The Clay Lion

by Jahn, Amalie

  I spent every day for the next three weeks at the library, learning about time travel and the corporations that invented the technology. Just after lunch on the Friday before Memorial Day, I discovered the piece of information I had been looking for. Jasper Industries had never sold their rights to their traveling technology and I believed that I had found proof that they were still operating voyages outside of governmental authority. A quick call to their corporate headquarters under the guise of a federal regulator confirmed my suspicions. Because the government restricted their ability to advertise, their services were widely unknown to the public. However, for a substantial fee, I could purchase a trip. With that information, in the gloom of the library basement, I devised a plan to repair the broken pieces of my life.

  I decided that if I was going to make one final trip, I had to review all of the information that Dr. Rudlough and I compiled before my first trip. I hoped that we had missed something, anything, that would give me a clue about the exposure that infected Branson. I retraced Branson’s activities from not only the original timeline but also the two subsequent timelines as well. As Branson’s illness occurred in all three timelines, and he exhibited symptoms on the exact same date all three times, I reasoned that whatever caused the illness was the same in all three timelines. It took me days to construct linear charts that compared each of Branson’s experiences across all three timelines. I considered that the exposure had occurred before any of my trips, but after rereading Dr. Rudlough’s notes on timing, was convinced that I was within the timeframe.

  I slept sporadically and ate only as I worked. One particularly frustrating afternoon, I felt as if I had been going in circles for hours. I laid my head down on the work table and closed my eyes, telling myself I would rest only for a minute. When I awoke hours later, night was upon me and so was a terrific burst of inspiration. I rifled through my paperwork, searching for my research on autoimmune responses. After several minutes, I discovered a journal article documenting several cases of patients who were exposed to natural substances that set off autoimmune responses. The list of responses included pulmonary fibrosis. They also included skin rashes.

  I leapt from my chair, squealing with delight like a child who was given ice cream for dinner. During my first trip, I determined that the methotrexate sodium cream was not the cause of the pulmonary fibrosis. I assumed then, incorrectly, that the rash was no longer part of the equation. However, it was now clear that although the rash treatment was not the culprit, whatever caused the rash, caused the disease as well. Branson had encountered a natural substance that precipitated the rash. I laid the linear charts together to see what event occurred in both timelines immediately prior to the appearance of the rash. The answer was clear. The camping trip.

  What we assumed was a reaction to dirty shin guards was more likely a response to a plant Branson was exposed to in the woods. And the rash was only the first symptom of Branson’s autoimmune response. Months later, his lungs would become symptomatic as well. I remembered the poison ivy rash on his arms, which clearly indicated that he spent some time brushing through foliage. I was convinced that if I could prevent Branson from going camping, I could finally save his life.

  With the matter of the exposure confirmed in my mind, my next order of business was to secure my passage back to correct the damage.

  Jasper Industries was located in New York, some eight hours away. Besides the locale, I also had the matter of financing to address. Earning the amount of money I would need to afford the trip working retail would take many years. There was only one place I could think of that would provide the funding I needed quickly – my college savings account. My parents would never allow me to use my college savings to finance another trip, so I decided the entire operation would have to be covert.

  I made several phone calls and had dozens of email communications with my contact at Jasper Industries to discuss my plans. They required a down payment to secure a slot and luckily, I had stashed enough away in my own savings account from birthdays, holidays, and my summer internships at the vet clinic to pay for the deposit. The balance of the payment needed to be wire transferred prior to my arrival at the facility.

  My timing had to be perfect as far as my parents were concerned. I was sure that the bank would contact my parents to alert them to the fact that I had drained the account, so I arranged to have the transfer take place on a Sunday when the branch was closed. I also scheduled the trip for eight o’clock Monday morning, before the bank opened for the day. I hoped that I would be gone and back, having reset everything in the timeline before the bank would alert my parents to the lack of funds. If everything worked perfectly, the money would still be sitting in the account untouched when all was said and done.

  On Sunday morning, the day before my third trip, I packed what I would need for my two day journey to New York, including my research and notes regarding the plans for my final mission. Sadly, my journey had become about much more than just saving Branson. The weight of that knowledge was like an albatross around my neck.

  When it was time to leave, I found my mother still lying in bed, clearly unable or unwilling to face the day. The blinds were drawn tightly and the air inside her bedroom was stale. It had been weeks since she had changed the bed sheets or done laundry. I admonished myself for not realizing how badly my mother needed me over the past several months. I reasoned that it was too late to worry about her current condition and I needed instead to focus solely on the task at hand. I gently nudged her shoulder, rousing her to let her know that I was going to be gone for the day and that I had plans to stay at Sarah’s for the night. She barely acknowledged my presence, and after placing a kiss on her forehead, I backed quietly out of the room.

  The drive to upstate New York was nothing short of magical. It was a magnificent summer afternoon, and I absorbed the beauty of the scenery through the Appalachians. I sped along, windows down, allowing the warm wind to play through my hair. My stereo was loaded with playlists full of Branson and Charlie’s favorite songs and I happily sang along for hours. My optimism surprised me given my lack of success in the past, but I felt as though my time had finally arrived.

  For the enormous sum of money I was paying, in addition to the trip, I earned myself one deluxe room at the facility’s guest accommodations. I settled in for the night but was unable to fall asleep. It occurred to me how absolutely alone I was in the world, and I realized with immediate clarity that it was my own fault. In every timeline, as Branson lost his battle, people had been there for me. Friends, family, even Branson himself. Yet, instead of embracing their love, I had squandered it. It was a devastating admission.

  I was exhausted as the alarm signaled that it was time to rise and begin the preparations for my final trip. I chose to return to October, several weeks before the camping trip was to occur, and to stay only until February 28th, the day after the coughing symptoms began in all three timelines. I had no desire to subject myself to his illness once again should I fail in my mission.

  The facilities at Jasper Industries were not unlike those that the government used. The actual initiation rooms where very similar, though not nearly as sterile. The biggest difference, I was pleased to observe, was the friendliness of the technicians performing the procedure. They spoke excitedly with me about my impending journey and wished me luck, encouraging me to have a great time.

  Sitting in the chamber, waiting for the countdown, I realized that for the first time I was traveling alone, without the clay lion as my companion. I remembered leaving it with Branson lying on his deathbed and wondered what had become of it after he passed away. It was with great sadness that I admitted that I would probably never know. With that thought, I was overcome by the familiar brightness, and I found myself once again in my bedroom.

  TRIP THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  My first order of business upon my arrival was finding out exactly when the camping trip was to take place. I recalled that the act
ual date changed from the original timeline to the second and third, so there was always the possibility that it may have changed again. I was too realistic to believe that it would have been cancelled all together.

  It was an ordinary Wednesday night, one that I had not relived before, so I searched my memory to recall what might have been going on during that particular evening. I walked into the hallway and was happy to see light spilling out from beneath the door of Branson’s room. The smell of my mother’s famous chili cooking in the kitchen wafted up the stairs and I could hear both of my parents chatting together below.

  I tapped gently on Branson’s door and he called for me to come in. It was always emotional to see Branson again, vital and healthy, after watching him waste away so many times before. I braced myself in the doorway to keep from collapsing to the floor.

  He looked up from the video game in which he was absorbed. “You okay?” he asked. “You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

  “I’m fine,” I replied, careful to keep my voice from cracking. “I was just wondering what you had going on during the next few weekends. I thought maybe you and I could do something special together.”

  “I’m swamped, Sis,” he replied. “I have a soccer tournament this weekend. I’m camping with the guys the next weekend. And after that is Homecoming and we have the dance. What exactly do you want to do?”

  Not only was he still going, but I was dismayed to hear that something had changed in the timeline yet again and so there would be both a camping trip and a homecoming dance to attend. Even worse, because of the change, the camping trip was in only ten days. I was immediately concerned that I would not have enough time to convince him not to go.

  “I don’t know,” I responded. “I just feel like we haven’t gotten a chance to hang out much recently. Maybe instead of camping with the guys you might like to go to the amusement park that weekend. We haven’t ridden the coasters together in ages. Or maybe we could go hike the gorge. What do you think?”

  “I think the coaster idea sounds awesome but can we go after Homecoming? I really don’t want to miss the camping trip.”

  “They close on the 25th,” I told him.

  “Oh,” he said, pausing to weigh his options. “Well, let me talk to the guys. Maybe they would switch the date of the trip.”

  “Okay. What are you playing,” I asked, changing the topic.

  “Zombie Crunchers 3. Here,” he said, tossing me the second controller.

  Branson and I mutilated zombies for the next half an hour until we were called downstairs for dinner. I considered it a small victory that he was open to change regarding the camping. I just had to convince him that the change should be not going at all.

  Eating dinner around the table with my family filled my soul with unimaginable joy. I vowed that I would never again take for granted the simple pleasures of daily life. Compared to the veritable hell that I left behind only hours before, a bowl of chili with my family all together was as close to heaven on earth as I could imagine.

  “You’re quiet tonight Brooke,” my father commented as he finished his final slice of bread. “How was school today?”

  I swallowed deliberately, giving myself a moment to think. I had absolutely no recollection of what I had done, since it had been many months since I had actually experienced that day. I was sure I had gone to school, completed assignments, and perhaps taken a test or two.

  “You know,” I replied, “same old same old.”

  “I thought you gave your French report today. You spent all evening preparing last night. How’d it go?”

  I was suddenly perfectly aware of the specific day I was reliving. The French report had gone well, but there had been an explosion in Chemistry the period before that set off the fire alarm. I reported both events to the family and Branson immediately chimed in about the antics that ensued when his biology class was forced outside during the alarm. Apparently, they were dissecting frogs, and while most of the class exited the building in accordance with the alarm, two of the students in Branson’s class remained behind. When the class returned, they discovered all of the frogs set up around the room posed in different positions. Listening to Branson’s recitation of the story had us howling with laughter. I wished silently that I could freeze time to relive the moment forever.

  Over the next few days, I brought up the camping trip several more times with Branson. In my attempt to keep him from working at the hardware store during my first trip, I had been unsuccessful and I had come across as overbearing and obnoxious. I took great strides to avoid appearing that way during the camping campaign, even though my desperation grew with each passing day. My tactic was to guilt him in to spending the camping weekend with me, but unfortunately, by Wednesday of the following week, I found him in the garage pulling out his sleeping bag and other gear from the storage bin.

  “So much for coasters, huh?” I grumbled, walking up behind him as he perched on a ladder high in the garage rafters.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry Sis. We’ve been planning this for months. But I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go ride the coasters opening day in the spring. Just you and me,” he said as he tossed down yet another box of camping equipment.

  I tried another tactic. “Well, it looks like the weather is going to be awful anyway, so no big deal about the coasters. It’s gonna stink to be stuck outside if the cold and rain show up like they say.”

  “When did you hear that?” he asked. “The last report I saw said sunny and in the fifties.”

  “Oh,” I lied, “I just heard it on the radio. Sounded like a front might be coming through. Glad I’m going to be warm and dry inside!”

  “I’m tough,” he laughed. “I’m not afraid of a little rain!”

  “Suit yourself,” I called over my shoulder as I headed back toward the house.

  As I crossed the driveway, panic began to set in once again, like an old familiar friend. It occurred to me that I was going to have to do something drastic if I was going to keep him from going on the trip. I went to my room and laid face down on my bed, wracking my brain for an idea that would prevent him from being able to go. I made a mental list in my head, which included infecting him with the stomach virus and hiding all of his socks. None of my ideas seemed realistic.

  And then, a plan began to form. I certainly did not want anything bad to happen to Branson, but I would happily suffer for my cause. If something happened to me that was severe enough, my parents would be forced to keep him with the family, and he would miss the camping trip once and for all. I struggled to think of an idea that would be easy to accomplish and would be grand enough to elicit concern from my parents sufficient for them to keep him home.

  At last it occurred to me. I would have a car accident.

  Without hesitation, I grabbed my car keys and pulled my hoodie over my head. My mother was cleaning up from dinner as I breezed through the kitchen. I told her I was out of shampoo and was headed to the store to pick some up. Instead, I intended to scout out the perfect location for a wreck that would have to occur Friday afternoon, before Branson was to be picked up for the weekend. My primary concern was to choose a location that would not affect other drivers in any way. I knew the area had to be flat with a guardrail. My plan was to swerve into the guardrail at a relatively low rate of speed, just fast enough to deploy my airbag and possibly cause some bruising. And if I happened to get a cut or scrape, that would be great as well. I would blame the accident on a rogue squirrel or chipmunk, saying that in an attempt to avoid the animal, I ended up hitting the guardrail instead.

  Several miles into my reconnaissance mission I found what I believed to be the perfect spot. There was a small bend at the end of a relatively straight stretch of highway. It was lightly traveled and there were guardrails on each side. The area was heavily wooded so my critter story would seem perfectly plausible. I drove the length of road several times, speeding up and slowing down to get a feel for what I would have to do on Friday. I was not
exactly sure whether I was going to be able to damage both my car and myself on purpose, but I reasoned that I was officially out of options. I would have to find the courage. Finally, I felt confident about the area I picked and the plan I devised, so I made one final U-turn and headed home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  The next thirty six hours of my life crept by. I was jittery and could not focus on anything but what I was preparing to do. At one point on Friday morning, sitting in English class, I realized that my plan was completely idiotic. Worse than that, there was still no guarantee that it would prevent Branson from going camping. The only thing it guaranteed was a busted up car and two angry parents. To say I had cold feet was an understatement.

  At the end of the day, as I was making my way out of the building, I spotted Branson running down the hall on his way to soccer practice. Unable to stop myself, I called out to him. Through the chaos of the end-of-the-day maelstrom, he heard me and turned to make eye contact. He waved, shooting me a sideways smile, and disappeared into the locker room. I prayed that the next time I saw him he would be furious with me for ruining his weekend.

  I slowly made my way across the parking lot to my car. My hands were shaking and I had difficulty getting the key into the ignition. Eventually, the engine roared to life and I carefully put on my seatbelt, making sure it was adjusted properly. Pulling out onto the road, I felt like a death row inmate on the way to the execution chamber. My anxiety levels reached a fevered pitch and I considered backing down. When I arrived at the chosen stretch of road, I pulled the car over and stopped along the shoulder. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, focusing on the air entering and escaping my lungs. At last, I opened my eyes, put the car into drive and checked to make sure there were no other cars along the road. The highway was deserted in both directions, so I eased the car back into the right hand lane and pressed my foot down on the gas pedal. The car accelerated with little effort and before I knew it, I had come to the bend in the road. I slammed on the brakes and turned the steering wheel in an attempt to graze the guardrail.