Time Tsunami

by Danele J Rotharmel

The old woman chuckled. “You can see Gil now, can’t you? That’s because of a Scan Emitter set on wide-beam emanation. We—”

  “Where do you want her?” William interrupted in a gruff, worried voice.

  “This way,” the Facilitator’s wife replied. “We’re set up down the hall.” She led William through a large living room with a vaulted ceiling. Motioning to a bedroom, she said, “In there, Dr. Ableman. Please lay her on the bed.”

  When William placed Gil on a state-of-the-art hospital bed, the Facilitator’s wife took the unit of blood from Sam and hung it on a pole. Without speaking, she attached Gil to monitors.

  William stood helplessly. Although his body was still, the agony in his eyes belied his calm. He clenched his hands as a spry old man in his early eighties entered the room.

  “How does it look, dear?” the Facilitator inquired, washing his hands in a basin.

  His wife peered at the monitors. “Not as good as we hoped, but better than we expected.”

  Grunting, the old man took a syringe from a tray of instruments and plunged the needle into Gil’s arm. Taking another syringe full of golden liquid, he slowly injected it into the side of her neck. Both he and his wife watched the numbers changing on the monitors. After a minute, William saw them looking at each other and smiling.

  Moving away from Gil’s side, the old woman said, “We’re going to take good care of your friend, but now it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Wait,” Danny said anxiously. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Besides her lacerations and a dislocated shoulder, she has a punctured lung and a perforated bowel. We’ll need to operate to repair the damage.” She motioned everyone to the door. “I won’t see you until tomorrow. If you go past the kitchen, you’ll find prepared guest rooms. Get yourselves a snack and go to bed. There’s nothing more you can do.”

  As the Facilitator’s wife pushed him gently out the door, William grabbed her arm. “Tell me straight—I have to know. What are Gil’s chances? Is she going to live?”

  The woman smiled and tapped his cheek. “Her odds are up to eight-four percent since you did so well with emergency care. She’ll be fine. I feel it in my bones. Now, go get some food. You look like a walking corpse. When the little lady pulls through and sees you, you’ll scare her to death. Go on now,” she said, giving him a push. “Shoo!”

  As the door shut behind him, William leaned his forehead against the wall and covered his face with trembling hands.

  “Did that woman say Gil’s gonna be okay?” Danny asked in a scared voice.

  William nodded and put an arm around the boy. “She said she felt it in her bones.”

  “That’s what Gil always said,” Danny mumbled. “That she felt things in her bones.”

  “Then we’ll take it as a sign and believe Gil will be fine.”

  “Who was that old man?” Danny asked.

  “That was the Facilitator,” William replied with a wobbly smile. “You’re a lucky boy. Not many people get to see him—at least not see him and know his identity.”

  “Is that why you call him the Wizard of Oz?” Sam asked.

  William nodded. “Like the Wizard, he keeps behind the curtain.” Clearing his throat, he requested in an unsteady voice, “Sam, will you lead us in prayer for Gil’s surgery?”

  Sam nodded, and everyone held hands as he prayed. When Sam was finished, William felt more at peace. As Sue sent her son into the bathroom to clean up, William went with Sam to bring in the luggage.

  “What does Gil have in here?” Sam groaned, picking up her suitcase. “A set of encyclopedias?”

  William shook his head. For some things there were just no words.

  * * *

  Several hours later, the Facilitator gave a tired sigh and left Gil’s bedroom. As he and his wife entered the living room, he saw William propped up in a chair. Sam and Sue were sitting on the couch with Danny lying across their knees. They were all in clean pajamas, and they were all fast asleep.

  Putting his arms around his wife, the Facilitator chuckled. “And after all the trouble you went to making up the beds.”

  His wife slapped his shoulder. “Wasn’t any bother at all. I don’t remember you being able to go to bed during a crisis either.”

  “I suppose not,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Look at them, will you?”

  “Dear people, each of them. I’m glad we were able to help.”

  Moving into the room, the Facilitator gently shook everyone awake. Seeing their anxious faces, he said, “The surgery went fine. Gil will live. Now, off to bed. You’re all exhausted.”

  William passed a trembling hand over his face. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Not at all,” the Facilitator replied. “You did right to call on us.”

  As Sam stood to his feet and introduced himself, the old man’s eyes twinkled. “Glad to meet you, stranger. Call me Poppa. Everybody does.”

  “And call me Twinkles,” his wife said. “Poppa’s called me Twinkles for more decades than I’d care to admit—and I just love it.”

  William stood and asked in a shaky voice, “Can I see Gil?”

  “Me too?” Danny asked.

  “You can peep in the doorway, but that’s all,” Poppa said firmly. “I don’t want her disturbed.”

  Together, the group walked to Gil’s doorway and peeked in. She was breathing normally and had better color.

  “We won’t clean her up until later,” Twinkles said. “Sue, maybe you can help me bathe her when the time comes?”

  As Sue nodded, William asked, “When will she regain consciousness?”

  “I’m not sure,” Poppa replied. Seeing the fearful look in William’s eyes, he said gently, “Stop worrying. She’s doing splendidly, and she’ll mend fast. I expect her to make a complete recovery except for some residual nerve damage in her shoulder. She’ll be her wisecracking, spunky self in no time at all. Remember, our medicine is more advanced than yours. Tomorrow, I’ll let you sit by her, but I want you to go to bed now. Twinkles and I will watch her tonight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The next afternoon, Crystal sat on a bench by Broglie Hall and glanced casually at the quad where Marc was playing an impromptu game of football with his friends. As the ball sailed back and forth, a group of women sitting on the grassy sidelines cheered. The men hammed it up, and the women cheered even louder. Crystal scowled and opened a thick book on quantum field theory. Trying her best to concentrate, she read: The propagation of Gaussian wave packets adjusted to a—

  The cheering intensified. Crystal glanced up and saw Marc stripping off his shirt and tossing it to Molly. His muscles rippled as he picked up the ball and threw it to Ryan. Muttering beneath her breath, Crystal hunched a shoulder. Ignoring the game, she peered down at her book: —transparent spectral region much lower than the resonance of—

  “Toss it here, Marc,” Kyle called. “I’m open!”

  Crystal peeked up from her book in time to see Marc throwing a perfect low slant into Kyle’s arms. Molly jumped to her feet and cheered wildly while Jill and June booed and yelled for Wade and Jake to get off their duffs and sack the quarterback.

  Crystal pushed at her owlish glasses and watched as Marc’s team huddled to discuss their next play. She sighed. Marc was starting to sweat, and he was doing it in a particularly gorgeous way. It amazed her how a little bit of sweat on a man’s chest could make her feel so strange.

  Making an exasperated sound in her throat, Crystal squinted down at her book and forced herself to read: —the inverted multi-level atomic medium exhibiting superlumination may…

  She tried to concentrate, but she couldn’t. Against her will, she looked up as Marc prepared to throw the ball. The muscles in his back were undulating in a mesmerizing way. The wind stirred the pages of her book as she cupped her chin in her hands and stared at him. She wanted to get through the chapters on Gaussian wave packets, but she supposed that allowing herself a brief indulgence in the study o
f human physiology wouldn’t be too amiss—after all, one should be well-rounded in all of one’s academic endeavors.

  Marc launched the ball and stood outlined against a backdrop of blue sky. Seeing his masculine pose, Crystal gave another gusty sigh. Suddenly, she noticed Molly looking at her with a sarcastic grin. Blushing hotly, Crystal put her hand on the book’s fluttering pages. Her eyes skipped over the text reading at random: In an inverse Fourier transform...each separate wave phase-rotates in time...there is an overall normalization factor…

  As she read, churning thoughts filled her brain. She couldn’t believe she’d been caught staring. Her cheeks burned as she cautiously peeked up. She began to breathe easier when she saw that Molly’s attention was back on the game. Mumbling beneath her breath, Crystal thumbed through her book, trying to find her lost place.

  Suddenly, a groaning gasp went up from the crowd of women. Glancing quickly at the quad, Crystal saw Wade Kingston slamming into Marc with the force of a freight train. Jill cheered wildly for Wade as Marc lost the ball and it bounced across the grass. Jake swooped in and ran for a touchdown. As Jake triumphantly loped back to center field, June ran up to him and gave him a spectacular kiss. Ignoring them, Crystal stared at Marc in concern. He was still down and he wasn’t moving. Biting her lip, she rose slowly from the bench.

  “Are you all right?” Molly called, running toward Marc’s crumpled body.

  When Molly got close, Marc reached up and pulled her down beside him. “A guy could die out here before anyone noticed.” He laughed. “What took you so long?”

  Molly giggled and pulled away. “You big fraud! Leave me alone. You’re all sweaty.” As she pulled him to his feet and he swooped in for a hug, Molly pushed him away and purred, “Not now, silly!” She pointed at Crystal who was standing like a stone statue. “We have an audience.”

  As Marc stared over at her, Crystal’s face turned bright red.

  Giving a cruel smile, Molly laid her hand possessively on Marc’s bare chest and said in a honey-toned voice that was calculated to carry, “Poor girl, pressing her nose up against the glass. I think she likes you.”

  As Molly’s tinkling laugh filled the air, Crystal picked up her book and walked away as quickly as she could.

  * * *

  The afternoon was edging its way into a windy evening as William studied Gil’s pinched, white face in concern. Very gently, he stroked her matted bangs away from the stitches in her forehead. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. She looked awful.

  “What do you think, Poppa?” Twinkles whispered in the hallway.

  William tensed at Twinkles’s words. With his breath catching in his throat, he blatantly eavesdropped on Poppa’s reply.

  “I don’t like it,” the old man murmured. “She should be conscious by now.”

  William felt his stomach tightening. He ran a finger over Gil’s eyebrow.

  “If she doesn’t wake up soon,” Poppa whispered, “something’s definitely wrong.”

  “Is she bleeding internally?” Twinkles asked.

  “I don’t know,” Poppa replied. “I can’t tell.”

  “What about William? Should we tell him what we suspect?”

  “He’s worried enough as it is. Has he eaten anything yet?”

  “Not a bite,” Twinkles replied. “He won’t leave her side long enough to come to the table. He’s awfully worried about her.”

  “He should be,” Poppa murmured. “There was a tremendous amount of damage to her intestines. Hopefully, we didn’t miss one of the wounds. I don’t like the idea of exploratory surgery. I’m out of my depth, and I…”

  As Poppa’s words faded into the distance, William gently traced Gil’s pale cheek with a trembling finger. A few minutes later, he heard Twinkles entering the room.

  “Here you go, love,” Twinkles said, putting a tray of food on his lap.

  William looked up in confusion. “Thank you, but I didn’t ask for this. I’m not hungry.”

  “Nonsense,” Twinkles said in a militantly cheerful voice. “You didn’t have breakfast or lunch. Trust me, you’re starving.”

  As William sighed and ran a weary hand over his eyes, Twinkles gave his shoulder a motherly pat. “Eat something,” she coaxed. “Starving yourself won’t help Gil. In fact, she’d think it was an extremely silly thing for you to do.”

  When the old woman left the room, William put the tray on the floor and took Gil’s hand in his. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he said, “It’s time to wake up. Can you open your eyes?”

  Outside the room, he could hear murmuring voices as everyone gathered for supper. He was glad for some peace. Sam, Sue, and Danny had taken turns keeping vigil by his side, but he preferred to be alone with Gil. It was exhausting to keep up a cheerful front for their benefit. As Sam’s voice rose in prayer over the meal, William studied the strained lines etched around Gil’s mouth. Even though she was unconscious, she was obviously in pain. The knowledge tore his heart.

  “You’re safe,” he murmured, brushing a feather-light kiss on her brow. “There’s nothing to fear. I have you. Please open your eyes. Can you do that?”

  Peering down at her unresponsive face, William felt a tear sliding down his cheek. As he moved to brush it away, it fell onto her broken nose. He gently wiped it away with his thumb as a sob rose in his throat. “I’m so sorry, darling. This is all my fault.”

  As another tear slid down his cheek, he buried his face in her shoulder and prayed brokenly, “Dear Lord, I don’t know how to help her—only You can. Please heal her and put her mind at peace as she sleeps.” Pressing his lips fervently to her forehead, he whispered, “Please, bring her back to me. I need her. I love her so.”

  Hearing Gil give a gentle sigh, William slowly raised his head. As he peered down at her, he gasped. The tension lines were gone from her face, and her cheeks had a healthy pink color. He watched as she sighed deeply in her sleep and began to smile. For the first time since Rick’s attack, her face was serene and peaceful.

  * * *

  As William breathed a thankful prayer and nestled his head on Gil’s shoulder, Marc helped Molly out of his car and walked her to her door. “I enjoyed tonight,” Marc said softly as he looked up at the silvery moon. “It was perfect.”

  “Which part?” Molly asked in a flirty voice. “The meal or the company?”

  “Both.”

  “Do you want to come in for a while?” she murmured seductively, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

  He shook his head. “It’s getting late.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  When he didn’t reply, Marc felt her fingers brushing his leg. He stepped away.

  “I could make you a cup of coffee,” she whispered, slipping a hand under his jacket.

  He shook his head. “What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

  “Seven will be fine.” She sighed, giving him an exasperated glance. “Did you rent a tux?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I decided to purchase one this time.”

  “Oh?” She pulled her keys from her purse. “That seems extravagant.”

  “Not really.” He chuckled. “Tomorrow will be the third black-tie dinner we’ve attended in as many weeks. It’s wasteful to keep renting.”

  “Planning on being invited to more fancy dinners in the future?”

  “You tell me,” Marc replied with a laugh. “You’re the one who works for a senator.”

  Molly put her key in the lock of her door, fumbled, and gave an exasperated mutter.

  “Problems?” he asked.

  “It’s this silly key—it keeps sticking.”

  Putting his hand over hers, he said softly, “Let me.”

  Molly nestled close as he jiggled the key and opened the door. As he stepped back, she grabbed his arm and whispered, “Surely, you aren’t going home without giving me a kiss?”

  Marc hesitated and then pulled her into his arms. “I think I can manage that.”


  “I thought that you might,” she murmured in a sultry voice.

  As he lowered his head and kissed her, she melted her body into his. After a few moments, he started to pull away, but she clung to him and deepened their kiss. Marc felt blood pounding in his ears as the kiss continued. He tried to back away, but Molly grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside.

  * * *

  In Charlesberg, Rick struck a match and looked at the trail of gasoline leading to Sue’s back door. Giving a smile, he dropped the tiny flame and watched it zip its way into the house.

  Suddenly, the world exploded around him. The force of the blast knocked him flat. Lying in the grass, he stared at the writhing flames twisting across the night sky. It was like looking into the face of hell.

  Car alarms blared and people began pouring into the street. Rick jumped to his feet and sprinted into the forest. He knew the police would be arriving soon, and he couldn’t afford to get caught. Standing behind a tree, he paused for a moment and looked at the raging inferno. Sue may have run away, but he could still hurt her. And when he found her again, he’d make sure she suffered…

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  A few days later, Sam glanced out Twinkles’s living room window and saw Danny sitting alone on the grass. Seeing the depressed slump of the boy’s shoulders, he grabbed a jacket and headed outside. When he reached Danny, he sat beside him and said, “Poppa says Gil’s vitals are strong. Even though she hasn’t opened her eyes yet, I’m sure she’s gonna be fine.”

  Danny didn’t reply.

  “Poppa bragged about your singing. He says you’ve got Edelweiss nailed. And your mom told me you finished your last make-up assignment today.”

  Danny shrugged a shoulder.

  “I’ve heard rumors that Twinkles is planning a party tonight to celebrate your hard work. Grilled steaks and strawberry cupcakes are on the menu.”

  As Danny stared at the grass, Sam said gently, “What’s wrong, buddy?”

  “Me.” Turning to him, Danny said in a tight voice, “Is it wrong to hate?”

  Sam paused, choosing his words carefully. “Hate’s a normal human emotion, but it’s also destructive. Hate doesn’t harm the person who hurt you, it only makes you feel terrible inside. God can take away your hate if you ask Him.”