Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure

by T. L. B. Wood

  The experience was overwhelming. I blinked my eyes before managing to adjust to the sudden onset of thoughts and feelings. Through Kipp, I could clearly see the figure of a young boy slumped along the far wall, held captive by heavy iron shackles on his thin wrists. Shaking my head, I took a deep breath to clear my mind before I looked again. The little boy stared up at me, his face shimmering in the dimness of the room; his dark eyes rested in deep hollows, but somehow I could see their expression of despair and fear. His mouth opened, and I shuddered as his words tried to form, but all I could hear, through Kipp, was a high pitched wail. As quickly as the moment began, it stopped as Kipp slammed the door on the telepathic transmission.

  “There’s no need for you to see this,” Kipp said, his sides heaving as he shifted his posture slightly.

  “Kipp, let me back in,” I demanded with my most nonsense voice. Over my four hundred plus years on earth, I’d been subjected to more horrors than I could list. Just poking inside the minds of reprobates, sociopaths and killers had been sufficient to jade me on the baser human instincts. But also, I’d been privy to the thoughts of some of the most noble and gentle of mankind. That memory caused me to recall my dear William Harrow, a man encountered during a past time shift; my hand reached up to my throat where the tiny strand of delicate pearls he’d given me lay hidden, cool and smooth against my flesh, beneath the thin fabric of my shirt.

  “What’s going on?” Peter asked. He crowded up behind me, as did Elani, and the four of us formed a tight wedge deep underground in that basement of horrors.

  “Kipp and I are having a disagreement,” I replied. “He wants to protect me.”

  “Well, Elani and I need to see, too,” Peter said, trying to keep his tone from sounding petulant. He tossed his head slightly to rid his field of vision of the heavy curtain of hair that normally fell carelessly along his brow but would occasionally dip over an eye. “I know we’re young, but we need to start learning what it’s like to really dig into the meat of this kind of stuff.”

  Kipp sat, breathing hard, while he managed to control the onset of impressions. I realized he was trying to gather and organize one singular moment that he could share. Giving Peter and Elani access to the many would instantly overwhelm them with the intensity of the experience.

  Peter gasped as Kipp’s vision became his, the sound soft and sibilant in the confines of the room. He’d just thought he was ready to see the world of horror through Kipp’s eyes. Elani took a step back before pressing her shoulder against Peter’s thigh.

  “Will he speak with you, Kipp?” Peter asked, his voice a whisper.

  “I’ll try,” my partner replied.

  We stood in the dimness for a good sixty seconds while Kipp readied himself. Anyone who has huddled in a dark room while waiting for the quietness to be broken, understands the tension that builds. I tried to hold my breath since even that soft sound was loud and harsh to my ears; the walls seemed to vibrate, while the wood above us creaked and moaned, despite the fact we knew Sandra had gone outside for a surreptitious cigarette out back.

  “Who are you?” Kipp finally asked.

  Through his mind, we could see the boy’s pale face as it turned towards Kipp. The mouth opened, and although the lips didn’t appear to move, words came out of the void. I realized the apparition spoke through conveyed emotion or thought without the use of language.

  “Timmy,” the boy replied.

  “Why are you here?” Kipp walked closer and sat in front of the vision only he could truly see.

  “Jeremy put me here for being bad,” Timmy said, his head drooping on a thin, pale neck that seemed too fragile to support the weight.

  I glanced at Elani and Peter, both of whom were staring at for them what was a blank, stone wall. They could only share Kipp’s vision, as could I, but the experience was nonetheless powerful. Peter’s hand dropped down to gently smooth Elani’s fur; her tail wagged slowly in response. I realized they drew comfort from the physical connection with one another, as did Kipp and I.

  “Who’s Jeremy?” Kipp persisted. He’d broken past his tentativeness to calmly conduct an interview just as if we’d sat down across a table from someone at Technicorps. His big head tilted slightly to one side as he waited for Timmy’s reply.

  “He’s bigger than me, and Miss Rosa tells him to punish us when we’re bad.” Timmy glanced up. “He’s here somewhere.” The boy seemed to cower and shudder at the notion; he made a snuffling sound and rubbed at his moist eyes with a thin, balled up fist.

  Kipp turned to me, and it was clear he was unsure what to do next. With Kipp’s ability to handle several things at once and compartmentalize them all, he blocked off Timmy from me so I could focus on his words.

  “What do I do, Petra?” Kipp asked. “I’ve never encountered anything like this and don’t know.”

  “What do your instincts tell you?” I replied, leaning forward to place my hands on the top of his broad head. The fur radiated the warmth from his body; I enjoyed the sensation, since the air in the cellar was cool despite the fact it was late August outside, and the summer had been unusually hot.

  “That I should try and help him release his connection to this place and go to the afterlife,” Kipp replied with certainty.

  I glanced at Peter who shrugged his shoulders; if Elani had been physically able, she would have done the same. None of us had been in this situation before and were perplexed as to what our involvement should be. Symbionts functioned under one overarching tenant which dictated we must not interfere with human history. I was pretty sure there was no rule book on this type of experience. After another few seconds of deliberation, I made a decision.

  “Let’s put a halt today, grab some food, return to the hotel and call Fitzhugh. He’ll know what to do. And I’m so hungry, I can’t think straight.”

  If I’d been totally honest, I might have added that the environment of the haunted cellar was oppressive and, personally, I wanted a break from it. Kipp knew my thoughts and was in partial agreement. In a single file line, we threaded our way back down the narrow passageway and up the wooden staircase. As we made our way out into the liberating sun, all of the clinging darkness fell away, and I momentarily considered skipping merrily to the SUV as the hot waves of sunlight beat heavily on my head. Peter managed to convince Sandra that our initial findings were so profound, we needed to return the next day, and after packing the lupines in the back of the vehicle, we started towards the hotel.

  “There’s a Chic-fil-A nearby, and I know they have good salads,” Peter remarked, his comment designed to tempt me as the only confirmed vegetarian in the vehicle.

  “Leave the salad to Petra, I’m all in for chicken,” Kipp remarked.

  “You like everything,” I said, trying to joke a little and relieve the tension.

  “And don’t forget the waffle fries,” Elani chimed in, laughing, her mouth dropping open.

  Yes, food, rest and consultation seemed to be the next logical move.

  Chapter 2

  “Fitzhugh, what do you think we should do?” I asked.

  Telephone contact was essentially unpleasant for symbionts since, with our telepathy, we experienced communication in a much more complex manner. There was rarely miscommunication amongst us because context and content were immediately available and a part of our flowing music of language. But we were in Gettysburg, and Fitzhugh was at my home in North Carolina with Juno, an aged lupine who was considered a valued elder. I could almost imagine Fitzhugh’s frown, his bottom lip sticking out just a tiny bit, as I disrupted his late afternoon hot tea ritual, where the kitchen would be filled with the scent of bergamot as he stirred his cup of Earl Grey.

  Once upon a time, we’d been adversaries of a sort, with his unbending rigidity a constant irritant rubbing against me in my younger days when I was willing to be a little less disciplined than current age and experience had brought me. I reminded myself of how it was to be an unbridled youth when dealing critically
with Elani and, especially, Peter. I think Peter made me recall my own mishaps much too often when I’d been considered to be occasionally rash and more than a little obstinate. But Fitzhugh had developed a fondness for me that placed me squarely in his tiny inner circle. Once there, he was solidly on the side of those for whom he had respect, and, yes, even love.

  Fitzhugh was the keeper of our adventures, mishaps and memories and maintained a collection of the history of our species. He supervised the research library at Technicorps, and at somewhere past the age of 1380, he was still as sharp as ever and limited only by a nagging cardiac issue, since he’d had two heart attacks. It was the latter big event that led to his cohabitation with me, bringing along Juno and Lily, a little tiger-striped cat who managed to disrupt my typically dull household on a daily basis.

  “So, you want to know if it is unethical for Kipp to try and communicate with a ghost…or what appears to be a ghost.” Fitzhugh’s voice sounded across the distance. “I hate using these things,” he added, meaning the phone. “I have to say it to you, and then Kipp, Peter and Elani have to plumb your mind to get my words.” He sighed. “I don’t know how humans manage it. Where is the nuance and fluidity of communication?”

  I realized he was just expressing frustration and no response was required. So, I waited, rolling my eyes at Kipp who bared his teeth in a mock grimace.

  “If our only dictate is to not affect the timeline of human history, a ghost would be a part of past events and no longer living. A ghost cannot have offspring or in any way alter the progression of humanity. The only thing that might change would be the experience of humans if the ghost, uh, goes away, or changes his presentation.” Fitzhugh was quiet for a minute as he sipped his tea. “I would say that Kipp attempting to talk with a specter is not a violation and, by all means, forge ahead. He has a special ability and sensitivity here, so I think it falls upon him to push it as far as he can. That is, as long as he wants to.”

  I heard a faint crash in the background as Fitzhugh fumbled with the phone. “What happened?” I asked.

  “I think Lily knocked over something in your bedroom. I must go,” Fitzhugh said hurriedly as he hung up the phone before I could interrogate him.

  We spent the rest of the evening playing Clue, since that game, as well as Monopoly, had become a welcomed traveling partner. Kipp typically outplayed us all, and I routinely accused him of cheating, although I knew he wouldn’t. He had the ability to dig into our minds, as well as those of humans, without our having awareness he’d done so and possessed the natural talent to cheat at an unprecedented level. But Kipp was too principled and moral to do such a thing just to win a board game. And I knew he always was happy on the rare occasions when I won, such was his love for me.

  After Peter and Elani drifted off to their rooms, I took a quick shower and climbed into bed. The hotel mattress was soft, and I felt my spine curve as the surface beneath me sagged. Kipp, gauging the distance, hopped up and curled next to me–after staggering a little on the spongy surface—his large head finding its resting place on my breast bone. We lay there, quiet, listening to the sounds of a television in a nearby room. Outside, a car door slammed as a new occupant arrived for the night. It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable; I just preferred my own home and wasn’t that keen on staying in a different place every night…an odd admission for someone who traveled for a living to make.

  “It’s different,” Kipp offered. “When you’re on a time shift, there is excitement and anticipation.”

  “Yes,” I answered dully.

  “You dreamed about him again,” Kipp reminded me, pushing his chin against my chest even harder. “Let me help,” he added, with the knowledge he could actively manipulate my dreams as easily as he read my mind.

  “No, Kipp, but thanks,” I replied, reaching up to scratch between his large upright ears. “It’ll get better with time, so I think I’ll handle it the old fashioned way.” Even as I said it, I wondered how long my grief would last over an ill advised love I harbored for a human man, William Harrow, who I met when traveling to London in 1888. Kipp took a deep breath, his sides heaving, as he exhaled from his nose. The airflow tickled my flesh, and I laughed softly. Lightly running my fingers though his pelt, I gently finger combed him while listening to his soft breathing which filled the dark room.

  “I’ll make it, buddy. Millions and millions of sentient beings have made it before me, so I’ll make it, too.”

  “If you won’t talk about Harrow, then tell me why you like being Professor Plum or Colonel Mustard when we play Clue?” Kipp turned to gaze at me in the twilight of the room’s interior. “There are Miss Scarlet and Mrs. Peacock…” his thoughts drifted off as he tried to distract me from my angst by being silly and irreverent.

  “If you explain your fascination for Mr. Green…it’s a two way street, my friend.”

  Early the next morning, our little group found itself at the entrance of the museum waiting for Sandra. It was that time of day in the summer when the weather promised to be hot, bringing an expectant stillness before the heat truly broke. Close by, a blue jay cawed noisily, scolding us for whatever bird reasons he had concealed beneath the sassy Mohawk of feathers that jutted up in a spike on top of his handsome head. Kipp had the ability to read the notions of many earth bound creatures but birds stumped him. I saw him eyeing the proud blue fellow and recognized Kipp’s need to keep trying, forever if needed, to overcome that obstacle.

  A small gray car with a mangled front bumper arrived in a flourish of dust and scattered gravel. Sandra emerged, explaining she had to unlock for us before racing off again to get to the bank when it opened. Privately, I was happy for our isolation because we could avoid having to sift out her stray thoughts as we dealt with the horrors of the basement. The wooden floor of the main level creaked and popped as we walked towards the stairs to the cellar; in the relative emptiness of the room, the sounds echoed and rolled off of the bare walls. The oddest thing happened, however, as we began to descend the narrow staircase into the basement. A pungent smell, much like that of raw sulfur, penetrated the small space to the degree it almost irritated the back of my throat. Trying not to cough, I narrowed my eyes and shook my head at Kipp, whose ears went flat.

  “Well, that’s pleasant,” Peter remarked, his eyes watering, trying to make light of the moment. But it was clear that whatever noxious spirits inhabited the museum were giving us a full display of their displeasure at our presence by unleashing a stink bomb. Peter’s hand drifted down to squeeze the back of Elani’s neck; her tail wagged in response. She may have been anxious, but she was still game, uncomplaining, and ready to go forward. As we passed the table where old toys had been left as presents, Elani, who had learned to read English while a student in Kipp’s classes for young lupines, gave a startled little bark.

  “Look!” she exclaimed, exhaling with a huffing sound.

  On the low, battered wooden table, a set of blocks had been arranged to spell out the name Tim, sitting next to my previous day’s “Hello”. I might have thought one of my party was playing a joke but knew the truth, since our kind, with few exceptions, finds it difficult to be deceptive with other symbionts. With humans, there was a different set of ethics and other rules of engagement applied. Looking down, I saw that the hair on my arms was standing on end. Kipp looked up at me, and I nodded. It was time to move into the back passage where the children had been tortured, suffering in the darkness.

  It took a moment for our eyes to adjust to the dimly lit area; the apparition of Timmy remained, huddled in a miserable glowing heap on the dirt floor. This we could see through Kipp actively sharing his impressions. Kipp walked forward, but before he could reach the specter, another form moved from out of a shadowed corner to cross the room. It appeared to be an older boy dressed in woolen dungarees with a worn and patched plaid shirt tucked in at the waist. The boy carried a thick stick which he held in one hand, while he softly struck the palm of his other hand with the objec
t. I found it remarkable that I could hear the soft thud of the stick against his nonexistent flesh. At first his head was tilted downward, so his face was not visible, but slowly, as if pulled by strings, his chin tilted up and revealed a pale face split by a demonic grin and red eyes glowing beneath straight, heavy brows. Kipp took a step back for a moment but stopped when the older boy moved towards us. It was clear he wanted to chase us from the space. Timmy looked up; his ghostly face was wet with tears which glistened unnaturally, almost like diamonds caught by the light.

  “Are you the one who hurts Timmy?” Kipp asked.

  “Yes, this is my place, and I do as I please,” the boy responded. “Miss Rosa says so.” He crossed over to Timmy and, using the stick, struck a cowering Timmy across the shoulders.

  I glanced at Peter, whose mouth gaped open. We were definitely in uncharted waters, and I was unsure how to craft an intervention with an abusive, toxic spirit. Quietly, I prompted Kipp to go with his gut.

  “We’re going to release Timmy from this place, and you will be left alone with no one to hurt,” Kipp calmly replied, folding his haunches and taking seat on the cold floor. Thankfully, the sulfur smell had dissipated, replaced by the familiar dankness. From above, we heard the front door shut, signaling the return of Sandra; the wooden floor creaked with her steps across the room. Timmy stopped crying as he heard Kipp’s confrontation and something akin to hope crossed his thin face.