The Temporal

by CJ Martín

  After dozens of attempts and with great effort, Sam managed to fling his right arm over his belly. His muscles seemed to have atrophied; even simple movements required the utmost concentration and strength.

  His eyes looked down. The heavy, warm object on his chest appeared to be a blanket. A blanket? The weight of his two arms, now on his left side, helped twist his torso vertically. Sam found himself on his side. He also managed to drop the left side of his face into a pillow he hadn’t known was there.

  Sam heard the sound of running water stop. There was the screech of metal upon metal. It must be knives—it had been knives being sharpened.

  Sam, knowing his survival rested on stealthy actions, paused a few seconds, drawing in long but shallow breaths. Sucking in air was a chore. His throat felt constricted and his tongue was swollen, filling his mouth. His lips were dry, and his tongue, despite its size, felt just as dry.

  He was someone’s prisoner and he had to get out of there. He thought it remarkable that they hadn’t taken the time to chain him to the bed. Perhaps they knew the drug would still be rendering him helpless?

  After another great exertion, he felt his legs begin to drop off the side of the bed. A fleeting sense of joy was quickly replaced with horror. There was a momentum to the movement that had his upper torso uncontrollably following his legs. Panic coursed through his body as he realized he couldn’t manage his arms well enough to prevent his whole body from falling flat to the floor.

  A painful moment after the loud thud, Sam heard the sound of feet rushing from the other room, then the sound of a now familiar voice.

  “Sam! Are you all right? Please don’t try to move.”

  It was Suteko. Sam couldn’t see her, but he had no doubt it was the voice of the woman of his dreams—an angel to his rescue. As she came into sight, he realized he had been crying streams of tears which flowed down and across his cheeks and then over the bridge of his nose. Like the rest of his body, he could not control his tears.

  Her voice continued, filled with concern. “They gave you something inducing paralysis. It will take some time, but it seems to be wearing off.”

  She scooped him up into her arms and placed him back in the bed as if he were as light as a feather. The blanket that had fallen with his body was quickly draped over him once more. Sam’s mind was foggy and his body had no control and yet, his only thought was of wonder at her amazing show of super-human strength.

  Suteko, Sam thought, but could not speak.

  She leaned over, her hands caressing his cheeks gingerly. She saw the terror in his eyes and that he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Her heart melted as she tried to calm him.

  “It will be all right. You were attacked. I arrived in time to scare them off. I know you have many questions. I don’t have many answers, but I promise you,” she said, looking at him with serious eyes, “we will discover them together.”

  While stroking his hair, she smiled. Hope somehow surged throughout Sam’s unfeeling body. There was something to her touch that brought much comfort.

  “Sleep, Sam. You will feel much better when you awake.”

  Sam tried to nod, but contented himself with the realization that he was able to close his eyes. His eyelids were heavy and unlike the rest of his body, they obeyed him without struggle.

  Chapter 13

  SAN FRANCISCO

  Tonight, Professor McGregor was ready. He spent the latter part of the afternoon carefully layering his backseat with plastic. He had a shovel in the trunk and a box of latex gloves just under the passenger seat. It had all been bought in cash with the transactions hours apart and at different locations.

  It was past ten at night as he killed the engine and lights, letting the car coast off the side of the dirt road and into a natural garage of shrubbery and trees.

  The women’s dormitory he found was about an hour north of his apartment. It seemed ideal. There was a park adjacent and the school was small—smaller than his community college. He hadn’t actually been there before, but Google Maps made casing the location safe and easy.

  From his current parking spot to the entrance of the dorm would take no more than ten minutes on foot—even carrying someone on his shoulder. He exited the car, keeping it unlocked. He may have to flee quickly and locking the doors would only slow him down. Besides, he reasoned, it was a safe, low crime area.

  Satisfied that all was ready, he started off into the woods toward his goal. Keeping to the shadows, he more or less headed due east. Occasionally, he would stop to listen to the sounds of his surroundings; he was especially interested in any unnatural sounds like those of other humans.

  Human beings had blood on their collective hands. Overpopulation, deforestation, pollution, anthropogenic climate change—the list of man’s sins were long and damning. McGregor understood this. As a human being himself, his personal penitence came in the form of decisions about his lifestyle: recycling, buying earth-friendly products, and most of all educating his students. But all that paled in comparison to the service he would do tonight.

  This evening, he would offer to Gaia the greatest sacrifice he could: one less human being to contaminate the earth. He knew also that targeting women would reduce the number of breeders—a far more effective sacrifice than killing males.

  Reaching the edge of the park, he could see the dormitory’s light ahead. He began to slow his pace, careful to keep deep in the shadows and remain silent.

  Looking up, he watched as the entrance to the dorm opened. A girl stepped out. McGregor’s heart began to beat faster. This was it—this was what he had been called here for.

  The girl didn’t walk far before stopping. She quickly turned on her heels and seemed to be heading back to the dorm. For a moment, McGregor was disappointed. But then she stopped, huddling over a bit. Her face and hands were hidden from McGregor’s view.

  Was she crying? Did she need consolation? Absolution perhaps?

  Just as suddenly, the girl turned back into view. He could see her now. She hadn’t huddled over to cry. She had stepped out to have a smoke.

  It was a confirmation—a sign even, McGregor realized. This human not only breathed out carbon dioxide, but other poisons too! This was exceptionally good news for two reasons: the girl was most likely alone, smoking primarily being a solitary activity. And she would be there for a few minutes, plenty of time to accomplish his mission.

  He moved light-footed down the line of the park until he was flush with the entrance of the dorm. If he was careful, he could sneak behind her and grab her without her knowing.

  And then what? McGregor thought, momentarily morphing into a deer caught by the intriguing headlights of the girl. And then I’ll gag her and carry her to the car. His right hand patted his left hand’s wrist. He was wearing half a roll of duct tape, and feeling it there reassured him that he was now ready.

  The girl looked light—maybe 110 pounds—and perhaps would even go willingly?

  McGregor weighed his options: surprise or seduction?

  He had a high opinion of himself with regard to the fairer sex, but his last two encounters hadn’t worked as well as he had hoped. He decided that the element of surprise would be better. After all, he didn’t have a history with this girl and developing a rapport would take time.

  Leaving the shelter of the shadows, McGregor made his decision. Footfall after footfall seemed to grow louder and less natural than the noisy crickets and light wind. Perhaps it was just his seasoned ears overacting; she wouldn’t hear him. Closing over half the distance, the girl hadn’t turned save to flick a few ashes to the side.

  He moved close enough to smell her smoke. It was intoxicating.

  He was quiet, but suddenly not quiet enough. The girl turned around; he stopped. Their eyes met without a word exchanged between them. He crooked his neck slightly to one side. She dropped her cigarette, not bothering to snuff it out with the sole of her shoe. He began his final approach.

  “Who are you?”


  He wanted to savor the moment without spoiling it with speech.

  “What do you want?”

  McGregor’s mouth opened but he remained speechless.

  She took a step back. He was between her and the dorm. The area was fairly well lit, but it was overcast and with the light behind him, he felt certain that she could not discern any of his features or his intentions.

  She took off. She ran in a direction away from the dorm, but also away from the safety of the wooded park. This was unacceptable.

  McGregor caught up with her quicker than he thought he would be able. Wrapping his arms around her, he stopped her advances as they tumbled to the ground.

  It was her screaming that caused the back of his right hand to slam into her chin. This seemed to exasperate the situation. She was now screaming and kicking.

  “Quiet!” he said, pushing her to the ground. He peeled off a length of the duct tape from his wrist as she continued her attempt to squirm away from him. The boot on his right foot slammed down on one of her ankles keeping that leg at bay. His hand fell on her bloodied mouth, partially covering it with the tape.

  She continued screaming somehow even louder through the gaps of tape and hand.

  Ripping another piece of the tape from the roll on his wrist, he repositioned his legs in order to arrest the movement of her other leg. He applied the tape to her mouth more securely just as he heard some shouting behind him.

  “What the hell are you doing?!”

  McGregor’s head turned to see some guy running to disturb their intimacy. McGregor’s survival instincts overrode his sudden anger at being interrupted, and he jumped off the girl, sprinting to the woods. He continued to hear shouts behind him. The guy wasn’t alone and he was calling for more help.

  As he entered the wooded area, McGregor risked one last glance behind him. He saw the girl being helped up by someone while two others were running full-speed for him. They looked athletic; McGregor at sixty-three was anything but athletic. Still, he had the advantage of a head-start and knowing where he was going through the dense woods.

  The branches he had so carefully avoided during his initial approach tore into the skin on his arms and legs. The sounds of nature were completely silent; human sounds—angry human sounds had replaced them.

  Every tree he passed seemed to be pointing its branches at him. He thought he heard a birch yell, “Here he is!” An ancient oak left one of its many roots exposed, causing McGregor to momentarily stumble. If nature had abandoned him, what reason did he have for continuing? The animals and insects that had been so deafening earlier were silent. No doubt they too were wishing to aid his pursuers. There was no breeze as there had been earlier to suck up and eliminate any stray sound as he fled.

  The angry human voices behind him had grown in intensity and number. Still, the opening where he had parked his car was just ahead. He jerked his hand into his right pocket, fumbling for the keys. He cursed as his slippery-from-sweat fingers failed to separate his car key from the jumble of apartment and school keys.

  Just then, he heard a sound—was that a siren? His mind imagined cops waiting for him at his car. His feet began to sag, defying his will to move. The voices behind him continued to grow in volume. He had to take the chance and get to his car.

  After a pause to settle his nerves, he leapt out from the woods, slamming his torso unexpectedly into the hood of his car. Using the momentum to his advantage, he was able to roll over the hood and land on his two feet in front of the driver’s side door. A moment later, he was seated and the key was in the ignition.

  From his rear view mirror and through a cloud of dust, he could just make out several angry, dark figures running unsuccessfully to catch up with his speeding car.

  ★

  Did she see my face? McGregor’s mind began to race along with the roaring engine. Did the worms chasing me get a good look at my clothes? My car?

  McGregor began to replay the event in his mind. She couldn’t have seen me. She had closed her eyes after he grabbed her and the light had been behind him. The fools who had chased him never got close enough to see him. It was dark and they had not been in a position to even get a glimpse at his license plate.

  Suddenly confident, he slowed his car to normal highway speed and began to look for a late-night Denny’s for some early breakfast.

  Chapter 14

  JAPAN

  Sam slept most of the next day. When he awoke that afternoon, he felt like a new man; he had complete control of his body and only felt slightly weaker than usual. The swelling of his tongue had subsided and he could actually swallow without the slightest discomfort.

  Sitting up, he noticed Suteko had bandaged his arm. One of those creatures must have injured it, and although he couldn’t see through the bandage to be sure, it stung like a deep wound.

  His bare feet touching the cool tatami mat flooring made him feel alive. He remembered as a child running his hands back and forth with the grain of the straw. The feel of its silky smoothness and the grassy smell of a fresh mat were two of his strongest early memories and quite impossible to resist.

  “Sam, are you... feeling all right?”

  Suteko having heard some stirring found Sam squatting down with his nose to the tatami and hands rubbing her floor.

  Using the bed post for stability, Sam stood up with a touch of embarrassment.

  “Oh, great. Actually, I feel great.”

  “Can you walk?”

  Not knowing the answer himself, Sam let go of the bed post and took a few steps.

  “Good,” Suteko said with a smile. “Are you ready then?”

  “Ready?”

  “Ready to go to New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans?”

  She shuffled to the next room, reappearing seconds later with a tiny laptop. Sam surmised the screen was not much more than six inches wide.

  “Have you ever seen this place?”

  She had the street view on Google Maps up. The screen showed an old four or five story building. There were two small trees decorating the entranceway.

  Sam’s eyes grew large. “Where is that?”

  “You’ve seen this building before?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen this. Can you show more of the street view?”

  Suteko pulled the laptop back, swiped a few gestures on the trackpad, and handed it to Sam.

  “Like this?”

  “Yes,” Sam said, his eyes full of recognition. “And you, also, know this street, don’t you?”

  “It is the street in your nightmare, isn’t it?”

  Remembering the destination Suteko had mentioned, Sam asked, “Yes. Is this in New Orleans?”

  She nodded.

  “How on earth did you figure that out? Did you live in New Orleans a hundred years ago when this building was built?”

  “No, I have never been to New Orleans. Your drawing of that character was the clue.”

  “How so?”

  “I was curious why you would jot down that particular kanji. It was, after all, associated with you in my dreams. It never made sense to me since it is a common character simply meaning ‘details’ or ‘small.’ But you were interrupted and only wrote one of the three characters that you saw.”

  “Yes, by the earthquake.”

  “But had you not been interrupted, you would have written the kanji for New Orleans.”

  With her other hand, she pulled out a piece of paper with the following written on it:

  “I thought foreign place names were always written in katakana.*”

  [* Katakana is one of the phonetic writing systems in Japanese. It is used primarily for foreign names and loanwords.]

  “That is correct. But kanji was used for many place names before the Meiji Restoration. Eventually, katakana took over for ease of use.”

  “But this isn’t the era of the shoguns. Why were these kanji written on a bulletin board?”

  “It was an advertisement for a nineteenth century book that someo
ne was wanting to sell. It asked if the reader could read the kanji. The seller thought it would pique a potential buyer’s interest.”

  She set the laptop and paper down on the bed and turned around to retrieve a large, old book from a nearby dresser.

  “You bought the book?” he asked as she handed it to him.

  “Yes, open the book to the chapter on New Orleans.”

  The book was all in Japanese. Sam began to flip through, but except for a few masterful illustrations, he had no clue what any chapter was about, let alone where the New Orleans chapter might be.

  “Where the bookmark is.”

  “Ah, sorry.” He quickly turned to the page and was astonished to see the building sketched out. Under the illustration was a caption in English reading, “Anderson Theater.”

  “That’s the same building!”

  “Yes, I believe that is where we will find the bomb.”

  “How so? Why? This makes no sense.”

  “From our temporal perspective, I suppose it doesn’t make sense. But we have been given this message and to ignore it would be criminal. Lives are at stake.”

  Sam couldn’t understand the logic but there was no denying the building on the computer and in the book was the very same building he had seen in his dream. However strange the circumstances behind the decision to go to New Orleans, he was as committed to the mission as Suteko.

  “Before we go, I need to know who or what those things were that attacked me?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I have heard stories of dark creatures—angels of darkness. But I have never experienced one, and I do not know what they would want with you. However, finding that out is one reason I would like us to go to the States. There is someone I want you to meet. He will have the answers we seek.”

  “We will need to buy some tickets, then.”

  “Already done,” she said, flaunting before Sam’s eyes an envelope with the Japan Airlines logo.