Time Tsunami

by Danele J Rotharmel

  As Crystal made another choking sound, Marc grumbled, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, don’t start blubbering.”

  “I’m not crying,” she spat, looking at him with swimming eyes. “You couldn’t move me to tears if you tried.”

  “I’m not trying, but why the dickens can’t you watch where you’re going? Do you have an inner-ear imbalance?”

  Instead of answering, Crystal mumbled, “Your nose is bleeding.”

  As Marc reached up and tried to brush the blood away, she took a tissue from her pocket and handed it to him. “Thanks,” he muttered grudgingly.

  “Let me look at your eye.”

  “It’s fine,” he said quickly, backing away.

  “If it was fine, you wouldn’t be clutching it.”

  “I said it’s fine and it is!”

  “Don’t be such a baby,” she chided, scooting forward. “Let me see.”

  “I’m not a baby,” he grunted, “and you’re kneeling on my hand.”

  Blushing wildly, Crystal raised her knee.

  Snatching his hand away, he raised the tissue to his nose. “Leave me alone, will you?” As she ignored him and gently pried his hand away from his face, he flinched and said crossly, “I mean it. I don’t need your help.”

  “Shh.”

  When Crystal carefully touched his cheekbone, Marc stared at her in surprise. Her fingers were amazingly gentle. As she continued to examine the damage, he gradually allowed himself to relax. For some reason, Crystal’s soothing touch seemed soft and tender—almost loving. He sighed and closed his eyes. She gently smoothed the rumpled hair away from his forehead and trailed her fingers down the side of his face.

  As the air conditioner switched on and a lock of her hair wisped lightly against his chin, an electric bolt of energy ripped through his body, leaving him shaken. His eyelids quivered as her hair continued to tantalize him. It was soft as silk, and it felt heavenly against his skin. His breath caught, and his heart began to race. Golden ripples vibrated down his spine, filling him with an unbearable aching pain. She was so close that he could feel her breath on his cheek. She smelled wonderful. Like apple blossoms. Like springtime.

  “The side of your face is already swelling,” she murmured, “and your eye’s black-and-blue. Open it, will you? I want to check and see if you have a concussion.”

  Marc slowly opened his eyes and looked at her. As he did, all his dreamy castles shattered. She might smell like apple blossoms and have a touch that could turn his knees into goo, but she was still plain-old Klutzy Crystal, the dowdy campus joke. He peered at her hair. It was shiny and clean, but it was perched on top her head in a messy bun and there was nothing attractive about the style. He studied her owlish glasses and hideous clothes. She looked like a frumpy bag lady. As she touched his cheek again, he stiffened and jerked away. There was no way he could be attracted to someone like Crystal Stuart. The thought was ridiculous.

  Crystal peered into his eyes, and as if sensing what he was thinking, she quickly backed away. As she tried to scramble to her feet, she slipped on a piece of paper and fell hard on her backside. Marc stared at her. Her bun was falling down, and her cheeks were bright red. As confusing emotions engulfed him, he felt himself becoming angry. He didn’t like being off balance, and he didn’t like Crystal.

  As she tried to get up and fell against his leg, he barked, “Will you be careful? You’re gonna kill us both if you keep this up.”

  Crystal ducked her head. “I’m not clumsy on purpose.” When he didn’t reply, she mumbled, “Your eyes are dilating properly. You don’t have a concussion.”

  “I could’ve told you that,” he snapped, feeling far more shaken by their close encounter than he cared to admit. He roughly rubbed his cheek, trying to erase the magical feel of her fingertips. “You didn’t need to put on a Florence Nightingale act.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “If you were really concerned, you’d be more careful.”

  “I try. Honest, I—”

  “Obviously not hard enough. You’re a walking disaster zone. I’ll be fine as long as you don’t keep pummeling me with heavy objects.” Clutching his eye, he grumbled harshly, “Just keep away from me, okay? That’s all I ask. Stay away and leave me alone. My life’s at risk every time you say hello.”

  As he watched, Crystal’s face went completely white. “You don’t want me around?”

  Knowing he was stepping over the line, but feeling too shaken to care, he glared at her. “Why would I? The last thing I need in my life is someone like you.”

  “That’s just fine with me,” she spat. “From now on, I’ll stay far away. It doesn’t take two people to carry one box. We’ll get finished faster if we work separately.”

  “That’s the most sense I’ve ever heard you make.”

  Crystal drew her knees up to her chest. “Your nose is bleeding again. You’d better go take care of it.”

  Marc glanced at the blood speckling his best dress shirt and grumbled beneath his breath. Trying to dab at the spots with the bloody tissue, he muttered, “I’ll go to the restroom and see if I can get my nose to stop gushing while you pick up the papers.”

  “You’re just smearing the blood with that tissue. Try washing the spots out with cold water. If your shirt’s ruined, buy another and send me the bill.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said, standing to his feet.

  “Why not? It’s my fault your nose is bleeding.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “You did a minute ago,” she said. “I may be a klutz, but I have a good memory. I can remember everything you’ve said in graphic detail.”

  Marc shifted uncomfortably. He never stayed angry for long, and he was beginning to regret some of his harsh words.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked with a hint of tears in her voice. “Go on! Get out of here! Who needs you anyway? I sure don’t.”

  Something in her tone made Marc hesitate. “I’m sorry, Cris. I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did! You meant every word! Don’t deny it.”

  He stared at her. Her hair was wisping around her face, and her eyes were dewy and brilliant. For one brief moment she actually looked pretty.

  “Are you deaf as well as dumb?” she hissed. “I told you to get out of here, and I meant it. I don’t need someone with the IQ of an orangutan slowing me down.”

  “Cris—”

  “Just do what I ask. You’re dripping blood all over the papers.”

  Making an exasperated sound, Marc stood up and walked away. He got about ten feet before he turned and looked at her. She was sitting in a huddled heap with her head down on her knees. Biting his lip, he started to retrace his steps, but then, changing his mind, he simply walked away.

  * * *

  Rick tossed the contents of Sam’s closet on the floor and kicked at the clothes in frustration. He’d been over every inch of Sam’s house and still hadn’t found a clue to Sue’s location.

  Picking up Sam’s Bible from the nightstand, he flung it across the room. He couldn’t believe a pastor had stood up to him. Grabbing a can of spray paint, he began writing obscenities on Sam’s bedroom wall. The angry orange words spilled out into the hall and into the living room. After defacing a picture of Christ, Rick looked at Sam’s cheap furniture and sneered. He wondered how Sue was going to enjoy being the girlfriend of a poor church mouse.

  * * *

  Crystal heard the vault door closing behind Marc as she brushed the tears from her face. Marc may not want her in his life, but that was fine, she didn’t want him in hers either. In fact, outside of work, she’d never talk to him again.

  As she grabbed a handful of papers and began sorting them into piles, she came across a case subject’s name embedded in the text: Andrew Hamilton. Crystal blinked rapidly. Everybody knew Andrew Hamilton. He was the most famous man on the eastern seaboard. Heisman trophy winner, entrepreneur, one of the richest men in the nation, and one of the most ha
ndsome. As her eyes scanned the papers, she realized that Andrew Hamilton was Andy—the teenage boy Zeke had just finished counseling.

  Shuffling through the papers, she found a red file labeled the Poppa Report. Her eyebrows rose. She’d heard rumors of a man named Poppa, but she hadn’t believed he existed. She knew she shouldn’t open the red file, but she couldn’t help herself. After reading a few paragraphs, she gasped. The file was full of information about the future.

  As she read what Andrew Hamilton was going to accomplish, she realized why his file was marked Condition Gold—the information about him was dynamite. If anyone wanted to derail America’s future, all they had to do was assassinate Andrew before he rose to power.

  She slammed the Poppa Report shut. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she shouldn’t be reading the file. It was more than just confidential—it was dangerous. Shame washed over her in a sickening wave. Zeke had been right. Her curiosity was a character flaw. She’d have to confess to the director and make sure Andrew’s box was resealed and put in a different location.

  Quickly shoving the papers back in the box, she stood on her tiptoes and pushed it onto the top shelf. As she looked at the five boxes dedicated to Andrew Hamilton, she whistled silently. At least now she knew who to vote for when the time came.

  Hearing the vault door opening, and the sound of a cell phone ringing, Crystal grimaced and skittered down sub-row Lambda. She recognized Marc’s ring tone, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Not now. Not ever.

  * * *

  Being sure to observe the speed limit, Rick drove through the suburbs of Westfield, Colorado. Turning left into a well-kept cul-de-sac, he raised his eyebrows and smirked. It was obvious which of the cookie-cutter houses belonged to Nathan and Zara. They had the American and Jamaican flags painted on their garage door.

  Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he made his plans. He’d enter through the back and see if Nathan’s wife was home. If she was, he’d make her tell him where Sue had gone. He smiled. He’d never attacked a policeman’s wife before. He thought it’d be quite amusing.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  William stood by Gil’s bed as Poppa and Twinkles examined her.

  “We should start skin regeneration,” Twinkles said, leaning over Gil’s unconscious form. “There’ll be scarring if we wait, and she won’t want scars, especially on her face.”

  Poppa nodded. “Her vitals are strong enough. Pass me a regenerator.”

  “What are you doing?” William asked in a worried voice as he grabbed Gil’s hand. “What’s regeneration? Will it hurt her?”

  “Not at all,” soothed Twinkles. “Regeneration speeds the healing process, so cuts don’t scar. We didn’t want to stress Gil’s system by doing it sooner, but best results are seen during the first seven days.” She turned to Poppa. “What about her nose? Is it too late to straighten it?”

  “I might have to rebreak it. She can live with a bent nose.”

  “No, I can’t!” a voice objected. “I wanna be Miss America.”

  William jumped and gave a shout of laughter. “Gil, are you awake?”

  Gil didn’t answer. William could see that she’d slipped back into a peaceful dreamland.

  * * *

  Marc tossed his jacket over his shoulder and emerged from the corridors of Hawking Hall into the warm twilight air. As he strolled toward the parking lot, he grimaced. Crystal was avoiding him like the plague, and it was really getting on his nerves. She was making him eat more humble pie than he cared to admit, and he didn’t like the taste one bit.

  On his left, he saw Ryan hurrying past Hertz Hall. “Hey, Ryan, wait up!” he shouted.

  Ryan slowly turned around. “Hi, Marc, what are you up to?”

  “I was gonna ask you the same thing. I haven’t seen you for days. I tried to call, but all I got was your answering machine.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ve been...busy.”

  “Do you want to catch a movie tonight?” Marc asked.

  Ryan hesitated and looked uncomfortable. “Don’t you have plans with Molly?”

  Marc shook his head. “So, how about that movie?”

  “Sorry,” Ryan said abruptly. “I’m taking Kailee to a concert.”

  “Since when are you two an item?”

  “We’re not. She’s trying to make Tim jealous.”

  Marc laughed and finished closing the distance between them. He caught Ryan looking at his black eye and grinned. Ryan never gossiped and never pried. No matter how curious he was, Ryan didn’t snoop. It made him a comfortable friend to have around.

  “So how did Kailee manage to rope you into a concert?” Marc asked.

  Ryan shrugged. “She’s a friend. You do things for friends.” Ryan’s voice took on a strained note. “All the women around here seem to view me as their big brother.”

  “The kiss of death.” Marc slapped Ryan’s back. “With your looks, I’d think women would be falling all over you.”

  As Ryan gave a noncommittal shrug, Marc looked over his shoulder at Hawking Hall. Crystal was just leaving the building. Turning around to avoid being caught staring, he asked, “So what assignment did the director give you?”

  “I’m sending acceptance and rejection letters to the freshman recruits.”

  “Were there many acceptances?”

  Ryan shook his head. “The number’s way down from last year.”

  “Why? Is interest in the program declining?”

  “Not at all,” Ryan replied. “We had more recruits than ever, but admission requirements are becoming stricter. No one’s getting in without an undergraduate GPA of at least 3.85. If you didn’t graduate summa cum laude, you might as well not apply.”

  Marc whistled. “I’m glad I applied when I did.”

  Ryan grinned. “You and me both.”

  Marc glanced back at Hawking Hall. Crystal caught him looking and ostentatiously turned the other way. His jaw tightened. “So did the cute girl with golden freckles make it in?”

  Ryan nodded. “Phoebe Reynolds was accepted, but I don’t see why you care. You already have a girlfriend.”

  Marc shifted uncomfortably. “Not anymore.”

  “What on earth happened? I thought you and Molly were doing great.”

  “Apparently too great,” Marc mumbled. “When I took Molly home the other night, she made it clear that she wanted to take our relationship to the next level.”

  “She proposed?”

  Marc bit down a laugh. Ryan might look like a Hollywood heartthrob, but he was rather naïve when it came to women. Ryan was what his mother would call a sweet, innocent lad and what Kyle would call a buttoned-up preacher-type.

  Marc’s grin faded. With his own reputation, no one would call him innocent or preacher-like. He wondered how long it’d take before his reputation was as spotless as Ryan’s. He felt his stomach tighten. If he could take back the last few years, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

  * * *

  As fading beams of sunlight broke through Colorado clouds, Gil began to stir. Feeling sunshine on her face, she slowly opened her eyes. She awoke to find everyone standing by her bed praying for her. Smiling, she said cheerfully, “Anybody care to say hello?”

  “Gil!” Danny yelled, lunging toward her. As Sue shouted a quick warning, the boy stopped his headlong progress. “Are you okay?” Danny asked quietly. “You’ve been asleep for days. I thought you’d never wake up.”

  “I’m fine,” Gil said, opening her arms wide. “Come here, squirt.”

  “Will I hurt you?”

  “Not a chance.” As Danny hugged her, she said, “You did good on D-day. I’m awfully proud of you.”

  “But it’s my fault you got hurt,” he mumbled.

  “That’s silly,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine because I was too stupid to remove that silly game from your PlayFest console. You, my young knight, are the one who got me out of a pickle of my own making.”
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  As Danny’s smile dawned huge and bright, Gil pumped his hand in an exaggerated handshake. “You’re a fine fellow,” she said with a British accent, “and I’m glad to know you!”

  Danny laughed and said in his own British imitation, “Jolly good and right-o.” Smiling, he said excitedly, “Guess what? My school work’s all caught up!”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “Twinkles made me cupcakes to celebrate. I saved you one. Do you want it?”

  “Maybe later,” Gil replied, shifting painfully on the bed. “Keep it safe for me, okay?”

  Nodding, Danny said with a tremor in his voice, “It was really scary when you weren’t breathing. Mom and Sam gave you CPR and then Dr. Ableman arrived. He sailed through the TV like a rocket.”

  Gil looked over at William with interest. “Like a rocket, huh?”

  Danny nodded. “He came so fast that I was almost squashed flat. He broke my beanbag.”

  As William cleared his throat and blushed under her intent gaze, Gil murmured, “Go on, Danny. What’d the doc do next?”

  “He got to work fixing you up and barking orders.” The boy’s voice became gruff in imitation. “Nathan, do this and this. You have ten minutes. Move! Sam, do this and this. You have six minutes. Move!”

  Gil’s lips twitched. “He sounded just like that, huh?”

  “Oh, much worse,” piped Danny. “He was so ferocious to look at, and so ferocious to hear, we just upped and did whatever he said. We were afraid not to.”

  “And it’s a good thing we did, young man,” Sue said. “He saved Gil’s life.”

  Gil reached out her hand to William. When he stepped quickly to her side and took her hand in his, her eyes began to shine. “You do care, don’t you, Mr. Rocket Man?”

  Smiling tenderly, William chuckled. “Are you just figuring that out?”

  Gil laughed and squeezed his hand.

  * * *

  Marc fingered his black eye. It was throbbing again.

  “I knew Molly was crazy about you,” Ryan said as they walked past the library, “but I didn’t know she was thinking about marriage.”