Innocent Bystander

by Glenn Richards

  Burnett guessed her age to be about fourteen or fifteen; maybe sixteen on a good day. Levi’s jeans hugged her waist and a loose, gray T-shirt almost covered her shoulders. A lock of brown hair drooped down over her left eye. She brushed it aside.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He latched onto her forearm and escorted her into the living room.

  “Who the hell are you?” Emma asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice calm. “I must be in the wrong apartment. I’m looking for Henri Laroche.”

  Henri, who’d risen from the sofa, said, “That’d be me.” He leaned forward, stumbled, and gripped the desk for support. “I know you?”

  “My name is Audrey Lansing. I need to talk to you.” She paused to eye Burnett and Emma. “Alone.”

  Henri smiled and looped an arm around Burnett. He dragged him to where Emma stood and wrapped his other arm around her. “These are the two most important people in my life. I have no secrets from them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Audrey said, “but I really need to tell you this in private.” She peeked behind herself, as if mentally measuring the distance to the door.

  “We can go,” Burnett said.

  “No,” Henri said. “I have nothing in my past I’m ashamed of. And I don’t know her. So there’s nothing she can say you and Emma can’t hear.”

  Audrey took a half-step backward. “I should probably come back.”

  “If you must,” Henri said.

  Audrey stood in silence for several seconds. “No. I can’t.”

  She cleared her throat, then shifted her weight from one foot to the other three times. “You can’t turn in your extra credit paper for Professor Desmond’s class.”

  Henri laughed, but it was light-years from an amused laugh. “May I ask why?”

  “You already know,” Audrey said. “The dream you’ve been having. The one that wakes you up every night.” She paused for dramatic effect. “It’s real.”

  Henri stared at her. “How do you know about my nightmare? How could you know about my paper?”

  “Only one way,” Audrey said.

  Henri trembled. His face assumed a greenish tint.

  “I don’t know who you are,” Burnett said, “or what you’re talking about, but you need to go.”

  “No.” Henri staggered a step closer to her. “How do you know this?”

  “Because your paper is perfect. Everything in it is exactly right. That’s why you’ve been having the dream. That will be the future if you turn in the paper.”

  Henri bent over the side of the couch and vomited.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Emma asked. She glared at Audrey. “Who are you?”

  Audrey stood silent, her stare fixed on Henri.

  Emma traced tiny circles with her fingertips on Henri’s back. “You okay?”

  He straightened up without a word. His gaze settled on Audrey. “Are you psychic?”

  The young girl shook her head.

  “What, then?” Burnett asked. He sharpened his best sarcastic tone. “You’ve come back in time to make sure he doesn’t submit the paper?”

  She nodded.

  He let out a derisive snort, then grabbed Audrey’s wrist and steered her to a corner. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but it has to stop.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  The temptation to reveal that he’d been having the same dream grew. He resisted it.

  “I’m more than a little confused here,” Emma said.

  “Then you’re free to go,” Audrey said.

  “And you’re free to get your ass kicked, little girl,” Emma replied. “I don’t know how you found out about his paper or his dream, but you can see what it’s doing to him. Now tell him who you are and how you know so much.”

  “He already knows I’m telling the truth,” Audrey said. “And he knows what he has to do.”

  “If I don’t turn in the paper, I’ll fail the class. And if I flunk out, my father’ll kill me.”

  “And if you do …” Audrey said, but chose not to finish the sentence. “You have to decide what’s more important.”

  “His sanity is more important,” Burnett said and dragged her to the door. “You need to leave.”

  “I said I want her to stay. I want to hear more.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Emma asked. “It’s obvious she’s crazy.” She clasped his hands, interlocking their fingers. “It’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “She knows everything,” Henri said, appearing quite sober.

  “Who else have you told about the dream?” Emma asked.

  “Nobody.” He freed his hands from Emma’s grip and rubbed his temples. “The two of you. Joel. Desmond, I guess.”

  “Who else?” Burnett asked. “Exactly.”

  “Doesn’t matter. She’s here to prevent me from causing a nuclear holocaust.”

  “Listen to yourself,” Burnett said. “It’s crazy.”

  “No. No, for the first time things are starting to make sense.”

  “So,” Emma said, “you’re not going to submit your paper? And you’re going to flunk out because this little skank makes up some ridiculous story?”

  “I want to know more,” Henri said.

  Burnett heard not just eagerness in his voice, but terror. And he knew, without a doubt, that Henri would not submit his paper. He also knew there was no way he was going to convince him tonight that this girl had to be making up an elaborate lie.

  “Thirty-four years from now,” Audrey said, matter-of-factly, “a machine will be constructed based on your ideas. It’s designed to send a living creature into the future—a rat. After the rat is successfully sent eighteen hours into the future, every developed nation decides it has to be the first to send a human.”

  “I can’t believe I’m even asking this,” Emma said, “but how exactly does this lead to the end of the world?”

  “Can you imagine going back to the past with a present-day army or going into the future and bringing back more advanced technology? No nation wanted to let another one be able to do that when they couldn’t. The result: World War III.”

  “I have to admit,” Emma said, “you don’t talk like any fifteen-year-old I’ve ever met.”

  “I was raised by my uncle. He was part of a group trying to build a machine for the U.S.”

  “You mean ‘will be,’” Emma said.

  Burnett leaned forward. “Question. If the world blows itself up attempting to build one of these things, how’d you get here?”

  “My uncle’s site was one of three in the United States trying to build a machine. The only one that wasn’t completely destroyed.”

  “And the reason he didn’t come himself?” Emma asked.

  Audrey bowed her head. She sniffled and cleared her throat, her first display of emotion since she’d entered the room. “He was dying of radiation poisoning. Besides, it takes much less energy to send a ninety-pound person through time than a hundred-and-eighty-pound person.”

  She had an answer for every question. Either she had rehearsed this many times or she was telling the truth. Burnett found it impossible to accept the second option.

  A tear rolled down Audrey’s cheek. She wiped it away and raised her eyes to Henri. The silence between them fed the tension in the room.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Emma said. “I don’t care how many tears you shed. This is over.”

  Still, Henri didn’t speak; nor did he move. He appeared lost in thought. “I’ll have to destroy my computer. If I just delete the paper, someone might find a way to retrieve it.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Emma asked. “I will not let you throw your life away.”

  “She’s right,” Burnett said. “This charade’s over.” He opened the door and glared at Audrey. “If you have any contact with him again, I’ll call the police.”
<
br />   Henri shuffled to the balcony door. “I ever show you my father’s collection of hunting rifles?”

  A stab of fear twisted Burnett’s gut. Off his medications, and in his present state, there was no predicting what Henri might do. Burnett raced to the balcony door. It was too late.

  Henri, now outside, rested his hands on the metal railing.

  Burnett approached him. He stood less than ten feet away.

  Emma charged onto the balcony. “My God, what are you doing?”

  “You’ve had too much to drink,” Burnett said. “Come inside and sleep it off.”

  “I can’t be responsible for the end of mankind. And I can’t give my father the pleasure of shooting me.”

  “Listen,” Burnett said. “I know you stopped your medications.”

  “I thought they might be causing the nightmares.”

  “I understand.”

  “They weren’t.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll help you develop one of your other ideas. We’ll have it ready by next week.”

  Henri bowed over the railing. “You were right. There isn’t time.”

  His friend’s attention shifted to Emma. Burnett crept behind him to the railing and narrowed the gap between them. He and Emma now flanked Henri.

  Below, a couple chatted beneath a youthful red maple. Several pedestrians strolled by.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Henri said.

  “That girl’s crazy,” Emma said. “I swear to God. I swear I’ll prove it to you.”

  “How could she know everything?” Resignation permeated his voice.

  “Remember last time you stopped your medications?” Burnett said. “Remember the voices in your head? Remember they weren’t real? This is the same. We’ll find out what’s really going on. But first you need to step back from the railing.”

  Henri didn’t move.

  Emma inched closer. Her arms reached out to him. “Hold me.”

  Burnett knew he couldn’t wait much longer. He also knew she would keep him distracted.

  “We’ll find out,” Emma said. “I promise we’ll find out.”

  Henri simply shook his head.

  “At least let’s try. We’ll ask the police to find out who she is. Who her family is. We’ll talk to them. Maybe she has mental problems.”

  Henri glanced at the street a second time. “Doesn’t explain how she knows everything.”

  At that moment Burnett lunged at him and seized him by the shoulders. They both crashed to the floor. Henri rolled on top of him. He punched Burnett hard in the face. Like a wild man he swung again and again. Two punches connected, but Burnett deflected the third. Henri grabbed him by the throat. Burnett shoved him off and leapt to his feet.

  Henri flailed about as if possessed by a demon. Then he gripped the railing and hoisted himself up. He swung his left foot over the railing.

  Burnett grabbed Henri’s right leg. With all his might he pulled. Henri kicked him off. Burnett dropped to the floor.

  “No!” Emma screamed.

  Henri heaved his body over the railing. Several people yelled. Burnett sprang to his feet and leaned over the edge. Henri lay on the sidewalk, forty feet below, five feet from the couple under the tree.

  “Call 911,” he yelled. He darted past Emma, who already had her iPhone crushed to her ear.

  Once in the hallway, he slammed his palm against the elevator button. The damn car sat on the ground floor. To his left a sign pointed to the stairwell.

  When he arrived at the curb he shoved two women aside to reach his friend. Henri’s left arm, twisted beneath his back, twitched. His head rested in an expanding reservoir of blood.

  Bystanders dug out smartphones and rang for help. A crowd enclosed them.

  After the initial shock, Burnett crouched beside him and lifted his hand. He searched for a pulse. It was there, but weak. The wail of a distant siren grew.

  “C’mon, Henri, hang in there. They’re almost here.” He had no medical training. The helplessness he felt immobilized him. “Anyone a doctor?”

  No one answered.

  The flashing lights of an ambulance materialized far down the street. He tried to will the driver to speed up. An instant later Emma appeared. She took Burnett’s hand and squeezed it.

  The ambulance arrived. Two EMTs jumped out and tended to Henri. A third launched himself out the back with a stretcher.

  Burnett burned with questions. He tried to gauge Henri’s condition by the urgency in the voices and the facial expressions of the EMTs, but both changed so frequently he could not get a read.

  They lifted Henri onto the stretcher and loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

  Burnett could wait no longer. “How is he?”

  A shaggy blonde EMT, who would have looked more at home on a surfboard, slid behind the wheel. “He’s alive.” The man’s voice conveyed no optimism.

  Burnett squeezed Emma’s hand tighter as the ambulance roared off.

  CHAPTER 5

  The dim light of the waiting room further dampened Emma’s spirits. She paced in front of the nurse’s station. A red-headed nurse, jabbing at a computer keyboard, shot her an annoyed glance.

  An image of Henri’s broken body surrounded by an endless lake of blood had seared itself into her brain. Every effort to dislodge it merely served to sharpen and brighten the picture.

  Nothing made sense. Two hours ago she’d been laughing with her best friend Courtney. Now Henri lay on an operating room table.

  And that girl; who the hell was she? Her mind thrashed about in search of nonexistent answers. Not only did nothing make sense, but nothing mattered. In under a month she would graduate. She’d have a fancy diploma in a fancier frame. She’d give it away if it would save his life.

  Besides, did the world really need another ecological biologist? When she’d enrolled in school, she’d believed it would help her with her true passion; yet now, with Henri in surgery, saving the planet from all the damage mankind had inflicted upon it didn’t matter. Let everyone destroy the earth. With people like Audrey in the world, who cares if the whole place goes to hell.

  “Who is she?” Emma said. She grabbed the back of the chair in an attempt to stop trembling. Instead, the chair vibrated.

  Burnett angled his right knee on the seat to steady it. “I don’t know. But we will find out.”

  The passion and determination in his voice struck her. They would find Audrey or help the police find her. And if the unthinkable happened, she would pay for this insanity. Emma mentally reprimanded herself for even considering the worst could happen.

  At last she summoned the willpower to oust the blood-soaked image of Henri’s body from her mind. The memory of a long weekend in Cancun replaced it. For a moment she was there again.

  The two of them strolled along the beach hand in hand. Warm, clear water licked her ankles. A coconut-scented breeze caressed her cheeks and swept windsurfers across the azure sea.

  The next day they had spent the afternoon snorkeling in Cozumel. After a magnificent candle-lit dinner at an overpriced restaurant, they’d made love at sunset on an isolated beach.

  The memory faded, and Emma returned to the stark reality of the hospital waiting room. She made a pact with God. She would give Him anything, anything He wanted, if they could share a weekend like that again. No sacrifice would be too great.

  In her helplessness she even offered her life in exchange for his. Her goals were idealistic and unattainable. Henri’s genius offered a tangible and irreplaceable benefit to the world. Take me instead.

  A young male doctor approached them. “Are you the two friends of Henri Laroche?”

  “Yes,” Emma said. “How is he?”

  “I’m sorry. He just died a few minutes ago.”

  The room spun. Emma clutched the back of a chair. Her fingernails punctured the flimsy material as the spinning intensified. She searched for something more secure to grasp. The last thing she saw was Burnett’s outstretched arms. Then every
thing went black.

  CHAPTER 6

  The policeman stood close to Burnett as he rambled through an endless list of questions, close enough for him to conclude the man’s cologne had long since worn off. He didn’t appreciate a stranger standing so close to him. He retreated half a step, but the detective edged forward an equal distance.

  The empty patient’s room felt cramped. The pain of Henri’s death attempted to breach the surface of his consciousness. All he wanted was to go somewhere and grieve in private. But the policeman continued to ask questions. Then he would rephrase the questions.

  Burnett wished his father had been here at Montefiore New Rochelle. Someone surely would have granted him permission, under the circumstances, to see him.

  “Tell me again about the girl,” the man said. His nametag indicated his name was Jeffrey Crenshaw.

  “I told you, she looked about fifteen. Slim, long brown hair. Jeans probably a size too small.”

  “Mmm,” Crenshaw mumbled and thumbed his notes. “Last time you said her hair was dark brown.”

  A twinge of uncertainty shook him. Had he made an honest mistake or had Crenshaw tried to rattle him? “It could have been dark brown. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

  “And you say she claimed to be—”

  “From the future. That’s what she said.”

  “Kind of odd, don’t you think?” Crenshaw said.

  “Find her and you can ask her yourself.”

  Crenshaw glanced at his notes for what must have been the tenth time.

  Burnett bit his lip. Is this guy an idiot or deliberately making me wait?

  “You see,” Crenshaw said, “one of the problems here is that I have a report from two witnesses. They didn’t see a girl fitting that description. Not on the balcony. They saw you. They saw Mr. Laroche. They saw Ms. Blankenship.”

  “She was inside his apartment the whole time.”

  “How convenient.”

  “What about the security cameras?” Burnett asked. “They must have picked her up coming in and out of the building.”

  “We’re looking them over.”

  The interview’s new direction troubled Burnett. “You don’t think I’d make up a story like this, do you?”