A Ripple in Time

by David Berardelli

  Jake said, “We gotta take ‘er to ‘Sliberty, we want that much. Bugger likes choppin’ muscle cars.”

  Jonesie bent over me. “I get your suit, asshole,” he whispered, sending a heavy cloud of weed into my nostrils. “The coat, too.” Then he shifted on the pavement and walked away.

  I realized right then that I had to do something. I couldn’t just lie here and let them do whatever they wanted. My head pounded, my arms and legs were numb with pain and cold, and my spine had become one large mass of hot, jagged pain. But I refused to just lie here and let a pack of young hoodlums kill me, steal my money and clothes, and take my rented Challenger to have it stripped bare.

  But what on earth could I possibly do?

  Baby steps, I told myself. They’d just left me alone. I needed to survey my surroundings.

  Since I was lying in the dark, they couldn’t see me very well. Cautiously I opened my eyes and slowly turned my head a few inches in their direction.

  Four dark figures sat cross-legged in a semicircle about forty feet away, eating food from paper bags. Facing them, jagged golden flames flickered brightly from the mouth of a gutted trashcan. About twenty feet behind them, a dumpster overflowing with garbage sat near the brick wall of an ancient four-story building. A line of brick buildings extended as far as I could see. At the far end, brief glints of headlights lit up the mouth of the alley as traffic whizzed by.

  As I scanned my surroundings, I struggled to get circulation back in my arms and legs as subtly as possible. Although I was reasonably sure I couldn’t be seen, I remained still. Right now, the thugs were preoccupied with their meal. Even so, a couple of them glanced in my direction every so often.

  I began opening and closing my hands into tight fists, all the while tightening my thigh muscles and wiggling my toes inside my shoes. Everything hurt at first, but I forced myself to keep up the procedure. After a few minutes, I began to feel as if I’d actually restored some of the feeling in my limbs. I didn’t know how much time I had left but figured I was safe as long as they were eating. I had to do as much as I could as quickly as possible.

  As I kept up my exercises, I turned my head slightly to the left. It took me only a moment to realize that my options were limited. I lay just a few feet from the back seat of a van, or pickup. I couldn’t see anything behind it but was reasonably sure that the mouth of the alley leading back to the street extended beyond it. To escape, I’d have to jump up and maneuver around the seat. Then, gambling on the chance that nothing behind it would cause me to stumble or trip, I’d have to keep up a pace fast enough to outrun four teenage kids.

  I was forty-two years old. The image of a guy my age outrunning four teens, under other circumstances, would be laughable.

  I was doomed, plain and simple. I couldn’t even see what lay on the other side of the seat or in front of it. The darkness hid from view anything that might serve as a suitable weapon.

  But even though I knew I was facing the impossible, I still had to do something.

  While considering my other limited options, I continued making fists, tensing my thighs and wiggling my toes. After a short while, I began turning my hands at the wrists as well as turning my feet at the ankles.

  As I slowly brought back my circulation, I decided that I should try and move closer to the salvaged bench seat. I knew I was in no shape to overpower four young punks living off the streets, but I could try and make this much more difficult for them by grabbing the seat and tossing it at them when they came at me. They were most definitely all armed, but they hadn’t given me much of a choice. If I could hurt at least one of them before they murdered me, I’d have the satisfaction of taking that small but significant triumph to my grave.

  A few minutes later, when I felt reasonably fit enough to attempt to slide closer to the seat, one of them belched loudly and tossed a paper bag into the fire.

  My pulse thundered. I was running out of time. I had to do something now, before the others finished their meal.

  Once again, I turned my head slightly to the left and began calculating distances. I figured six, maybe seven feet from my body to where the seat sat on the ground. The seat itself was nearly parallel to my position. If I could move closer to it, use it to prop myself up and then circle around it, I might be able to get a good enough hold on the bottom to yank it up and let it slam into them. It was probably much heavier than it looked, but I knew all about adrenaline and how it worked in a stressful situation. Besides, it was my only alternative.

  Six, maybe seven feet to the seat... That would take approximately five seconds. Then another five to prop myself up, five more to circle the seat, bend over, take a grip on the bottom, grit my teeth, then let it fly—

  Something else thumped into the flaming can, startling me again. Cautiously I turned my head. A second thug had tossed his bag into the fire and began lighting a cigarette. “Hurry up, you two,” he said. “Haven’t got all night!”

  It was now or never.

  Just as I prepared myself mentally to roll over toward the seat, the other two tossed their bags into the fire and got to their feet. All four were facing me now. Even though I was hidden in darkness, they’d see me moving away. But I had no other choice.

  I took a deep breath. Then, tensing my arms and legs, I prepared myself to begin my hasty retreat.

  But just then, I heard a soft voice very close to my ear. It was the voice of a young woman. “Don’t move.”

  I froze.

  Was there a fifth thug?

  Was this gang run by a female? Was she also armed?

  I knew better than crane my head around to see for sure, but something told me to remain still. Some inner sense—that same feeling that told me to keep my eyes closed—told me to do exactly as she said. A strange soothing quality in her voice told me she wasn’t one of them. I strongly suspected that she actually wanted to help me.

  The foursome started coming my way.

  ***

  My pulse pounded deafeningly. Visions of my death filled my head with darkness. Cold tingles crawled up my spine.

  I couldn’t just lie here and let them do me in. Voice or no voice, I had to fight—or find a weapon—or lash out with my fists. I had to do something.

  I just couldn’t die this way!

  The four of them kept coming.

  If I could just find something to hit them with…

  I hadn’t seen anything lying on the ground near me, but that didn’t mean I should give up. Since there were no lamp posts to light up the area, the ground surrounding me remained totally black. For all I knew, there could be something lying around. This was an alley, for God’s sake. Anything could be lying on the ground just a few feet away. A chunk of rock or brick might be lying just inches from my head. If I could just reach around me and pick it up... I could use it to bash one of them in the face…

  If I could just find something…

  Just then, their footsteps stopped at the same time.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  For long, agonizing moments, the four punks stood stock-still.

  “’Ja hear that?” one of them whispered.

  “Yeah. What the hell was it?”

  “Damn if I know…”

  “Prob’ly a rat.”

  “Hate fuckin’ rats!”

  “Don’t think it was no rat…”

  “What else could it—“

  The sound of something thumping onto metal a few yards behind them made them all go silent.

  For ten seconds, I could hear a pin drop. Then:

  “What the fuck?”

  “Somethin’ over there, near the dumpster.”

  “Jonesie, go check it out.”

  “Hey, dude…I ain’t goin’ over there by myself!”

  “Pussy... Chopstick, you’n that pussy check it out.”

  “What if—“

  “Just go, dammit!”

  “What about—“

  The sound of something else thumping, this time
onto a hollow surface, reverberated farther down the alley.

  Once again, they all froze.

  “Damn!”

  “Shit!”

  The click of a gun hammer echoed loudly.

  “Some stupid shit’s movin’ around over there, and he’s gonna get ‘is ass popped!”

  “Comin’ with ya.”

  “Me, too!”

  “I’m comin’, too!”

  “What about this bastard?”

  “You stay here, Naddy. We won’t be long.”

  “What if he comes to? Want me to finish ‘im off?”

  One of them pulled something out of his belt. “Hit ‘im in the head with this. It’ll keep ‘im quiet till we get back.”

  A short crowbar changed hands. My heart sputtered. Then the other three moved out of my range of sight.

  The kid with the crowbar stood over me, watching me.

  I knew better than move a muscle.

  My fear suddenly mixed with anger. I tensed up again. I couldn’t just lie here and wait for this punk to make the first move. The moment he turned away to watch his friends, I began making fists again, gathering even more circulation and strength. Mind over matter… I remembered some psychology courses I’d taken in college, when I was trying to learn about myself and my mental capabilities.

  When the mind is in control, nothing is impossible.

  If you concentrate properly, you cannot fail.

  The punk was now looking down at me. I closed my eyes almost all the way, keeping them open a fraction so I could watch his movements in the darkness. He was holding the crowbar in his left hand and rubbing its curved head with his right—as if speculating what he should do with it.

  He knelt and placed it on the ground on his left. Before I could figure out what he was about to do, he reached for the knot of my tie. Then, chuckling, he began loosening it.

  The crowbar was just a foot from my head. It lay on his left, almost behind his body. To get to it, I’d have to turn on my right side, reach up and push him down. Since he was kneeling over me, the leverage factor requiring me to perform this simple task was quite possibly much more than I could handle right now. I was forced to lie there and let him strip me of the eighty-dollar, hand-sewn cotton tie Sarah had given me for my last birthday.

  About half a minute later, he stopped loosening my tie and froze. Gasping, he spun around. “What the—“ He groped for the crowbar, picked it up and jumped to his feet. “Who the fuck’s there?”

  I opened my eyes. He was standing a couple of feet on my right, scanning the alley on my left. He held the crowbar almost straight out in front of him.

  “All right, shithead,” he whispered. “Wanna be funny? C’mon out!”

  A moment later, something dropped onto the ground several yards to my left, startling us both. I managed not to move, but he jumped nearly a foot in the air. Without a word, he stepped around me and quietly crept toward the mouth of the alley.

  I turned just as the skinny figure disappeared into the darkness. Then I shook myself to see if I was able to move around.

  Just then, I heard the young woman’s voice again. As before, it sounded just a few inches away. “Can you get up?”

  I nodded.

  “Do it. You don’t have much time.”

  I rolled onto my left side. Then, gritting my teeth, I struggled to kneel. A moment later, I was able to straighten. I wanted to turn around and see who was talking to me but suspected no one was actually there. But that didn’t matter. It didn’t even seem to matter that I could be hallucinating. I knew a little about head wounds and realized that such a thing often caused the victim to hear strange voices. But I could think about that later. Right now I had to get away, and if it took a disembodied voice to help me do it, then so be it.

  Once I’d straightened, wooziness took over. The ground at my feet shifted, and I felt faint. Taking a breath, I grabbed onto the back of the seat and braced myself, swaying a little until my equilibrium returned. Then I turned to my left.

  The voice whispered, “You can’t go out that way. You’ll need to get to that dumpster. There’s a door going into the building directly behind it. It’s open, but you’ll have to be careful. It’s littered with junk and quite a few bums sleeping in the hall. Can you make it?”

  I nodded.

  “C’mon, then. I’ll be with you all the way.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Move, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

  I didn’t have to be told twice. In seconds I’d crossed the alley on legs that refused to bend because they were numb with cold.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The hall in the rundown building was as black as the inside of a tomb. It was a confined space, and smelled much worse than the alley. The air, heavy with a disgusting reek of urine, feces, alcohol, vomit and rotting food, assaulted my nostrils and made my eyes water. I wiped them and forced myself to breathe through my mouth.

  The total darkness made it impossible to distinguish anything straight ahead. I stood frozen in the open doorway, my heart pounding, my limbs shaking from fear and from the cold. The uncertainty of my fate—and the mortal danger lurking behind me—made me tremble. I hadn’t heard the woman’s voice since I’d come inside. I began to wonder if I’d just imagined it.

  But just as I experienced another wave of cold fear welling up within me, I heard their voices in the alley not far from where I was standing. I risked a glance behind me and cringed. Four hazy shadows had gathered about sixty feet farther down, where they’d dumped me. They were arguing with one another, trying to keep their voices low. I had no idea what they were saying but guessed they were wondering where I’d gone. They’d no doubt soon begin their search.

  My growing fear turned my blood cold. Despite my will to survive, I realized to my horror that my mind had gone blank. Complete darkness awaited me straight ahead. Entering it would be just as terrifying as turning around, stepping back outside and facing the four punks.

  Just then, I heard her voice again.

  Once again, it sounded very close.

  “Take three steps and turn just a little to your right. There’s someone lying in the hall. You’ve got a couple of feet of space between his shoes and the wall where you can pass. Use the wall to guide you.”

  I did exactly as she said.

  The moment I’d cleared the sleeping figure, she spoke again. “Walk eight steps and turn right. There’s a broom closet. The door’s closed. It opens from the right. Find the doorknob, pull it open, slip inside and close it quietly behind you. You can hide there until I tell you it’s safe for you to leave.”

  “But how do you—“

  “Do it now.”

  The urgency in her voice alarmed me, so I did as she said. After a few awkward moments of sliding my hand along the uneven surface of the weathered door, I found the cold doorknob, turned it and opened the closet door just a couple of seconds before I heard approaching footsteps not far behind me.

  The closet was tiny and smelled extremely foul. Once again I forced myself to breathe through my mouth. The moment I gently eased the door closed, I turned, groped blindly at the space and, experimenting carefully, discovered a pile of boxes and what felt like garbage bags filling the tiny room.

  “Squeeze behind them,” the voice said next to me. “Then drop to your knees. There’s enough clutter in here to hide you.”

  Without protest, I did exactly as she said.

  Five seconds later, the door opened.

  A tiny flashlight beam lit up the cramped space.

  ***

  I froze.

  Agonizing silence consumed the minuscule space. The flashlight beam darted in every conceivable direction, moving in a hectic, jerky fashion. As I squatted quite close to the boxes stacked in front of and around me, I willed myself to become part of the pile so I wouldn’t be noticed.

  Just when I thought I was about to come out of my skin, the beam lowered to the floor on the right side of t
he stack and remained still.

  “Smells like shit in here,” one of them whispered, sniffing.

  “Bums took over,” a second voice whispered. “Whaddya expect?”

  “Didn’t think that ol’ fart would be in here.”

  “Was worth a look,” the other one said.

  “Waste a time. He’d never be able to move around.”

  “Sucker’s pissin’ his pants. He’d try anything to get away.”

  “’Ja find a flashlight when ya went through his pockets?”

  A pause. “Nope…”

  “See how dark it is in here?” The flashlight beam switched off. “He’d have to have X-ray-fuckin’-vision to get around…” The beam switched back on.

  “Guess you’re right…”

  “Ya think?”

  “But he’s gotta be somewheres…”

  “That’s what we’re gonna do right now, moron. Sucker couldn’ta got far. We’ll find ‘im.”

  The beam disappeared. The door slammed shut.

  The footsteps out in the hall gradually diminished.

  I waited tensely for the voice of the young woman to come back.

  As I waited, the heavy silence ripped into me.

  After nearly five minutes, I felt the panic returning. Here I was, squatting in the miniscule storage closet of an old building in the dead of night with a pack of vicious street thugs hunting me down. Judging from what they’d already done, I knew they’d kill me the moment they found me, and there wasn’t much I could do to prevent them from doing it. Since I had no light, I couldn’t very well sort through the boxes in front of me for a weapon. Judging by the smell, I wouldn’t want to. I couldn’t waste precious time feeling for a light switch. Even if power somehow existed in the building, flicking on a light would send them here in moments.

  I had no choice but remain in darkness. My back was killing me, my joints were screaming in agony, my feet were frozen, and the throbbing in the back of my head was getting progressively worse. It would be only a matter of time before I’d pass out.

  My only salvation was the strange disembodied voice that had managed to get me away from them. But right now I wasn‘t even sure if I’d actually heard a voice or if it was just my imagination. I’d been hit over the head; I’d undoubtedly suffered a concussion. My imagination could have kicked in, fabricating much of this nightmare. For all I knew, the voice I kept hearing existed only in my head, and since I hadn’t heard it in several minutes, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear it again.