I rubbed my hand on the streaks. Dry and brittle, the fibers crumpled. She'd even managed to drip on the couch. I took notes. In the kitchen, piled dishes filled the sink, with cans and bottles spread on the counters. The mess reminded me of a time, not long ago in my other life, when I lived alone. Her bicycle drawings, advertising and a letter covered the table. The dining room table looked more like a bike repair shop than a place to eat.
In the rear of the first floor were two rooms. One had been my bedroom, the other a guest room. My office and library in the old days, yesterday… this morning, were upstairs. No longer. Spread over every surface were bike magazines, tools, and parts, with markers and their marks everywhere. She'd used the walls to make notes to herself. This woman resembled the Linda Russell who had been my friend for years as much as a dog resembled a bird. In less than a day, I'd seen a world I couldn't wait to leave.
The other first floor spare room had survived unscathed, almost. Again stark white walls begged my question. Who am I and what am I doing here? I climbed the stairs, dreading the scene I might find. So far, her concern for my house and my things was negligible. It could have been worse. The bedroom, now upstairs, had been rifled, almost like a burglary scene from a TV detective movie. I would have to check more closely to see what else she took, but the household cash which I kept in the desk was gone. But was it? Did I keep cash or anything else in the same place in this life?
Before picking up, I stood in the middle of the room and slowly turned. I could pile everything in a corner and then decide, but I wanted to see what I could find out about me.
I checked my desk first. On the right side, the drawers contained evidence that in this world I taught history. Old lesson plans, lists of students. My notes. On the left, the deep bottom drawer held upright folders. Thumbing through, my financial life slid by, folder by folder. As I removed them, one comforting fact emerged. I had more than $10,000 in a savings account. If I were stuck here for a while, I could get by. The rest contained paid bills, which I studied to be sure that new ones got paid. In the middle drawer, stationery supplies and a checkbook were untouched.
I removed a flat gray box from the top left drawer and set it on the desk top. It was locked, so I pulled out the key ring and found one that fit. Inside, two plastic bags, side by side, a pipe and a lump of tin foil joined a packet of cigarette rolling paper. Both bags, sandwich size, were pretty full. I had no doubt what they contained. I opened the foil and three chunks of soft brown clumps wafted a unique aroma. Sandy's voice rang in my head. In this life, I was at the least a recreational drug user.
Already in trouble, I had no intention of adding more. Both bags and the hashish were down the toilet, but I also had to check for more. At that moment, I understood that I couldn't change the person I was, am, in this dimension until I found out more. Until Fritz found the portal, I'd rarely had more than five hundred dollars in savings. Where did my new-found wealth come from?
I began a systematic search, starting with the bedroom. I'd seen enough cop shows on TV to look at everything. I shook each item on the floor, folded it and made a pile. I stripped the bed, and removed the mattress, looking for holes where something might have been hidden. Next, I checked the box spring which gave a clue. The mesh had been replaced with a stronger though similar fabric that had numerous staple holes around it. Rather than tear through, I went to the kitchen for a flashlight. In my old life, this morning, I had a junk drawer. Here, a different drawer had what I needed.
Stapled around the inside of the frame, a series of small bags reflected the beam. Now what? My first instinct was to flush it all. But in this world, Ashley, me, wasn't a recreational user. Better to keep looking for now. What I did know for certain, I needed to find Fritz fast, and get out of here. Well, Ollie, a fine mess you've gotten us into this time.
I worked my way around the bedroom. Dressers, under the rug, the closets. I found a false bottom on the frame of a shelf unit inside the closet and released the latch. Filled with small bags of weed, and a notebook, with some kind of coded names and numbers. Even without the Caballeros, I had another mystery to solve. And how many other hiding places were still left to find?
Room by room, my hunting yielded half a dozen stashes of what I assumed to be cocaine, mostly, and a variety of marijuana. The more I looked, the more worried I became. If I wanted to survive here, I had to quickly learn how he, I, handled the business, something I didn't really want to know. More importantly, if I had traded places, where did he go? Had he entered another dimension? Did he face the same dilemma as I? Could he get back on his own? Could I coexist with other me in this space? Had Fritz ever thought about any of this?
I finished the easy sleuthing, but still had the basement and the attic to check. Head pounding and knees wobbling, I sat for a moment, and glanced at the clock as my stomach played like Mount St. Helens. The clock announced that I better get something to eat. I headed to WaWa for a sandwich.
As I parked, two car doors opened and two young men blocked my way.
“Where have you been? I've been here an hour,” said the younger, a tall, skinny kid in a light jacket and jeans. His constant eye flicking side to side and glances over his shoulder revealed his agitation. The other guy, the size of more than one linebacker I'd played against, stood with arms crossed. “Did you get my stuff?” was all he said.
“We can't stand here,” I said. “I fell asleep and forgot. What did you guys want? Help me out here.” I sincerely hoped that would work.
The big guy said, “Two and one.”
“That's not helpful.”
“What did you do, turn narc? Two coke and a grass,” he whispered as the store door opened. To cover the awkward silence, I laughed. “You got it or not?”
“No.”
“I have promises to keep. Go get it.”
The young kid said he had people to see tonight, and told me he had expected six bags of weed. “You usually have it in the glove box. Don't mess with me.” With a closed fist, he tapped his chest.
“Let me check. I'm still a little groggy.” I climbed into the car and leaned to the glove compartment. When I pulled, the door resisted. I didn't want to break the lock, so I worked around the key ring for a match. The correct key yielded two paper bags with initials written in black marker and closed with staples. But who they belonged to, I had no clue. They both saw the bags, so I had no choice but get out. I opened both to check the “orders.” I flashed thumbs up and they each reached into a pocket.
“How much?” asked Linebacker.
“What did we agree to?” I had no idea what the right amount would be.
“Four.” He handed me four one-hundred dollar bills. I turned to Skinny, who passed me folded paper. I started counting.
“It's all there,” he said. As he left, he said “Next week, be on time.”
Linebacker looked me over, a scowl on his face. “What's wrong with you, Ash? You act like you never did this before.”
Having been around Fritz for so long, I had learned that a convincing lie offered the only tool available to me. Fritz had been good at instant lies, and now I had my chance. “I tripped and hit my head. I'm not sure where I am. And I don't even know who you are.”
“So you just showed up with the stuff by accident?”
“I came to get a hoagie.”
“I'm outta here. Hope you don't remember my name.” He hopped in his car and backed out, as a police car pulled into the parking lot.
Rather than loiter outside, I went in and ordered. The police officer waited at the register, a man from the other dimension. Jim Shaw greeted me and then said, “Wasn't that Bob, Mr. Gilbert?”
“Who?”
“Bob, Bob Easthill. You were just talking to him.”
“Oh, I don't know him. I just bumped into him at the door. Big fella.”
He leaned in and looked in my eyes. “Don't you remember him? Played football at Riverboro. He was always in trouble. You had him in your cla
sses for a couple of years.”
“I knew he looked familiar.” I needed to get out, away from the police, and say as little as I could. Things were getting weird, weirder. I paid for my sandwich and headed for the door.
“Mr. Gilbert,” Jim Shaw said. “Aren't you forgetting something?”
Did we have some kind of ritual we went through, like asking him a history question, or something else about Riverboro? I started to panic. “No, I don't think so.”
He pointed at the back where I had ordered. “Your sandwich.”
“Oh yeah. Right. Thanks.” I didn't have butterflies. Rather a full flock of something larger flapped at my insides. How did Fritz do this?
Waiting for me just outside, Jim Shaw said, “Be careful of Easthill. We know he's selling drugs, but haven't found anything on him, or at his house. I'm not interested in him so much as where he's getting his supply. That's why I'm here now. The manager saw him and called. I got here just a little too late.”
“I'll keep my eyes open, Jim. Thanks.”
He snorted. “Jim? No one's called me that in years.”
“Sorry. That's your name, isn't it?”
“Well, yeah, but even in your class, I used my middle name, Brian.”
“I must be getting old. Sorry, Brian.” He shook his head and headed back to his car. “See you around,” I said, and when I sat, I exhaled until I thought my lungs were coming out.
Chapter 8
Ashley
MY FIRST DAY as the new me could not have been more unlike me, and I had no idea of what more to expect. To keep as unaffected, distant, from this world as possible meant I had two jobs to do. First, I needed to find out as much as I could about this Ashley. I needed to protect myself in this world, and second, if I was to become a bad guy, I needed to shift into my new role quickly.
I stuck my no-longer-interesting sandwich in the refrigerator. A quick look in the open door informed me that food shopping topped my to-do list. The shelves were almost empty, except for a couple of cans of diet cola and an open half gallon of hopefully drinkable milk. At least, no lingering odor of old and mold assaulted me.
My unexpected yawn made me look at the clock. Already after midnight, I had to get some sleep before I could face another day like today. What to wear pushed me back to the bedroom. Years had passed since I needed to think about where my clothes were, so I took my list and checked closets and dressers. Fortunately, new me (I have to find a better name to call myself) had a sizeable, comprehensive and compatible wardrobe from which to select. At least, I didn't need new clothes right away. I decided then that I would rearrange the house so it was mine again.
I've traveled extensively so sleeping in strange beds wasn't new. Except sleeping in my own bed, wearing a different person's clothes, driving a strange car, even though it was me, angered me. For the time being, nothing I could do would change anything. When I finally hit the bed, on top of the bedspread, I closed my eyes hoping this whole day had only been a nightmare. Only.
Day two in my new life started earlier than I would have chosen. An old clock-radio began blasting early morning DJ chatter an hour earlier than I usually get up. After a quick shower, coffee would have been welcome. Not today. I grabbed one of the sodas and reviewed my notes. I had acquired a foreign skill-set. I guess all the reading and conversing with Fritz and Linda had rubbed off. Or maybe this life was my real one and I'd been living in the wrong universe until now.
“No, that isn't right. I would feel comfortable here if that were true.” Hearing my own voice startled me. “If I can find Fritz, we can get out of here.” My mission, my primary objective, my singular goal, suddenly loomed as if the Rockies had sprouted in my kitchen. I needed a careful plan, and a new list. I had the books, but no idea of how to enter the portal from here. To make matters worse, with December only a day away, thunderstorms were unlikely for months. “What if I can't get back?” I know that Fritz talked to himself, but I never had. Another question to find an answer for. Is there some residual Fritz in me? The same thing that made the portal open for me?
A soft tap on my back door snatched away my reverie. Not yet six-thirty. Even the sun still slept. Pushing the curtain aside, my stomach flipped. Nicole Ginsburg looked in from the top step. I don't like this guy. I opened the door.
“Got any weed, Mr. Gilbert? I have the cash.”
“All out, Nicole.”
“You said today.”
“Sorry. How did you get out of jail so quickly?”
Her smirk added another layer to my discomfort. “My dad knows a lot of people. But I'm suspended, so I figured I should make the best of it. So, when will you have more?”
As dismissively as I could, I said, “Never. Too many people are watching. I'm done. You can pass the word. How many people do you know that get it from me?”
“Everybody knows.”
“Then tell everybody the sign says out of business. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for classes.”
“You're gonna piss off a bunch of people.”
Looking at her, an idea began to form. “I may have something special for you and Rachel when you get back. Let me think on it.”
“I hate her.”
“I know, but maybe I have a way to put that to good use. For both of you. Have a nice day, Nicole.” I shut the door.
If I meet other me, I might shoot him. Me.
Knowing my car this morning, I parked in my usual spot. At least the one I'm used to, and headed straight to the office. I asked Ms. Sweeney if George had a minute. She scowled and told me to find out myself. I knocked on the closed door, another new feature. George rarely had his door closed in the morning and I almost never wanted to talk to him, no matter what time of day.
“What?” I opened the door, asking for a minute to chat. “I don't have time to chat. What do you want?”
“Mr. McAllister, I want to try something between now and exams, and wanted to discuss it with you.”
“Quickly. You know how we do things here.”
“Actually, I don't. I do know that I don't like what I've seen lately, and I want to change things in my classes. Just me. It won't interfere with anyone else.”
“So, what is it?”
“Instead of lectures and discussing homework, I want to spend the next couple of weeks on current events and let them do all the reading at home for their exams.”
“I don't care what you do, as long as you cover the required material.”
“Here's the rub. I want to tell them that if they don't pass the exams, they fail for the semester. No exceptions.”
George's usual crimson didn't materialize. He said that if I wanted to fight with parents, he wouldn't stop me, but to leave him out of it. Then I told him that beginning in January, I wanted both Rachel and Nicole transferred to my class.
“They'll be your headache. Better you than me. Nicole's father is influential with the school board. Rachel's mother will be in your class as much as you are. I've kept them separated since ninth grade. It'll cost you your job if you screw up.”
“Thanks, George. I have an idea. We'll see how it works. Thanks for your time.”
“Your funeral. I'll always have time for that.”
I didn't know what he meant, and didn't ask. I thanked Ms. Sweeney on the way out. She didn't look up. I stopped at Sandy's classroom on the way.
“Good morning,” I said, as cheerfully and as opposite of everything I'd seen.
“Why are you so happy?”
I plunged in, ignoring her. “What are you doing after school?”
“Going home.”
“Do you have time to talk? You said you would help. Did you mean it?”
“I have a few minutes.”
“Not here. Let's go somewhere we won't be interrupted.”
Returning to my classroom, I opened my desk and took out one of Fritz's yellow pads. They weren't mine. I titled the page Current Event Topics and started a list. I needed around twenty to re
ach vacation. Today's question would help me get my bearings in this world. “What is the proper role for teachers in our society?” I made some additional notes, but the rest of the questions could wait. If I was stuck here in this world, I intended to create one that I wanted to live in.
My first class would set the stage. With three classes of eleventh graders, I expected that word would spread. I wrote the question on Fritz's blackboard. It had been years since I had used chalk. I girded myself for the change. They would meet a different me. Only a couple of students came in. The rest loitered outside the door. I stood in the hall until the bell rang and when the last boy took his time going in, I put a hand on his shoulder. When he tried to shrug me away, I squeezed.
“Don't push.”
“Don't test me,” I said. “I know kung fu.” He twisted and encountered my smiling face. “Go sit down.”
I scanned the faces as I waited for a quiet I didn't expect. For two minutes, they ignored me, as I looked at them, eye to eye. When I had enough quiet to continue, I cleared my throat.
“Welcome to day one of the rest of your lives. We're going to change some things around here. You will all have responsibilities as we approach exams.”
“What, like cleaning erasers?”
I set the hook. “Not what I had in mind, but Paul, that's good. I'll expect you here every day until the break for five minutes after school. Each day you don't show up will drop two points off your exam. With about twenty days left, that means if you score a perfect one-hundred, you'll get a sixty. Would anyone like to tell Paul what a sixty means?”
“Fail” was the uniform answer, called out by almost all.
“So I'll see you after school. And thanks for your help, Paul. Now your jobs will be to read and study. You know what you are supposed to read. You might want to study for the exam together, test each other and cover each of the sections we have been through. Here's why. I'm not reviewing. If you have questions, I'll answer here. But your responsibility is to pass the exam. If you don't, your grade will be…” I put my hand to my ear.
The Portal At The End Of The Storm (Quantum Touch Book 6) Page 5