the Renner’s yard. The loops of wire in the fence were thin enough that a child could bend them, and that’s what little Warren had done. With all his weight, he had bent the loops of metal into 90° angles, turning a section of the fence into a ladder.

  Little Warren scaled the fence, dropped over the other side, and wandered into Lake Forest. He wasn’t running away, he was being curious. He wasn’t being curious, he was four years old, he was curiosity incarnate. He was also reckless. He didn't know caution. His only fears consisted of things like rashes, bug bites, and punches from Cameron. These things had made him cry, and crying was bad. He might have worried about going into the forest alone, but he hadn’t known that worse things existed.

  Warren crossed over a ditch and discovered a dirt path running through the weeds. He hummed a song as he walked on the path. The world was bright and huge. Cameron had told him about a day for mom’s. On this day, good boys gave their mom a present. Cameron was making something with red paper for his mom, and Warren wanted to give her something too.