The Portal At The End Of The Storm (Quantum Touch Book 6)

by Michael R. Stern

  “Hi, my name is Ashley Gilbert.” I reintroduced myself and held out my hand. With a piercing stare, he looked me over before taking my hand. I'd been right, his large hand enveloping mine. The squeeze hurt a bit, but I think he could have broken my hand if he'd wanted. “Weightlifter?”

  “Some. I bench…”

  I interrupted. “Two twenty-five.” His eyebrow arched, but he nodded. “So does your twin.”

  “What's this all about? You need my help?”

  “Let's eat and then I'll show you. You don't have anywhere you have to be, right?” He repeated that he had Friday off. “Is anyone expecting to hear from you?” I watched his eyes. Without guile or deception, he said no.

  “Good. Nat knows the whole story and we'll tell you everything.”

  “But you have to promise you won't tell anyone,” she added. He looked closely at her, and I watched him scan her features. I thought, typical guy, but didn't blame him.

  “For now, I'll promise not to mention you. But, when I know more, I reserve the right to change my mind.”

  She glanced at me. “Good enough. What you learn will depend on how smart you really are. What you say won't matter because nobody will believe you.” Then she smiled and touched his hand. I didn't know if that made me jealous, but my blood heated up.

  I paid the bill and stepped into a gust that made me take a step back. Nat and Tony walked around me and he took her arm to steady her. For once, the weatherman's prediction got it right. I followed the yellow blur, as Nat sped up and flew through a yellow light, as I hit my brakes. When I caught up, she had parked in the nearest spot to the school door, still blocked by snow.

  Again, I parked beside her, and walked to the rear, and asked Tony for a hand. The generator wasn't too heavy, but cumbersome to lift. Before I could reach in, Tony grabbed it and set it in the snow pile.

  “What's this for?”

  “I'll explain inside.” I reached for my keys, and he carried the machine. “Want help?”

  “I'm fine. Just open the door.” Nat grabbed the cord and shut the trunk, as I ran ahead and held the door. I told him to take it to the fourth door on the right and set it down. Snow from our shoes tracked to the door and melted in a small puddle.

  We were set to begin, and I ushered them into the classroom, my classroom, Fritz's classroom. Tony took a seat, pushed the chair back, and demanded answers. “What's this all about?” he repeated.

  I began, knowing full well that if I wanted his help, I needed to find out if he could help, and I needed to convince him that impossible was real.

  “So here's the deal,” I said. “I'm going to tell you my story, all of it. I'm going to ask that you keep an open mind because it sounds crazy. I'll also explain the mechanics of how it works. Then if you're on board, we'll find out if you can help. If not, I'll find another way.”

  “How what works?”

  “That door, in the proper circumstances, opens a portal to the space-time continuum, and to multiple dimensions, I think. I've tried reading quantum physics and string theory, but I don't really understand it. Even the explanations for dummies are a foreign language. Math isn't my best subject.” I read the doubt on his face. “So let me tell you the story.” I started when Fritz first met Robert E. Lee. I skipped a few things, especially his friendship with the president.

  Nat took notes as I told them what the portal had done, all the people we'd met, and finally how I came to be in this dimension.

  “Not a different dimension,” he said. “String theory is a great, though not total, explanation, because it leaves out the concept of multiple parallel universes. Einstein theorized time moving in waves. And that time can also reflect, like a mirror, the components of mass, because I think time is also energy. Wait, did you ever see sheet music?”

  “Yes. Of course,” Nat said. I nodded.

  “Treble and bass clef. Ten parallel lines.” He got up and drew them on the blackboard. “You can play individual notes, but when you combine the notes, and timing, on all the lines, you get Beethoven, or Chopin, or Mozart. Harmony. I think that's how the universes work together. And that's why we exist in different universes, different, like different notes, but also the same. The same note in different octaves.”

  “Do you imagine different universes in treble and bass clef?”

  “I don't know. I've never thought about it.”

  I told him he should. When he thought about harmony, I asked, did he mean balance between good and evil, or just that everything fit together? Good question, he said. Then we discussed the mechanism, how the generator had recreated Ben Franklin's thunderstorm.

  “Let me show you how we set it up.”

  We returned to the hall. I told him about needing an electrical connection to the doorknob and the air turbulence the planes caused to imitate the storm. Tony checked out the generator's output and its connections.

  “Do you have jumper cables?” I didn't know, but Nat said she did. He plugged in the generator and when she returned, attached one cable to the neck of the doorknob, and tapping the other on the frame, sparks jumped. He touched the doorknob, but pulled back quickly.

  “You'll need a buffer. Too much power here. You'd fry.”

  “Pull the plug, Nat,” I said. “Let's get out of here, so we can talk.”

  With the school behind us, the generator back in my trunk, what to do with Tony headed the 'what's next' list. Snow blew sideways in a harsh wind. I asked Nat if she wanted me to drive Tony home. “We can talk on the way.”

  “I think I'll drop him off and then go home. I'll call you later.”

  As they drove away, I could feel snowflakes melt in my mouth, with a sour flavor.

  New Year's Eve day, and Nat hadn't called or come by. Snow continued to climb anything it landed on, with more yet to come. I started to dial her up, but set the phone down. Now that Tony proved insufficient, I asked myself why I'd bothered. I'd been as kind to her as I could, while hoping this nightmare would end. And maybe connecting her and Tony here would mirror my world. The least I could do.

  Returning to the lists, I hoped that spring would visit early and give me a head start. But a possible three or four more months prolonged the agony. I opened a calendar on my computer, looking for I didn't know what. With my search engine, I checked for any special events that might spur an idea. School began on Monday. Then, in a large headline, Inauguration Day.

  On a new pad, I mimicked the computer and wrote January twentieth–first Black President. As strange to me, after the past eight years, as it would be to this world, I reminded myself to add the change to January as a discussion topic for my classes. I jotted a note to ask if Nat had a story in mind.

  I read through the search listing for 2017. Anniversaries of historical events, births and deaths. We'd just passed the seventy-fifth anniversary of Pearl Harbor. We would mark the one hundredth anniversary of US entry into World War One, and a hundred and fifty years since the start of Reconstruction. I had a lot of reading to do. At least, other me had been thorough at some point in his career. I had his notes.

  Before dressing to start shoveling, I opened a weather site to see what outside my igloo looked like. With more bad weather predicted, shoveling now meant less strain later. Dressed for the worst, I stepped on my front porch. In my world, the snow shovel would be leaning against the house behind the evergreens. The drifted snow covered the ground, leaving no sign of the shovel. I shook the snow off the bushes, and pushed the snow away, but still no shovel. I went to the basement. Not there either. Nat would know, so I called her, and got her voicemail.

  As I hung up, the sound of a plow pulled me to the door. I watched it block my driveway. Then as the truck backed up and pushed it aside, I waved to the driver. He waved back and kept going. The scraping of the street, the sand and salt combo shooting from the back, opened a path for the putt-putting of Nat's car, turning into my driveway. Tony Almeida sat in the passenger's seat.

  Tony climbed out and high-s
tepped around to help Nat through the drifts. I held the storm door, and apologized for not clearing the way.

  “I don't know where the snow shovel is.”

  “Other you pays kids to do it. He couldn't be bothered. He walked through it if he had to go out. So relax, take your coat off.” She grinned in a way that I hadn't seen before. “Make yourself at home.” Tony had the same kind of grin.

  Nat shook off the snow and took off her boots. Tony wore the clothes he had on last I saw him. Matter-of-fact in her next comment, she said that Tony had spent the night. The roads weren't cleared, so they went to her place.

  “I thought you were going to call.”

  She glanced at Tony. “We got talking and all of a sudden, it was really late. Sorry. But we're here now.”

  “I noticed.”

  “We talked about how to hook up the generator so you don't get a jolt.”

  “Without the turbulence, the planes, it won't matter. So we'll have to wait.”

  Tony interrupted, which annoyed me. “I'm in a place where I may be able to get the real storm analysis, and maybe I can calculate the natural turbulence you need. If we can bypass the electrical part artificially, with the generator, maybe all we need is a windy day.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah, I'm in. Even if it doesn't work, the possibility that it does is too tempting. I've speculated about time travel all my life. Natalie convinced me that you're on the level, and she said you had been looking for me specifically.”

  “Maybe I'm wrong.”

  “Ashley, only my sister and her husband know that story. They think I'm nuts. Never told anyone else. You two are the only ones, and you already know that I have some role in this adventure. So, I'm in.”

  Good thing we had food because the snow deepened. We spent the day reviewing the notes, the white board, the books, and I told him Fritz's story. By early evening, they were both filled with the entire portal history.

  “You guys are real heroes,” Tony said, after asking about the president and who they were going to see for the next four years. “I hope he doesn't need you here.”

  “Me too.”

  When the plow came by again, Nat opened the door and told the driver to wait. She grabbed her coat and boots and stomped out. While she was gone, Tony asked if she and I were dating. He said he didn't see a ring, but he didn't want to butt in.

  “I think she's gorgeous, and smart, and funny,” he said.

  “Right on all counts. Truth be told, I'm not sure what our situation is. But I'll tell you this, if you're interested, you better do something about it. 'Cause if I'm stuck here forever, I'm grabbing her first.”

  “Well, I am stuck here, so all's fair.”

  “Then may the best man win. If I find a way home, be sure to watch out for my other self. He's not a nice guy like me.”

  When Nat came in, she said the main roads had been cleared and sanded, but the plows would be back when the snow started again.

  “Tony, get your coat. Happy New Year, Ash. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” They ran to her car, and waited for the plow to turn around. Nat had told the driver she would follow him out to the main drag.

  I guessed my relationship with Natalie had reached the end. I spent what survived of the evening gathering her belongings, packing her carry-all, cleaning out her cosmetics from the bathroom. I assumed she'd want it all back. New Year's Day I parked in front of the TV and watched the bowl games until I hated football, and then read. The sun returned and so did the kids looking for snow to shovel. I didn't care that they wanted sixty bucks, only that my driveway was open, my walks free of snow and that I could finally get out of the house. Nat hadn't called.

  New Year's night, as I scanned my notes for the next day's classes, a soft tapping on my front door lifted me from the kitchen chair for the first time in a few hours. Sheepish and embarrassed, and even though she had a key, Nat waited for me to ask her in.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, Ash.”

  “I packed your stuff. I figured you'd be needing it.”

  “That's not why I'm here. I want to explain.”

  “You don't have to. Tony may not fit into solving my dilemma, but he seems smitten with you. Maybe I've done something right.” Her quizzical look called for an answer, but I doubted I had one adequate enough.

  “So you're dumping me?” she asked.

  That caught me off-guard. “You haven't called or texted me. I figured you had left. Dump you? I guessed that you'd decided that I wasn't a risk worth your time.”

  “You're an idiot.”

  “So I've been told.”

  “Ashley, you said you had a story to tell me. Tell me now.”

  Another surprise, another direction. A brief thought ran through my mind. Wimmens. I shook my head. I led her to the sofa and began the uncomfortable history of the me she didn't know. When I finished, she gripped my hand, and whispered, “You know, you're doing it again. Walking away.”

  “Nat, I don't expect to be here, and I don't want a guilty conscience when I get home.”

  “What about what I want? It's not like I don't know the risk. What if I'm willing to chance it, in case you don't get home.”

  “What about Tony? He's certainly interested.”

  “We had a couple of long talks. I tried to find out how far we can trust him. He's nice, he's cute, and he's easy to manipulate. But I can't see him being any help. He can hook up the generator, but that's about it. He has no access to the president or the air force. So we're on our own.” An endearing smile met my eyes.

  Pajamas on the floor and coffee waiting began my trek through Monday. I looked out the living room window at the heaps of dirty snow the plow had left at the curb. At least, I didn't need to shovel first, so I stood awhile admiring Mother Nature's gift, a white blanket covering the spring flowers that would visit in the not-too-distant months ahead. As a kid in New England, winters rarely meant school closings, but always meant snowmen, snowballs and skiing. I shook off the nostalgia, and hurried to school. George was waiting for me when I walked in.

  “Just wanted to remind you that you have Rachel and Nicole to deal with today. I've put them together in all their classes, and told their other teachers to come to you with any problems they cause.”

  “Thank you, George. I'm looking forward to it.”

  He began his hike to redness, and said, “It'll be your head, not mine. By the way, I looked at their records. They both get high test scores and good grades, in spite of how they act. Surprising.”

  “Not to me. I'll let you know how it goes. But I'm doing it my way. It's my head after all.”

  I had spent part of the holidays looking for a way to keep my classes animated, while I met George's requirements. The questions on the board had worked, so I kept them going, making them specific to each class. Then I added homework. My first class let me know I struck the right note. They hated the idea. The first question on the board was “When did the end of colonialism begin, and what factors made colonialism last?” Most of them didn't know what colonialism was, so we started with Gandhi and India.

  “Now you know why you have more homework. You'll need to read about Gandhi and tie him to Europe and the American Revolution. And, by the way, we'll have a quiz every Friday. So do the reading.” 'If looks could kill,' the saying goes. I'm sure they'd be unique in the ways I would die.

  Second period, my first encounter with Nicole and Rachel began with attitudes. I smiled when I told them they needed to come back after school. A certain glee found its way around the class, after having been disrupted by the two girls.

  “I have a doctor's appointment. I can't come,” said Rachel.

  “Not anymore. I spoke to your father and told him you'd be here.”

  “You knew you were giving me detention?”

  “Let's say you didn't disappoint me.”

  Nicole was smirking. “I can't come either. I have…”

  “No you don't. It's been cancelled. I spoke t
o your mother. So I'll see you both after school. No more than three minutes after the last bell, or you'll be here tomorrow. Understand?”

  They looked at each other, grimacing, realizing they were both in the same boat. Shooting bullets from their eyes, they left, no doubt wishing me dead. When the final bell ended the school day, I sat at my desk, which I hadn't done all day. Before I had a chance to look at my next day's schedule, two teachers walked in.

  “Don't tell me, Rachel and Nicole.”

  Joe Rosenberg nodded and Barb Lucas grimaced. She said, “George told us to see you, Ashley. That this was your idea.”

  Joe said, “We've all tried to avoid them for four years, but both, together? We'll have a war.”

  “Stick around. They'll be here in just a minute. You'll see. I have an idea, and maybe we can gang up on them.” The door opened again, and this time, Shelley Rapstein and Ben Cumber walked in, followed by their nemeses. “Right on time, girls. Good call. Take a seat.”

  “You didn't talk to my father,” Rachel said.

  “Or my mother,” Nicole added.

  “Good. They did what I asked. They didn't know anything about it, did they?” I chuckled, just enough to make them curious.

  “Ashley,” Ben said, “I needed to talk to you about them.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder.

  “You all do. So let's not waste any of your time. They're mine now. Rachel, Nicole, for the rest of the year, you and I will be spending a lot of time together. But before I tell you what we're going to be doing, your teachers will tell you why they're here right now. Ben, tell them why you need to speak to me.”

  “This should be between us.”

  “Why? The problem is with them. You have a captive, and I choose that word specifically, audience.” He almost cowered, as if he'd never confronted a student before. “Did they disrupt your class today?”

  “Yes. We were discussing Hawthorne. The Scarlet Letter. We ended up in a discussion about women's rights, and how horrible a writer Hawthorne is, was.”