A Split in Time

by Vin Carver

  Warren lowered his voice to a hush. “Because. It doesn’t make any sense to go tonight. The plan is to go tomorrow.”

  Eyes wide, Tanner nodded.

  Warren turned around and strode into Tanner’s bedroom. He sat on a plastic chair and took off his hoodie. He tossed it to Tanner. “Just a little off the top please, and I’m going to need some of your clothes.”

  The stench of the hoodie infiltrated Tanner’s nose, and he gagged. “Whoa, man. That is rank. You definitely need to change.” He threw the hoodie onto an over-sized pile of laundry in the corner and walked into the adjoining bathroom. He returned with a pair of scissors, a comb, and a spray bottle. Tanner always thought of everything.

  Warren sat with his eyes closed while Tanner cut. It didn’t have to be perfect, just good enough to fool Nirvana Cameron. Tanner finished, and Warren got in the shower.

  A cloud of steam escaped the bathroom when Tanner cracked open the door. “Here you go, man. I think you’re going to like what I picked out for you.” A wad of bright, rainbow-colored clothes landed on the bathroom scale.

  Warren finished showering and put on the clothes. The steam in the mirror cleared, and Warren read the shirt. I PUT THE CANS IN CANCUN.

  “Tanner,” Warren said. “I need a different shirt. Don’t you have something without a stupid saying on it?” He tried to remember what Nirvana Warren had been wearing. Both times he’d seen his doppelgänger, the world had spun in a sickening swirl. Nirvana Warren was a blur, but he was a blue blur.

  Tanner opened the bathroom door and walked in grinning from ear to ear. “Can I come in?”

  “You are in.” Warren smirked. “This shirt sucks.”

  “Lighten up, man. You got to express yourself. This shirt is way cool. You can’t see the beer cans on the back of it, but if you could, you’d get it.” Tanner grinned in the mirror over Warren’s shoulder. “Besides, man, you wanted to look different. Wearing something other than black will make you look different.”

  “It’s too much. It doesn’t even make sense. The ‘can’ in Cancun isn't plural, but—”

  “Okay, okay,” Tanner conceded. “Don’t have a nerd turd. Let’s see if Nathan has something lame enough for you to wear.” Warren followed Tanner into Nathan’s bedroom. “Here, this one has a collar.” Tanner handed Warren a slippery golf shirt with a small, rainbow shark sewn above the left breast pocket.

  “Hmm. I don’t know.”

  Tanner said, “It’s the latest fashion.” He held the shirt up by the shoulders. “It’s part of our Spring collection. Paralytic. Clothes so boring, you won’t want to move.”

  “At least it’s black,” Warren said.

  “Yeah, man. It’s black. Plus, if it gets wet, it dries out fast because it’s made of this plastic-polyester stuff.” He pinched the shirt and rubbed his fingers together.

  Warren pulled the shirt on, and, other than a little too large, it fit okay. “Won’t I get cold?”

  “I got you covered, man.” Tanner slung a thick blue sweater at Warren. “Here, this is totally lame too. It’s got a collar. It’s a sweater with a collar and absolutely no personality. We should write something on it.” Tanner’s eyes lit up. “I’ll go get a marker.”

  Warren put the sweater on over the golf shirt and gazed at himself in the mirror. He licked two fingers, smoothed his eyebrows, and focused his face. This could work.

  Tanner rushed into the room. “You look great. Now let me fix that sweater.” He pulled the cap off a marker. Warren put his hand out and blocked Tanner’s attempt at fashion design. “Aww, man.”

  Warren walked to the stairs. The mild green walls reminded Warren of marble statues from his history book. He put his shoulders back and held his chin up as he walked down the stairs. Nathan’s sweater made him older, wiser. He led the way, and Tanner followed.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  To Impress People

  Nathan stepped inside the house and shut the door. He tipped his head back, sniffed the air, and smelled chocolate.

  Thank God, I’m home.

  Brenda said, “Out of my way weirdos. My brownies are done.” She pushed her way down the stairs and spun around in front of Warren. She moved her eyes up and down over his body. “Not bad. There’s hope for you yet.” She flashed a smile and flitted to the landing. “Hey Nathan. When did you get home?”

  Nathan hunched his shoulders. “You just saw me come in. When do you think I got home?”

  “Don’t care.” She smiled and bounced into the kitchen. The door to the oven creaked open.

  Nathan rubbed his hair and took a deep breath. He shook his head at his white converse. They had scrapes and scratches and weren’t white anymore. His legs had scrapes and scratches too, and they stung when his jeans touched them, but it had been worth it. Everyone had seen him trudging through Homestead Forest, fighting the fire.

  “Any luck? Did you find it?” Tanner said.

  Nathan walked into the front room and collapsed on the leather couch. “If you’re talking about the pot you stole, then no, I didn’t find it. Did you?”

  “No.”

  Nathan took off his Converse. His socks were cheesecloth clogged with a brown, muddy pudding. He rolled them down his ankles and tossed them onto his shoes. He leaned back, stretched, and folded his arms over his head. “I don’t care about the pot, but next time, buy your own. You should get a job.” He unfolded his arms and held up his palms. “What makes you think you can get away with smoking pot if everyone thinks you’re a lazy thief? I taught you better than that.”

  Tanner sat on the recliner opposite Nathan, and Warren stood next to him. “I was hoping you found your truck so we could get a ride. We’re skipping town for a while.” Warren hit Tanner’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

  Nathan rolled his eyes, then cocked his head at Warren. “Hey dude.” He smiled. “What happened to your hair—hey, why are you wearing my clothes?” Warren’s hands trembled. He gazed down and put his hands on the sweater. Nathan said, “You do know those are my clothes you’re wearing, right?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “He needed something to wear, man,” Tanner said. “You should smell his hoodie. It puts the ‘P’ in pee-ew.”

  Nathan shook his head like he disapproved, but he didn’t care. He noticed the black golf shirt underneath the sweater and cared even less. Given to him by one of his over-achieving uncles, Nathan had only ever worn it to impress people. He hated doing that kind of stuff, but it was necessary to keep his freedom. Parents and teachers left him alone because they all believed he worked hard. The truth was, he only did it to keep them off his back. Getting decent grades and working after school came easy, and the rest of the time, he could do whatever he wanted—like get high—without anyone bothering him.

  Where’s Brenda with those brownies?

  Tanner said, “Wait.” He brushed the hair off his forehead and looked up at Warren. “Do we need a ride, or can we walk? How far is it to—”

  Warren hit Tanner on the shoulder. “We can walk.”

  Tanner turned to Nathan. “I guess we don’t need a ride, but I’m still sorry you couldn’t find your truck. Do you have any idea where it's at?”

  “Whoever took it used it as a get-away car after starting the fire. I talked to Peter’s brother, and he told me it was spotted in Pine Creek yesterday, but that those idiots up there lost sight of it.”

  Brenda said, “Pine Creek cops are hilarious.”

  Nathan nodded. Pine Creek was known for hiring cowards onto the police force. The residents of Tamarack often told a story about a bear that chased half of Pine Creek’s finest up a tree. The bear kept them there for several hours while the other half of Pine Creek’s finest argued over who should scare the bear away. Eventually, the National Guard came in, or a tourist lured the bear away with a steak, or the bear got bored and lumbered home. Nathan couldn't remember all the endings he’d heard while working at the Tenoco.

  The muscles in Tanner’s neck
tensed. “Did Paul say who started the fire?”

  “No. If he had, I might know where my truck went.” Nathan rubbed his head and sighed.

  Warren said, “Did Paul say anything else?”

  “No, not much. I told him you guys had nothing to do with the fire.” Nathan rubbed his hands together and dirt fell onto the couch. “But I doubt he bought it.”

  “I’m pretty sure he didn’t,” Warren said.

  Tanner shifted in the recliner. “I swear, man. The pot fell out of my pocket when you chased us. We didn’t get a chance to smoke it, or start a fire.”

  “It's all right, you don’t have to convince me,” Nathan said. “You have to convince Toothpick.”

  Tanner turned red. He got out of the recliner and his fingers stiffened. He caressed the scar on his forehead and stared at Nathan.

  “Brownies.” Brenda came into the room wearing oven mitts and carrying a baking pan. She put on her best housewife smile and held the pan out to Warren. “You get first pick, but only take one. I need the rest for—” She scanned the room.

  Tanner said, “Relax Bren. Mom and Dad aren’t home yet.”

  A crazy glint ran across her eyes. “I need the rest for the ‘baked’ sale.” She laughed and dropped an oven mitt.

  “Wait, why does he get one?” Tanner said. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with my smelly, creepy, perv friend. No offense Warren.”

  Warren held his hand up and lowered his eyelids. “None taken.”

  Brenda shot Warren a flirtatious twinkle and said, “He gets one because he’s cute now, and, we had quite the ride home.”

  Tanner and Nathan looked at each other, then at Warren.

  Warren shrugged. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Tanner grabbed the biggest brownie in the pan and bit into it. “Ahh. Just like Mom used to make.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  There's Nothing You Can Do

  “We need an ambulance at 629 South Acorn Row. This is Officer Maxwell. We need an ambulance at 629 South Acorn Ro—”

  “Pkshht…Med vehicle dispatched. Help is on its way. Over.”

  Officer Maxwell turned toward Seth, his eyes wide. “Do you have any towels?”

  Seth said, “They’re in the closet in the hallway.” Seth gritted his teeth.

  This isn’t happening. That policeman—no, that kid…he didn’t just shoot my wife.

  His heart raced, pushing massive amounts of blood through the veins in his temples. The edges of his eyes throbbed with each pulse. Everything came into focus, sharp and crisp. His mind caught up with his heart, and his thoughts became clearer than they had in a long time. He felt sober…and it felt horrible.

  Officer Maxwell walked down the hall to the linen closet. He held his arms up above his police belt like a big man as he walked. He hadn’t snapped the strap over his pistol, and it jostled in the holster.

  Seth wanted to take the pistol and shoot Maxwell. He wanted Maxwell dead.

  Seth turned around. Cassie was lying on her back next to Warren’s little kid comforter. She had blood running out of her chest. Seth wanted to shoot himself. He wanted to die.

  Maxwell hurried back carrying a handful of towels. “Here, take these. Apply pressure to the wound.”

  Seth turned to Cassie. “Oh God. Oh God. Cass.” He put the towels over her chest and pressed on them with both hands.

  Please don’t die Cass. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, I promise.

  Cassie’s body convulsed, and a gurgle of blood bubbled out of her nostrils. She convulsed again, and her mouth opened, spraying blood over Seth’s hands. “She’s choking. Help me.”

  Maxwell knelt. He put his hand under her neck and cocked her head back. “This should clear the passage way.”

  Cassie’s body convulsed a third time and sent a glut of blood onto Warren’s pillow. Seth wanted to grab the pillow, put it over Maxwell’s face, and kill him. He wanted to kill him for shooting Cassie. He wanted to kill him for not finding Warren sooner. He wanted to kill him for not curing Cameron’s cancer. He wanted to kill himself because he couldn’t stop drinking.

  Maxwell put his mouth on Cassie’s and blew.

  Seth said, “Do you know what you’re doing? Is that going to work with me pushing on her chest?”

  Maxwell lifted his head. Splotches of blood decorated the edges of his mouth. The skin around his eyes creased and flushed red. “I don’t know.” Tears streamed down the sides his face and mixed with the blood. He made a crazy half-smile and raised his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I didn’t mean to shoot her.” He covered his face and bawled. “I was just following procedure. I saw Warren and…I just wanted to catch him. I wasn’t going to—ahhh, wahhh, ahhh—I wasn’t going to shoot him. He’s my friend.”

  Seth pressed harder on Cassie’s chest. He put his head near her mouth and listened. She breathed. His breathing slowed.

  Come on Cass. Please don’t die. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I promise, I’m never going to drink again. Oh…God.

  Officer Maxwell wailed.

  Seth said, “Get it together, you murderer. She’s still breathing.”

  The sound of sirens overtook the sound of Maxwell’s crying. Pressure released from a set of air brakes, and the siren made one last bwoop-bwoop before going silent. Red and white lights flashed in through the bedroom window, and Maxwell ran to the front door. Within minutes, the first responders had cut Cassie’s clothes off, inserted a tracheal tube, strapped her to a stretcher, and wheeled her onto the front lawn. Seth stared at the fire engine, and he seethed.

  “Pkshht…Ambulance en route. Over.”

  Maxwell faced Seth. Tears filled his eyes. “Mr. Renner, will you forgive me?”

  “I hope you rot in hell.”

  Maxwell lowered his head and stepped outside. A police cruiser pulled up behind the fire engine, and Maxwell ran to it. He talked with the other officer, shaking his head and waving his arms. The other officer pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.

  Next to the fire engine, three paramedics hovered around Cassie. Every few seconds, a paramedic would check a monitor on the equipment. Seth couldn’t imagine what needed checking so often. He had talked with the paramedics when the fire engine had arrived, but the conversation was a blur. They had said they were waiting for an ambulance, and that the doctor would update Seth on Cassie’s condition later. They had said there was nothing he could do. That phrase, so evil, so tormenting, so—

  I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing you can do.

  He walked into the house, entered the kitchen, and emptied the last of the vodka into his water glass. He drank.

  There’s nothing you can do. That’s what they said about Cameron, and that’s exactly what we did.

  He tipped the glass back and choked. The alcohol burned his throat…and it felt wonderful. He wiped his mouth and took another drink. A siren blared. He put his glass on the sink and squeezed a dab of dish soap onto his index finger. He rubbed his teeth with the soap, swished it around his mouth, and spit it out. The paramedics weren’t going to smell alcohol on his breath tonight, and neither were the police.

  Seth walked outside, and the numbness hit him. Like magic, it didn’t matter what the paramedics might tell him. His body floated down the front steps.

  Let them tell me there’s nothing I can do. He smiled. As long as I can get drunk, nothing matters. As long as no one takes that away from me, I’ll be okay.

  A paramedic from the ambulance approached. “Are you the husband?”

  “Yes.”

  The paramedic spoke like a salesman pushing a timeshare. “Your wife is in very serious condition. We have paged a surgeon and he will meet us at the hospital. We are going to do everything we can, but we must act fast. For that reason, we can’t take you in the ambulance with us. Under stressful circumstances like these, we recommended you don’t drive. Is there someone who can transport you to the hospital?”

  A fresh wave of euphoria hit
Seth and blocked his speech. The words sat inside his head, and he coaxed them to leave. Seconds seemed like weeks.

  Look away. Don’t let them see your eyes. Say something. They’re going to find out you’re drunk.

  He averted his eyes to Cassie, lowered his head, and tried not to slur. “I’ll be okay. I’ve been through situations like this before.”

  The paramedic put her hand on Seth’s shoulder and made eye contact. He didn’t trust her. She was going to use her med-school education to judge him. She climbed inside his bloodshot eyes, measured the alcohol content flowing through each ocular artery, and assessed him. “I really think you should have someone drive you, but that’s up to you.” Seth turned away. The other paramedics lined the gurney up with the back of the ambulance. “Sir, do you have any questions?”

  “Yes.” Seth paused. The paramedics slid Cassie into the ambulance. A torrent of pain, rage, and loss seethed beneath the numbness of his fresh drunk. “What do I do now?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing you can do.”

  She’s right. There is nothing I can do, except drink. I promised myself I was going to quit today, but it’s too late now. I know, I’ll quit tomorrow. Yeah. When Cass wakes up—if she wakes up—I’ll be sober, and this time, I’ll stay that way.

  The paramedics jumped inside the ambulance and took off down Acorn Row. Seth sat on the front steps. Soon, the fire engine left. After that, Seth left. He got in his car and went to the hospital. On his way there, he stopped at the liquor store.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  One Long Charade

  Nathan watched his brother and laughed.

  Tanner bit into Brenda’s loaded brownie, closed his eyes, and bent his knees. “One…two…three…blast off.” Tanner jumped into the air and everyone laughed.

  Tires slid to a stop outside the house, and the fun ended. Tanner and Warren turned toward the door, and their faces went white. Brenda ran into the kitchen with the pan of brownies. Nathan stayed on the couch.

  Warren grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Come on Tanner, we’ve got to go.”