First order of business, find some street clothes. Running around town in the Smart Skin Suit was going to get noticed. He passed another neighborhood and an alley on the right as he approached the stoplight, keeping his eyes open for a source of clothing.
Several car tires were sitting inside the alley’s dirt entrance, but what caught his eye was the blood-red fur and animal guts covering the pile. It appeared a medium-size dog had met its final destiny, having been torn apart and left to bake in the Arizona sun. A pack of coyotes must have wandered into town and attacked someone’s pet. It was a gruesome scene, looking like someone had sprayed the rubber with red. He pressed on.
He stepped into the crosswalk at the stoplight, planning to head for the stairs leading to the upper levels of the parking garage. He knew the University Medical Center had a fitness center for employees, and the staff was assigned reserved spaces in the parking lot. There would also be hundreds of visitor cars to check as well. It was possible someone kept a change of clothes in their car—something he could borrow, assuming luck was on his side today. He needed to score a pair of pants, a shirt, and of course shoes that fit, though footwear might be a little harder to come by. Some aspirin would be nice, too, since his sore back was still nagging at him.
Once he was across the street, he came upon a young Asian woman with a stroller waiting at the bus stop. She was humming a lullaby to a toddler sitting in her lap. The kid was wearing a pink jump suit and a matching hat that covered the ears.
The child turned its almond-shape eyes and looked at him.
Lucas smiled, then gave them both a friendly nod.
“They went that way,” the mother said, pointing.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The rest of your group.”
“What group?” he said, stopping his feet.
“The bald guy and the other two wearing the same outfit. It’s not Halloween, so what are you guys, some kind of band? Or a fraternity prank? It must have taken a long time to sew all that gold thread so perfectly.”
A vision flashed, taking him back to the mountaintop right before General Alvarez opened fire—the angry, bald Lucas and the others streaming toward him.
“Shit!” he snapped, not realizing he was speaking out loud.
The woman covered her baby’s ears with her hands. “Hey, Mister! Watch your language!”
“Sorry, my bad,” Lucas told her, feeling awful for letting the curse word slip.
She hugged her child, who was still staring at Lucas with her jet-black pupils. The mother’s voice turned soft and gentle. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, M. Bad language is a no-no. Especially for a little lady. You don’t want me to have to wash your mouth out with soap, like I did for your brother. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy.”
The girl turned her plump cheeks away from Lucas and looked up at her mom. The child started to fuss, waving her arms and letting out a series of half-syllables like baby’s do.
“Shhhh, M. It’ll be okay,” the mother said, grabbing her kid’s hands and playing with them.
The child calmed a bit, then spoke a single word in her cute, tiny voice. “Wocket.”
“Yes, M. We’ll go pick him up at daycare as soon as jury duty selection is over.”
Jury duty? M.? Wocket?
Was Wocket the child’s version of Rocket?
Could this be Masago and her mother?
Didn’t Masago say her mother ran off with a bailiff from jury duty?
If so, then Masago saw me as a baby. Maybe that’s why she’s been so obsessed with me all her life. It would also mean this chance encounter happened before—some version of it anyway.
He considered staying to talk with the young mother and learn more, but decided against it. If the baby was Masago, the last thing he should do is get involved. With everything he knew about her and her family, it seemed likely they were only supposed to meet briefly in the past.
Before he could resume his trek to the hospital, eight rounds of time distortion waves hit the area. Each time, pressure hit his body as objects and people around him came and went, including Masago’s mother, the baby, and the bus stop. However, just as before, the final wave set everything back the way it was before the anomaly started, with Masago sitting in her mother’s lap.
He needed to get moving, and that’s what he did. His feet picked up speed as he considered the ramifications of what he’d learned. Somehow, three Lucas copies must’ve been pulled to the past with him, again. He didn’t know if they were the only copies still alive in the future, or only a few of those still breathing. If only a few, then why them and not the others? What made them unique? He couldn’t be sure, not without more information. Even so, he could assume their cells had been linked together across the fabric of space-time, which is why they were tethered each time he traveled back in history.
But he didn’t understand the purpose and timing of the distortion waves, and why the versions of him hadn’t arrived on the same street as he did. That’s what happened the first time around, even though the two hundred-plus copies had arrived first. He figured the difference was due to some type of inter-dimensional targeting malfunction, or possibly an unexpected bump of stellar drift. Yes, an unexpected bump. That was it. The Milankovitch Cycle. The variances in the Earth’s orbit due to endless gravitational interactions during each astronomical session of forty-one thousand years. He must have traversed across an additional wobble in Earth’s orbit. Something not accounted for in Fuji’s calculations. After all, stellar events weren’t measured as precisely in the early years of NASA.
He made it up the stairs and into the garage, starting his search on the third level. He knew most parking garages would fill up first on the lower levels, meaning the cars parked above were owned by visitors and employees who had arrived more recently. He wanted to check the upper floors first; less of a chance to be caught in the act by a returning owner.
The first car he peered into was a four-door Buick; gray in color, with paint peeling across its hood. He checked the backseat, then the front, but didn’t see any clothes. He moved on to the next car, then the next, until he spotted what he was looking for sitting on the front passenger’s seat of a Ford Ranchero: a pair of worn jeans and a college t-shirt.
The driver’s window was partially rolled down, allowing him to stick his slender arm inside and grab the door lock. He pulled it up and opened the door. The dome light flickered on while he sat inside and closed the door behind him. He checked the jeans. The tag said the pants were for a thirty-inch waist. A little big, but the length looked correct. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, angled his legs up and put them on. He did the same with the red t-shirt, then searched the backseat to see if there were shoes or a belt he could use. He found neither, and decided to get out of the car and keep searching.
It took another twenty minutes, but he came across a dented Chevy pickup with a stock of painter’s gear in the back. He noticed a pair of slip-on sneakers tucked loosely under a spree of empty paint cans and a well-used aluminum ladder. The shoes were lying on their side and covered in paint splotches, but appeared to be about the right size. He grabbed them and moved to the rear of the truck, where he planned to save some wear and tear on his back by using the tailgate as a chair while he tried them on.
His hand went in search of the tailgate release, but the handle was missing. There was a yellow and red bungee cord in its place. It was hooked from end to end across the outside of the swing gate to keep the tailgate upright and closed. He removed the cord and let the tailgate drop, then spun and sat down to slip on the crusty shoes. They were stiff and not very comfortable, but they fit. He stood up and decided to try looping the bungee cord around his waist and use it as a makeshift belt. It worked.
He took a moment to consider his ensemble: Smart Skin Suit covered by a pair of worn jeans, red t-shirt, painter’s shoes, and a bungee cord belt. He felt like Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies.
; His attire wasn’t much of a fashion statement, but what did it matter? When you travel back in time to change the past, nobody will care what you are wearing when you change history and save the planet.
Two slender men in scrubs approached Lucas. He thought about ducking behind the truck out of instinct, but changed his mind when the men never looked in his direction. He waited until they passed, then followed the overhead signs to find the exit and make his way into the hospital through the emergency room’s entrance.
The ER was packed with patients waiting to be seen—some looked sick, others were clearly injured. Every chair was full and there were also people standing in the corner near the drinking fountain.
He knew Drew’s mom worked in the ER and if that fact still held true, then he’d need to come up with a plan to locate her. Her face was unknown to him; that’s assuming he believed the professor about the fake photo in Drew’s pouch that always hung around his neck. He figured it was best if she didn’t know he was looking for her until after he had a plan to stop her from driving home tonight. That meant he couldn’t ask anyone for help, otherwise, they might tip her off.
Lucas studied the nametag of each person he passed: a roving herd of doctors, three tired-looking nurses, and various other hospital staff.
In modern-day medicine, most in the medical field went by their first name only to protect their identity from stalkers, but in the past, that wasn’t the case. Last names were on every ID. He wandered the halls around the ER for at least an hour, but never found anyone with a nametag of Falconio.
As time passed, he started to notice more and more eyes following him. He suspected his presence was making the busy staff a little curious, and quite possibly nervous. He wondered how long it would be before an armed security team appeared with jittery hands and tense attitudes.
He decided to suspend his search, hoping to lessen the growing attention. Ahead of him was an overhead sign that directed visitors to the cafeteria. Time for a break, he decided, walking ahead at full speed. It had to be close to the dinner hour and if he remembered correctly, Lauren’s shift ended later at night. If he was right, he had time to kill before she’d drive home. Dinner session meant a busy cafeteria and a hungry crowd. He should be able to blend in and not draw too much attention to himself, even in his hillbilly ensemble.
Lucas glanced back to see if anyone was watching him as he neared the first corner. He swung his head forward and took the corner sharply, slamming into someone an instant later. He spilled across the tile floor and so did the other person, sending a folder with paperwork high into the air. A shower of white pages floated down and around Lucas as he rolled over and pushed to his knees.
A long-haired, bearded man wearing a physician’s coat was lying across from him. His ID said Dr. Starling. The man grunted, then sat upright, allowing their eyes to meet for a second before the doc’s weary face turned south. He grabbed onto his right knee, wincing in pain.
“Sorry about that,” Lucas said, feeling a twinge in his lower back. “Are you hurt? Do I need to get a doctor for you?”
“I am a doctor, and no, I don’t need any help.”
Lucas began scooping up the papers from the floor.
“Stop!” the doctor snapped, yanking the sheets from Lucas. “I think you’ve done enough already.”
Lucas stood and stepped back, trying not to make the situation worse. “Look, Doc, I said I was sorry.”
“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Starling snarled, never looking up. He tucked the last of the paperwork into the folder with edges sticking out in random directions. He moved to his feet and stumbled for a moment when his right leg took on his weight. He winced.
“Seriously, let me get you some help,” Lucas said as he tried to get a better look at the scraggly man’s face, but Starling kept his head down and eyes turned. Lucas thought he looked familiar.
The doc shot Lucas a quick sneer before limping off in a huff.
A few seconds later, Lucas felt a double tap on his shoulder.
“Welcome to the club. Most everyone here has been given that same look at one time or another,” a woman’s gentle voice said behind him.
He turned and gazed at a stunning brunette wearing a nurse’s uniform. Her perfect olive skin and enchanting hazel eyes with flecks of green made him hold his breath. He stammered, unable to find his voice for a second. “It—it was an accident. I tried to apologize and offered to get him some help but he refused.”
“Don’t take it personally. Dr. Starling is always in a bit of a snit. Lack of sleep, I suspect. Or stress. He’s a unique bundle to be sure.”
“Or his beard is on too tight,” Lucas added. For some reason, he felt compelled to make her laugh. “Isn’t there a law requiring physicians to own a razor?”
She laughed before her face turned serious again. “That was quite a tumble. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, but I’m pretty sure I jacked the doc’s knee. But thank you for asking, Nurse”—he looked down at her ID—“Falconio.”
He’d found her! Lauren Falconio. And wow, Drew’s mom was a knockout.
Another nurse cruised by, this one a two-hundred-pound smiley woman with a ’60s-style bun, rosebud cheeks, and caked-on layers of uneven makeup. She was in her fifties and whistling an upbeat tune he didn’t recognize.
Lucas thought she was going to zip on by, but after she made eye contact with him, she stopped and looked at Lauren with a furrowed brow.
“Is everything okay, dear?” the round woman asked Lauren.
“Yes, Gwen, why?”
Gwen took a step back, clearing her throat. “No reason, except I heard that Dr. Starling asked you to work another double today. That’s what, eleven in a row?”
“Yeah, I’m totally beat, but I need the money. The bills never stop, so I can’t either.”
“You need to take a break once in a while,” Gwen said. She touched her hand to Lauren’s cheek. “You look tired and a little pale. Have you eaten anything today, sweetie?”
“Not yet, but I’ll grab something from the cafeteria before I head home.”
“Okay, dear, but you need to keep your strength up. Can’t have you falling asleep on the job. Just promise me you’ll eat before you leave.”
“I will. I promise. Thanks for always watching out for me.”
“That’s what friends are for, dear heart. Do you need me to help with your son again tonight?”
“I appreciate the offer, Gwen, but I’ve got it covered. He’s at a new after-hours daycare I just found.”
“Isn’t that expensive?”
“A little, but I feel bad always having to ask you to watch him for me.”
“I don’t mind, really. You know Roger and I are there for you.”
“I know. Thank you. But I wanted to give this place a try. Like you said, everyone needs a break once in a while.”
“I understand, dear. Next time, then?”
“Sure, that would be nice.”
“Toodle-oo,” Gwen said, waving a flabby arm. She glanced at Lucas before she took off down the hall with a determined bounce in her step.
Lauren swung her eyes to Lucas and smiled.
He couldn’t stop staring at her. It was clear now where Drew had gotten his boyish good looks. His mom was a total, drop-dead, gorgeous fox. He took in a couple of short breaths before his mouth continued on without his brain.
“Falconio—that’s an interesting name. Is it Italian?”
She gave him a look that screamed No shit, Sherlock, but her voice told a different story. “Yes, but I’m thinking of changing it to something more generic, like Johnson or Smith. You know, to keep the creepers at bay. Like the Nabisco delivery driver that came in last month with a broken arm. I thought I was going to have to get a restraining order. You know the type.”
Lucas nodded, but kept his lips locked together.
She continued. “Falconio is pretty rare and easy to track down. I’d need to change my son’
s name, too, but he might not be okay with it when he gets older—losing one’s heritage and all.”
“Where I come from, hospital personnel no longer use their last name. They go by first name, Nurse Lauren. It helps protect their identity from those creepers you mentioned.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said. “I’m going to suggest that change to the board next time they hold an open forum.”
“Glad to help,” he said, looking away for a few moments. This was Drew’s mom and he needed to get his mind out of the gutter. His mental redirect worked.
Her eyes focused on the floor for a second, then back to Lucas. “Hey, wait a minute. I don’t remember telling you my first name.”
Shit. Lauren was right. Now she’s gonna think I’m one of those creepers she mentioned.
His heart started pounding at double its normal rate while he ran through several explanations until he found one he liked. “You didn’t, but the other nurse did.”
She paused. “That’s right. She did. You had me worried there for a second.”
Lucas needed to change the subject, not wanting her to ponder his lie. If she did, her memory might betray him. He tried to think of something to say, but his words came up dry.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little shaky.”
“I’m good, thank you. But I really need to get moving. It was nice meeting you,” Lucas said, walking away. His head wanted to turn and take one last look at her, but he kept his eyes forward. She’d taken enough notice of him. Until he could devise a plan to alter events in this time period, something inside of him told him he needed her to move on with her day and forget she ever bumped into him.
He hadn’t planned to interact with her on this trip, other than to stop her from driving home somehow. But a covert intervention might not be possible now. She knew his face.
Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) Page 29
