A Split in Time

by Vin Carver

  “Please, call me Dr. Stein.” His expressionless eyes made a pass over Seth’s body. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in my office.”

  “Yeah, not since high-school. Speaking of which, are you still playing doctor with Juanita?”

  Dr. Stein’s face had no expression. He didn’t even blink. “We need to talk about your wife.” He gestured toward the waiting room.

  “I don’t think we should go in there, Dick,” Seth said. “It's a mess.”

  Dr. Stein nodded and walked into the ICU. He pulled the chair away from the attendant’s desk. “Please. Sit.”

  Seth sat, and his heart sunk.

  “We’ve repaired the damage from her injury, but your wife’s condition continues to decline.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The trauma to her chest has resulted in ARDS. It’s an advance case, and I don’t believe we’ll have time to locate the source of the fluid.”

  Seth folded his arms and leaned forward. “What are you saying?”

  Dr. Stein spoke with the monotone elegance of the emergency broadcast system. “Her lungs are filling with fluid, and we can’t stop it.”

  Seth strained to keep his face from twisting. Tears broached his eyes, and he put his head in his hands.

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it, you stoic piece of garbage.

  “We need to talk about creating a do-not-resuscitate order, a DNR. A DNR is an order that grants the hospital—”

  “I know what a DNR is for…” Seth lifted his head. “Isn’t there anything I can—”

  Dr. Stein put his hand on Seth’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Seth. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Seth stood. Cool tears ran down his cheeks like condensation on a shot glass. “Go ahead, Dick. Write the DNR.”

  Dr. Stein said, “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to get a drink.”

  “No,” boomed the attendant. “You’re coming with me.”

  Seth turned. The attendant’s eye’s blazed, black on white. He raised a long arm and pointed to Cassie’s curtain.

  Dr. Stein said, “I will write up the DNR, sign it, and have a nurse bring it to you within the hour. My condolences.” He walked past the attendant as if everything was normal—as if all attendants wore white from head to toe and stood over six feet tall.

  The attendant spoke with authority. “Go to her Seth. There is something I must show you.”

  Seth pulled the curtain aside and put his hands on the bed railing. Cassie’s chest rose and fell, but it was the machines that did the breathing. The attendant walked to the other side of the bed and put his hands on the railing. The surgical mask hid the attendant’s face, and his black on white eyes drilled into Seth.

  “Who are you?” Seth said.

  “We are Paros,” said the attendant. “We will not harm you.”

  Seth summoned his courage. He reached over the bed and pulled on the surgical mask. The attendant’s eyes turned blue, and the face of a little girl with a strange birthmark smiled at him.

  “Please,” the attendant said.

  Seth’s mouth dropped open, and he let go of the mask.

  The attendant gazed at Cassie. He put his hands on her chest, and she convulsed.

  Seth raised his arms. “No. Stop it.”

  Cassie opened her eyes. Seth leaned forward and put his hands on her cheeks. “Cass. You’re awake.” Her eyes smiled at him, and he kissed her forehead. He stroked her eyebrow with his thumb. “I love you.” She blinked twice and closed her eyes.

  The attendant spread his arms. “This line of time will continue. There is no aberration.”

  “Does this mean she’ll live?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you do this?”

  “We are Paros. We protect the lines of time. Your son protected us, so we protect him.” The attendant raised his hands above his head, and his eyes dilated. “We will always protect those imbued with the quintessence of time, and so will you.” The hands came down on Seth’s shoulders, and he fell to floor.

  Seth fell into a time before Cameron had died. It was a time that wavered on a gigantic ribbon filled with birthdays, first steps, and wonderment. Ribbon edges ran on tracks with or without Seth. He had no control. He had never had control. The ribbon tore in two and split Seth in half. The more he fought it, the more he suffered. The more he suffered, the more he tried to get control. His suffering pained Cassie, but she didn’t leave. She bounced along his ribbon of despair with hope, and love…and forgiveness. He clawed at the ribbon and tore it to shreds. He threw his arms out wide, drifted, and fell into a sea of selflessness.

  When he woke up, he went to her side. He took her hand in his and caressed her forehead. It pained him to see her lying there, but he didn’t leave.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Seething to Get Out

  Warren ran through the door of the ICU and fled down the hallway. He rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of a patient lying in bed while watching a game show on TV.

  If Nirvana is so perfect why does it need a hospital?

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Nirvana Cameron running after him. He rounded another corner and crashed into a nurse’s cart, spilling trash across the floor. He leapt over the cart, and his foot came down on a little plastic bottle. His butt hit the floor, and he slid backwards into a patient’s room.

  “Warren? That you?”

  Warren kicked the door closed and scooted away from it. He turned around and used the railing on an empty bed to stand.

  “My dad in operating room. They fixing his face.” Darren Sredo sat in a chair beneath an old TV with his arms folded across his lap. He had bandages on his hands. “You didn’t come tutor me about Neapolitan last night, but that okay. I not mad.”

  Warren’s heart raced. A noise came from the hallway, and he heard Cameron swear.

  “I hurt my dad bad. I thought he killed Dasha.” He lowered his eyebrows and his forehead sloped over his brow. He clasped his hands and blood oozed through the white gauze. “I wish I saw who did kill Dasha.”

  Warren said, “I’m sorry Darren. I'm not sure what to—”

  Dasha?

  The cackling laughter of the old man—no, Marion—no, Grandpa Doc bounced around inside Warren’s head. He could hear the old, raspy voice say, It was more fun than running over that little Russian girl. What was her name now…Dasha?

  Darren said, “It okay Warren. It not you fault.”

  “Wait, did someone run her over?”

  “Yeah. Someone hit and run her.”

  Warren took a quick breath. “You don’t have to worry, I know who it was.”

  Darren pushed the chair back and walked toward Warren. “You do?”

  “It was this old man named Marion Ren—named Marion.” Warren went to the door, cracked it, and peeked outside.

  Darren rubbed his temple. “You right Warren. I saw a old man dancing that day. You smart. You see him dancing too?”

  “No, I talked to him later though, and he told me about it. Look, you don't have to worry. He's dead.”

  “How he dead?”

  “Don't worry about it, just love your dad and let it be. I’ll see you later.”

  Warren opened the door and ran down the hall. He spotted Cameron coming the other way, rounded the nurse’s station, and pushed the front door into a woman. He stepped around her and ran down the steps. Cameron shouted for him to stop.

  The woman said, “What’s going on? How did he get out of bed?” Warren turned around, and she put her hands on Cameron’s shoulders.

  “Mom, let me go. That’s not Warren.”

  And she’s not my mom.

  Warren picked up speed as he ran across the parking lot. He gasped for air and stopped at the edge. Nirvana Cassie held onto Cameron’s arm and yelled at him. There was nothing perfect about it.

  Bwomp-bwomp.

  Warren turned, and a golden convertible floated down from the sky. He rubbed his eyes and
took a deep breath.

  Bwomp-bwomp.

  Sarah’s car sat between Warren and Pigeon Street. “Warren, are you okay?”

  He looked down at his sweater—Nathan’s thick blue sweater—and touched it.

  Am I okay?

  “Everyone at school said you were shot last night. What happened?”

  Warren swayed and became disoriented. “I’m fine.” He glanced back at the hospital. “Can I get ride?”

  The wind tugged at Sarah’s hair and pulled a piece of it through the open window. “Hop in.” Her bland perfume floated through the window.

  Warren ran to the passenger’s side, threw his backpack on the floor, and jumped in. Her car smelled much better than the back seat of Paul’s cruiser, but something about it was wrong. A lump formed in his stomach. She hit the gas, and they cruised down Pigeon Street toward the high school. Cameron ran to the edge of the parking lot and stopped.

  She said, “So, what happened? Did you get shot?”

  “No, not really. I’m okay.” He touched his sweater. “Hey, have you seen Tanner?”

  She grimaced. “I told you. We’re just friends. I’m not seeing Tanner. Are you seeing Sharon?” She turned onto Ponder’s Lane and headed toward school.

  “Can you take me home? I’m getting sick.” It was true. A million black ants crawled through his intestines, his lungs, all seething to get out, but none made it into his throat. They didn’t belong there, and he didn’t belong here.

  “Fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll take you home.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I can't believe you and her. She’s just playing with you, you know. That’s what she does.”

  Warren put his hand on his stomach and groaned. “I didn’t ask if you were seeing Tanner. I asked if you saw him today.”

  A sub-second smile crossed Sarah’s perfect complexion. “Sure. He was at school, and you weren’t. Are you jealous?”

  “No,” Warren said. “Did he say anything about his brother?”

  “Brother?” A crease formed at the edge of Sarah’s left eye and threatened to ruin her makeup. “He doesn’t have a brother. You're acting weird. Are you sure you didn’t get shot?”

  The shocks on the convertible squealed as they bounced over the culvert into Lake Forest.

  Warren said, “I’m sure I didn’t get shot.” He bent over and held onto his stomach. “But, I’m going to be sick.”

  “Not in my car you’re not.” She slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a stop.

  Warren walked to the edge of the trees and stepped on a shadow. He stared into Lake Forest.

  Tanner, where are you?

  “Well. Are you going to yack or what?”

  “I’m feeling better now.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you. We were doing great and then…Sharon.” A pair of tears escaped her eyes. “They told me to watch out for her, but I didn’t listen. They said she'd become my friend just to get to you, and she did.” A thin, black line of mascara ran down her cheek. “She’s done it before. She doesn’t want a boyfriend, she wants everyone else’s boyfriend. I can’t believe you fell for it. I can’t believe I didn’t listen.”

  That didn’t sound like the Sharon Warren knew…maybe Nirvana Sharon, but not Big Sharon. This place wasn't perfect. He missed his Hellhole.

  Why is she going on and on like this? Look away, then—

  Sarah said, “This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.”

  “You’re right,” Warren said. “It’s the way it is.”

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to find Tanner. Don’t worry about how it’s supposed to be. Just let it be.” Warren crossed over a ditch and disappeared into the shadows.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Long, White Fingers

  The trees shaded Warren and hid him from the evils of the world. He remembered getting lost in Lake Forest, but it was different now—smaller. He stepped over logs, trampled on tree limbs, and searched for one of his trails. The dry branches broke beneath his feet, and the wet limbs snapped him on the backs of his legs. He found Rotted Wood Trail and stepped across the ponderosa that had fallen and turned to mush. He crossed over the dead tree. Black wood ants crawled on the edges of the trail and followed him to the big rock.

  Warren unzipped his backpack and took out the plastic bag of love letters. He hadn’t had time to read all of them, but he didn’t care. None of them were for him.

  I should write a letter to Big Sharon when I get back.

  He stowed the bag under the rock and took out the kite photo. Pieces of broken glass had fallen out of the frame and punctured the bag of ashes. He shook the photo, and pieces of Cameron fell onto the ground.

  In the photo, two young boys sat on a hill at grandma and grandpa’s house—two young boys holding onto one string, a kite bobbing in the sky. Warren wondered who had snapped the picture, but it didn’t matter. The Cameron holding the string wasn’t his brother, and the Warren wasn’t him. He leaned the photo up against the rock and gazed at the punctured bag of ashes. He felt like he should say something profound, be he couldn’t come up with anything. Instead, he said, “Goodbye.”

  He dumped the bag of ashes onto the rock, zipped up his backpack, and walked away.

  Rotted Wood Trail became Little Dip, and Warren trudged up a sharp incline. He had given these trails their names, but these weren't his trails. He turned onto Tree Fort and continued walking. He came to the end of the trail, and he could see the fort, but only because he knew where it hid. Branches covered with thick pine needles concealed four two-by-fours. The two-by-fours held the floor of the fort high off the ground. Above the floor, a flash of blond swept behind a branch and disappeared.

  “Tanner? Is that you?”

  The fort had begun to tilt over time. Two of the trees had grown faster than the others since Warren had come here last, but then he remembered. He had never come here before. This was not his tree fort, his Lake Forest, or his Tamarack…but that was his Tanner.

  A rope dangled off the edge of the fort. “Tanner? Are you up there?”

  Silence. Warren walked underneath the fort, reached for the rope, and missed. The rope flew into the air and disappeared. Gray, weather-worn planks of wood spanned the two-by-fours, and plush moss filled the cracks, blocking Warren’s view.

  “Tanner, what are you doing up there?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Warren stepped out from under the fort and dropped his backpack.

  Tanner stood on the edge, coiling the rope around his arm. “Where’d you go, man?” His blond hair sloped over his shoulders. Mud and scratches ran up his legs.

  “I’m sorry Tanner. I didn’t mean to leave. Sometimes it does that.”

  “What does that?” Tanner said.

  “The urn.” A brisk wind hit Warren in the back. “Do you know where you are? Have you talked to anyone?”

  Tanner moved away from the edge. “All I know, man, is Nathan’s dead.” He disappeared behind the wooden planks. “Leave me alone.”

  The tree nearest to Warren had a makeshift ladder of sticks nailed to it. “I’m coming up.”

  “Don’t bother, man. There’s no point.”

  Warren grabbed his backpack and climbed the ladder. Tanner sat in the opposite corner, twisting and pulling the rope. Warren took the urn out of his backpack and held it up. “Look—”

  “No thanks, man,” Tanner said. “I don't want to get high and die anymore. I just want to die.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Nathan’s dead Warren. Didn’t you see what happened?”

  Warren shuddered. “Yeah, I saw it.” The image of Nathan’s blood spraying across his grandpa’s cackling face would live with him forever.

  “Then, someone that looked like you came out and shot someone else that looked like you, and, man, now that I look at you. Who are you?” His face contorted and threatened to implode.

  “I’m
your best friend. It’s me, Warren.”

  “Which one?”

  “I’m the one you grew up with, I’m—”

  “Then who were—”

  “They were the Nirvana people. Remember? We were leaving to come to Nirvana just before Nathan’s truck pulled up and…”

  Tanner wrapped an end of the rope around his wrist and pulled on it. The vein running between his index and middle finger doubled in size, and he relaxed his grip. “This is Nirvana?”

  “Yeah, except it’s not as good as I thought it would be.”

  “You’ve got that right.” He pulled on the rope. “Whatever, man. I just want to die.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  “I’m sorry I brought you here.” Warren sat on the floor and leaned against a tree. “I thought everything was going to be perfect. I thought everything here was like it was supposed to be, but it’s not.” He ran a finger over the lid of the urn. “When I first came here, I got to meet my brother, Cameron, and I—”

  “Cameron?” Tanner raised his head. “You didn’t start pretending the urn was a real person again, did you?”

  Warren shook his head. “No. There’s a real Cameron here. We’re in another time line…one with another me, another you, and a Cameron that never died.”

  Tanner’s eyes moved side to side. “So, who shot the other you?”

  “Cameron. The one from our time line. The one from the urn.”

  “But he’s dead.”

  “I know. It’s crazy. He’s dead, but he was here. We’re in a Tamarack that’s just as messed up as the one we grew up in, and I don’t understand it either.” Warren glanced at the urn and a feeling of peace everlasting washed over him. “I guess it’s because everything happens for a reason. There are these guys who are the reason all things can happen. They are—”

  “Wait.” A glint of hope jumped into Tanner’s eyes. “Is there another Nathan here?”

  “No, I don’t think so. The Sarah here said you didn’t have a brother.” A small breeze pushed a mass of blond hair across Tanner’s face, and he became distant.

  Warren said, “It wouldn’t matter if another Nathan was here. He wouldn’t be your Nathan. He would be the other Tanner’s Nathan. We don’t belong here.”